‘But didn’t you say that transmutation was not possible for an impure soul?’ asked Mondino, now interested despite himself.
‘Exactly. As long as the person is not helped by dark powers, as I said before. I think that is the reason for which the templar was killed. In such a perverse transmutation, death is probably an essential ingredient.’
Adia was talking about black magic tied to alchemy, using more precise arguments than those of Uberto da Rimini, but not dissimilar in substance. Mondino sat there in silence. His scientific mind was rebelling at the idea that such a thing could be possible, but the point wasn’t whether he believed it or not. The point was that someone else might have believed it. If that was the case, the two dead templars were nothing more than the efforts of a perverse alchemist to obtain the transmutation of metals and the idea of a trap or a vendetta fell apart. Gerardo was wasting his time looking for templars who had arrived in Bologna recently.
More precious time thrown away. He had to get back to Bologna immediately.
Just as he was about to take his leave, the door was suddenly kicked open and in walked three men. Mondino immediately recognised the thickset individual whom he had thrown into the canal. The other two had the faces of jailbirds, which lit up with a deviant light the minute they saw Adia. All three of them were armed with daggers.
‘Stay where you are,’ said the stocky man, who seemed to be the leader. ‘You and the witch are under arrest.’
Gerardo got up from the kitchen table and began to walk up and down under the worried gaze of Fiamma and the scullery maids. He had just drunk the mug of milk that the lady of the house had offered him while he listened to her story and now he didn’t know what to think.
That morning, as usual, Fiamma went to wake her adoptive father. She had knocked several times and receiving no reply opened the door of the room. The bed was untouched and her father wasn’t there. She looked all over the house without finding him. No one had seen him go out and anyway the front door was bolted from the inside. If Remigio had gone out, he could only have left by the kitchen door that gave on to the courtyard, where they kept the hens and the pig. Fiamma and the two servants had gone to look and as soon as they had opened the door from the courtyard into the alleyway, they had seen the mendicant’s body. They were still trying to work out what had happened when Gerardo arrived.
‘Do you think that it was your father who killed him?’ asked the young man.
Fiamma looked at him warily. ‘If he had, it would have been in self-defence. Perhaps the beggar tried to rob him when he saw him come out. Or perhaps my father’s disappearance and the death of the beggar have nothing to do with one another.’
The very moment that Remigio Sensi had disappeared without any explanation, a body had turned up behind his house. Quite by chance it was the body of the man missing a hand that Gerardo had been looking for. The possibility that the events had nothing to do with each other, that it was a mere trick of fate, was practically inexistent.
Gerardo carried on pacing back and forth between the table and the chimney. In a brusque tone, Fiamma gave orders to the girls to start preparing dinner. Perhaps she wanted to keep them occupied or perhaps she was trying to convince herself that everything would soon get back to normal. Gerardo didn’t know what to think.
The maimed beggar had told his friends from the underworld that he was about to become rich. He obviously knew something about the German templar’s death and had tried to get himself paid for his silence, but it had all gone wrong. If it was Remigio who had killed him, as everything seemed to indicate, it meant that the banker was involved in the mystery of the heart of iron. Perhaps he was the murderer of the templars and not Hugues de Narbonne after all. But why had he vanished like a thief from his own house, leaving by the back door?
It was essential to find him as quickly as possible, and not only in order to relieve Fiamma’s anxiety. And then what if Remigio and Hugues de Narbonne were in league with each other? Perhaps the banker had gone to Hugues’ house after killing the vagrant. It just might be, thought Gerardo. After all, it was Remigio who introduced him to Hugues, and the two had known each other from before. If the templar had regained consciousness and the banker undid the ropes that held him to the bed, Gerardo and Mondino risked losing every possibility of clearing their names.
All of a sudden, Gerardo stopped pacing and brought his fist down on the table. The three women turned as one, evidently alarmed.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘There’s something I must go and find out. Mistress Fiamma, I will do my utmost to help you find your father. Now I must go, but I will be back as soon as possible.’
