The banker’s legs were now as rigid as tree trunks, laced with a network of iron that stuck up under the taut skin and broke through in places. In its inexorable progress towards his heart, the poison had already reached his torso, but Remigio was still alive. Fiamma looked into his eyes, sensitive to every tiny start of his body.
‘How did you convince him to follow you here?’ asked Gerardo.
She replied without removing her gaze from the eyes of her adoptive father. ‘I used the lure of my body, just as I did for the beggars you can see around the place.’
Gerardo looked at those poor martyred souls, callously abandoned by the walls of the room.
‘You used them to practise with the saw and the knife,’ he said. ‘You sacrificed those innocent people in your vendetta.’ ‘They weren’t innocent!’ shouted Fiamma. ‘They feared this place, but lust was stronger than fear. And they paid for their sins with death.’
‘And Remigio? How did you convince him to come down here?’
Fiamma stretched her upper lip, uncovering her teeth in a grimace that had little in common with a smile.
‘I meant to kill him at home, then come here just for the last part,’ she said, in a thoughtful tone. ‘But he made the job easier.’
In a sing song voice, perhaps more to remind the banker of his errors than to clarify the facts, she explained that Remigio had hidden and listened to the conversation between Gerardo, Mondino and Hugues de Narbonne, and had decided to take advantage of the situation by getting rid of his enemy. He had sent for a young noble who owed him a large sum of money and had offered to annul the debt in exchange for the Frenchman’s death. A few days later Remigio had seen Bonaga speaking to Gerardo, and persuaded the crippled boy to tell him what they’d said in return for some money. The banker found out about the underworld and paid the boy to keep the entrance under surveillance. One evening Bonaga went to report that he’d seen Gerardo and a taller, older man going down. Remigio realised that it was Hugues de Narbonne and sent for the young nobleman, who immediately posted two archers at the entrance of the tunnel. But the intended victims had managed to kill their ambushers, and when Remigio heard about the outcome of the skirmish, he became afraid. ‘He feared that the young man’s father would come looking for him to avenge his son’s death,’ said Fiamma. ‘He was terrified. I advised him to hide in the underworld for a few days, in a secret place where no one would ever find him; and in the meantime, I would go and speak to the dead man’s father and try to put things right. The idiot even thanked me.’
Gerardo shook his head. ‘But once he got here and saw the corpses, he must have realised his error.’
Fiamma shrugged. ‘At that point it was too late,’ she said, darkly.
A heavy silence fell in the subterranean room, broken only by the murmur of the underground stream and Remigio’s agonised breathing, as his body became more and more like a statue. Gerardo had nothing more to say. What he didn’t know, he could imagine. Somehow Fiamma had imprisoned her adoptive father in the small room with the frescoes and gone home, telling everyone that he had disappeared. Then Gerardo had been arrested and she had come to visit him in jail, either to save an innocent man from being condemned or to make public her account of what she’d done. She must have planned Hugues de narbonne’s death, but with his revelations, Gerardo had made her task all the easier.
He was dumbfounded by what the woman was capable of.
And yet the attraction he felt for her won over his horror.
Fiamma was guilty of letting herself be overpowered by her thirst for revenge, but how much she must have suffered before falling victim to her lunacy! Watching her upright figure, her pale face framed by the blonde hair and the scar that heightened her charm instead of diminishing it, the young man felt more like taking her in his arms and covering her in kisses than immobilising her and dragging her in front of the Podestà, as was his duty.
It was the girl who solved his dilemma for him. In the same instant that Remigio let out his last breath, with a strangled wail and a convulsion that screwed his mouth into a smirk despite the paralysing potion, Fiamma pushed him off the altar. His body fell with a heavy thump. Then the young woman grabbed the coloured glass with her free hand, drank the contents in one gulp and lay down on the stone slab.
The meaning of her action was very clear. Gerardo ran to her, heedless of the knife that she still held in her hand. He lifted up her head, with the intention of getting her to her feet and making her be sick to get rid of the poison, but the girl murmured, in a sad voice that clutched at his heart, ‘It’s too late. Kiss me, please.’
They stared deep into each other’s eyes, and then Gerardo slowly leaned over her and placed his lips on hers.
He told himself that he did it out of compassion for a dying woman, and he was expecting to feel disgust at kissing a murderer guilty of such bloody crimes. But the kiss set free all the love there was between them and that was waiting to come out. For a time that seemed infinite, their lips were joined, their tongues touched and their hands moved madly in an explosion of the senses at the imminence of death. Then Fiamma’s breath became more irregular, her hands fell to her sides and the stiletto dropped to the ground. Gerardo pulled away from her, crying and muttering incoherently, but she opened her lips with a tired smile. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, looking into his eyes.
