«Dont get in my way again, next time I might not be able to stop.»
«Witch, Ill report you to the authorities. Youll be the one wholl be burned alive. At the stake. In the public square. And Ill watch as the flames consume you. Witch! Witch!»
Those words brought to mind the execution of the witch Lodomilla, whom she witnessed as a child. Without uttering any more words and without appealing to her powers again, Lucia left the place, hoping that Elisabettas story had not been taken seriously, and returned home to Palazzo Baldeschi, a huge building overlooking the Piazza del Mercato2 . The palace had been finished enlarging a few years ago, on the basis of a building dating back more than three centuries, at the behest of her uncle, Cardinal Artemio Baldeschi, who was her grandmothers brother. The sumptuous residence was located between the new church of St. Florian and the Cathedral. The last one was a wonderful church in Gothic style, enriched by beautiful spires on the facade, with a large interior with three naves, able to accommodate over two thousand faithful. Unfortunately, it was built on the basis of the temple of Jupiter and the ancient Roman baths, without those who had built it at the time had bothered too much to fortify the foundations. So the construction was unsafe and would have had to be torn down to make way for a new church dedicated to the citys patron saint, St. Septimius, whose relics were kept in the crypt of the ancient cathedral. For the time being, the Cardinal celebrated Holy Mass every Sunday in the church of St. Florian, and had also obtained that the adjoining convent, destined to the friars of the Dominican Order, should instead become the seat of the Tribunal of the Holy Inquisition, as he was the Chief Inquisitor. The Dominicans had therefore been relegated to a convent further down the valley, in an old 12th century building near the church of St. Bernard and the convent of Poor Clare nuns of the Valley.
Lucia was heartbroken when, after a few days, Uncle Artemio summoned she to his office, in the other wing of the palace compared to the one inhabited by her and her grandmother. The uncles office was a huge room, lavishly furnished, the walls enriched with tapestries, the floor partly covered with a huge carpet. A bookcase occupied an entire wall, containing sacred and profane texts, valuable manuscripts and some printed texts, including a copy of Dante Alighieris Divine Comedy, made years earlier by Federico Conti in his printing house in Jesi. Lucia would have wanted very much to consult those texts, but she had always been strictly forbidden.
The smell of the velvets that covered chairs and armchairs contributed to make the air in the room heavy and unbeatable, almost to the limit of suffocation. The windows that overlooked the square allowed the Cardinal to gaze into the nerve centre of his city, keeping his illustrious fellow citizens under control, but they were always hermetically sealed to prevent the noise of the square and the streets from disturbing the concentration of the highest prelate of the place. The cardinals office allowed him to be above any other political office, also being able to challenge any decision of the Peoples Capitan, who resided in the not far away Government Palace. The power conferred on him by Pope Alexander VI, and confirmed by his successors, Pius III, Julius II and Leo X, was in fact respected and, at the time, feared by all the other local authorities.
The Cardinal offered his ringed hand to his niece to kiss her, then invited her to sit in one of the imposing chairs in front of his desk.
«Lucia, my dear niece, you are no longer a child, and the time has come for you to find a man who is a worthy husband. If there is no other young man in your thoughts, Id like to propose the son of the Peoples Captain, Andrea. He is twenty years old, he is a handsome young man and is good at both riding and handling weapons», he turned to her, while cleaning the lenses of his glasses, of exquisite Venetian workmanship, with a small cloth. Waiting for the young woman to answer, he breathed again on the lenses, rubbed them carefully with the cloth and then twisted his glasses, staring his penetrating gaze into Lucias eyes.
The Cardinal, almost sixty years old, apart from his grey hair, was still strong, with a tall, slender figure; the sharp brown eyes stood out against the pale skin of his face, which despite his age was not yet furrowed by obvious wrinkles. Only in those rare moments when he smiled did crows feet form on the sides of his eyes. Lucia knew that this was certainly not the reason she had been summoned, and she tried to penetrate her uncles mind to know what he actually wanted, but his thoughts were sealed behind invisible and very strong barriers. Grandmother had warned her, Uncle Artemio was part of the family and, like all its members, was endowed with powers, perhaps stronger than all of them. Yet, in appearance and in the eyes of the people, he had dedicated his life to fighting witchcraft and heresy.
«If hes a sorcerer too, why does he fight his fellow men?», Lucia asked her grandmother one day.
«Because it is since their defeat that he has been able to increase his powers. Never turn your back on him, never trust him, if he found out that you are a creature with strong powers, even if you are his granddaughter, he would not hesitate to condemn you to the stake, and watch you burning, while your powers also transfer to him. When you are in his presence, do not think, he reads your thoughts, even the most hidden ones, and in addition prevents you from reading his thoughts.»
And it was true! At that moment Lucia was experiencing that she couldnt penetrate his mind in any way. It seemed he had no thoughts, and yet he had to have them.
