not thrown the company into such confusion. After cleaning the stairs of my master's fluids, the thought of his soul's welfare crossed my mind, as he might soon be meeting the Almighty. I recalled, in this connection, an edict which commanded that, in every chamber of hostelries, a picture or portrait was to be placed of Our Lord, or of the Blessed Virgin, or of the saints, together with a vase of holy water.
Dismayed and praying heaven with all my heart that it should not deprive me of my master's kindness, I went up to the three chambers under the eaves that had remained empty since the departure of Signor Pellegrino's wife, in order to look for holy water and some holy image to hang above the sick man's bed.
These were the apartments where the late Signora Luigia had lived. They had remained almost unchanged, as the new host's family sojourn there had been so brief.
After a rapid search, I discovered above a rather dusty table, next to two reliquaries and a sugarloaf Agnus Dei, a terracotta statue of John the Baptist under a crystal bell; in his hands, he held a glass phial filled with holy water.
Beautiful holy images hung from the walls. The sight of them affected me deeply, and as I reflected on the sad events of my young life, a lump rose in my throat. It was not right, I thought, that there should be only profane images in the dining chambers, however charming: a picture of fruit, two with wooded landscapes and figures, two more oblong paintings on sheepskin, with various birds, two villages, two Cupids breaking a bow over their knees, and lastly, the one and only concession to the Bible, a licentious depiction of Susannah bathing, watched by the Elders.
Absorbed in these reflections, I chose a little picture of the Madonna of Sorrows which was hanging there and returned to the apartment, where Cristofano was busying himself around my poor master.
After arranging the picture and the holy water near the sickbed, I felt my strength abandon me and, collapsing in a corner, I burst into tears.
'Courage, my boy, courage.'
I found again in the physician's tone of voice that paternal, jovial Cristofano who had in the past few days so raised my mood. Like a father, he took my head in his hands and I could at last unburden myself. I explained to him that the man who had taken me in, thus saving me from extreme misery, was dying. Signor Pellegrino was a good man, albeit of bilious humour, and although I had been but six months in his service, it seemed to me that I had always been with him. What would become of me now? Once the quarantine was over, even if I were to survive, I would be left without any means of support and I did not even know the new parish priest of Santa Maria in Posterula.
'Now everyone will need you,' said he, raising my dead weight from the ground. 'I myself was coming to look for you, as we have to calculate our resources. The subsidy which we shall receive from the Congregation for Public Health will be very small indeed, and we shall have to ration our provisions carefully.'
Still sniffling, I reassured him that the pantry was far from empty, but he wished nonetheless to be taken there. The pantry was in the cellars and only I and Pellegrino possessed a key to it. From now on, said Cristofano, I was to keep both copies in a place known only to myself and him, so that no one could help themselves to the provisions. By the faint light that filtered in through the grates, we entered the pantry, which was on two levels.
Fortunately, my master, being a great steward and cook, had never failed to see to it that we were furnished with all manner of odoriferous cheeses, salt meats and smoked fish, dried vegetables and tomatoes, as well as rows of wine and oil jars which, for an instant, delighted the eye of the physician and caused his features to soften. He commented only with a half-smile, and continued: 'If there are any problems, you will advise me, and you will also tell me if anyone seems to be in ill health. Is that clear?'
'But will what has befallen Signor Pellegrino also happen to others?' I asked with tears again filling my eyes.
'Let us hope not. But we shall have to do everything possible to ensure that it does not happen,' said he, without looking me in the eyes. 'You, meanwhile, may continue to sleep in the chamber with him, as you already did last night despite my orders: it is good that your master should have someone to watch over him at night.'
1 marvelled greatly that the physician did not consider the possibility of my becoming infected, but dared not ask questions.
I accompanied him back to his apartment on the first floor. Hardly had we turned right, towards Cristofano's chamber, than we both gave a start: there we found Atto leaning against the door.
'What are you doing here? I thought that I had given everyone clear instructions,' protested the doctor.
'I am perfectly aware of what you said. But if anyone has nothing to lose from keeping company with one another, it is we three. Did we or did we not carry poor Pellegrino? The boy here has lived shoulder to shoulder with his master until this morning. If we were to be infected, we are already.'
A fine veil of perspiration covered Abbot Melani's broad, wrinkled forehead as he spoke, and his voice, despite the sarcasm of his tone, betrayed a certain dryness in the throat.
'That is no good reason for being imprudent,' retorted Cristofano, stiffening.
'I admit that,' said Melani. 'But before we enter this claustration, I should like to know what our chances are of leaving here alive. And I wager…'
'I care not what you wager. The others are already in their apartments.'
'… I wager that no one knows exactly how we are to organise the days to come. What will happen if the dead should begin to pile up? Shall we get rid of them? But how, then, if only the weakest should survive? Are we certain that provisions will be supplied? And what is happening outside these walls? Has the infection spread or not?'
'That is not…'
'All of this is important, Cristofano. No one can go on alone, as you thought to do. We must speak of these things, if only to lighten the burden of our sad predicament.'
From the physician's weak response, I understood that Atto's arguments were breaching his defences. To complete the abbot's work, at that moment we were joined by Stilone Priaso and Devize who seemed also to have many anxious questions to put to the physician.
'Very well,' said Cristofano, yielding with a sigh before the two could even open their mouths. 'What do you want to know?'
'Nothing whatever,' replied Atto superciliously. 'We need first of all to reason together: when shall we fall ill?'
'Well, if and when the infection comes,' replied the physician.
'Oh, come, come!' retorted Stilone. 'In the worst case, supposing that this is indeed the pestilence, when will that happen? Are you or are you not the physician?'
'Yes, indeed, when?' I echoed, almost as though to give myself strength.
Cristofano was touched to the quick. He opened wide his round black, barn-owl eyes and, arching an eyebrow in an unmistakeable sign that he was disposed to talk with us, he gravely raised two fingers to the pointed beard on his chin.
Then, however, he thought better of it and put off his explanations until evening, it being his intention, he said, to call us together after supper, on which occasion he would furnish us with whatever elucidations we might desire.
Thereupon, Abbot Melani returned to his apartment. Cristofano, however, retained Stilone Priaso and Devize.
'It seems I heard, when I was speaking to you a moment ago, that you are suffering from a certain intestinal flatulence. If you wish, I have with me a good remedy to rid you of that nuisance.'
The two consented, not without some embarrassment. All four of us then resolved to descend to the ground floor, where Cristofano ordered me to prepare a small portion of good broth with which to administer the four grains per head of Oil of Sulphur. The physician would, in the meanwhile, anoint the back and loins of Stilone Priaso and Devize with his special balsam.
While Cristofano went to collect the necessary, which he had left in his chamber, the Frenchman went into a corner at the far end of the room to tune his guitar. I hoped that he would again play that intriguing piece which had so enchanted me in the morning, but, soon after, he rose and returned to the kitchen, where he stopped behind the table at which the Neapolitan poet was seated, and never again touched the instrument. Stilone Priaso had taken out a notebook and was scribbling something in it.
'Fear not, my boy. We shall not die of the pestilence,' said he, turning to me as I busied myself in the
