Inquisition (33 page)

The few dozen steps that separated them from the rear entrance to the
comune
seemed like leagues. To avoid being recognised, he didn’t even lift his head when they passed under the cross vaults that supported the Arengo tower. They were now behind three adjoining buildings, two belonging respectively to the
Podestà
and the Captain of the People, the third being the one everyone now called King Enzo. Apart from the soldiers, who were guarding the entrances, the two streets that crossed beneath the vault were deserted. Everything was going on in and around the main piazza on the other side.

A long time had passed since the last occasion on which Mondino had witnessed a public execution, but he remembered the unadorned ceremony of it perfectly. The condemned man appeared on the balcony among the friars, the guards and the hangman. One of the friars held panels covered in biblical illustrations in front of the accused’s face so that he couldn’t see the expressions of the yelling populace. Then a rope was put around his neck and the executioner threw him over the balustrade. There had been cases in which the rope had snapped, and the poor man had ended up falling into the crowd.

The idea that such an end might await him seemed unreal. The guards let them pass and they went up the steps to a distant chorus of voices demanding the immediate hand over of the guilty man. On the first floor, where the judges usually worked, the
dischi,
rooms decorated with the coat of arms of the unicorn, eagle, stag and other animals, were empty, as were the notary’s
scabelli
. The building that was generally so full of life seemed dead on sundays.

The guards stopped to talk to a man in a toga who directed them towards a high door with pointed arched pilasters. Luca knocked and waited for the invitation to go in. It didn’t come so he went in anyway.

Mondino finally lifted his head. They were in the great hall, at the end of which, sitting in a corner by a long table, were Enrico Bernadazzi from Lucca and PantaLeone Buzacarini from Padua, respectively
Podestà
and Captain of the People. Standing in front of them was Gerardo, who was talking animatedly.

Mondino noted the particulars with a sort of detachment. Since he had been arrested everything had been sliding past without affecting him. Even the roar of the crowd, which wasn’t dimmed by the plain linen drape that waved in the breeze at the open window, had become a background noise, like the thunder of a river in spate, which seemed to have nothing to do with him. But one thing shook him out of his state of passivity. Gerardo should have been in fetters, but he was free. One of his arms was hanging limp at his side, showing that he had been subjected to brutal treatment with ropes, but his was not the behaviour of a prisoner under interrogation. Rather, he seemed to be pleading a cause.

In any case the explanation for what was going on would arrive soon enough. At his entrance the three of them had stopped talking and turned towards the door. Mondino hoped that Gerardo would have the presence of mind to pretend indifference, but he was disappointed.

‘Magister!’ exclaimed the young man. ‘Thank goodness you’ve come.’

‘I didn’t come, I was arrested.’

The guards stopped a few feet from the
Podestà
, and the section leader went forward to ask for his orders. ‘Leave us alone,’ said Enrico Bernadazzi.

The three men obeyed and when they had left, closing the door behind them, the Captain of the People greeted Mondino and explained the situation to him, raising his voice to make himself heard above the clamour. But understanding wasn’t that easy: Mondino couldn’t believe that the banker’s young daughter and the vicious murderer whom they had been looking for could be the same person. It was as though his mind were paralysed, reacting with lumpen slowness to every new piece of information. In less than an hour he had discovered that he was wanted for murder, had been arrested and now found out that he was a free man again. All of a sudden it occurred to him that it was a trap, set up with Gerardo’s complicity, to induce him to contradict himself and to admit to crimes he hadn’t committed. He only became convinced when PantaLeone Buzacarini pointed to Fiamma’s letter and diary lying open on the table. Mondino picked them up, flipped through them, reading a few sentences, and finally he relaxed. ‘My God,’ he said at last.

The Captain of the People and the
Podestà
both nodded. ‘That’s what we said when this young man showed us what you see there,’ said Enrico Bernadazzi. ‘We allowed him this interview thinking he wanted to confess. You wouldn’t believe our amazement and disbelief when we found out how things really stood.’

