last word. I shudder. Everyone in Venice knows about this prison—the place where we send our most wicked criminals to rot. Commissioned by a former Doge, the entrance of the prison is two meters from the outskirts of the palace, but the cells rest above the palace itself, right under the leaded roof.
“Why?” I gasp. “Surely he doesn’t deserve that. Nothing’s been proven!”
“The Doge says he cannot intervene. The law courts must go through due process, and besides …” Her mouth twists in a bitter smile. “He’s negotiating with the Florentine ambassador and preparing for the arrival of the Turks in a day or two. That’s why he could not see you. Negotiations are at a crucial stage, and my husband cannot be seen to be meddling with the law of our city.” She casts her eyes around the room, taking in the gold and marble, the countless oil paintings and lacquered surfaces. “Meanwhile, I sit in a gilt cage and go slowly mad.” Her gaze suddenly turns on me and her face burns with passion. “But you! You can go and see my son. Comfort him. If I gain you access, promise a mother you will do this!” She pulls my hands to her face and rests her cheek against them.
“I promise,” I say. “I will do everything I can. I love Roberto.”
The Duchess’s eyes brim with tears. “So do I. Tell him that for me.”
I get to my feet and ask if a servant can call me a coach. The prison entrance isn’t far from here, but it’s best to be discreet.
“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” the Duchess says, the light returning to her eyes. “Come with me.”
She leads me down a warren of wood-paneled corridors. I glimpse cooks and maidservants, officials and guards, who pause in their duties to curtsy or bow their heads as we go by. I sense that we are passing through the entire length of the palace. Only once do we cross an outdoor courtyard, heading through what seems to be a part of the palace under renovation. We enter a rougher section of the building, half finished and uninhabited. We climb several flights of rickety stairs. Such are the quirks of Venetian architecture; I feel we’ve traveled in a circle. A rat has died in one of the dusty passages. Then ascend higher and higher, the air getting hotter and hotter. At last the Duchess pauses at a door, half hidden in the shadows. I put my hand against it and the surface is cold—it’s made of metal.
“The Piombi,” I murmur. The leaded prison. There is another entrance. I taste the cruel irony of Roberto’s situation—locked in a jail under his own roof.
“I cannot go any farther,” the Duchess explains. “It would be a scandal for the Doge. Here.” She hands me the ducal seal, cast in wax. “Show this, and the warden will allow you access.” Her glance drifts to the secret door. “To think my son is through there somewhere and I cannot even …” She turns her face away to hide her emotion, then retreats back down the corridor. I’m on my own.
The door clangs as I knock on it, then slides open. A man gives me a lecherous, gap-toothed smile, his face red and greasy. “A jewel amidst the pig swill,” he comments. “What brings you here?”
I feel perspiration prickle beneath my armpits. “I am here to see Roberto, the Doge’s son.”
The warden laughs and spits on the floor, littered with damp and rotting straw. “Oh, that one!” he remarks. “Yes, he looks handsome enough to catch a prize such as you. But I don’t think he should be allowed to look upon you now.”
I show him the seal, and he nods thoughtfully before turning his back. “Follow me.”
Immediately, the stench hits me. I can smell sweat and dirt, feces and blood—but, more than that, I can detect the scent of desperation.
This is it, then. I must follow.
As we climb a set of stairs, the heat increases. I am soon aware of the circles of sweat staining the fabric of my dress. Beneath our feet, I can see rows of roofless cells with men lying or squatting on the packed dirt floor. White half crescents shine from their filthy faces as their eyes watch me, and clothes torn into rags only just cover their bodies. One man is almost naked but for a loincloth, his body writhing as he stretches across his cell, froth