«I should know if I like him, know him and see if I can fall in love with him.»
«Falling in love, what a big word! In noble families like ours, one marries by contract. The family finds a good match for the girl and she will honour her chosen husband. But I want to come to you. The Peoples Captain, Guglielmo dei Franciolini, and I will organize a party where you and Andrea will get to know each other. And now go, Ill let you know when the party takes place.»
Lucia had already got up from her chair and was about to take her leave, when the Cardinal spoke to her again.
«Ah, I forgot», he said, as if it was something he didnt care about at all. «I was told that a few days ago you rescued a companion of yours whose clothes had burned. Good, the Baldeschi family must distinguish out in this town and show that we help others in all circumstances.»
At that moment, Lucia had a perception of her uncles mind as he was searching the far corners of her brain. She still couldnt force herself not to think, but she tried to remember the scene in her mind in a different way from what had happened in reality. Elisabetta had approached the bonfire that the Dyer Master had lit in front of his workshop, at the beginning of the descent of the Fortress, to boil the pot of water in which he would immerse the fabrics to be dyed with his bright colours. A strip of the girls habit had been touched by the flames, which had gone up in a flash and had burnt her hair. Luckily, it had suddenly started to rain, and Lucia, who was walking there, observed her reddened skin and pulled out of her saddlebag a jar of aloe and linseed ointment, a natural remedy for burns that her grandmother had prepared.
«Very good, Im proud of you!» repeated the Cardinal.
Lucia walked out of the room, hoping in her heart that she had bugged her uncle, even though she couldnt be sure.
If he really knows Im a witch and I have powers he might envy me, what will he do? Keep me under control until hes sure of my abilities and then mercilessly throw me over a bonfire and watch me die in the flames? But then, why offer me a husband? Well, maybe this is a political game. Marrying his niece to the son of the Peoples Captain will further increase his temporal power over this city, where too many people still proclaim themselves Ghibellines3 . I wouldnt be surprised if my uncle wants to concentrate both religious and political power on himself. Be on your guard, Lucia, and dont let your uncle or this young Andrea fool you.
«Very good, Im proud of you!» repeated the Cardinal.
Lucia walked out of the room, hoping in her heart that she had bugged her uncle, even though she couldnt be sure.
If he really knows Im a witch and I have powers he might envy me, what will he do? Keep me under control until hes sure of my abilities and then mercilessly throw me over a bonfire and watch me die in the flames? But then, why offer me a husband? Well, maybe this is a political game. Marrying his niece to the son of the Peoples Captain will further increase his temporal power over this city, where too many people still proclaim themselves Ghibellines3 . I wouldnt be surprised if my uncle wants to concentrate both religious and political power on himself. Be on your guard, Lucia, and dont let your uncle or this young Andrea fool you.
She would have liked to know more about Andrea, even before meeting him at the official party. Who knows when this event would have taken place? If the uncle had exposed himself, he wouldnt have taken so long to organize it.
Immersed in her thoughts, she crossed the long corridor that led her back to the wing of the building where she lived. At the end of the corridor she went down the stairs, finding herself on the ground floor, in the hallway at the entrance door. She would have had to climb up the stairs in front of her to reach her apartments. To her right, through a wooden door, there was the access to the stables. Morocco, her favourite stallion, sensed her presence and whimpered to greet the girl, who was tempted to push the door just enough to sneak in and give a caress to the black steed. But her attention was drawn to another small wooden door, which led to the basement of the palace. Usually that door was barred, but that day it was strangely ajar. Grandmother had warned her more than once not to venture into the basement. Down there was a labyrinth, in which it was easy to get lost, represented by the streets and rooms of the ancient Roman buildings. In fact, all the more recent buildings laid their foundations on the ancient Roman constructions. Lucias curiosity was too strong. She thought that if those ravines, that were now tunnels, galleries and cellars, had once been inhabited, the spirits of the ancient inhabitants could talk to her, tell her stories, confide their fears and feelings. Basically, Palazzo Baldeschi stood at what was the acropolis, the forum, the commercial and political centre of the city in Roman times. There were the temples, Baths, a little further away, where now stood the brand new Government Palace, there was a huge amphitheatre; closer, near the western walls of the city, the large cistern for water supply.
Itll be dark soon down there, thought Lucia. Ill need a light source.