‘I can imagine,’ said Mondino, still shaken. Then, when he’d calmed down, he added, ‘Does this mean that I can go home?’ ‘First, we must stop Fiamma!’ exclaimed Gerardo. ‘Or she’ll kill herself!’

The youth was in an obvious state of euphoria. His eyes were shining and he was trembling, as though he had continually to get the better of an impulse to jump up and run away. His left arm was the only motionless part of his body.

‘Why do you think that she wants to kill herself?’ asked Mondino. ‘In the letter it says, “I’ll soon be in my grave”, but it doesn’t say when or how she’ll die.’

‘I believe that Gerardo da Castelbretone is right,’ interjected the Captain of the People. Mondino realised that Gerardo had told them his real name and the physician was pleased. One less lie to keep up. ‘Now she has taken her revenge and delivered the proof of her guilt, it can only mean that she had organised her escape to avoid punishment, either in another country or in the next world.’

‘Then we should let her kill herself,’ said Mondino, coldly. He felt no pity for the woman who had so nearly ruined his life.

‘Magister!’ Gerardo exclaimed in a tone of reproach. He only seemed able to express himself with exclamations.

The
Podestà
raised a hand to silence Mondino’s irritated rejoinder. ‘The diary and the letter stand as strong evidence of guilt,’ he said, above the racket. ‘But if Fiamma Sensi were to take her own life before confessing, it would take much longer to acquit you.’

Mondino stood there speechless. From the piazza there rose three small words, chanted at regular intervals: ‘Hand... Him... Over! Hand... Him... Over!’

‘So go and get her,’ he said then. ‘I don’t see what the problem is.’

‘Don’t you understand?’ intervened the Captain of the People, walking over to the window and drawing aside the linen drape. ‘This is the problem.’

Mondino glanced outside and was horror-struck. Seen from above, the scene was appalling and impressive at the same time. Some members of the city militia, lined up in battle formation in front of the
comune
, seemed somewhat pathetic with respect to the mass of people crammed into the piazza. There must already have been some injuries and perhaps even some deaths; people crushed by the throng.

‘They are threatening to storm the
comune
,’ said PantaLeone Buzacarini, letting the drape fall. ‘I can’t spare a single man to go and get that woman. Apart from the fact that we don’t even know where she is.’

‘And what are you going to do to disperse the crowd?’ asked Mondino.

‘The easiest thing, to avoid mishaps, would be to hang this young man from the balcony,’ said the
Podestà
. ‘Unjust, I agree, but done for the good of the city.’

‘You’re not serious!’ protested Mondino. Gerardo had turned round fast but said nothing, as if the idea didn’t strike him as such a bad one. ‘Such an act would not only be a heinous injustice, but a grave step backwards in the defence of civil liberties.’

‘Of course I wasn’t being serious,’ said Enrico Bernadazzi, with a look that contradicted his words. ‘However, the problem remains. We might be attacked from one moment to the next, and we can’t send anyone to catch Fiamma Sensi. Besides, right now a squad of guards would have little chance of getting through the mob uninjured.’

‘We’ll go!’ said Gerardo.

‘Where?’

‘To fetch Fiamma. There’s no time to lose. I think I know where to find her.’

There was a moment’s silence, in which everyone weighed up his suggestion.

‘As the one responsible for civic justice,’ the Captain of the People then said, ‘I cannot allow it. It’s too risky, and besides citizens cannot make an arrest. Furthermore, although you two may have been cleared of the accusation of murder, you are still guilty, respectively, of arson and of concealing a corpse.’

Mondino had finally made up his mind. The idea of going out into that hell hole and risking his life didn’t attract him one bit, but it was the quickest way to free himself from an accusation that could earn him the death sentence or, at the very least, irredeemably ruin his career. Besides, his mind was filled once more with the dream that had been at the origin of everything: once she was in the hands of the law, Fiamma would be unreachable. If he had a chance of understanding her secret, it was now. He had risked everything; it was madness to pull out at the last moment.

