by Ned Minkov
Chapter II
Succumbed to flesh’s sinful yearnings,
Heaven’s grace to embrace – he did not.
The imposing two-storey villa faced a small, paved square a little way off the busiest marketplace in Bologna. It was one of the quietest nooks of the bustling town. Built in the early Romanesque style, the snow-white building could not pass unnoticed even at night. The splendour of its façade caught the eye even behind the row of cypresses in the garden before the steps leading to the main entrance. A large tympanum with carved battle scenes was carried by two solid columns that protruded from the thick walls. The latter framed the massive front door of the building. Four arched windows on each storey matched the ornate exterior of the structure.
This was the residence of Baron Flavio d’Avenucci, one of the most influential men in Bologna. By the age of forty-six, d’Avenucci had amassed a fortune through staunch loyalty to the Pepolis – the noble family ruling over the city. His political orientation had also earned him fame and respect in Bolognese society. Thus he had become a desired son-in-law by most public figures in Bologna. His unattractiveness and the coarseness of his manner were no longer repulsive to women, and still less to their fathers. The prospect of getting their daughter married to a man so close to the Pepolis was most tempting to the petty nobility. Thus Baron d’Avenucci had had the opportunity to make a choice and had recently married a young woman named Bianca. She was the youngest daughter of Signor Alberto Domenichino – a navy veteran from an old Genoese family, who had served in the fleet of Paganino Doria in the famous victory over the Venetians in the battle of Sapienza.
It was the beautiful Bianca who was now observing from the window of her bedroom the clamour down in the villa’s courtyard. The sun had just set beyond the horizon in the west, leaving only a thin crimson stripe on the roofs of the nearby buildings. A faint breeze had brought freshness, cooling the swelter of the July afternoon. Under the window, D’Avenucci’s servants and valets were rushing to and fro, in preparation for the reception their master was giving that evening. A large number of guests were expected to honour the Baron’s invitation, so there was still a lot to be done in the short time left. Tables were being arranged both inside the villa and out in the yard, and every cranny of the place was being polished. However, Bianca was in no mood for socializing. As a wife of a powerful aristocrat, she was obliged to be a public figure as well. Like most of the women with her background, she had no affections for her husband. Since adolescence, she had been brought up to be a loyal spouse of a man like d’Avenucci. Her well-being, her family’s honour and prosperity apart, depended on her devotion to such a kind of life. Therefore, she could not help having to seek for true, albeit clandestine love and affection.
And Bianca had found them, very recently.
A week ago, while promenading around the marketplace, she had met a tall, elegant man who had caught her attention with his manners. How unlike the Baron’s! They had exchanged glances for what had seemed to her eternity. He looked to be about her age, his dark eyes and short, curly hair the colour of a raven. And although she had thought that he possibly could give her the love she craved for, she had turned around and headed back home confused, for she had never before tried to attract a man. Nor had she had the courage do so then. Bianca had hastened to get back to her secluded chamber and weep over her loneliness. That is why she had not noticed that the charming man was following her. She had only found out on the following day. Going out for her habitual promenade, she had found the young man waiting in front of her house, a red rose in hand, dressed in a splendid black-velvet vest over a dark-green shirt – the colour of love. The outfit bespoke a hint of nobility which matched his fine air. Initially, she had ignored him, but he had kept coming back every day over the following week. Once they had even spoken briefly. Later, he had accompanied her for an hour. And still later, he had inquired whether he could pay her a visit.
‘What a nerve’ she had answered. ‘I am a married woman!’
‘And I am a man in love!’ he had replied.
She had turned away and run back to the villa. She had been feeling ashamed of herself ever since. She didn’t even know his name. He had not introduced himself, nor had she asked about it. The only thing she knew was that she did indeed want to have his love. Even if only once.
A knock on the door of her bedroom interrupted her fancies.
‘Come in’, she answered.
The door opened and d’Avenucci’s face appeared. He spread what he believed to be his charming smile.
‘Dear Bianca, are you getting ready for the evening?’ he asked with a childlike sing-song intonation. He was twice her age and thought that treating her like a little girl would break the ice between them. She hated that.
‘I was just about to’, she said. ‘I’ll be ready in time, I promise.’
‘Surely you will put on the dress I brought you from Genoa last week?’
‘I will.’ she acquiesced, forcing a smile meant to conceal her gloomy mood.
