Inquisition (29 page)

He didn’t waste time looking for a candle; the beam of light that filtered underneath the shutter was enough. Gently he laid Adia down on the mattress, which was makeshift but covered in a clean sheet. Quickly and expertly she helped him take off his tunic and breeches, provoking a passing fit of jealousy in him, then she too was naked, kneeling at his feet.

For a moment they just stared at one another, motionless and in silence. Their desire was speaking for them, and what Adia did next didn’t seem vulgar to Mondino, but an act of love, tender and terribly exciting. He ruffled her dark hair, muttering words that made no sense at all. Twice he tried to pull away from that avid mouth to unite himself with her, and twice Adia dissuaded him with her hand, while Mondino adapted to being guided and not taking control of their lovemaking.

At a certain point Adia lay backwards on the mattress with Languid movements, never losing eye contact with him.

Mondino overcame the impulse to jump on her like an animal, and stood there contempLating her body in the half-light, guessing at what she wanted him to do.

‘Come here,’ said Adia, in a hoarse voice, beckoning to him. Mondino knelt on the mattress and began to caress her slowly, starting at her knees and moving up towards her breasts. Adia let out a soft groan and tried to pull him to her, but this time it was he who resisted. Her every look and gesture gave him a pleasure that until then he would not have thought possible. ‘You learn quickly,’ she laughed, softly.

She pulled him by his wrist and this time Mondino was on top of her with the impetus of a river in spate, holding nothing back.

They made love with eagerness the first time, then, after a brief rest in which there was no need for them to speak, they did it again more slowly, but with equal relish. Mondino fell asleep thinking that he had missed the last boat to Bologna. He had confused dreams in which all the events of the long day seemed to swirl in a vortex: the operation on Hugues de narbonne’s brain, the three armed men who had burst into Adia’s house, her sad dogs and her warm smell.

Uberto da Rimini tried to hide his fury without much success. He couldn’t explode in a fit of rage in front of the Archbishop of Ravenna. And yet Rinaldo da Concorezzo seemed created for the very purpose of making him lose his calm. As soon as Rinaldo arrived he had installed himself in Uberto’s study, called for all the papers reLating to the templar trial, and only then had called for the Inquisitor. Now, after a frugal supper, he was subjecting Uberto to an out and out interrogation. Uberto only prayed that he hadn’t left any compromising notes among the papers by mistake.

But what seemed to interest Rinaldo the most was the death of the German.

‘Monsignor,’ said Uberto, trying not to give his words too challenging a tone, ‘I am convinced that the murder of the templar, Wilhelm von Trier, found dead in Santo Stefano, is the second murder of that type here in Bologna. The first, as I have told you before, was not discovered, but only because the cadaver had disappeared, as well as the assassin.’

‘I am in no doubt that you are convinced,’ replied the Archbishop. ‘And I am also prepared to believe that it really did happen just as you say it did, father Uberto.’ He paused, looking at the papers and parchments strewn across the table as though searching for inspiration. ‘The point on which we continue to misunderstand one another is that, to be relevant to the trial, personal convictions must be supported by proof.’

Uberto would have liked to reply that there was plenty of proof. A corpse with an empty hole in place of the heart and a man who, after killing him, had paid two grave diggers to throw the body in a nameless grave. But if he gave in to the temptation of revealing the truth, Rinaldo da Concorezzo would scupper everything, with his mania for absolute legality and his obstinate refusal to use torture to obtain confessions. He would even be capable of formally reprimanding Uberto if he found out about da Rimini blackmailing Mondino de Liuzzi to stand witness at the trial.

‘I agree with you, monsignor,’ Uberto said, simply. ‘I am doing my best to get hold of the necessary evidence.’

He felt strange, sitting on an uncomfortable chair on the wrong side of his desk, in his own study. He wanted to get to his feet and put his papers in order, but etiquette demanded that he do nothing until invited to.

‘How exactly are you going about it?’ asked Rinaldo. The moment had arrived. Until now Uberto had got by with half-truths and omissions. Now it was a case of taking the plunge and knowingly telling a lie to his own Archbishop. A lie in the name of faith was not a true sin, but Rinaldo certainly wouldn’t see it like that. If he found out, he would dismiss Uberto. As he looked up at the ceiling in search of ideas, Uberto felt something akin to hate. Why on earth hadn’t the Archbishop stayed a few more days in his castle at Argenta, in the middle of the Ferrarese swamps? once he had the confession from the young prisoner in the
comune
and a statement from Mondino de Liuzzi, the manner in which they were obtained would take second place and what would count was the result. Should he then have any problems, Uberto would even be able to bypass the Archbishop, sending a message straight to the Pope.

But Rinaldo had chosen precisely that moment to come and cause trouble, and he had to put a good face on it.

Just as Uberto was getting ready to unleash a stream of untruths, a novice knocked and put his head round the door. After bowing deeply to the Archbishop, he announced, red in the face, that there was a certain Guido Arlotti waiting for father Uberto downstairs. Arlotti said it was urgent and they had not managed to make him understand that the Inquisitor could not be disturbed. What was the novice to do?

If Guido dared to insist on seeing him at a time like this, thought Uberto, it must be something serious. But however much he burned with the desire to know what it was, he could not interrupt his meeting with the Archbishop.

‘Tell him to come back later,’ he said to the novice. ‘I’m busy now.’

‘Why does this person want to see you so urgently?’ intervened Rinaldo da Concorezzo.

‘He is an ex-confrère who for years now has been on the path to perdition,’ said Uberto, again embarking down the road of the half-truth. ‘Recently he has been returning to the faith, but his crises of conscience can very well wait until the end of our meeting.’

‘Allow me to correct you, father,’ said Rinaldo. ‘Nothing is more important than the return of the prodigal son. Please go, I will wait for you here.’

