No one responded to Cloridia's invitation, which all believed to be merely introductory to other deeper but financially more onerous inquiries.
'Perhaps this is not the best of moments, dear lady,' said Atto Melani courteously, to save her from embarrassment. 'So sad is our plight that it overshadows even your delightful company.'
To everyone's surprise, Cloridia then grasped Bedfordi's hand and drew it gently to her: precisely in front of that luxuriant bosom, decollete after the French fashion.
'Perhaps it would be better to have a nice palm reading,' proposed Cloridia, 'but gratis, of course, and only for your pleasure.'
This once, Bedfordi remained speechless, and, before he could refuse, Cloridia had lovingly opened his fist.
'Here we are,' said she, caressing the Englishman's palm with a fingertip. 'You'll see, you will really enjoy this.'
All present (including myself) had imperceptibly stretched forward, the better to see and to hear.
'Has anyone ever read your palm?' asked Cloridia, gently smoothing first his fingertips and then his wrist.
'Yes. I mean no… I mean, not like this.'
'Calm down, and Cloridia will explain to you all the secrets of the hand and of good fortune. First of all, the fingers of the hand are unequal for decency's sake, and for greater ease in using them. The great finger is known as the thumb or Pollex, quiapollet, meaning that it is stronger than the others. The second is called the Index, because it is used to indicate; the third is called Infamous, because 'tis a sign of derision and contumely; the fourth is the Medical or Annular, meaning that it is the ring finger; and the fifth is the Auricular, because 'tis used to pick and to clean the ears.'
While she conducted her review of the digital apparatus, Cloridia underlined her every phrase by wantonly tickling Bedfordi's fingers, while he strove to conceal his agitation with a weak smile, showing a sort of involuntary aversion before the fair sex which I have observed only in travellers coming from northern climes. Cloridia went on to illustrate other parts of the hand: 'Here, you see, this line which ascends from the wrist towards the index finger, right here, is the Life Line, or Heart Line. This one which cuts across the hand more or less from left to right is the Natural Line or Head Line. Its sister line, close by, is known as the Convivial Line. This little swelling is known as the Girdle of Venus. Do you like that name?' inquired Cloridia insinuatingly.
'I do, very much so,' interrupted Brenozzi.
'Get back, you idiot,' retorted Stilone, repelling Brenozzi's attempt to conquer a position closer to Cloridia.
'I know, I know, it is a lovely name,' said Cloridia, turning first to
Bedfordi, then to Brenozzi with a knowing little smile, 'but these too are beautiful: the Finger of Venus, the Mount of Venus, the Finger of the Sun, the Mount of the Sun, the Finger of Mars, the Mount of Mars, the Mount of Jupiter, the Finger of Saturn, the Mount of Saturn and the Seat of Mercury.'
While she thus illustrated fingers, knuckles, wrinkles, lines, joints, swellings and hollows, in skilful and sensual counterpoint, Cloridia shifted her index finger alternately from Bedfordi's palm to her own cheeks, to the Englishman's palm and then to her own lips, again to Bedfordi's wrist, then to the first gentle slopes of her generous bosom. Bedfordi swallowed.
'Then we have the Line of the Liver, the Line or Way of the Sun, the Line of Mars, the Line of Saturn, the Mount of the Moon, and it all concludes with the Milky Way…'
'Oh yes, the Milky Way,' gulped Brenozzi, swooning away.
By now, almost all the group had gathered around Cloridia, as not even the ox and the ass did with Our Lord on the night when he came into the world.
'However, you do have a fine hand, and your soul must be even finer,' said Cloridia obligingly, drawing Bedfordi's palm for a brief instant to the brown skin between her bosom and her neck.
'As to your body, however, I cannot tell,' said she, laughing and playfully pushing Bedfordi's hand far from her, as though in self defence, then seizing Dulcibeni's.
All eyes were fixed on the older gentleman. He, however, broke free of the courtesan's grasp with a brusque, ill-humoured gesture and, rising from the table, made his way towards the stairs.
'But what a to-do,' commented Cloridia ironically, trying to hide her pique by vexedly arranging a lock of her hair. 'And what an ugly temper!'
At that very moment, the thought crossed my mind that in the past few days Cloridia had sat ever closer to Dulcibeni, who had, however, repulsed her with growing irritation. Unlike Robleda, who made an exaggerated show of being scandalised by the courtesan but had perhaps willingly visited her on several nights, Dulcibeni seemed to experience a real, deep disgust in the young woman's presence. No other guest at the inn dared treat Cloridia with such disdain. But, perhaps precisely because of that, or because of the money which (as seemed clear) Dulcibeni did not lack, the courtesan seemed to have set her heart on speaking to the gentleman from Fermo. Since she was unable to extract one word from him, Cloridia had several times asked me about Dulcibeni, being curious to learn any particulars concerning him.
The doctor took advantage of the abrupt break in the palm reading to resume his explanations about the remedies against the risk of infection. He distributed various pills, odoriferous balls and other things to us. We then all filed up behind him when he went to check on the state of Pellegrino's health.
We entered my master's chamber, where he lay on his bed, seeming now a little less livid. The daylight from the window gave us comfort while the physician inspected his patient.
'Mmmh,' groaned Pellegrino.
'He is not dead,' affirmed Cristofano. 'His eyes are half-open, he still has a fever, but his colours have improved. And he has wet himself.'
We commented on the news with great relief. Soon, however, the Tuscan physician found that his patient was catatonic and able to respond only weakly to external stimuli.
'Pellegrino, tell me what you understand of my words,' murmured Cristofano.
'Mmmh,' repeated my master.
'He cannot,' observed the physician, with conviction. 'He is able to discern voices but not to answer. I have already encountered such a one: a peasant who was crushed by a tree trunk blown down by the wind. For months, he was unable to utter a word, although he was perfectly able to understand whatever his wife and children said to him.'
'And then what happened?'
'Nothing. He died.'
I was asked to say a few words gently to the patient, to try to revive him. But I met with no success; not even by murmuring to him that the inn was in flames and his stock of wine in danger could I get him to overcome the torpor that enveloped him.
Despite this, Cristofano was relieved. The two protuberances on my master's neck were becoming lighter in colour and receding; so they were not tokens. Whether petechiae or mere bruises, they were now regressing. We no longer seemed to be threatened by a visitation of the plague. We could at last relax a little. We did not, however, abandon the sick man to his fate. We at once checked that Pellegrino was able to swallow both solids and liquids, however slowly; and I offered to feed him regularly. The inn remained nevertheless deprived of the person who best knew it and was best equipped to serve us. I was just reflecting on these considerations when the others, satisfied with their visit to their host's bedside, gradually dispersed. I remained alone by the physician's side, while he continued his careful observation of Pellegrino's inert and supine body.
'I would venture that matters are improving; but one must always beware of being over-sure when dealing with distempers,' he commented.
We were interrupted by the vigorous ringing of a bell in the Via dell'Orso, just under our windows. I leaned out; there stood three men sent to make our roll-call and ensure that none of us had escaped the watchman's attention. First, however, Cristofano must report to them on our state of health. I ran to the other chambers and gathered all the guests together. Some looked apprehensively at my poor master, who was totally incapable of standing on his own feet.
Fortunately, the sagacity of Cristofano and Abbot Melani soon saw that problem resolved. We assembled on the first floor, in Pompeo Dulcibeni's apartment. Cristofano was the first to show himself at the window, assuring