She went into the barn and gave Morocco a little talk, and claimed the carrot the girl used to bring him as a gift. Lucia pulled it out of her pockets and the animal was quick to take it gently with his lips from her hands. She caressed the horse on the back of his nose, looking for a lantern. She saw it, unhooked it from the nail to which it was attached, checked that it was loaded with oil, then concentrated her gaze on the wick, which in a few moments caught fire. Lucia regulated the flame to the minimum, came out of the stable and ventured down the uneven stairs towards the bowels of the earth. Although Earth was one of the elements she had control over, she was a little afraid of it at the time. It almost seemed as if that ladder should never end, because it was so long. But maybe it was just Lucias impression. She finally left the last step with her foot. The humidity was strong down there, the girl was freezing the sweat on her, and her breath condensed into little clouds of steam. She raised the lantern flame. There were several corridors, bordered by ancient stone walls and rough bricks. One, very long, was lost in the darkness ahead. Grandmother had told her that there was a long passageway that could be used during sieges, to cross enemy lines and provide supplies for the besieged people and weapons for the citys defenders. This passage even came out at the country residence of the Baldeschi family, at the beginning of the road to Monsano, a small town located a few leagues away from Jesi, and always a historical ally of our city. On its right, a tunnel would certainly have quickly reached the underground of the cathedral, perhaps even the crypt that housed the relics of St. Septimius. The tunnel on its left could have led to the base of the church of St. Florian, like the ancient Roman cistern. Who knows if the latter was still full of water, Lucia wondered. She decided to go to her right, towards the basement of the Cathedral and, in short, she found herself in a small square chapel. Four white marble statues, without the head, like columns, supported the cross vault of the chapel. Probably, they were statues that had once adorned the Roman baths. Without the heads, which lay piled up in a hidden dark corner, they were used by those who had once designed the cathedral as columns. In the centre of the chapel, under the vault supported by Gothic arches, a small stone altar framed a shrine containing the relics of the first Bishop of Jesi, Septimius. The Saint, like many Christians of the time, had been martyred at the behest of the Roman authorities. The Roman dean who governed the city of Jesi had ordered its beheading, after Septimius had converted to Christianity a large part of the population, including the governors daughter. Septimius had been considered a dangerous enemy of the Roman Empire and executed. The bones had been stolen by the first Christians to save them from the desecration of the pagans, and hidden so well that for centuries and centuries no one knew where they were. The Saint was beheaded in 304 and his mortal remains were found only after 1,165 years in Germany. Therefore they had been brought back to that place of worship only about fifty years earlier.
How strange humanity! Lucia said to herself. The same treatment that the Romans gave to the first Christians, who were persecuted, now the Catholic Church seems to give it to those people who do not think like her: who deviate from the official doctrine are accused of heresy and may end up killed in the public square. Witches, heretics, Jews... are tried and burned at the stake, just because they have the courage to express their ideas and knowledge. Well, now the Church takes it out on heretics, tomorrow, in the future, some other faction will take over and perhaps Christians will be persecuted again. Why should there not be justice in this world? What is this God who allows so much evil to exist in the world, but especially in the heart of man?
As she followed the course of her thoughts, a blade of light generated by a setting sun managed to filter through a small mullioned window at the top, at the apse of the cathedral above, illuminating the area where the heads of the Roman statues were piled up. Lucias attention was focused on some details that she had not been able to notice before, there near those heads carved in stone so many centuries earlier. A kind of pentacle had been drawn on the beaten earth floor, different from the one she used to see drawn on the cover of the family diary given to her by her grandmother some time before. The design seemed asymmetrical, representing a seven-pointed star carved out by drawing a continuous line within a circle. Each point of the star intersected a point on the circumference, at each of which there were Hebrew inscriptions, whose meaning Lucia did not know. At each of the seven points, the trace of wax cast, left by a candle that had been lit there, was visible. In the centre of the figure were two rag dolls, made of straw around which miniature clothes had been wrapped. They represented an old woman and a girl: the old womans clothes were burnt, while the young woman had a brooch fixed to her chest. Lucia gasped, her heart started beating wildly, and in a flash she understood everything. Some black magic rituals had been performed there, and the dolls represented her and her grandmother. It was clear that someone wanted to see them suffer, if not even die. Who? Who could it have been? Only one person could have gone down there. The church above was now closed, forbidden to the faithful for more than a year, so the crypt could not be reached from the cathedral. The passage you had walked through was closed by a constantly barred door, and only her uncle, the Cardinal, the Chief Inquisitor Artemio Baldeschi, had the key. Certainly, it had been too long since there had been no executions in Jesi, the last fire had been lit six years earlier, the one in which Lodomilla had lost her life. Now the Cardinal had to quench his thirst, his desire for victims, his desire to witness suffering and death directly before his eyes, under his gaze. Yes, because unlike the majority of the inquisitors who, once the sentence had been pronounced, handed the victim over to the secular arm of the Law, avoiding witnessing the torment of those they had condemned, Artemio used to attend the execution, in the front row, sometimes holding the torch and setting fire to the stack. He seemed to have a sadistic taste in seeing his victim writhing in the flames, he kept staring at her with his eyes until the end, and for a precise reason: to capture the soul of the condemned man the very moment he left his mortal body.