Inquisition (26 page)

Perhaps he was telling the truth and perhaps not. Uberto suspected that the Archbishop had meant to make him a surprise visit and would have specifically asked the prior not to tell him. All things considered, he couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to come and upset the applecart.

He looked in the direction of St Dominic’s cell, now converted into a chapel. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, pretending indifference. ‘It’s only that I would have liked time to prepare myself.’

The prior nodded, excusing himself again, and went back to looking at the slow growth of what he thought of as his ‘Creation’. Meanwhile Uberto tried to work out how to ward off that rough stroke of destiny. He had asked the student cum arsonist to be transferred to the prison in the basilica so that he could interrogate the youth at his ease and extort a confession by his own means. He assumed that someone had immediately gone to report this development to the Archbishop. However, once the accomplished fact had been laid before him, Rinaldo wouldn’t be able to do anything about it without coming up against Clement V in person. Only now Uberto discovered that the Archbishop would be arriving in Bologna that very evening. And that he would not be staying at the episcopal palace or the templar House where three years previously he had set the trial in motion with the archbishops of Pisa and Cremona. He would be staying at the Basilica of San Domenico. Naturally this had not seemed strange to the prior, he was simply happy to have another memorable event to note down in the registers: a visit from the Archbishop of Ravenna during his priorate.

Rinaldo would insist that the interrogation be conducted according to the law and nothing useful would come out of it at all. The only possibility seemed to be that of putting off the request for the prisoner’s transfer till after the Archbishop’s departure, but that too presented problems. Above all Uberto didn’t know how long the visit would last. It might be a day, but it might be a week. Obviously Uberto didn’t want to leave the prisoner in the hands of the
Podestà
for too long. If condemned for arson, he might end up dead or incapable of speaking again.

Fortunately no one at the monastery apart from Uberto knew about the youth’s arrest. This gave him a bit of time to reflect, but he needed to make a decision in a hurry.

He was about to take his leave of the prior when a young messenger from the
comune
turned up in the churchyard and began to walk their way. Uberto assumed that he was bringing news from the
Podestà
. Whatever it was that he had to tell Uberto, the prior must not hear. He started to get to his feet but the giant took him by the arm. With a benevolent smile, he said, ‘Let him come to us, father. I know how modest you are, but hierarchies must be respected.’

Before Uberto could reply, the messenger had reached them. He made a bow and handed a rolled parchment with the
Podestà
’
s
seal on it to the Inquisitor, immediately retiring to a respectful distance to allow him time to read it.

‘My orders are to wait for a reply,’ he said. ‘If you would like to go up to the monastery to write your answer, I can wait for you here.’

Uberto nodded and signed to him with a wave of his hand, grateful to have the pretext to leave. ‘It will be quicker if you come with me,’ he said. Then he turned to the prior. ‘Please excuse me,’ he added, turning away before the man had a chance to reply.

As they were walking towards the monastery, Uberto broke the seal and began to read the letter. The
Podestà
of Bologna, Enrico Bernadazzi, agreed to his request to interrogate Francesco Salimbene, but since the student under arrest was responsible for a civic crime, he could not consent to the transfer to and incarceration at the Basilica. However, the Inquisitor was welcome to come and interrogate him at the
comune
prison in the presence of the
Podestà
, the Captain of the People and a notary.

Uberto’s thin lips slowly shaped themselves into a smile. The
Podestà
had certainly intended to insult him with that letter, and in normal circumstances he would have succeeded.

But just then the chance of interrogating the prisoner without the Archbishop seemed heaven sent. And perhaps it really was. Nonetheless, everything depended on secrecy and speed. There was not a moment to lose.

‘I will give my reply to the
Podestà
in person,’ he said to the messenger. ‘I’ll come back to the
comune
with you now.’

He made a sign for the man to go on ahead and prepared to follow him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the prior, who suddenly seemed more vigilant than usual. Could he be Rinaldo’s spy, the person who kept the Archbishop informed of Uberto’s every movement? It seemed impossible to him, but by now the question was losing its importance. If he managed to make the prisoner confess, Rinaldo da Concorezzo would no longer have a chance to put a spoke in the wheel.

As he walked, Uberto tore the parchment into tiny pieces and crossing one of the numerous bridges over the Savena, he threw them into the river and watched them float on the current, little white blotches covered in black ink.

A minuscule fleet of Dominicans running to the defence of the faith.

Hearing the door open, Gerardo thought the guards had come to collect him again. He mentally prepared himself for torture. Not knowing if or for how long he would be able to stand it, he only hoped that he wouldn’t collapse like a sickly child at the first hint of pain.

He had closed his eyes so as not to feel the shooting pain of sudden light in the cell. He heard a man’s voice say, ‘You can go in, but don’t stay too long’, and then he smelled the unexpected scent of clean clothes and perfumed hair. A woman’s smell.

Completely thrown, he opened wide his eyes and then quickly had to shut them again. What he had seen in that brief instant didn’t make any sense at all.

‘Does the light hurt?’ asked Fiamma. ‘If you would like, I’ll put out the lamp.’

She must have covered it with something because the light grew less strong. Gerardo opened his eyes again and looked at her properly. She was wearing a simple white gown with a veil over her head and was sitting on her heels on the dirty floor. She had put the lamp behind her, next to the closed door. Gerardo was mortified by his own appearance and the acidic stink that hung like a pall in the cell. He hardly noticed it any more, but Fiamma did. She was holding a linen handkerchief pressed to her mouth.

‘The light is fine now, mistress, thank you,’ he mumbled, through his swollen lips. ‘Why are you here?’ ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ she asked.

Gerardo shook his head. ‘It’s not that. Of course I’m pleased. But now they know you know me, they could interrogate you and extort information about me from you. I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt because of me.’

