I went to the Piazza San Marco only when I had to. The clanging of that bell made me feel dizzy and sick. My heartbeat accelerated, as if I had run up all the stairs to the top of the clock tower, when I was only standing in its shadow. I wanted to get away, but my legs trembled so much I could scarcely walk.One day, the Grand Inquisitor brought his new toy to show me. Of all the men who bought my favours, the Grand Inquisitor was one I never dared to turn away, even though he was in Venice only under sufferance from the Council of Ten, who had told him dryly that they thought the poor peasants of the Veneto – suffering greatly under the scourge of the Roman Inquisition – were in need of a good preaching rather than persecution. The Grand Inquisitor was a tall spare man with a pale ascetic face, who relished the heavy dark robes of his Dominican order since they hid any erection the sight of a young devout girl in church might bring. His new toy was a portable clock, an incredibly tiny mechanism no larger than the size of my clenched fist, which he wore on a chain around his neck.