Fiamma didn’t say anything; she simply accompanied him to the street door. The two servants had gone outside and were hanging around not knowing what to do. Gerardo was about to say goodbye when the young woman took his hands in an impulsive gesture. ‘Remigio Sensi is not my father,’ she said, her face set in a serious expression.
‘I know that, mistress, I only said it for brevity’s sake.’ Fiamma shook her head and a few more blonde strands of hair escaped from underneath her cap. ‘It’s not that. I just wanted to say that you mustn’t be afraid of hurting or shocking me when you find out what’s happened. Do you really think he killed that beggar?’
In the time it would take to say Amen, several different answers flashed through Gerardo’s mind, but in the end he decided to be truthful.
‘Everything would point to that, mistress. Still, we must try not to jump to conclusions. First, we must find him.’
At that moment they both realised that they were still holding hands. Embarrassed, they pulled apart and without another word Gerardo walked away, his heart in tumult.
He could feel Fiamma’s eyes on his back, but he didn’t give in to the temptation to look back. He thought confusedly of his vows. Perhaps he could give up the monk’s habit and marry. But even if he did, he could never ask that beautiful young woman with the scarred face to be his wife after unmasking her father as a murderer. Lost in such troubled thoughts, he bumped into someone walking down the street in the opposite direction. The man, a noble to judge by his clothes, aimed a string of insults at Gerardo and seemed on the point of ordering the two retainers accompanying him to teach the templar a lesson, when from further down the street there came a shout.
‘It’s him!’ cried Gerardo’s ex-landlord, pointing an accusatory finger at the knight. ‘The one who set fire to my house! Grab him!’
Gerardo sidestepped the noble’s vassal, who tried to grab hold of him, and started sprinting. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fiamma running down the street, trying to get in the way of his pursuers, but there was nothing she could do. Suddenly he felt himself clutched around the shoulders and he was rolling on the ground with one of the noble’s servants on top of him. The other caught up a second later and kicked him hard in the side. Then again, and again.
Between flashes of pain, Gerardo could hear Fiamma shouting and thought that it was all over. He wouldn’t be able to choose between earthly or godly love. He would finish at the gallows.
‘Under arrest? In the name of whom, for goodness sake?’ asked Mondino, contemptuously, moving in front of Adia. ‘I hadn’t heard that the Captain of the People was employing cut-throats to administer justice.’
The man puffed up his chest and straightened his back. ‘I am Guido Arlotti, special agent in the service of father Uberto da Rimini, Inquisitor of Bologna. Your wrists will now be bound. If you come quietly you will not be hurt.’
One of his two henchmen took the piece of stout cord that he wore round his waist in the guise of a belt, and stood waiting for orders. Mondino looked around for an escape route.
That Guido Arlotti was in the Inquisitor’s service was certainly true. That his was an official duty was highly unlikely. The Church didn’t stick its neck out in these
things and would never have sent an agent to arrest them, openly bypassing the responsibilities of the comune. Guido Arlotti must have dreamed up the story so that they didn’t put up any resistance. Then he would make Mondino pay for his swim in the canal, and no doubt he’d also harm Adia. His two sidekicks couldn’t keep their eyes off her.
At that moment she took a step forward, not the slightest bit afraid. ‘Go now and no harm will be done to you,’ she said in a tranquil tone.
The two ruffians guffawed, but looked at their boss uncomfortably.
‘Are you really trying to frighten us with your witchcraft?’ said Guido Arlotti, in a sneering tone. Then he began to walk straight towards Mondino.
Adia whistled loudly and shouted something in Arabic. The three men looked at each other, perplexed, but their confusion didn’t last long. The grey Molossers burst on the scene, lolloping side by side through the open door, and without showing the slightest hesitation, without a bark or a snarl, sank their teeth into the men’s backs.
In a second the room was full of shouting and noise. Guido Arlotti, who was standing in front of his accomplices, turned to see what was happening, and Mondino took the opportunity to jump on him and block the arm in which he held his dagger. Guido threw a punch, but Mondino managed to knee him sharply in the groin, at which point he dropped the dagger and the two of them fell to the floor, rolling in a wild embrace.
