Secretum

by Rita Monaldi;Francesco Sorti

  The hooded troop looked on powerless and embarrassed at the unmasking of their trafficking. We all looked at Ugonio.

  "You also stole my handwritten treatise," hissed Melani spitefully.

  The corpisantaro's hump seemed even more bent, as though he were struggling to become even smaller and darker in his desire to escape the consequences of his misdeeds.

  Sfasciamonti drew the dagger and grabbed Ugonio by the collar of his filthy greatcoat.

  "Ow!" he cried, at once loosening his grip.

  The catchpoll had pricked a finger. He turned the collar of Ugonio's jacket and drew out a brooch. I recognised it at once: it was the scapular of the Madonna of the Carmel, the ex voto stolen from Abbot Melani. And above it were still sewn my three little Venetian pearls which Atto had so lovingly kept on his person all these years.

  The catchpoll tore the relic from Ugonio's breast and handed it to Atto. The Abbot took it between two fingers.

  "Er, I think it would be better if you held onto this," said he with a hint of embarrassment, turning away as he handed it to me.

  I was happy. This time, I would hold jealously onto my three little pearls, as a keepsake of that Abbot Melani who was from time to time capable of an affectionate gesture. I grasped the relic, not without a grimace of disgust at the dreadful odour emanating from it after its prolonged sojourn close to the corpisantaro.

  Sfasciamonti, meanwhile, had returned to work and was holding the dagger against Ugonio's cheek.

  "And now for Abbot Melani's treatise."

  Atto grasped the pistol. The corpisantaro did not need to be asked twice:

  "I have not stealed anyfing: I executioned a levy on commissionary," he whispered.

  "Ah! A theft on commission," Atto translated, turning to us. "Just as I suspected. And on whose behalf? That of your wretched compatriot the Imperial Ambassador Count von Lamberg, perhaps? Now, tell me, do you also have people stabbed on commission?" he asked emphatically, showing Ugonio the arm wounded by the fleeing cerretano.

  The corpisantaro hesitated an instant. He looked all around, trying to work out what the consequences might be for him if he were to remain silent: Atto's pistol, the dagger in Sfasciamonti's grasp, the corpulent bulk of the latter, and, on the other hand, his band of friends, numerous, but all more or less halt or lame...

  "I was commissionaried by the electors of the Maggiorengo," he replied at last.

  "Who the Devil are they?" we all asked in unison.

  Ugonio's explanation was long and confused, but with a good dose of patience, and thanks to some recollections of his extraordinary gibberish, retained from the events of many years ago, we did manage to grasp, if not all the details, at least the main message. The matter was simple. The cerretani elected a representative at regular intervals, a sort of king of vagabonds. He was known as the Maggiorengo-General and was crowned at a great ceremony of all the sects of cerretani. We learned among other things that the previous Maggiorengo had recently passed on to a better life.

  "And what has all this to do with the theft which they commissioned you to carry out?"

  "Of that I am iggorant, with all due condescendent respect to your most sublimated decisionality. Ne'er do we ejaculate the why and wherefore of a levy. 'Tis a problem of secretion!"

  "You are not speaking because it is a matter of secrecy between you and your client? Do you imagine you are going to get away with it that easily?" threatened Melani.

  The dusty and suffocating storeroom in which we stood was lit by a few torches set into the wall, the smoke from which escaped through channels set above the flames of the torches themselves. Atto suddenly grabbed one of these torches and held it next to a nearby pile of papers, which seemed to me to consist of legal and notarial deeds stolen from who knows where by the corpisantari.

  "If you will not tell me to whom you have given my manuscript treatise, as true as God exists, I shall set fire to everything in here."

  Atto was serious. Ugonio gave a start. At the idea of all his patrimony going up in smoke, he grew pale, at least as far as the parchment pallor of his face permitted it. First, he tried blandishments, then he tried to persuade Melani that he was placing himself in some ill-defined danger, this being a particularly delicate moment as the milieu of the cerretani had been shaken by a grievous robbery perpetrated against them.

  "A grievous robbery? Robbers aren't robbed," sneered Atto. "What have they stolen from the cerretani?'

  "Their novated lingo."

  "Their new language? Languages cannot be stolen because they cannot be possessed, only spoken. Try inventing something else, you idiot."

  In the end, Ugonio gave in and explained his offer to the Abbot.

  "Agreed," said Atto in the end. "If you keep your side of the promise, I shall not destroy this wretched place. You know full well that I can do it," said Atto, before having us accompanied to the exit. "Sergeant, have you anything else to ask these animals?"

  "Not now. I am curious to see whether they will keep their word tomorrow. Now, let us go. I do not wish to remain too long absent from Villa Spada."

  "Ugonio recognised me as soon as he saw me from close up. Do you think it possible that he did not know from whom he was stealing the treatise and the telescope?" I asked Melani.

  "Of course he knew. Rascals like him always know where they're sticking their hands."

  "And yet, he didn't think twice about doing it."