The reception had gathered many of the most influential figures in Bologna – all of them with a noble title or of high clerical dignity. There were also merchants from other cities, who happened to be around on that day, as well as respected mentors from the University. No invitations had been sent in advance. By now Baron d’Avenucci’s receptions were very popular and figured high on the agenda of the city’s high life. Everyone was welcome, as long as they had a title, or was a prominent person, or else was able to donate a significant sum to the City Council, whose most recent member was d’Avenucci.
The Baron and his wife descended the inner staircase to the entrance hall.
The couple drew the attention of the guests with their magnificent apparel. Bianca wore a long crimson dress with funnel sleeves. A white-pearls necklace adorned her delicate neck. Her husband was dressed in a florid doublet, the colour of his wife’s dress, golden embroidery covering his chest. A heavy chain indicating his high rank hung around his thick neck, while a broad-brimmed, flat cap concealed his bald head, slightly tilted over his forehead.
The hosts were met with polite nods and raised glasses filled with wine. D’Avenucci immediately set about bragging about the source of the precious liquid.
‘It is from the vines of my cousin, the Duke of Pavia!’
Bianca stood by his side, as she was supposed to throughout the evening, conversing with the wives of the Baron’s guests.
A man in scarlet garments made his way towards the hosting couple and saluted d’Avenucci.
‘It is my honour to welcome you at my home, Monsignor’, the Baron answered. The honourable guest was Cardinal Giovanni Savelli, the Bishop of Bologna. He was also the rector of the University. After exchanging a few words in a highly polite manner with d’Avenucci, the Cardinal waved to a young man, standing by the front door. The latter understood Savelli’s sign and approached with a slow, but elegant gait. He smiled at the host and extended his hand. The Cardinal introduced him to the Baron.
‘Signor d’Avenucci, I would like to introduce to you one of the most diligent among my neophytes.’ he said. ‘His name is Balthasar Cossa and his father is the Baron of Ischia, a remarkable person of an age-old family.’
As d’Avenucci listened to Savelli’s praises for the young man and his origins, Bianca turned to see her husband’s new acquaintances. When she met the face of the young student, she was rooted to the spot. The short black ringlets of his hair, the deep dark eyes, and the captivating smile were impossible to mistake. She was looking at her nameless admirer. Balthasar gave away no trace of recognition. He remained indifferent to the glances they exchanged. For the rest of the evening, he ignored the woman, as if he had just met her for the first time. While Bianca was nervously following her husband among the guests, Cossa was enjoying small talks with the people Cardinal Savelli introduced him to. The young woman felt devastated. She was glad that Balthazar had kept his calm, but at the same time she was ye
arning for his attention. She was secretly hoping that he would choose an opportune moment to speak to her. But it was all in vain. The reason why Balthasar did not try to engage her in conversation was that he was stalking someone else. As he walked around with the Cardinal, exchanging pleasantries with the other guests, he kept both his eyes and his mind on the host. He was following each movement of the Baron, trying to maintain a short distance between him and d’Avenucci. What Balthasar himself did not notice was that while he was stalking the Baron, someone else, besides Bianca, was watching him closely.
After a long discussion with one of the guests, d’Avenucci excused himself and headed towards the exit to the courtyard. He left his half-full goblet of wine on a table near the door and beckoned to the Cardinal to accompany him outside. It was the moment Balthasar had been awaiting all evening. He stole up to the side table, looked around to make sure nobody was watching him and poured the content of a small phial into the Baron’s wine. As he made to rejoin the company, a hand grabbed his right arm. Balthasar turned his face showing only the slightest look of surprise. But his alarm flared out no sooner than his gaze met the cold, sunken eyes of Federico Monticelli. The Inquisitor was staring quizzically at the young student.
‘Excuse me for disturbing you,’ Monticelli said, ‘but I was wondering if we have met before?’
‘I cannot recall such occurrence, signor.’ Balthasar answered. ‘But I believe I have heard of you. Aren’t you Signor Monticelli, the Head of the Holy Inquisition in Bologna?’
‘Indeed, I am’, Monticelli said with his deep, even voice. ‘And may I ask you for your name?’
‘My name is Balthasar Cossa, signor, and I am a student of theology at the University. Cardinal Savelli, who is one of my mentors, invited me to accompany him at this reception.’
‘I see’, Monticelli murmured. ‘Once again, I am sorry to have bothered you, but I was sure your face had rung a bell. Do enjoy the evening, signor Cossa.’ As the Inquisitor drew back, Balthasar gave a furtive sigh of relief, before mixing into the crowd.