She coughed and her mouth filled with a yellowish foam. Then, suddenly, she began shuddering with tremors as her body retched, but she forced herself not to be sick. Her body was covered in a cold sweat as Gerardo inundated her face with tears. Soon life left her and she lay there inert in her black gown. The youth held her tight for a long time, crying despairingly. Then he straightened her body on the ancient altar she had chosen for a tomb, and with the sleeve of his tunic he wiped her mouth of the fluids that her body had produced to try and combat the poison. Only when he had given her back at least some of the beauty she’d had when living did he take her in his arms and walk out, to go and help Mondino. He could have asked the Captain of the People to send some men down to fetch both corpses, but his action wasn’t dictated by reason.
Mondino was concentrating on pressing the piece of cloth to his shoulder to stop the blood, ignoring the threats and protests of Guido Arlotti, who sat on the ground with his hands and feet bound. Severed ears only had his legs tied up, but couldn’t free himself because he needed his hands to stop the blood and guts from pouring out of his stomach, as they were in danger of doing with every movement he made.
‘My friend’s going to die and you will too if you don’t let me go and call for help,’ said Guido all of a sudden. Exhausted by his efforts to intimidate Mondino, he was now trying to persuade the physician through compassion and fear.
‘I’d prefer to die of a loss of blood than set you free,’ said Mondino. ‘So don’t waste your breath. And anyway,’ he added jutting his chin up the lane, ‘Here are the Podestà’s men.’
A pair of city guards in battledress had appeared at the corner of the lane, followed by PantaLeone Buzacarini, in military tunic and coat of mail, with more armed men behind him. The street was so narrow that they had to walk two by two, almost touching one another. Mondino told the Captain all that had happened, and PantaLeone immediately began to take command.
He took one look at severed ears’ wound and, with a blow of his sword, ended the man’s suffering. ‘He would have died on the way back anyway,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. Then he stood in front of Guido Arlotti.
‘You heard what the physician said,’ PantaLeone remarked, in a practical tone. ‘He claims it was you who spread the groundless rumours that caused the uprising and I have every reason to believe him.’ Guido began to protest, but the Captain interrupted him with a brusque wave of the hand. ‘I’m not interested in your excuses. You’d better confess immediately, because it is only on account of whoever is
behind all this that you’ll be taken to prison in one piece. Otherwise, before I have my men take you away, I’ll cut off your hands.’
Without waiting for a reply, he lifted his sword and made a sign to a guard, who grabbed Guido’s shoulders, pushing him flat on to the ground.
‘Wait!’ cried Guido Arlotti. It was the first time that Mondino had seen him look genuinely frightened. ‘I am in the service of the Inquisitor, Uberto da Rimini. Don’t touch me or you’ll pay dearly for it.’
Before the Captain could reply, the soldiers suddenly turned and went silent. Mondino followed their gaze and saw Gerardo emerging from the ruined house, with the same slightly mad expression that he’d worn on the night he’d knocked on the door of the Studium. And, as on that night, he was carrying a dead body.
Gerardo approached in silence, holding Fiamma Sensi in his arms as if she were his bride. The girl’s blonde head was resting on his chest, her scar was hidden and her black robe hung down to the ground in soft folds. In those squalid surroundings, her beauty was even more striking.
‘Is this the murderer we’ve been looking for?’ murmured a soldier, incredulous.
‘Yes,’ confirmed Gerardo, in a tired voice. ‘In the underworld behind me, you’ll find her last victim, Remigio Sensi, her adoptive father.’
The Captain of the People lowered his sword and shaking himself out of the enchantment that seemed to have descended on everybody present, he began to bark orders. Three men were to take Guido Arlotti to the comune, after he had been gagged to stop him crying for help or trying to incite the crowd. PantaLeone looked each of the soldiers in the eye and told them that if the prisoner escaped, he would pay for it with his life. Then the Captain gently took the girl’s body from Gerardo and passed it to two more guards, sending them to the comune as well. Finally he left two men to guard the ruined house and got ready to go down into the underworld, after asking Gerardo to tell him the way. Only then did the young templar turn to Mondino. ‘Master, how are you feeling?’
‘Not too good. I need Liuzzo.’
‘Would you like me to fetch him and bring him here?’
‘No, the streets are still dangerous,’ replied Mondino. ‘Let’s go to his house. I can walk if you give me a hand.’
Gerardo stood at his side and Mondino put his good arm around his shoulders, still holding the cloth pressed to his wound, and they set off slowly. Gerardo didn’t speak and was moving as though his mind were detached from his body. Mondino sensed that he had felt something much deeper than mere sympathy for Fiamma Sensi and didn’t want to interrupt him in his pain. But when they came out into Piazza di Santo Stefano, now deserted and silent, Mondino couldn’t hold back any longer.
‘And the secret of the iron?’ he asked.
‘Lost,’ replied Gerardo, in a distant voice. ‘Fiamma injected the preparation into her victims’ hearts with a hollow stiletto. When she drank the poison herself, the knife fell out of her hand and the powder went all over the floor.’
Mondino absorbed the information with genuine suffering, like another stab of the knife. Adia had been right about the stiletto, but in the end the secret was lost and it had all been for nothing.
‘Fiamma injected the poison into Remigio’s feet,’ Gerardo went on, after a pause. ‘The banker’s blood was turned into iron before my very eyes. If you think a horror of that kind could be of use to science, you could examine his body.’