  "Certainly not. Evidently, the pressure from whoever commissioned him was too great. They must have offered him a great deal of money; or perhaps he was too afraid of failing."

  "Now I understand! That was why I always had the feeling of being watched at the Villa Spada," I exclaimed.

  "What are you saying?" asked Atto in astonishment.

  "I never told you this, because I was not sure of what I was seeing around me. We have already encountered so many strange things," I added, alluding to the apparitions at the Vessel. "I didn't want to make it look as though I'd become a visionary. Yet, several times in the past few days, I have had the feeling of being spied on. It was as though. . . well, as though they were constantly keeping an eye on me from behind hedges."

  "Obviously. Even a child could see that: it must have been Ugonio and the other corpisantari' said Atto, irritated by my slow thinking."Perhaps," I thought aloud, "they may even have been following us on the evening when we were drugged. Some rather strange fellows came into the wine shop where we had stopped, some mendicants who seemed to be spoiling for a fight. There was even a brawl which forced us to abandon our table. They almost knocked over the jug of wine."

  "The jug of wine?" exclaimed Atto, wide-eyed.

  I told him then of the scuffle that had broken out in the wine shop, which I and Buvat had witnessed, and how we had momentarily lost sight of our table. Atto exploded:

  "Only now do you think of telling me this?" he groaned impatiently. "For heaven's sake, did you not realise that you and Buvat were put to sleep by pouring a little sleeping draught into your wine?"

  I fell silent, humiliated. It was true, it must have been done like that. The mendicants (obviously a group of cerretani) had organised what looked like a brawl in order to create confusion in the place; thus, they had caused us to leave our table and got in our way while they poured the narcotic into our wine. After that, they had gone off without any further ado.

  "Once they had put you to sleep," concluded Atto, calming down a little, "Ugonio and his companions in crime will have entered your house and Buvat's bedchamber. Then, as soon as they were able to, they tried again with me."

  "It is a miracle that they crossed the villa boundary and managed to leave with their loot without being seen by anyone," I commented.

  "Yes, indeed," said Atto, looking askance at Sfasciamonti, "it really is a miracle."

  The catchpoll lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Yes, while I had cut a poor figure, Sfasciamonti ran the risk of passing for an incompetent. Atto, on the other hand, by fin
ding Ugonio, had found out not only who had put me and Buvat out of action with the sleeping draught, but the thief of his treatise on the Secrets of the Conclave and of the relic and the telescope, which he now held tightly in one hand, fuming in equal measure with disdainful rage and warlike satisfaction.

  No sooner had we crossed the Tiber than Sfasciamonti announced that he would hasten on his way in order to get back as early as possible, leaving us the advantage of proceeding at a more convenient and moderate pace.

  "I shall go on ahead of you, it is getting really late, corps of a thousand maces. My absences from the villa cannot last too long. 1 do not want Cardinal Spada to think I am shirking my duty," he explained.

  "Better, far better thus," commented Atto, as soon as we were alone.

  "And why?"

  "As soon as we get back, we shall have things to do."

  "At this hour of night?"

  "Buvat should have completed the task I set him."

  "What? Searching for the flower among the arms of noble families?"

  "Not just that," replied the Abbot laconically.

  Yes, Buvat. The evening before, I had seen him again after a prolonged absence, and Melani, after setting him to work searching for traces of the Tetrachion among the noble arms, had requested him also to see to an unspecified "other matter". What could he be up to? During the first few days, his presence had been constant and assiduous. More recently, he would appear briefly, then absent himself again for a long period. Now I knew that Atto had assigned him some task to which the scribe was obviously attending outside the villa. I realised that the Abbot had, for the time being, no intention of revealing to me what was going on behind the scenes.

  When we reached the villa, however, Atto's secretary had not yet returned.

  "Good! Plainly, the trail which I suggested he should follow has proved fruitful. Perhaps the final details are still missing."

  "Details? What of?" I insisted.

  "Of the accusations whereby we shall nail Lamberg."

  Day the Sixth

  12th July, 1700

  *

  "But you never close the door, do you?"

  I opened my eyes. I was at home. The daylight flooded in through the wide-open door of the bedroom, blinding me. Nevertheless, I recognised beyond any doubt the voice which had so disagreeably awakened me: Abbot Melani had come to pay me a visit.

  "Charming, this little house of yours. One can see the feminine touch," he commented.

  That night I had reached my bed dead tired, with just enough strength left in me to make sure that my two daughters were sleeping placidly in their bed, seeing that Cloridia was still spending the night in the apartments of the Princess of Forano.

  "Come on, come on, get up, 1 am in a hurry. We have plenty to do: Buvat found absolutely nothing about that damned Tetrachion in the books on heraldry. We must interrogate Romauli at once."

  "No, that is enough, if you please, Signor Atto. I want to sleep," I replied somewhat brusquely.

