Inquisition (19 page)

The Inquisitor’s voice had been increasing in volume until he was shouting. Beads of spit formed at the corners of his mouth. He wiped them away with the back of his hand without taking his eyes off the physician. Mondino looked down at the terracotta tiles at his feet and realised that he didn’t want to look up again. But he made himself raise his eyes and look straight into Uberto’s, before admitting defeat. ‘I agree, father.’

‘And you are right to. That way you can save yourself and not throw your life away. As I said, despite the proof against you, the Church is inclined to believe in your innocence, at least for the moment, and you will not be accused of anything.’

‘I am grateful to you.’

A murmur of voices could be heard in the garden. The Inquisitor went over to the window and peered into the night. Suddenly the voices stopped and Uberto turned back to face him.

‘Let’s say that you shall show your gratitude in more than just words, magister,’ he said. ‘If the Inquisitor’s tribunal required you to give evidence, in your capacity of doctor and professor at the
Studium
, that the heart of that German monk was transformed into metal thanks to a work of sorcery, would you do it? Just answer yes or no.’

His intentions were finally clear. The Church had spotted an opportunity to exploit that mysterious killing as grounds for proof in the trial against the templars. To condemn Mondino was not ideal because it would shift the attention from those whom the Inquisition wanted to be the guilty parties, despite the two dead templars being victims and not murderers. This was why they were offering impunity in exchange for his witness statement. Mondino was in a trap; he had no choice. His whole being wanted to reply yes. Instead the word that came out of his mouth was the exact opposite. ‘No.’

Uberto reacted by hitting the table with one of his little fists, making the inkstand wobble, fall over and spill ink over the polished surface. He distractedly took a piece of high-quality parchment and pressed it on the growing stain, without taking his dark eyes off Mondino.

‘Do not try to leave this room, you will be stopped the minute you go through that door,’ he said, stretching his free hand towards a little silver bell. ‘In a moment the guards will come and take you away.’

‘One moment,’ said Mondino, lifting up both his hands in a gesture of surrender that cost him a terrible struggle with himself. ‘Can we talk about it?’

‘There’s nothing more to say,’ said Uberto, rolling up the parchment and throwing it on the tiled floor. ‘Is it to be yes or no?’

‘What you are asking of me is not easy,’ said Mondino. ‘I might be able to do it, but I need a few days to think about it.’ He said this in order to secure a bit more time and put off the arrival of the guards, but as he said it he realised that he was telling the truth. In just a few seconds his life had threatened to change direction. He found himself at a crossroads and he didn’t like either of the options open to him, for different reasons. He felt confused and needed to be alone to think it over properly.

Uberto da Rimini opened his lips in a taut smile. ‘Not so arrogant now, are we magister?’ he said. ‘The prospect of ending up in prison tends to have that effect. All right, I’ll give you two days. If you have not decided to testify by sunset on sunday, you will be arrested. I trust you not to run away. If you do, I will make the accusation against you public. You will be hounded wherever you go, and you could no longer teach at your beloved university.’

Mondino nodded, saying nothing. The Inquisitor rang the silver bell and two friars, as vast as bulls, appeared at the door.

‘See this man out,’ said Uberto. ‘He is free for the time being.’

Mondino made a slight bow and went over to the door. As he was leaving, the Inquisitor called him back.

‘There’s one more thing. Other than giving evidence at the trial, you must say where the person who brought you the corpse is hiding.’

Mondino turned towards him and was on the point of saying something, but Uberto stopped him with a wave of his hand. ‘Think well before you lie. I know that he is one of your students and I imagine that he is a templar in disguise. I am certain that it was he who killed these men in such an ignoble manner.’

‘I am certain of the opposite,’ replied Mondino, in a decided voice. ‘He is a young man who has found himself involved in something much bigger than him.’

‘If it wasn’t him, then it has to be you,’ said the Inquisitor with a cherubic expression. ‘We need a culprit. You choose who it is to be.’

As soon as Mondino had left, Uberto sent for Guido Arlotti. The defrocked priest was waiting in a room next door and came straight in.

‘From now on, you must never leave Mondino’s side,’ ordered the Inquisitor. ‘I want to know where he goes, what he does and whom he meets. And above all I want to know where that phoney student who used to live in the house that was set on fire is hiding. He passed himself off as Francesco Salimbene, but it’s a false name and by now he will have changed it. Mondino will definitely go and advise him to escape.’

‘It will be done, father,’ replied Guido. ‘Don’t you think that Mondino will run too?’