Uberto swallowed the rebuke, thanked the Archbishop for his magnanimity and hurried after the novice down to the floor below, worried about the news but pleased by this unexpected piece of good fortune.

Guido Arlotti was standing in the atrium. He was wearing a clean tunic, faded green breeches and a floppy cap that hid his ears, but not enough to hide a face covered in grazes and bruises. His lips were swollen and cut and he had a black eye. Uberto led him to a little room with a crucifix painted on the wall and sparse furniture where the friar who guarded the street door received the postulants. The room was dimly lit by a candle at the foot of the crucifix, but the Inquisitor didn’t bother to light the oil lamp on the cupboard next to the small table. Nor did he invite Guido to sit down on one of the two benches. He indicated to him that he should speak quietly and asked what had happened. The ex-friar told him about the misadventure with Mondino, Adia and the mastiffs.

‘And what did you do when the woman sent you away?’

‘All three of us needed a physician so we came back to the city.’ Before the Inquisitor could object, Guido raised his eyes to him and added, ‘The witch will pay for it sooner or later and I can find Mondino when I want. But that’s not why I’m here. Do you know about the latest murder?’

Uberto let his hands drop to his sides with irritation. ‘I’ve just found out, when I was at the
comune
. It’s a serious problem, because the young man I intended to accuse of the first two can’t have committed the third. He’s been in prison all morning.’

‘That is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,’ replied Guido, with an expression of triumph on his huge face. ‘The murderers are Mondino and a young man called Gerardo. I am almost certain that it’s the bogus student you were telling me about, the one who’s in jail now.’

It was almost too good to be true. Now Uberto knew Francesco Salimbene’s real name and the next day he would be able to use the fact to break the templar. But it was very important to check the information. There was no room for a false step.

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ answered Guido, without hesitation. ‘The body was found at vespers, but the man was killed between lauds and daybreak. I saw everything.’

Uberto da Rimini stared at him at length before speaking. If Guido really had witnessed the murder, the case could be considered closed. And the trial against the templars, despite all the Archbishop’s nitpicking, would be concluded with an exemplary sentence. A monk disguised as a student, who killed three confrères in a devilish manner, with the help of a physician who had always been against the Church. A fact that would not fail to influence even the franciscan Inquisitors themselves, who with their misplaced compassion represented the last obstacle to overcome before the order of the temple was entirely rooted out from the garden of the Church.

‘If you saw everything, why didn’t you call the guards immediately so that they could catch them at it?’ he asked, struck by a sudden feeling of mistrust. ‘And if you couldn’t do it for some reason that you are about to give me, why didn’t you inform me immediately? next to a thing of the kind, all the rest takes second place.’

Guido must have understood the importance of choosing the right words, and he thought before answering. ‘I didn’t actually see it,’ he corrected himself. ‘I was hidden outside the house and I
heard
what they were doing. They were talking about an operation to the brain, but I had no idea that they were opening his head to fill it with worms. When they came out, I thought that the man was alive and decided to go and have a look later. Only when I got back to the city from Bova did I hear the news, and then I realised what had happened.’ ‘Did they mention the heart too?’

Again, Guido Arlotti paused slightly before replying. ‘No, but if it’s for the good of the Church, I could swear they did before a notary. Naturally, in exchange for the plenary indulgence I have already asked of you. Bearing false testimony is a mortal sin.’

Uberto began to pace to and fro in the narrow space between the door and the wall with the crucifix. The most important thing now was to arrest Mondino. There was no sense in making him testify against the templars any more, given that he too was a murderer. The physician didn’t know that he had been found out yet and he had to be delivered into the safe hands of the
comune
before he tried to escape.

Uberto opened the rectangular cupboard beside the table and took out some writing materials: thick paper, quill, a half-full pot of ink and a bar of red sealing wax. Without sitting down, he leaned over the table and wrote a brief letter to the
Podestà
and then waved the sheet to dry the ink. After which he folded it and took the candle that stood at the foot of the frescoed Christ and held the bar of sealing wax over it, making two large drops of wax fall on to the paper. He pressed the soft wax with his ring and handed the letter to Guido.

‘This says that I request the immediate arrest of Mondino de Liuzzi, the renowned physician of the
Studium
. He is wanted with Francesco Salimbene, currently detained, for his part in a triple murder committed with recourse to the magic arts,’ Uberto said. ‘Take it to the
Podestà
and repeat what you have seen and heard, just as you said it to me, except for the fact that the youth’s real name is Gerardo. I would prefer that information to remain secret for the present. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, father.’

‘Then go. And come back to report to me when you can.’ Guido left the monastery and Uberto began to walk slowly back up the stairs to the Archbishop. Now he was ready to lie without hesitation. The game was coming to an end and, after Mondino’s arrest, Rinaldo da Concorezzo would be able to do very little to put a spanner in the works.

He only had to keep the Archbishop in the dark about everything for another couple of days.

Dear Gerardo,

As I write this letter you are being shut in a cell. When you find out the truth, you will think me a monster, and perhaps you will be right. The scar that disfigures my face is nothing compared with the horror that I carry in my soul. I know that what I’ve done can never be forgiven, and I don’t want anyone’s forgiveness.

I will soon be lying in my grave, protected by he who protects Bologna. We met when it was too late for us to change the course of our lives. God is unjust, to some he gives with full hands, from others he takes everything.

But at least I want to make sure that you are not convicted of a crime that you did not commit. Please read my story, I ask nothing else of you.

Fiamma

These words stuck in Gerardo’s mind. The letter was the only thing that he had managed to read before the guards came to take him to the Inquisitor again. As soon as he was brought back to his cell, exhausted, in pain and with his left arm dislocated, his first thought was to read the rest.