  "Are you quite mad?" trilled Atto's castrato voice.I had no time to tell him to lower his voice so as not to disturb my little ones who were sleeping on the floor above. They rose at once and were soon looking in curiously. They stared in astonishment at this curious gentleman, the like of whom they had never seen before, red-stockinged, bewigged, all bedaubed with ceruse and bedizened with lace, braiding and knick-knacks after the French fashion, from his periwig down to his shoe buckles. The little one, who was also the less shy of the pair, ran straight to him, wanting to touch all the marvels with which Abbot Melani's apparel was bedecked.

  "Oh fathers!" exclaimed Atto delightedly, as he took the little one in his arms. "When you return home afflicted by business, what could be sweeter than to see your dear little daughter at the top of the stairs, awaiting you with such a loving, joyful welcome, receiving you with kisses and embraces, telling you so many thoughts and so many things that you are at once freed from all the dark ponderings that weigh down your mind and become jocular and gay even despite yourself?"

  Rising in haste, I rushed to tell my daughters not to disturb the Abbot, but Atto halted me with his hand.

  "Stop! Do not think that playing with little children is no matter for serious men," he berated me with a feigned air of reproof, already forgetting his reason for being there, "for I reply to you that Hercules, as we read in Elianus's works, was wont after the heat of battle to amuse himself playing with little ones; and Socrates was found by Alcibiades playing with children, while Agiselaos would ride a cane to entertain his sons. You should take advantage of my presence to get dressed while I act as nurse for these two little angels. You know what awaits us."

  Whereupon, he let my little ones' curious tiny fingers tug at all those bows and tassels with a seraphic joy and patience of which I would never have imagined Abbot Melani to be capable.

  I knew full well what awaited us: the search for the Tetrachion; or better, for the dish donated by Capitor to Mazarin, and which the madwoman had called "Tetrachion". According to Cloridia's friend, the maidservant at the Spanish Embassy, that name denoted an "heir", not further specified, to the throne of the Catholic King of Spain. The same name, however, Atto had heard on the lips ofTranquillo Romauli, Master Florist of the Villa Spada; which was distinctly curious, since Romauli never seemed willing to speak of anything but petals and corollas. Nevertheless, seeing that his late spouse had been a midwife, there was a suspicion that the secret feminine password of which Cloridia had heard tell might come down to us from the lips of the Master Florist himself. When prompted, Romauli had permitted himself a few hints: the Escorial was, he said, growing arid, and he had even let slip an enigmatic reference to Versailles, the residence of the Most Christian King, and to the Viennese Schonbrunn. All this, I had reported in detail to Abbot Melani, and Buvat had advanced the theory that Tetra- chion might be the name of a flower present in some noble coat of arms. However, as the Abbot had just informed me, research in heraldic tomes had turned up no such flower, so that now Atto could not wait to take the conversation with Romauli further.

  A dish, an heir, a Master Florist: three tracks, every one of which seemed to lead in a different direction.

  "Seeing that your Romauli appears to be the only one to know what or who the Tetrachion is," said Atto, as though following the thread of my cogitations, "I should say that we must start from there."

  On our arrival at the villa, I constrained the Abbot to make a little deviation before rejoining Tranquillo Romauli, whom I knew to be intent at that hour on raking the gardens in preparation for the afternoon's festivities. I had to escort the little girls to Cloridia at the great house, so that they could assist her in her midwife's duties with the new mother and infant and, at the same time, receive her loving motherly care.

  We found Master Romauli leaning over a flower bed, wielding a pair of shears and a sprinkler. Upon seeing us, his face lit up. After the exchange of the usual pleasantries, it was Atto who came straight to the point.

  "My young friend has informed me that you would be glad to pursue discussion of a certain matter," said Melani with calculated nonchalance. "But perhaps you may prefer the two of us to remain alone, and therefore. . ." he added, alluding to the possible desirability of sending me away.

  "Oh no, not at all," replied the Master Florist, "for me 'tis as though my own son were listening. I beg of you, allow him to stay."

  So Romauli had no hesitation whatever about discussing delicate matters, like that of the Tetrachion, in my presence. All the better, said I to myself; obviously, he felt so sure of his own arguments that he had no fear of the presence of witnesses.

  Since the Master Florist had shown no sign of any intention to move from his working position and was still on his knees, in order to facilitate conversation, Atto too had to sit, choosing a little stone bench which was fortunately just in the right place. I looked around; no one was observing us or walking in the vicinity. The conditions were right for squeezing from
Romauli all that he knew.

  "Very well, honourable Master Florist," Atto began. "You must in the first place know that at this present moment, the fate of the Escorial is almost closer to my heart than that of Versailles, of which I have the honour to be a most faithful admirer. Precisely for that reason. .."

  "Oh, yes, yes, how right you are, Signor Abbot," broke in the other, working on a low rosebush. "Could you hold the shears for me one moment?"

  Atto obeyed, not without a grimace of surprise and disappointment, while Romauli handled the stem of the plant bare-handed; then he resumed his speech.

  ". . . Precisely for that reason, as I was saying," continued Melani, "I am sure that you too will be aware of the gravity of the moment and that it is therefore in the best interests of all. . . in this field, shall we say, to succeed in resolving this grave, nay this most grave crisis, as painlessly..."