Excerpt of In The Company of the Courtesan by Sarah Dunant
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Below me, as far as the eye could see, a great plain of darkness
stretched out, spiked by hundreds of flickering candles. The moaning
rolled like a slow wind through the night, the sound of an army joined
in prayer or talking to itself in its sleep. Until then I think even I
had colluded in the myth of our invincibility. Now I knew how the
Trojans must have felt as they looked down from their walls and saw the
Greeks camped before them, the promise of revenge glinting off their
polished shields in the moonlight. Fear spiked my gut as I scrambled
back down onto the battlement, and in a fury I went to kick the sleeping
sentries awake. Close to, their hoods became cowls, and I made out two
young monks, barely old enough to tie their own tassels, their faces
pasty and drawn. I drew myself to my full height and squared up to the
first, pushing my face into his. He opened his eyes and yelled, thinking
that the enemy had sent a fatheaded, smiling devil out of Hell for him
early. His panic roused his companion. I put my fingers to my lips and
grinned again. This time they both squealed. I've had my fair share of
pleasure from scaring clerics, but at that moment I wished that they had
more courage to resist me. A hungry Lutheran would have had them split
on his bayonet before they might say Dominus vobiscum. They crossed
themselves frantically and, when I questioned them, waved me on toward
the gate at San Spirito, where, they said, the defense was stronger. The
only strategy I have perfected in life is one to keep my belly full, but
even I knew that San Spirito was where the city was at its most
vulnerable, with Cardinal Armellini's vineyards reaching to the
battlements and a farmhouse built up and into the very stones of the
wall itself.
Our army, such as it was when I found it, was huddled in clumps around
the building. A couple of makeshift sentries tried to stop me, but I
told them I was there to join the fight, and they laughed so hard they
let me through, one of them aiding me along with a kick that missed my
rear by a mile. In the camp, half the men were stupid with terror, the
other half stupid with drink. I never did find the stable boy, but what
I saw instead convinced me that a single breach here and Rome would open
up as easily as a wife's legs to her handsome neighbor.
Back home, I found my mistress awake in her bedroom, and I told her all
I had seen. She listened carefully, as she always did. We talked for a
while, and then, as the night folded around us, we fell silent, our
minds slipping away from our present life, filled with the warmth of
wealth and security, toward the horrors of a future that we could barely
imagine.
By the time the attack came, at first light, we were already at work. I
had roused the servants before dawn, and my lady had instructed them to
lay the great table in the gold room, giving orders to the cook to
slaughter the fattest of the pigs and start preparing a banquet the
likes of which were usually reserved for cardinals or bankers. While
there were mutterings of dissent, such was her authority—or possibly
their desperation—that any plan seemed comforting at the moment, even
one that appeared to make no sense.
The house had already been stripped of its more ostentatious wealth: the
great agate vases, the silver plates, the majolica dishes, the gilded
crystal Murano drinking glasses, and the best linens had all been stowed
away three or four days before, wrapped first inside the embroidered
silk hangings, then the heavy Flemish tapestries, and packed into two
chests. The smaller one was so ornate with gilt and wood marquetry that
it had to be covered again with burlap to save it from the damp. It had
taken the cook, the stable boy, and both of the twins to drag the chests
into the yard, where a great hole had been dug under the flagstones
close to the servants' latrines. When they were buried and covered with
a blanket of fresh feces (fear is an excellent loosener of the bowels),
we let out the five pigs, bought at a greatly inflated price a few days
earlier, and they rolled and kicked their way around, grunting their
delight as only pigs can do in shit.
Excerpted
from In the Company of the Courtesan by Sarah Dunant Copyright
© 2006 by Sarah Dunant. Excerpted by permission of Random House, a
division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this
excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing
from the publisher.