In an impulsive gesture, Fiamma stretched a hand out to touch his face, and then she quickly removed it. In that tiny cell they were forced into an inappropriate closeness and despite the pain in his bones and muscles, Gerardo felt a growing sensation that filled him with embarrassment.

The girl had put a small basket down on the floor and now she took out a piece of linen and a jug of water. She dipped the cloth into the water and softly began to clean the dirt and dried blood off Gerardo’s face.

‘They won’t harm me, don’t worry,’ she said. ‘The Captain of the People had a large debt with Remigio and he was very happy to allow me to visit you in return for a letter certifying the remission of the due sum.’

‘You shouldn’t have!’ exclaimed Gerardo. ‘Your father—’

‘Remigio is not my father!’ interrupted Fiamma, vehemently.

‘I’ve already told you. And anyhow he has disappeared, as you know. When he comes back, if he comes back, he won’t be able to do anything but take note of my decision. I forged his signature so that even he couldn’t tell the difference.’ she paused briefly, then added, ‘I would have done anything to be able to come and see you.’

Gerardo felt his heart beat faster at those words, but he said nothing. He realised with surprise that the idea of breaking his vows didn’t seem so terrible now. Perhaps it was his closeness to death. Fiamma finished washing his face and took her hand away, putting the dirty cloth on the floor. Apart from when she had made the comment about Remigio, she always spoke through the handkerchief.

‘I’ve brought you something to eat and some fresh water to drink,’ she said, putting the basket down beside him. ‘Please, help yourself.’

Gerardo stretched outa hand for a covered bowl of soup that was still warm. He drank it avidly, savouring the rich, salty taste. Then he took a big piece of meat from the bottom of the bowl, put it on a chunk of bread and bit into them. Fiamma watched him eat from behind her handkerchief,with an expression that reminded Gerardo of his mother. Lastly, Gerardo drank half the water in the jug, saving the rest for later.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I truly needed that.’

‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

Gerardo was about to say no, but now that he had finally had something to eat, he felt stronger and more awake and for the first time he remembered that he had left Hugues de Narbonne lashed to the bed.

‘There is one thing, mistress.’

‘Tell me.’

Without going into too much detail, Gerardo explained that the previous night Hugues had suffered a wound to his head. Mondino had operated on him and to keep him from moving they had had to tie him to the bed and gag him.

‘Then we left him like that, for reasons that I cannot explain,’ he said. ‘I was counting on going back to untie him this afternoon, after speaking to your father. Then I was arrested and I forgot all about him until now.’ ‘Would you like me to go and see how he is?’ Gerardo hesitated. ‘If no one goes, he might die. I was supposed to meet the magister there, but he can’t get in alone. As I was certain I would arrive first, I didn’t tell him where I hid the key.’

‘It’s all right, I’ll go and wait for him.’

Gerardo remembered the looks that Hugues had given the young woman when they had visited Remigio and suddenly the idea of sending her into the lion’s den didn’t seem such a good one, even if the Frenchman was weak and recovering from an operation.

‘Remember,’ he said, with a serious look. ‘Wait for Mondino to get there before you untie the cords. We have reason to believe that Hugues de Narbonne is not who he says he is.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,’ she reassured him. ‘My father’s two servants will accompany me as the bank is closed for the time being anyway.’

So Gerardo told her where the house was and where he had hidden the key. ‘I thank you for your kindness with all my heart, mistress,’ he said, smiling. ‘God knows I need it right now.’

Fiamma nodded, but she didn’t return his smile. She seemed to have something else on her mind. She waited a moment in silence, as though she were deliberating with herself. ‘That’s not the only reason that I came,’ she said, and then after a pause, ‘I must speak to you.’

‘What about?’

‘About me.’

Surprised, Gerardo only managed to say, ‘I’m listening.’ Fiamma was quiet for a long while, then she took a deep breath. ‘This wasn’t done by a physician trying to treat a cataract,’ she said, removing the handkerchief from her mouth and showing him the left side of her face. In the trembling light of the oil lamp, the scar seemed to flash like a little white snake from her eye almost down to her chin. Gerardo was confused. What did the scar have to do with it? the young woman seemed too shaken to speak coherently.

‘That was what I told everyone, even Remigio,’ continued Fiamma. Curled up, with her hands around her knees, she almost seemed a child. ‘I needed to forget.’

She shook her head, almost as if she couldn’t go on, and pressed the linen handkerchief to her mouth again. It looked as though she wanted to weep, but couldn’t. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath her light gown.

‘Mistress, please calm yourself,’ said Gerardo, and on an impulse he moved over and tried to take her in his arms.

Fiamma cried out as though he had bitten her. She moved quickly backwards and put her hand to the sash that she wore round her waist, while Gerardo stared at her aghast, thinking that she was about to pull out a knife. But the girl took out a little embroidered bag. It contained three things: some folded cotton paper, a piece of parchment and a minuscule notebook, the like of which Gerardo had never seen before. She was about to put them in his hands but thought again and laid them on the filthy floor between them.

‘The first is a letter for you,’ she said. ‘The notebook is a diary that I wrote many years ago and the piece of parchment is a useless thing, but I know you are looking for it. Please read the letter and the diary. I would like you to understand me, if not forgive me.’

Then she called the guard to open the door, took up the basket with the crockery and went out without turning back or saying goodbye. She was visibly agitated.

Gerardo found himself alone. All the well-being he had felt after finally being able to eat and drink had vanished and he felt his stomach clench like a vice. He took the letter, which was very short, and had only just had time to read it when he heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor. He hurriedly wet his fingers and pinched the flame to put it out. Then he hid everything in the only possible place: under the pile of dirty straw.