I made my way along the cobbled walkways and over the narrow bridges from my old apartments to the Grand Canal, then down the wide promenade that lined it, past palaces and the closed market booths of the Rialto, to Veronica’s, which lay down one of the more narrow canals on an open market square. The signora was a courtesan of the highest order, a Florentine, they said, who entertained the nobility of church and business in the sumptuous upper floors of a five-story building. The lower three floors were little more than a bawdy house with fine draperies, but it was patronized by the rich merchant and political classes, who sneered at tattered street harlots on their way to have their knobs gobbled by the broken bawds’ younger sisters. Here Jessica’s Lorenzo was supposed to meet his friends from Antonio’s entourage.

A young blond whore stood in the arabesque arched entryway, her dress of bloodred silk rolled down to her waist, her nipples rouged and attending a chill I did not feel in the sultry night air. Only in Venice could a whore wear silk, a cloth rare enough to be reserved for royalty in other territories.

“Shag a virgin, five shillings. Sail you off the edge of the world for six,”* she called by routine, bored. The archway was lit by two oil torches, but she waved a small storm lantern as well, as if gondolas might have to navigate through the clear night to find her. “Hey there. I’m not supposed to service Jews, but it’s a slow night, so I’ll have you off on a stand-up around the corner for five shillings.”

“The virgin price?”

“Why not? Was a virgin three times tonight already, innit?”

“Right, well done. You know Lorenzo?” I asked. “One of Antonio Donnola’s men?”

“Lorenzo? Short fellow with the pointy black beard? He’s fit enough but usually light a shilling or two for a shag, so stands about drinking. Right, he’s inside with his mates, but you can’t go in there with that yellow hat on.”

“Would you fetch him for me?”

“What’s it worth to you?”

I had only two pennies left from the bread money I’d begged from Jessica. I held the coppers forth, took off my hat, and bowed. “Tell him I’ve a message from Jessica, if you would be so kind, milady.”

“I suppose,” she said, taking the coins and making them disappear with the alacrity of a magician. “You know, you’re not so bad. If you’d trim that beard and have a meal or two, I’d have a go at ya.”

“For five shillings, of course?” said I, with a smile.

“Well, I’m not a bloody charity, am I, love?”

“I am honored merely to be considered,” said I. Another bow.