Mondino didn’t know what was happening around him. He couldn’t see where Adia was or who was getting the better of it out of the dogs and the men. All he could see were Guido’s huge hands trying to hit him, claw out an eye or grab his throat, and all his attention was focused on stopping them. His elbow reached its target beneath a cheekbone, resulting in a grunt of pain. However, the triumph didn’t last long, because Guido gave him a headbutt that almost knocked Mondino out, although absurdly it was Guido who cried out in pain. While the agent was gasping on the floor trying to get up, Mondino suddenly felt the blade of the dagger under his hand. He took the knife and sat up, slightly stunned, but ready to defend himself.
He looked around, with the dagger in his hand and his jaw set. Guido Arlotti’s henchmen were lying on the ground, bloody and bruised, with their clothes ripped and having lost their knives, which were on the table behind Adia. The two mastiffs stood over them in silence, with their red eyes and sad faces, ready to spring as soon as either of the thugs attempted to move. Guido was sitting on the floor, massaging the nape of his neck, livid with rage. Adia Bintaba had hit him over the head with a walking stick and was now watching him with a challenging look.
Despite the situation, Mondino could not but find her beautiful, in her warrior’s pose. He struggled to get up, brushed the dust from his tunic and went over to the man. ‘Now tell us who sent you and why,’ he said in a threatening voice. The man spat at his feet. ‘Go to hell, and the whore too.’ Mondino leaned down to grab hold of Arlotti by the collar, but Adia stopped him, touching his chest with the walking stick. ‘That’s enough,’ she said. ‘You’ve already brought enough disturbance to my house.’
Mondino had no intention of taking orders from her, in the circumstances. ‘Forgive me,’ he said, controlling himself with difficulty. ‘I need to know why this man has been following me since last night. It is a question of vital importance.’
‘I decide what is important in my house,’ replied Adia. ‘You three, out of here. Otherwise I’ll tell my mastiffs to attack.’
She made a sign of command with the stick and the two men on the other side of the room got cautiously to their feet, obviously in pain. One had his arm half crushed, the other’s thigh was bleeding. Guido Arlotti was the only one not seriously wounded, but his face and arms were covered in bruises nonetheless. Mondino imagined that he didn’t look much better himself.
‘Mistress,’ he said, in a gentler tone. ‘This man possesses information that is very important to me. It could even be a question of life and death.’
Adia said two words in Arabic and the dogs went to lie at her feet. ‘Go,’ she said then, addressing their aggressors. ‘Now. Before I change my mind.’
The three staggered hurriedly towards the door and a moment later were outside, under the vigilant guard of Adia and the dogs. When they were far enough away to consider themselves safe, Guido Arlotti shouted, ‘We’ll meet again, witch. You’ll burn on the pyre, with your dogs from the Devil.’
Then he turned and caught up with the others, who were in too wretched a state to shout threats of revenge.
‘It was a mistake to let them go,’ said Mondino, watching them walk towards the main road.‘Now you are in danger too.’ ‘And what should I have done, in your opinion?’ replied Adia, putting down the stick and leaning over to examine the two mastiffs. ‘Kill them?’ ‘No, but ...’
‘But what? In what other way could I have stopped them telling the Inquisitor about me? the correct practice of alchemy does not involve murder, magister. I thought I had made that clear.’
‘So what will you do now?’
Adia straightened and looked around. She seemed to embrace the room with a glance. Various books had fallen on the floor and the bench was on its side, but the strange order that Mondino had noticed on his arrival had not been disturbed too much.
‘I’ve been happy here,’ she said, with a tinge of nostalgia in her voice. ‘But the moment has come to move on.’
‘You’re leaving?’ asked Mondino, surprised. ‘For ever?’
‘Yes. I have been accused of being a witch by a man who, as far as I understand, is in the pay of the Inquisition. It’s not something to be taken lightly, wouldn’t you agree?’