Mondino heard what he said, but couldn’t manage a reply. He felt himself grow weak, and concentrated on the massive job of putting one foot in front of the other, in a series of small steps that would get him to safety. He’d worry about the rest later.
They hobbled towards Via San Vitale, draped over each other like two drunks after a night of revelry.
Epilogue
The port of Corticella, lit by the June sun, was a hive of activity. Mondino got slowly out of the boat, careful not to make any sudden movements with his right arm. The injury to his shoulder was healing well and he’d soon make a complete recovery, but Liuzzo had told him to take it easy for another month.
He opened the purse that he carried at his belt, pulled out a coin and paid the boatman. Then he made his way to the inn where Adia was staying, forcing himself not to walk too fast.
He couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms again. During the trial of the heart of iron murders, as people had begun to call them, he had put her completely out of his mind in order not to betray her. He and Gerardo had agreed just to mention a sorceress who had not been able to help them and who, after Guido Arlotti and his accomplices’ attack, had moved away.
No one had contested their statements. A mystery had been unveiled. What might have been a stain on the competence of the Podestà and the Captain of the People turned out to be the greatest success of their careers and neither were interested in digging any deeper. So much so that the trial for Fiamma Sensi’s crimes was overshadowed by a much more important one: that of the templars of the province of Ravenna, concluded on 21 June with the recognition of their basic non-involvement with respect to the charges. Rinaldo da Concorezzo had ordered the knights to undergo a simple purgation. In practice, they had to report to their archbishops and declare their orthodoxy, supported by at least seven witnesses of proven faith. Then they would be free again.
No one yet knew how Philip the fair and Pope Clement V would react to the sentence, but the news had spread rapidly all over Europe. Mondino wasn’t really that interested in the fate of the templars and from what he understood, even Gerardo meant to renounce his vows. The young templar had seen with his own eyes the deviations that could occur in even the purest and most devout monastic order, and he had decided to serve God as a layman.
The result that both had appreciated was Uberto da Rimini’s demotion from the position of Inquisitor.
Once he had been informed of the Dominican Inquisitor’s impropriety, machinations and use of blackmail, the Archbishop had ordered Uberto to make a pilgrimage to Rome on foot, without escort or money, providing for himself along the way by asking for charity. After which he would be sent to occupy himself with the saving of souls in an obscure mountain parish on the Via Francigena.
In all that time, which only lasted a few weeks but seemed an eternity, Mondino had seen Adia only once. Having heard he was injured, she had paid him a visit. It was a couple of days after Rainerio’s funeral and the sadness that weighed down on the house had meant that they met as strangers. But now that the horizon was clear once again, Mondino couldn’t wait to see her. As he walked along he could already smell her scent and feel the warmth of her amber skin.
He had thought about waiting until he was completely recovered before going to see her, but Adia had sent for him the previous day, saying that she had something important to tell him. As he slowly made his way among the carts, piles of goods, boatmen and farmers, Mondino couldn’t stop wondering what she wanted to tell him. Perhaps she had finally found a passage to Venice, on a boat big enough to take her books, dogs and donkey, and she wanted to say goodbye to him before leaving. But he hoped and, at the same time, feared that the news was something else, to which he didn’t know how he’d react.
He found her in the garden behind the inn, busy feeding her mastiffs, which were both tied to the same chain. She was wearing a white sleeveless gown, a pale green brocade bodice and a pair of leather sandals. On her head she had a simple young girl’s linen cap from which her dark curls were escaping. As soon as she saw him, she put down the bucket full of entrails and bits of stale bread and ran to fling her arms round him.
Mondino wanted to kiss her on the mouth, but she moved away, stiffening slightly.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, alarmed. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’
‘It’s not that,’ replied Adia.
The dogs, at the sight of their food, had begun to drool
and pull at the chain, but without barking or yelping, as other dogs might have done. Mondino took a step backwards.
‘Well, at least tell me what you wanted to say to me. I didn’t sleep at all last night for worrying.’
Adia took a step backwards, dropping her eyes. Her joy as she had run towards him had seemed spontaneous, but now she was nervous. Confused, Mondino could no longer keep silent about what had been tormenting him since the night before.
‘Are you with child? Is that what you wanted to tell me? If you are, don’t worry, I—’
He was interrupted by Adia’s crystalline laugh and stood there stupefied and offended.
‘You’re such a gentleman, and I’d expect nothing less of you,’ she said, laughing again with her eyes. ‘But that’s not it.’
‘What is it, then?’ Mondino was relieved not to have to take care of an illegitimate child and yet he couldn’t quite hide his disappointment.
‘Wait. First, I’ll deal with the dogs.’
She walked over to the mastiffs, picked up the bucket and poured the contents on to the ground. The two animals slavered copiously, but waited for her to give the order before they began to wolf down the food with grunts of satisfaction.
‘Let’s go to my room,’ said Adia. ‘I want to show you something.’
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