Later that night, Bianca was lying in her bed next to her husband who was already asleep. Although she felt tired after the reception, the eagerly expected slumber still eluded her. She had not been able to bring herself to stop thinking over Balthasar’s behaviour throughout the evening. Why had he avoided her all the time? Why had he not uttered a single word? She felt desperate, as if all the hope she had harboured the last few days had evaporated.
Suddenly, her attention was drawn by a rustle through the window that she had left open, so that cool air may enter the room. She darted a frightened look. A dark silhouette of a man appeared in the window frame.
‘Oh, God, who are you?’ Bianca tried to shout, but her fright choked her words to a constrained groan.
‘Signora d’Avenucci’, the figure said in a calm voice. ‘Please, do not be scared.’
Bianca watched in silent disbelief, as the figure stepped into the room. Was she dreaming? From the words the man spoke, she could recognize the voice she had kept recalling over the past week. Only tonight had she added a name to the coveted person. Now, he was in her room – Balthasar Cossa.
A shiver of anxiety got the better of her surprise.
‘Are you insane?’ she whispered. ‘My husband will wake up and then you’ll be in great trouble. He might even kill you.’
‘Your husband won’t wake up earlier than tomorrow noon’, Balthasar reassured her, now standing in front of her. ‘I poured some soporific into his wine. He will sleep like a log.’
Bianca noticed his lips curl into a charming smile.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked, jumping out of her bed.
‘To see you, signora – just as I have promised.’
‘You must leave. You should not be in my bedroom.’ Bianca tried to send him away, but the words did not come out as firmly as she intended.
‘Maybe I should not. But it was the only way to spend some time with you’, he said and stood so close to her that she could smell his scent.
‘Do you really want me to leave?’
She stared in his eyes which looked bottomless in the dark. She made to say something, but could not. She felt arousal gain the upper hand. She realized that what was happening was exactly what she had yearned for in the past few days.
Balthasar gently wrapped his hands around her slender waist. His touch sent a shudder running through her whole body. He kissed her. Breathless from all the excitement she felt, she surrendered any resistance and pressed herself against him.
He released her from her nightdress and started kissing her naked breasts. Then he laid her on the bed, next to her husband, who was sleeping on its right side, with his back towards them. The next moment their bodies were swaying in the rapture of their lustful sin. The only thing that drowned their voluptuous moans was d’Avenucci’s snoring.
Later that night, Balthasar climbed back down the tree through the window. He jumped over the hedge surrounding d’Avenucci’s villa and swiftly disappeared along the quiet street. Once he was no longer to be seen, a figure emerged from the shadows of the small square facing the villa. Federico Monticelli glanced at the tree in front which Cossa had climbed up and down within the last hour. He turned around and walked away in an opposite to Balthasar’s direction.
The Director finished his narration and remained silent for a moment, deep in thought. I was so fascinated with the story that I was startled by the sudden pause.
‘And what happens next?’ I asked. ‘The Inquisitor tells Bianca’s husband about what he saw?’
‘No.’ he answered. ‘But on the very next day he goes straight to Alberto Domenichino – Bianca’s father. He tells him about Balthasar’s visit and the probable consequences to his family’s relations with d’Avenucci. Then he offers Domenichino to take care of the young lover and thus save both his reputation and finances. The old navy man agrees. Luckily for Balthasar, Domenichino’s maid who is one of Cossa’s many mistresses overhears her master’s conversation with Monticelli and warns Balthasar. The young man has no other choice – apparently the Inquisitor has remembered his face from that night in the cattle-shed and is suspecting him of having connections with The Woman in White. And connected they are – she is his dearest mistress.’
‘Hah, it seems that Balthasar is a rather lustful character’, I commented.
‘Indeed,’ the professor agreed. ‘Lust is one of his natural vices, the one he displays most readily. And although it almost costs him his life, and on more than one occasion, he never quite gives up his love for women.’
‘And where does he go after learning that Monticelli is after him?’ I reminded the Director.
‘Well, he takes Yandra – his heretical girlfriend – whom he aids and abets, and the two of them gain the only possible safe haven left. Balthasar has three elder brothers, who own a small fleet attacking cargo ships as well as villages along the Italian and African coastlines. In other words – they are pirates. And Balthasar joins them.’
‘A theology student turns pirate?’ I was beginning to suspect that the professor was inventing.
‘Listen carefully, as the story unravels!’ he went on. ‘Nothing in the life of Balthasar Cossa is left undone. His studies at the University of Bologna serve him well in the years after he gives up scouring the seas and the lands. But let us not get ahead of ourselves! We now come to the next episode of Cossa’s life – the piracy.’