Inquisition (3 page)

‘I do not need to remind you of what happened last time you denied me a favour,’ said Hugues de Narbonne, pinning him to his seat with hard grey eyes.

‘Times have changed,’ retorted Remigio, forcing himself not to show his fear. ‘Your order is on trial, your Grand Master de Molay is in prison and risks being sent to the stake, the Inquisition is looking for you. I’d only have to shout and you’d have every guard in the city on to you.’ ‘So why don’t you shout?’ challenged the Frenchman. Remigio simply looked at him, without replying. ‘I’ll tell you why you don’t,’ continued Hugues de Narbonne. ‘Even if the order of the Knights templar is on trial, the templars remain your best clients, and if it got around that you had betrayed the Commander of the Vault of Acre and had him arrested, you would lose them all. Furthermore, if you sold me to the Dominicans, I could reveal that you act as inter

Mediary in various business affairs conducted by templars who are avoiding arrest, that you know many of their hiding places and that your house is a point of reference for members of the order who are passing through the city. How do you think they would react?’

‘You would never do such a thing to your own confrères,’ answered Remigio, in a voice now deprived of any strength whatever.

This time it was the Frenchman who looked at him without speaking and that look was more eloquent than an entire discourse. It was clear that Hugues de Narbonne was ready to sacrifice anybody in order to achieve his aims.

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Remigio said, ‘Come in’ and Fiamma entered. She had heard that he had a client with him and, despite the late hour, had come to take dictation from him, as always.

She was dressed in the inconspicuous manner that befitted a girl of her age. She wore house slippers and a simple gown of light wool that disguised her curves. But she must have already undone her hair for the night and not had time to comb it again, as her blonde locks, held only by a hair band, floated free around her shoulders. She held her head partially turned away from them, in such a way that the visitor could only see the healthy side, and Remigio did not miss the look that Hugues de Narbonne gave her.

‘I do not need your help, my child,’ he said, hurriedly. ‘And anyway, we have nearly finished.’

Fiamma seemed surprised. Her dark eyes, made all the deeper by the contrast with her blonde hair, turned to the visitor with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Remigio almost physically perceived the excitement that such a direct glance provoked in Hugues de Narbonne, and his disgust for the Frenchman, buried by the years of separation, returned to break open like an egg brooded over for a long time.

‘I said, you may leave us,’ reiterated the banker, abruptly turning to Fiamma.

‘As you please,’ she answered, in a compliant tone that both her demeanour and her look fully contradicted. She made a slight curtsey in the direction of the guest, showing her full face for a second, and then left, closing the door silently.

‘When we last met you were a widower,’ said Hugues, thoughtfully, as soon as they were alone again. ‘Even if you had married again straight away, the girl would be six or seven at the most if she were your daughter. And hers doesn’t seem to me to be the body of a little girl.’

‘Fiamma is nineteen years old and is my adopted daughter. I took her into service when I still lived in Tortosa, after you had done your best to ruin me. Then I became fond of her and adopted her. But I don’t see why it should interest you.’

Hugues de Narbonne went back to sit down in one of the three high-backed chairs covered in purple silk cushions and stretched his hands over his thighs. He wore the calcuLating look that made the banker’s heart race. However good the sources of information that the Frenchman might have at his disposal, he could not know about Fiamma. Nobody knew about her, not even Remigio’s father confessor. It was the best-kept secret of his life.

‘Shame about the scar that disfigures her face,’ continued Hugues. ‘Nevertheless, I don’t believe that she’ll have difficulty finding a husband. I imagine that plenty of young Bolognese bucks would aspire to becoming kin to an established banker.’

Remigio did not know what the man was playing at. His every word seemed to hide a threat. But what could he do about it? In the current situation Hugues was in no place to harm him and yet he was afraid of the Knight. It was an irrational feeling, perhaps based exclusively on the man’s extraordinary physical appearance; he was still tall and strong even though he must be over fifty. Despite himself, Remigio had to acknowledge that Hugues de Narbonne was a born leader. He only had to speak and his interlocutor immediately felt the need to please him, to see the light of approval in his pale eyes. Not even the limited and scholastic Latin that he spoke to communicate with whoever did not speak his Language diminished the impression of authority. It was not difficult to imagine an army of templars on the battlefield ready to follow him to the death.

Everything considered, perhaps it would be better to find out what he wanted.

‘Tell me what brings you here, Messer Hugues,’ said Remigio, in a tone that was not steady enough to reinforce his self-confidence. ‘Then I’ll decide what to do.’

Mondino opened the door and found himself facing a Dominican friar. The man was surrounded by three guards from the
Podestà
who each held a lamp, creating an island of light in the dark street. When he recognised the Dominican to be Uberto da Rimini, his concern turned to something approaching dread. The Inquisitor was known for the intransigence with which he pursued anyone who crossed his path. From the moment he had arrived in Bologna to take up the trial of the templars, the denunciations and sentences for heresy had multiplied. Until now, Mondino had not met him in person, but he had often seen him participating in religious ceremonies. Uberto was a delicate man, smaller than Mondino by a head, thin and completely bald, with a dry, heightened complexion. Particularly striking was the smouldering nervous energy that emanated from his whole body, draped as it was in the black and white of the Dominican’s habit. His eyes, dark and close together, shone out in his hairless head.

‘Peace be with you, father,’ said Mondino. ‘Why abroad at such a late hour?’

‘It’s a question that I might ask of you too,’ answered the Dominican. He was standing several steps away, a trick often used by small men to look taller people in the eye without having to lean back and look upwards. ‘When a man stays up at night instead of going to bed, one fears it is for illicit purposes, and not to do the will of God.’

