Within a few years, the enemy’s disease—whatever name you wanted to use—was widespread. Maybe it came from a Roman brothel, maybe from a victim of war crimes in Naples, or maybe it was carried in from the homeland of one of the mercenaries. Whatever it was, it was horrible. The German scholar and poet Ulrich von Hutten contracted the disease in the early 1500s, and wrote about dark green boils as big as acorns, filled with a foul stench. The accompanying pain was like being laid on a fire.