‘No, his life is here, he won’t bolt. He is useful to us free and he knows it.’

Guido Arlotti nodded. ‘I will get straight to work.’ then he turned on his heel and left the room.

Gerardo turned away from the beggar whose clothes he had stolen and slowly began to move to the other side of the subterraneous hall, followed by Hugues de Narbonne. The man couldn’t have recognised them, because they had attacked him from behind, but there was still a high risk of being discovered. If they didn’t find the Ferrarese in that part of the hall, they should leave, without going back to the place where, in a loud voice, the semi-naked beggar had begun telling the story of his misadventure, obviously not mentioning the silver coin that Gerardo had left in his hand in return for his bag and clothes.

They took small steps, careful not to stand on the odds and ends scattered all over the floor. Meanwhile the room was gradually filling up as more and more men and women were arriving in dribs and drabs. Fortunately, many seemed not to know each other, so the presence of the two templars in disguise went unobserved. Gerardo asked them in turn if they knew where to find the Ferrarese, but without much success. Some didn’t know him, others said that over the last few days he hadn’t left the hall, but they couldn’t say where he was just then. The two moved towards the top of the steps, going to a fire over which two men and a woman were cooking green apples in a small earthenware saucepan. Gerardo asked them about the cripple and the woman looked at him suspiciously. She was about twenty and would have been beautiful if it were not for her excessive thinness and for the fact that she was missing three front teeth. ‘Why are you looking for him?’ she asked.

Gerardo told her the story that they had made up beforehand. They had been driven out of Ravenna and on the road another vagabond had told them to look for a beggar missing a hand called the Ferrarese once they got to Bologna. He was a good man and would help them to find their way around the city.

‘A good man, the Ferrarese?’ laughed the older of the two men, a squat fellow with grey curly hair. ‘Whoever told you that must have been blind and deaf!’

The other two laughed scornfully and the woman changed position in an unseemly manner, uncovering her legs to some way above the knee. Gerardo looked away.

‘There are no good people here,’ said the older man. ‘Only bastards who will do anything to live another day.’

‘It’s like that in Ravenna too,’ said Gerardo, imitating the common vernacular of the servants at home and sitting down next to them. ‘Anyway, even if he is a bastard, I want to meet the Ferrarese.’

All three of the vagrants suddenly went silent. The eldest was stirring the apples in the earthenware pan with a piece of wood. The younger man, who had fair hair, a long beard and who hadn’t yet spoken, whispered menacingly, ‘No one asked you to sit down. You don’t scrounge a meal with your story about the cripple, get it?’

The woman, looking at Gerardo in a way that made him blush, said, ‘We only have these apples, and they are for us.’ ‘Sour apples,’ mumbled the beggar with the grey hair. ‘You have to cook them until they become mush, otherwise they give you stomach ache.’

‘But if you’ve got something too,’ continued the woman, ‘You can stay. The Ferrarese will be here soon.’

‘Harlot!’ exclaimed the young bearded man. ‘I know why you’re asking him to stay.’

‘Go to hell,’ she answered, aggressively. In a flash, a shard of broken crockery appeared in her hand. ‘Or I’ll cut off what isn’t any use to you any more.’

The old man chortled. Gerardo and Hugues joined in the laughter, hoping to play down the situation. The blond man looked at Hugues sceptically.

‘Didn’t you say your friend was deaf and dumb?’

‘So?’

‘Then why did he laugh, if he can’t hear?’ Gerardo sighed, pretending to be exasperated. ‘Because he’s not blind.’

‘What the hell’s that got to do with it?’

‘He saw everyone laughing and so he laughed too.’ Gerardo got up. The conversation was starting to get dangerous. ‘We’re leaving.’

‘Didn’t you want to meet the Ferrarese?’ asked the woman.

The fair man glared at her and then he looked at Gerardo with open hostility and started to get to his feet. Hugues took on a combat position, slightly bending his knees. The young beggar looked at them both and fell back down next to his miserable fire.

‘If you know where we could find him, mistress,’ said Gerardo, ‘Please tell us now.’

‘Mistress my arse!’ the fair man laughed bitterly, taking hold of the woman by the arm. ‘She’s a sow, that’s what she is.’ ‘Leave me alone!’ shouted the woman, abruptly getting up and hiding behind the two templars. ‘If you touch me, they’ll protect me.’ then, turning to Gerardo, ‘So have you got anything to eat or not?’