Mondino knew perfectly well that it was better not to react to the taunt. He knew that he should justify himself in some way and answer his questions, hoping that the guards would stay calm and the Inquisitor go away as soon as possible. But his impulsive nature betrayed him once again.

‘In this city it is above all the ecclesiastics who devote the nocturnal hours to the will of God,’ he said.

He could tell from the friar’s face that he knew the students’ euphemism. Since the lord’s command was to go forth and multiply, it was common among students to refer to the sexual act as
the will of God
. If Uberto had agreed with him, it would have been as though he were admitting that by night priests spent their time with prostitutes. But neither could he deny that they dedicated their nights to serving the lord.

Uberto da Rimini barked two short words at the guards: ‘Arrest him.’ Before he had time to make a move, he found a man on either side of him and one behind.

‘What do you intend to do, Inquisitor?’ he asked, impassively. ‘I am not a heretic and I have committed no crime. I am Mondino de Liuzzi, physician of the
Studium
.’

The grimace of disdain on the friar’s face was accentuated. ‘I know exactly who you are. You are the physician who corrupted the art of medicine by introducing the practice of dissecting human bodies, in open violation of a Papal bull. It does not surprise me that you are so insolent to those who spread the word of Christ.’

‘The
De Sepulturis
bull prohibits the dismembering and boiling of corpses, not dissection for scientific purposes,’

Responded Mondino. ‘It was proclaimed mainly to avoid commerce in false reliquaries and the bones of saints.’

Uberto did not reply. ‘We are looking for a murderer. He set fire to the house he lodged in and made his escape over the rooftops. Possibly carrying with him the corpse of the man he had killed.’

‘And you’ve decided to look for him in the school of medicine?’

‘The neighbours who put out the fire told us that he is one of your students. Your school is only a street away, it would be logical that he would think of taking refuge with you.’

‘What is not logical,’ said Mondino, through clenched teeth, ‘Is to conclude that I would provide refuge to a murderer. There is no one here.’

There, he’d said it. He had lied. On opening the door to them, he was still not entirely sure that he wanted to run that risk, despite the promise he had made Gerardo and the interest he had in the corpse with the heart of iron. But the Inquisitor’s arrogance and the instinctive antipathy that he inspired did the rest, and now Mondino could not go back, even if he wanted to: he would never be pardoned for that lie. Now, saving Gerardo was the same thing as saving himself.

‘May we have a look?’

‘No. My word must suffice.’

Uberto da Rimini made a sign to the guards and Mondino was seized by the arms. He tried to free himself with a tug, but the man behind held him by the waist. Mondino heard the noise of broken earthenware. One of them must have dropped a lamp.

‘Let me go, immediately!’

‘We only want to have a quick look round. If you’re not hiding anything then you’ve nothing to be afraid of.’

‘Many of my students live around here,’ said Mondino, with a fury that he could hardly contain. ‘I saw quite a lot of them helping to put out the fire just now. Would you really like me to call for help?’

The guards loosened their grip imperceptibly. They knew well that the students welcomed any opportunity to create disorder, especially when one of them or their masters were under threat. Obviously Uberto da Rimini knew this too. He stared at Mondino with such an intimidating look that the physician required all his self control not to lower his eyes, then said quietly, ‘Let him go.’

The armed guards took a step backwards, making the daggers that they wore at their sides clink together. Their faces were emotionless, and Mondino had the impression that they would have obeyed any order from the Inquisitor without blinking an eye, although they were in the employ of the city
comune
and not the Church. Besides, he imagined that refusing to obey an order from Uberto da Rimini could have unpleasant consequences.

‘We will arrest this man soon and make him confess everything,’ said the Dominican in a shrill voice, fixing him with a penetrating look. ‘I hope for your sake that you are not lying.’

Uberto turned suddenly, making his black cloak undulate and the twisted linen cord encircling his white habit swing round, and he set off towards the Church of sant’Antonino, followed in silence by the guards.

Although his throat burned with the desire to shout a stinging rejoinder after them, Mondino bowed his head and simply said, ‘Peace go with you, father.’

As soon as he heard the door close again, Gerardo got out of the chest in which the physician had made him hide, on top of the dead body of his friend.

‘I couldn’t breathe any more,’ he said, taking great gulps of air.

‘Neither could I,’ replied Mondino. ‘And I was out of doors.’

Silence fell. During his escape over the rooftops, Gerardo had not had time to think of anything else, and inside the chest his ears had been strained and his heart in tumult, as he waited, ready to carry out any desperate action if the Inquisitor had come in to search the house or if Mondino had betrayed him. Now that the danger had passed, his body, more than his mind, remembered the sensation of Angelo’s cold corpse, of the close, intimate contact with death. Gerardo was shaken by a long tremor and had to sit down on the floor. Finally tears streamed down his cheeks.

Without taking the slightest notice, Mondino returned to the matter in hand.

‘The grave-diggers who I am waiting for cannot be far now,’ he said. ‘They have probably been hiding so as not to be seen by the firefighters and the Inquisitor, but as soon as the road is clear, they’ll knock at the door.’

‘You’re waiting for grave-diggers?’ asked Gerardo, drying his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘At this hour?’

‘What did you think I was doing here in the middle of the night? Waiting for you? Help me lift up your friend, we must be quick.’

Minutes before, the physician had risked arrest and a heavy sentence if the guards had found what they were looking for, and yet he seemed perfectly calm. Gerardo looked at him closely, and perhaps because now their relationship was no longer that of teacher and student, it was as though he were seeing him for the first time. A man in his forties, but who appeared younger than his years. He was tall and thin, with intense green eyes beneath a large forehead. Judging by his rugged physique, wrapped in the black robe that went down to his ankles, Gerardo thought that he had been right not to try and disarm Mondino. Despite his training and the difference in age, a scuffle with the physician might have held surprises.