‘They are accusations that we can get off easily with the help of a good lawyer,’ he said, addressing the two notables.

‘And you know that. I will pledge my house as a guarantee that we will not take advantage of our freedom to run away. I’ll even sign a promissory note right away.’

At those words Gerardo gave Mondino a grateful look that he preferred to ignore. ‘Just lend us one guard dressed in city clothes,’ he added. ‘He can arrest Fiamma Sensi and the formalities will be respected.’

The
Podestà
and the Captain of the People glanced at each other, undecided.

‘Apart from anything else,’ concluded Mondino, ‘If the mob really did manage to storm the
comune
, it would be better if they didn’t find us here.’

‘Do you really know where she is?’ the
Podestà
asked Gerardo. ‘I’d be very surprised, after all that she’s done, if she were sitting at home waiting for us.’

‘At this point nothing matters to her any more,’ replied Gerardo. ‘Although you are right to think that she’s not at home. I’ll tell you where I mean to look for her only when you have given me your word that you will agree to send me with the guards who must arrest her. Under my guidance they’ll waste less time trying to find the place.’

‘Very well,’ said the
Podestà
, springing into action. ‘I will send three men with you, no more. Now let’s write that letter.’ He had parchment, quill and ink brought, but as there wasn’t a notary to be found in the building he had to draw up the deed in person and countersign it. Then he called the three guards who had been waiting just outside the door. The Captain of the People took them to his private rooms and lent them some nondescript civilian clothes that were baggy enough for them to hide the daggers that they wore at their sides fastened to a belt between shirt and tunic.

‘It would be better if we were armed too,’ said Mondino.

‘The law is clear on that one and I’m certainly not going to be the one to break it,’ responded PantaLeone. ‘It is forbidden for citizens to carry arms within the confines of the city walls. You will be with my men so no harm will come to you.’

Soon afterwards, the posse left the
comune
quietly by the rear entrance. The crowd was thronging the front of the building and they passed by unnoticed. But they had only gone about fifty yards, making quick headway through the deserted stalls of the Mercato di Mezzo, when they heard a cry behind them: ‘The murderer’s getting away!’

They all turned round together, and with a leap of his heart Mondino recognised the stocky frame of Guido Arlotti pointing an accusatory finger at them.

The outermost part of the crowd began to undulate like a field of corn in the wind. Many of them turned towards the little group and the cry ‘The murderer’s getting away!’ was repeated by dozens of voices. Gerardo saw that a lot of people were breaking away from the crowd and coming towards them, first slowly, as if undecided, then faster.

‘Run!’ yelled Mondino behind him. Gerardo followed him without delay, going as fast as his broken body allowed. Whereas the three guards, perhaps responding instinctively to their fear, made the mistake of unsheathing their daggers. An indistinct but concerted cry was discharged from the crowd, and they were on top of them in an instant. Gerardo heard the cries of pain as the guards were torn apart; he clenched his fists without turning round. He couldn’t have done anything to help them even if both his arms had been working, but with the left one out of its socket, there was absolutely no chance. Mondino was running a few steps ahead of him, holding up his ankle-length red robe and taking great long paces.

Just before the bridge over the Aposa they saw two groups of richly dressed people approaching each other at a solemn pace. Gerardo realised that it was a nuptial procession. The bride came from the left, on horseback, surrounded by her family and followed by a cohort of wedding guests. The groom was approaching from the right, on foot, with a falcon on his wrist, also encircled by friends and family. They were probably getting married in St Peter’s Cathedral and had decided to meet on the road to the Mercato di Mezzo to walk the rest of the way together. Gerardo noticed that the bride was a beautiful blonde, dressed in white and gold with an embroidered veil that rippled in the breeze. The decorations to the horse’s harness took up the same theme as her gown.