The situation left no alternative. Gerardo only wanted to get away from the three of them, but that would have aroused their suspicion. ‘Sure,’ he said, feeling the bag and congratuLating himself for having looked inside before coming down into the underworld. ‘Five sparrows and a piece of bread. Much better than your apples.’

At these words the men’s expressions became docile. The older one with the grey hair said, ‘Sparrows in apple sauce; exquisite. You certainly can sit down with us.’

‘First, I want to know about the Ferrarese,’ insisted Gerardo.

‘Oh, that pain in the arse,’ said the woman, smiling. ‘The Ferrarese has been acting strange lately. He spent a whole week down here. Didn’t say why. Perhaps someone caught him stealing and he wanted to lie low for a bit. He went out yesterday and when he came back he wouldn’t shut up, he said he was going to be rich, that he had a benefactor and he didn’t care if it was the Holy Virgin or the Devil in person. He went out early today but he hasn’t come back yet. He usually sleeps over there,’ she said, pointing at the wall a few yards from them. Then she sighed. ‘That’s all I can tell you. Now let’s sit down and eat. I can’t wait to have meat in my mouth again.’

The double entendre didn’t escape Gerardo because the woman squeezed his thigh at the same time. He was now desperate to extricate himself from the situation, but Hugues, in his role as deaf and dumb man, was in no position to help him.

‘Five sparrows and a piece of bread, did you say?’ the voice resonated behind him, gruff and ominous. Gerardo turned and found the beggar with the rag round his hips standing there.

‘What’s it to you?’ he challenged the vagrant, stupefied by his own quick-wittedness. ‘There’s not enough for you. There are five of us, if you don’t go away immediately we’ll slay you.’ the others moved, confirming his words. They were prepared to kill, to protect their supper.

‘Five sparrows and a piece of bread,’ repeated the man, too furious to be intimidated, ‘Was what there was in my bag. The one you stole off me,’ he said, pointing at it. ‘And you’re even wearing my clothes.’ He turned towards his friends. ‘He’s the one who robbed me!’ he yelled. ‘Help me get my stuff back!’

IX

By the time Mondino left the Church of San Domenico it was almost dark. Vespers had just rung. Mechanically, he turned homewards but when he found himself passing a tavern he decided to go in and have a jugful of wine. He had to think clearly and preferred to be alone in a crowd of strangers rather than to go home and have to deal with all the problems that were waiting for him there.

He sat down on a bench at a wooden table that was so massive not even two strong men would be able to turn it over. As he took sips of the white wine from the hills, he watched the furtive coming and going of the occasional rat in the straw covering the floor.

The tavern was full of legal and medical students from various countries who filled the air with their Latin, punctuated with jokes and swearwords in other Languages. Mondino recognised the guttural sounds of German and Danish, the french words with the stress on the last syllable, the singsong of spanish. Thanks to the university, Bologna was one of the liveliest cities in the world. As he sat there contempLating the students, the thought of spending the years to come in the shadow of a secret made every voice and look seem more intense than usual. Mondino stared closely at the smallest detail and perhaps for that reason noticed a man in the throng who, like him, was not joining in with the general merrymaking. He was dumpy and muscular, with thick arms and legs protruding from a short grey wool tunic. His large face showed boredom and annoyance at the chaos around him, and yet he didn’t seem in a hurry to finish his wine or the bowl of olives in front of him. A couple of times, Mondino saw the man briefly looking over in his direction. Perhaps he was wondering what a physician was doing among that rabble. Mondino took another gulp of wine straight from the jug, because the tavern didn’t provide glasses, and went back to his thoughts.

He had two worries: reporting Gerardo and testifying against the templars. To betray a person who trusted him and who he was beginning to trust was unthinkable, but he could not sacrifice himself and his family to save Gerardo. As far as he was concerned, the templars could burn at the stake, at least it would mean one less ecclesiastic order.

But the problem hadn’t changed. If he declared under oath something that was contrary to science, it meant swearing a falsehood. He could always ask absolution in church for the sin of perjury and do penance. The more serious consequence for him was that he would lose the respect of his colleagues, Italian and above all french. At the school of medicine in Montpellier they would have a good laugh at his expense. Not to mention the fact that if he were to testify, a dangerous murderer would go free and be at liberty to kill again.

Thinking of the pros and cons, in the false mental clarity produced by the wine, Mondino saw the scales tip clearly to one side. And in the end he made his decision.

