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"Ciacconio has scented a presence in the galleria."

"The two monsters think that there is someone in the vicinity," murmured Atto.

"Gfrrrlubh," confirmed Ciacconio, pointing to the tunnel from which we had emerged.

"Perhaps we are being followed. I and Ciacconio shall wait here, in the dark," decided Abbot Melani. "You two, however, will proceed slowly with both lanterns lit. Thus, we shall be able to intercept him when he follows your light."

I did not welcome the prospect of remaining alone with Ugonio, but we all obeyed without a murmur. Melani and Ciacconio stayed hidden in the dark. Suddenly, I felt my heart beating harder, while my breath became shorter.

Ugonio and I advanced for twenty or thirty paces, then we stopped and listened intently. Nothing.

"Ciacconio has scented a presence and a foliage," Ugonio mut­tered to me.

"Do you mean to say a leaf?"

Ugonio nodded in affirmation.

A figure could be vaguely discerned in the gallery. I tensed all my muscles for I knew not what: to attack, to face an attacker; more probably, to flee.

It was Atto. He gestured that we should join him.

"The stranger was not following us," he announced as soon as we had rejoined him. "He is proceeding alone, and he has taken the main gallery, that which goes straight, after the narrow hole. It is we who shall follow him. We must make haste, or we may lose him."

We caught up with Ciacconio, who was waiting for us, motionless as a statue, leaning forward into the darkness with the tip of his nose.

"Gfrrrlubh."

"Mascular, juvenilious, robustious, scarified," pronounced Ugonio.

"Male, youthful, in good health, frightened," translated Atto un­der his breath. "I cannot bear them, those two."

We turned to the left, again taking the main conduit and keeping a single lantern lit with as small a flame as possible. After advancing for a few minutes, we at last glimpsed before us a faint and distant glimmer. It was the lamp borne by our prey. Atto gestured to me to extinguish our own lantern. We walked on tiptoe, striving to move noiselessly.

For a good stretch, we followed the mysterious traveller, without, however, being able to catch sight of him, because the gallery curved slightly to the right. If we were to move too far forward he in turn might catch sight of us, in which case there was a risk that he might flee.

Suddenly, from under my foot there came a slight crackling. I had trodden on a dry leaf.

We halted with bated breath. The individual stopped, too. Ab­solute silence enveloped the gallery. We heard a rhythmic rustling grow steadily nearer. A shadow cast by the light of the man we were following stretched out towards us. We prepared for a clash. The two
corpisantari
remained motionless, impenetrable behind their cowls. In the penumbra, I descried a faint gleam in Atto's hand. Despite my fear, I managed a smile: it was surely his pipe. Then, where the gal­lery curved, came the revelation.

We had been following a monster. On the left-hand side of the cavity, the light of the stranger's lantern revealed the shadow of a horrible hooked arm. There followed a pointed, oblong cranium, from which sprouted disgustingly thick and robust fur. The body was form­less and out of proportion. An infernal being, which we had imagined we could surprise, crawled forward menacingly as it approached our little group. We stood as though frozen. The silhouette of the monster took one, two, three paces forward. It was on the point of appearing round the corner of the gallery. It stopped.

"Go away!"

We all gave a start, and I felt my strength drain away from me. The shadow on the wall became enormous, deformed beyond any logical expectation. Then it shrank, regaining normal proportions, while the being itself appeared before our eyes in flesh and blood.

It was a rat the size of a little dog, with a clumsy, uncertain gait. Instead of springing away rapidly upon seeing us (like the sewer rat which I and Atto had run into during the course of our first incursion into the subterranean world), the big creature advanced laboriously, indifferent to our presence. The lantern had projected its silhouette onto the wall of the gallery, magnifying it enormously.

"Disgusting brute, you frightened me!" said the voice again. The light began to move away from us again. Before darkness descended upon us once more, I exchanged a glance with Atto. Like me, he had no difficulty in recognising the voice of Stilone Priaso.

Having left the dying rat behind us, we patiently continued on our way. The surprising revelation had provoked in me a turmoil of sup­positions and suspicions. I knew very little about Stilone Priaso, be­yond what he had let slip. He called himself a poet, yet it was clear that he did not live by verse alone. His clothing, although not luxurious, revealed a degree of affluence far beyond that of a mere poetaster of circumstance. I had immediately suspected that the true source of his income must be very different. And now, his inexplicable presence in those underground passages rekindled my every doubt.

We followed him for another stretch, to a stairway which led up­wards and which suddenly became narrow and suffocating. We were now in darkness. We moved in single file, led by Ciacconio, who had no difficulty in following in the tracks of Stilone Priaso. At the same time, he sensed the variations in the terrain and communicated them to me, who came second in the group, by means of rapid taps on my shoulder.

Suddenly, Ciacconio halted, then moved on again. The steps had come to an end. I felt a new air caressing my face. From the faint echo of our footfalls, I surmised that the space we had entered was quite vast. Ciacconio hesitated. Atto asked me to light the lantern.

Great was my confusion when, half-blinded by the light, we looked around us. We were in an enormous artificial cavity, the walls of which were entirely covered with frescoes. In the middle, there stood a great marble object, which I was unable as yet to distinguish clearly. Ugonio and Ciacconio too seemed out of their element in this unknown place.

"Gfrrrlubh," complained Ciacconio.

"The malodour conceals the presence," explained Ugonio.

He referred to the strong odour of stale urine which reigned in this room. Atto stared transfixed at the paintings which looked down on us. One could distinguish birds, the faces of women, athletes, rich floral decorations and everywhere a gay abundance of ornamentation.