She was right, even if the danger was not as immediate as she seemed to believe. Uberto da Rimini was only interested in the templar’s trial and time would pass before he would think of bothering about a country sorceress.
‘And you’re just going to leave everything like this? All this ... Knowledge?’ He couldn’t find a more appropriate word to describe what he saw.
Adia smiled. ‘I’ll take everything I can with me. The rest I’ll leave to the landlord, as compensation for what I still owe him. I haven’t got time to call on him and settle up.’ ‘And where will you go?’
‘To the port of Corticella. A trusted friend there will have me to stay until I find a place on a boat bound for Venice. And you?’
‘Me what?’
‘The way back to Bologna is not safe. Those men seemed in too much of a bad way to attempt anything, but they might wait for you in an isolated place, and you wouldn’t have much hope on your own against the three of them, even if they are unarmed now.’
Mondino had been struck by a strange feeling of melancholy when Adia said she was leaving. But what she said now made him cross.
‘If I run that risk, I owe it to you because you let them go,’ he said, dryly.
‘That is exactly what I meant,’ Adia said, without losing her composure. ‘I feel in some way responsible for your safety, so I’m offering you company. If there are two of us and the dogs, we’ll be safe.’
‘But I’m going in the opposite direction.’
She sighed impatiently. ‘Are you really that slow or do you do it on purpose to irritate me? It’s true that you’d have to go slightly out of your way, but at least you won’t be risking your life. At Corticella you can take a boat up the navile to return to Bologna. It won’t take you more than an hour longer. Are you in a great hurry?’
‘No, it was only that your decision surprised me. If I think of my house, my books ... Are you really going to just leave it all like this?’ he asked. ‘Without regret, without thinking about it any more?’
Adia wore a distant look. ‘It’s certainly not the first time. Even though I have converted to the Christian faith, wherever I go I’m barely tolerated, and I’ve already had to run away. Besides,’ she continue
d, forcing a smile, ‘This way I see new places, get to know the world, and meet lots of people who, like me, are looking for the truth.’
Mondino would have liked to ask which truth she was referring to, but it wasn’t the time or place.
‘I’ll accept with pleasure, mistress,’ he said, warmly. ‘I’ll help you pack, if you’ll allow me.’
Adia’s lips opened in a smile. ‘That’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me since you got here.’
XIII
Gerardo woke to the sound of a key turning in the latch of a door in the distance and opened his eyes, pointlessly as it happened, because it was pitch dark. The kicks and thumps he had been given had swollen his face and every movement he made hurt him.
He didn’t know how much time had passed. There was the acrid smell of excrement that he had noticed when he was first brought into the cell. It came from a pile of dirty straw not far from him. Gerardo had lain down on the bare stone, as far as possible from the pile of dung, and, after a bit, not even horror of his situation had kept him from falling asleep.
He tried to get up, but hit his head. He had forgotten that the ceiling was less than five feet high, which meant that he couldn’t stand up. Air entered through a small window to one side of the door, through which the food was also passed to the prisoner inside. Or so Gerardo supposed, given that since he had arrived, he hadn’t been given anything to eat or drink.
Initially they had shut him in a shared cell with another four or five prisoners. Then, without any explanation, two burly guards had come and moved him to this little room that must once have been a larder, then turned into an isolation cell when the municipal jail had been moved to the comune.
From that moment Gerardo had been left in the dark, waiting to be interrogated. All of a sudden, the door opened and two guards appeared on the threshold. They were so tall and broad that they couldn’t get into the room at the same time. One of them grabbed him by the wrists and dragged him out. The sudden light caused him acute pain in his eyes and he shut them quickly. Then the guards picked him up by his armpits and carried him off with his feet hardly touching the ground. They passed some shared cells, from which there came a very strong stench of sweat and excrement, and one that had the smell of a dead body. The youth didn’t ask where they were going. He knew that instead of an answer he’d probably get a thump across the head. They went down a wooden staircase and another made of stone and Gerardo, noticing a decrease in the light, tried opening his eyes again: they were in an underground room, obviously used for torture.
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