He would spend the next two days trying to find the murderer. He was convinced that he was getting close and if he could discover without a shadow of a doubt who had killed the templars, Uberto’s accusations and threats would fall to the ground.

On the other hand, if he didn’t manage to find out, he would give Gerardo time to get out of Bologna, and then he would denounce him as he had been asked to do. He didn’t want to, but his altruism didn’t stretch to martyrhood.

However, it wouldn’t necessarily get to that point. Without wanting to, Uberto da Rimini had given him an important piece of information when he revealed the contents of the letter he had found among Wilhelm von Trier’s personal effects. Mondino’s suspicion that the two dead templars had been drawn into a trap was confirmed. Now he just had to find out who had set the bait.

He would have to go back to the sorceress. It was possible that the murderer were a saracen, given that the map in his possession was written in Arabic. And there couldn’t be many Arabs in Bologna. They probably all knew each other. If he were clever, he could get the woman to translate the map and possibly even give him information about the local Arabs at the same time.

At that moment two German students came up to his table. Neither of the two studied with him but they recognised his face and told him how much they admired his work and the courage with which he defied the Church’s opposition to anatomical experiments.

Mondino was not in the best frame of mind to receive praise on his courage, but he forced himself to smile. ‘I’m only trying to find out about the things in the human body that will one day allow us to understand it,’ he said.

Then, so as not to appear pedantic, he offered them his jug of wine. They drank from it with long draughts and then thanked him by singing an irreverent song about a physician who was a charlatan. At the end of every verse they repeated Avicenna’s famous words: ‘An ignorant physician is the aide-de-camp of death.’

Soon afterwards Mondino paid for the wine and set off home. With the coming of night, the air had got cooler and his fur-trimmed cloak now seemed almost too light. The streets were deserted and his steps produced a slight squelch in the mud of the road. Suddenly he lifted the hood of his cloak and turned round. He thought he could hear steps behind him. But he must be mistaken; there was no one there.

He stopped to listen for a moment, his heart thumping despite himself, and then he walked on in the middle of the road, keeping an eye on the shadows under the arcades to either side of him.

Fear and darkness took him back to what he had done the night before. The awareness of having killed Philomena had never left him, but during and after his meeting with the Inquisitor he had been too busy to think about it.

In his mind’s eye he could see himself sinking the surgeon’s knife into the old woman’s neck and could feel the sensation of the blade cutting through the flesh; flesh that was much more resistant and elastic than that of his corpses.

The woman had been evil and hadn’t deserved to live, but he would never have wanted to be her executioner. Of course, if he hadn’t reacted, he would have been the one to die, and Philomena would have had no scruples about cutting him up and giving him to the dogs to eat, to get rid of the evidence.

Mondino sighed and, in a low voice, he started to recite a
requiescat in pace
for Philomena’s soul, although he doubted if the prayer would do her much good where she was now.

When he turned off Via San Vitale into the street where he lived, he noticed that all the windows were lit up and thought at first that he must be mistaken. At that hour the lamps would normally be out and his father and sons in bed. He went up to the street door and saw that it was ajar. Now worried and on the point of shouting for Pietro and Lorenza, whose job it was to turn out the lights and lock the door before they went to bed, he rushed across the little courtyard that led to the kitchen. The fire was still lit but there was no one there.

Mondino went into the main hall and saw his two servants bending over the big brazier under the window, but before he could say anything, Liuzzo came striding in from the other side of the hall and laid into him: ‘Where are you when you’re needed? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your father’s much worse and the children didn’t know what to do, Gabardino came to get me and of course I came immediately.’

Mondino felt himself go white. ‘My God, is it serious? I must see him.’

He went to his father’s room, followed by his uncle. The curtains of the four-poster bed were open and his three sons were standing in silence around their grandfather. Mondino nodded hello to them, receiving hostile stares in return. Old Rainerio was asleep, and he didn’t want to wake him. But from the yellowish colour of his skin and the veil of perspiration that covered his face, it was clear that he was indeed much worse. His breathing was laboured and his body under the cover seemed even thinner than before. Mondino knelt down next to the bed, laid his head on the mattress and began to cry silently, with his eyes closed. No one said a word and for a while all that could be heard in the room was the hoarse breath of the old man.

When he had calmed down, Mondino said a prayer, then opened his eyes and stood up. With a nod of his head towards the door he signalled to Liuzzo that he wanted to speak to him and left the room. Mondino’s two smaller sons followed them while Gabardino stayed to watch over his grandfather. In the corridor, Mondino briefly paused next to the vertical loom, covered in a drape since the death of his wife Giovanna. In that house, death was about to claim its second victim. He shook his head silently and went on.