"We have no time," said he, immediately breaking the spell. "He cannot just disappear like this."

We quickly found two exits. Ciacconio had regained his composure and showed us which, judging by his nose, was the right one to take. He guided us at a frenetic pace through a maze of other rooms, which we were unable to take in, because of our haste and the weak light of our lantern. The absence of windows, of fresh air and of any human presence proved that we were, however, still under the ground.

"These are Roman ruins," said Atto with a hint of excitement. "We may be under the Palace of the Chancellery."

"Have you ever been in there?"

"But of course. I knew the Vice-Chancellor, Cardinal Barberini, very well; he requested a number of favours of me, too. The palace is magnificent and the halls grandiose, even the travertine fagades are not bad, although..."

He had to break off, because Ciacconio was making us climb a staircase which rose, perilously devoid of any handrail, through the dull emptiness of another great cavity. We all joined hands. The stairs seemed endless.

"Gfrrrlubh," exulted Ciacconio at the top, pushing open a door that led to the street. Thus, half-dead with fear and fatigue, we again found ourselves in the open.

Instinctively I filled my lungs, heartened, after five days of quarantine inside the Donzello, by the fine, refreshing night air.

For once, I could make myself useful. I immediately recognised at once where we were, having been there several times with Pellegrino who purchased provisions for the Donzello at this place. It was the

Arco degli Acetari, near to the Campo di Fiore and Piazza Farnese. Ciacconio, his nose in the air once more, immediately dragged us towards the broad open space of Campo di Fiore. A light drizzle silently swept over us. In the piazza we saw only two beggars curled up on the ground near to their poor possessions, and a boy who was pushing a hand cart towards an alleyway. We came to the opposite end of the piazza and suddenly Ciacconio pointed out a small building to us. We were in a familiar street, the name of which escaped me. No light came from the windows of the building. At ground level, however, a door was ajar. The street was empty, but in order to exercise the greatest possible caution, Ugonio and Ciacconio mounted guard on either side of us. We drew near: the muffled sound of a distant voice reached us. With extreme caution, I pushed the door open. A little staircase led down to where, behind another half-open door, light seemed to be issuing from a room. The voice came from there, joined now by that of the person addressed.

Atto preceded me until we reached the foot of the stairs. There, we realised that we were walking on a veritable carpet of scattered leaves. Atto was gathering some of these up, when suddenly the voices drew nearer, just behind the half-closed door.

"... and here are forty scudi," we heard one of the pair say.

We rushed up the stairs and went out of the street door, taking care, however, to leave it ajar, so as not to raise any suspicions. With Ugonio and Ciacconio we hid by the corner of the building.

Our aim had been true: Stilone Priaso emerged from the door. He glanced around him and walked rapidly towards the Arco degli Acetari.

"And what now?"

"Now let us open the cage," replied Atto. He murmured some­thing to Ugonio and Ciacconio, who replied with a sordid and cruel smile. And off they trotted on the trail of Stilone.

"And what about us?" I asked, covered in confusion.

"We are going home, but calmly. Ugonio and Ciacconio will await us underground, after completing a certain little errand."

We returned by a more circuitous route, avoiding crossing the middle of the Campo di Fiore, so as not to be seen by anyone. We were, Atto mentioned in passing, not far from the French embassy and there was a risk of being surprised by the night guard. Thanks to his acquaintances, he could even have asked for asylum. But at that hour, rather than arrest us, the embassy's Corsican guards might perhaps have preferred to rob us and cut our throats.

"As you may know, in Rome there exists 'the freedom of the quar­ter': meaning that the Pontiff's men and the Bargello can arrest no one in the quarter of the embassies. This arrangement is, however, becoming all too convenient for fugitive assassins. That is why the Corsican guards do not waste much time on subtleties. My brother Alessandro, who is
maestro di cappella
to Cardinal Pamphili, has ab­sented himself from Rome at the present time. Otherwise he could have provided us with an escort."

We returned under the ground. Thanks be to heaven, our lanterns were undamaged. We walked through the subterranean labyrinth in search of the hall with the frescoes, and we were on the point of giv­ing ourselves up for lost when, from some unknown passageway, the
corpisantari
appeared at our side.

"Did you have a pleasant conversation?" asked Atto.

"Gfrrrlubh!" answered Ciacconio with a smug grin.

"What did you do to him?" I asked with concern.

"Gfrrrlubh."

His grunt calmed my fears. I had the bizarre impression that I was, by some obscure means, beginning to understand the
corpisantaro
monochord language.

"Ciacconio has but affrighted him," assured Ugonio.

"Suppose that you had never seen our two friends," explained Atto, "then imagine them both jumping upon you screaming, in a dark underground passage. Next, suppose that they asked you a favour, in exchange for which they would leave you in peace, what would you do?"

"I should certainly do whatever they asked!"

"There you are, they merely inquired of Stilone what he had just been up to, and why."

Ugonio's account, briefly, ran as follows. Poor Stilone Priaso had visited the shop of a certain Komarek, who from time to time worked in the printing press of the Congregatio De Propaganda Fide, and at night undertook a few clandestine jobs on his own to supplement his earnings. Komarek printed gazettes, anonymous letters, perhaps even books placed on the Index: all prohibited material, for which he ensured that he was very well paid. Stilone Priaso had commissioned him to print a few letters containing political predictions, on behalf of a friend in Naples. In exchange, the two were to share the profits. That was why he was in Rome.