In the Company of the Courtesan Read Online Free PDF Page A

ways and foretelling the sack of the city within fourteen days. Prophecy may be a divine art, but it is an imprecise one: two months later he was still in prison. “What? You really think that if Rome had changed her ways, this wouldn’t be happening? You should read more of your own gossip sheets, Ascanio. This place has been rank for decades. Pope Clement’s sins are no worse than those of a dozen holy embezzlers who came before him. This isn’t bad faith we’re suffering from but bad politics. This emperor doesn’t brook challenge from anyone, and any pope who took him on—especially a Medici one—always risked getting his balls squeezed.”
    He sniggered at my words and took another gulp of wine. The screaming began once more. The merchant again? Or maybe the banker this time? Or the fat notary, whose house was even bigger than his paunch and who earned his living creaming off cuts from the bribes he processed into the papal coffers. On the street, he had a voice like a gelded goat, but when it comes to agony, one man’s screams sound much like another’s.
    Ascanio shivered. “What do you have that’s so precious you wouldn’t give it up, Bucino?”
    â€œNothing but my balls,” I said, and I tossed two of my lady’s pomades high into the air.
    â€œAlways the smart answer, eh? No wonder she loves you. You may be an ugly little sot, but I know a dozen men in Rome who’d swap their fortunes for yours, even now. You’re a lucky fellow.”
    â€œThe luck of the damned,” I said. Strange how, now we were so close to death, the truth seemed to tumble out so easily. “Ever since my mother first looked at me and fainted in horror.” And I grinned.
    He stared at me for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of you, Bucino. For all your twisted limbs and fat head, you’re an arrogant little bastard. Do you know what Aretino used to say about you? That your very existence was a challenge to Rome, because your ugliness was more true than all of its beauty. I wonder what he’d make of all this, eh? He knew it would happen too, you know. He said as much when he blasted the pope in his last
prognostico.
”
    â€œJust as well he isn’t here then. Or both sides would have set fire to his pen by now.”
    Ascanio didn’t say anything, just slid his head down on the table as if it was all too much for him. There was a time when you would have found him hunched over the machines late into the night, running off newly printed gossip sheets to keep the city informed of its own bowel movements. He had liked being on the edge of it all then; I daresay it made him feel like he owned a slice of it. But the rankness of a prison cell had drained his spirit and pumped bitterness into his veins. He gave a groan and started up. “I have to go.” But he was still trembling.
    â€œYou could stay here, for a while at least.”
    â€œNo, no, I can’t…. I—I have to get out.”
    â€œYou going back to the press?”
    â€œI—I don’t know.” He was up and moving around now, the energy of nerves, twitchy and jumpy, eyes everywhere at once. Outside, our neighbor’s screams had turned to wild, sporadic moaning. “You know what I’m going to do as soon as this is over? Get my stinking carcass out of here. Set up somewhere on my own. Taste the good life for myself.”
    But the good life was seeping away all around us. His eyes darted around the room again. “You should come with me, Bucino. You can do accounting in your head, and those juggler’s fingers would be good with the typesetting. Think about it. Even if you make it through this, the best whores last only a few years. This way I could see us both right. I’ve got money, and with your knowledge of the backstreets, I bet you could find us a way out of here safely tonight.”
    There came a