They went back into the hall. Mondino sent the two boys to bed, telling Ludovico to get up and take over from Gabardino at his grandfather’s bedside in a few hours. He told Leone to take Ludovico’s place at lauds.

Refusing Lorenza’s offer to make him something to eat, he sent her and her husband to bed too. Fortunately their daughter had not been woken by all the turmoil in the house.

When they were alone, Mondino asked Liuzzo what he had given his father.

The old physician shrugged his shoulders. ‘The usual mixture of hyssop and henbane to help expectoration and relieve the pain. Only this time I doubled the dose of henbane, to allow him a bit of sleep.’

‘Have you stopped the hot brick compresses?’

‘Only while he’s asleep. Then I’ve told them to carry on. I know they don’t do any good, but Rainerio seemed to take some relief from them, and it helps your sons feel they are being useful.’

Mondino nodded. The hot compresses sometimes dried the excess of black bile that caused the tumour, rebalancing the four humours and allowing the patient to get better. But this could only happen in the initial phases of the illness. Now only God could help Rainerio.

‘Do you think it’s time to call the priest?’

‘No. If anything happens suddenly, the Church of sant’Antonino is right next door. It won’t take a second to send for one. But you can’t carry on disappearing like this without telling anyone where you are going.’ liuzzo’s expression was severe and as he spoke he came up to the great dining table in the centre of the room, without motioning to Mondino to sit down. He leaned his fists on the wooden tabletop and said, ‘Now tell me where you’ve been all day.’

The moment that Mondino was dreading had arrived. Liuzzo would not be satisfied with vague explanations and he certainly couldn’t involve him in the problem.

‘I can’t tell you,’ Mondino said, with a sigh. He had neither the strength nor the desire to make up a lie.

Liuzzo took two quick paces to the brazier under the window with the barred shutters and leaned over it as if he wanted to pick it up and throw it at Mondino. But naturally that wasn’t his intention. He checked that the brick that had been put there to heat up was well covered by the embers, then he straightened his back and said, ‘At my school of medicine, I do not intend to keep an associate who hides things from me.’ He raised a hand to stop his nephew’s protests. ‘Don’t deny it,’ he said, in an irritated tone. ‘First, you walk out of a graduation banquet making vague excuses. Then you disappear for hours every day without telling anyone where to find you. Now you’ve begun to come home in the middle of the night. Do you think I am stupid?’

‘No, Uncle, of course I don’t. You are right in thinking that I am hiding something from you, but I really can’t talk about it.’

Liuzzo sighed and returned to the table, his expression a mixture of worry and exasperation. ‘While they were out looking for you this evening,’ he began, ‘A man said he had seen someone wearing a physician’s cloak come out of the Priory of San Domenico. Tall, thin and looking nervous. Was it you?’ ‘Yes.’

‘What on earth were you doing at the Dominicans? Please don’t tell me that you went to visit a patient.’ ‘No, Uncle, I did not go to visit a patient.’

‘Did you go there to speak to the Inquisitor?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I was the first person to examine the body of that German templar who was killed in Santo Stefano last saturday. Uberto da Rimini asked me to stand witness at the trial against the templars. I must declare under oath that it was an act of sorcery.’

‘You answered yes, I hope.’

Once again their difference in character prevailed. In his place Liuzzo would have no hesitation.

‘I answered no. Uncle, you know perfectly well that sorcery—’

Losing his patience, Liuzzo thumped the table. ‘Forget what I know or don’t know!’ he said, reddening with anger. ‘Don’t you realise that both because we are physicians and because we are Ghibellines, we must keep up good relations with the Church? Have you thought what it means if the Inquisition owes us a favour? And what does it matter if you believe that it was an act of sorcery or not? the Church wants to dissolve the order of the templars and it needs to amass valid pretexts. Since when have you cared about what happens to the priests?’

Mondino, standing on the other side of the table, didn’t reply. His uncle had understood the situation perfectly. Liuzzo’s political abilities had always enabled him to root out the hidden motives behind people’s words and to act accordingly. It was an ability that Mondino, on the other hand, entirely lacked. His stubbornness in always trying to draw out the truth only caused problems.

But he preferred not to tell Liuzzo that, if he did give evidence, it would be he who owed the Church a favour, not the other way round. And if he didn’t, he would be arrested and sentenced, with serious consequences for his family and the school of medicine too.