Inquisition (32 page)

In an outburst of rage, Mondino put his hand out towards the cup, which fell to the ground spilling its contents all over the floor.

‘I’ll clean up straight away,’ murmured the woman, turning to go back into the kitchen.

The smell coming from the floor reminded Mondino of something. On an impulse, he bent down and dipped a finger into what was left of the spilt milk and tasted it. The unmistakable pungent flavour awakened confused feelings and memories that he didn’t know he had.

He suddenly understood what Lorenza was trying to do and when he saw her come back with a cloth in her hand, he exploded: ‘You are giving my father your mother’s milk instead of cow’s milk.’

The woman tried to deny it by shaking her head. She was so terrified that she could hardly speak. ‘No, it’s not true ...’

‘Don’t lie, Lorenza. Not to me.’

Lorenza was giving Rainerio her mother’s milk in the conviction, widespread among the populace, that women’s milk possessed miracle-working properties, capable of healing every ill.

‘Please,’ she said, dissolving into sobs. ‘Don’t send us away ... We’ve nowhere to go ...’

She was trembling with fear. Hers was only a superstition and yet she had denied her own daughter the milk in order to give it to Rainerio. She deserved respect for her action, certainly not rebukes. To calm her, Mondino did something that he would never have thought himself capable of. He hugged her to him, holding her tight to his chest.

‘Forgive me, Lorenza,’ he said, softly. ‘Do whatever you think is right for my father. It will be fine.’

Then leaving her stupefied and still sobbing with the cloth in her hand, he quickly crossed the kitchen and a few seconds later opened the street door.

Just at that moment a squad of the
Podestà’s
guards was coming around the corner, led by a section leader. Mondino took a step backwards so as not to be seen, closed the door and stood motionless, not knowing what to do. There was no time to get away now. The only possible place to hide was inside. He turned and ran back across the courtyard and through the kitchen.

Lorenza was on her knees in the corridor cleaning up the milk. Mondino bent down to touch her shoulder. ‘The guards are coming to arrest me,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t betray me.’

He ran upstairs, while the guards entered the house asking for him in loud voices and walked into his study to look around for a place where someone might hide. For a second Mondino thought he could get out of the window and escape over the rooftops as Gerardo had done on the night that the whole ordeal had started. But the wall was too high and he would be in danger of finding himself hanging there like a haunch of Parma ham, without being able to hoist himself up on to the roof. And the courtyard below was too far down to jump without breaking a leg. Just then he heard steps and voices on the stairs. Without stopping to think, he climbed on to the window ledge and huddled on the narrow cornice that ran round the house.

He was only just in time. A second later the door was thrown open and a voice said, ‘You two look in the bedroom. I’ll search in here.’

It was a voice that Mondino thought he knew. He waited motionless in his spur-of-the-moment hiding place, hardly daring to breathe and hoping that he wouldn’t be seen from the neighbouring houses. He tried not to think about what would happen if he were caught. Defamatory accusations, a trial in which it would be impossible for him to prove that he was innocent, almost certainly the death sentence. While the guard walked round the room rummaging in everything, Mondino thought of his notes for the anatomy treatise. The man might open the bundle, see it contained sheets with notes and drawings on them, and decide to sequester it as proof against him. Who knows what would happen to it then.

But his thoughts froze when he heard the steps come towards the window.

The man stopped and Mondino prayed that he wouldn’t look out. The physician was squatting on the cornice, crouching with his head down to keep his balance. From below he must have looked like one of those gargoyles that can be seen on the façades of churches. He could hear the man breathing and even smell him; a blend of sweat and onions, strong but not unpleasant. Suddenly Mondino realised that the smell was getting stronger, and he understood. He slowly lifted his head and looked the man in the face.

Mondino recognised him immediately, not just because of the small scar that slightly disfigured his mouth. He had come to see Mondino a year earlier, desperate because he had a tumour on his lower lip that the surgeon he had been to see wouldn’t dare touch. Mondino had operated on him and he had recovered, proclaiming that he would be eternally grateful. In the few seconds in which they stared at each other in silence, Mondino remembered that the man’s name was luca, like the patron saint of physicians.

‘They sent me because they know that I know you,’ said the guard, in a low voice.

He went quiet. The indecision on his face was evident. Mondino dared to hope.

Then, all of a sudden, the glimmer of hope died. ‘I’ve found him!’ he shouted. ‘Over here!’ He grabbed Mondino by the scruff of his neck and pulled him up, helping him climb back over the window ledge. The guard’s face now seemed covered by a mask.

Resigned, Mondino gave himself up to the two guards who had meanwhile come running into the room.

‘Mondino de Liuzzi’ said luca. ‘You are under arrest, in the name of the
Podestà
.’

XVI

Uberto da Rimini worked with a light heart. The Archbishop had got it into his head that he wanted to read every single document concerning the trial. It was a clear sign of distrust towards Uberto and yet he didn’t mind all that much. An hour earlier Guido Arlotti had come in person to tell him that the plan had worked. The crowd now amassed in the piazza was unlikely to disperse before the mob had seen the bogus student’s body, and the Captain of the People had sent a squadron of guards to arrest Mondino de Liuzzi. The friar whom Uberto had sent to inform the
Podestà
of their visit had returned with the alarming news that the piazza was full of angry people and that he had not even been able to reach the
comune
. The Archbishop said that he would not be intimidated, but according to Uberto he was only putting it on. The Inquisitor was sure that when the moment came, the Archbishop would abandon the idea of the interrogation, preferring the safety of the monastery’s solid walls. And the next day it would be too late.

Everything was organised. Now he only had to wait.

‘It says here, and I quote, that when accused of practising the rite of
osculum sub cauda
[erotic kissing below the tail], the prisoner lied, protesting his innocence,’ said Rinaldo da Concorezzo, looking up from the interrogation transcript.

‘Exactly,’ confirmed Uberto, absent-mindedly. ‘They do nothing but declare themselves innocent of everything.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ said the Archbishop, dryly. ‘I wanted to draw your attention to the words you have used. You didn’t say “He declared himself to be innocent”, but “He lied, protesting his innocence”. How can you be sure that he was lying?’

‘Forgive me, monsignor,’ replied Uberto, now at the limits of his patience. ‘My mistake. I was perhaps being too superficial. I simply imagined that the office of the Holy father would not include in the list of crimes something as obscene as novices kissing the ass of their older confrères if they were not first absolutely certain that it was a well-founded accusation. So I implied that the accused’s declaration of innocence was mendacious. It was a question of doubting him or the Holy father’s office.’

The Archbishop nodded to himself. ‘I see that we are speaking in different Languages, father Uberto,’ he said. ‘For you it is a simple matter of believing or not believing in someone on the basis of the presumed reliability of the person. The question of proof is entirely alien to your way of thinking.’

‘It is a failing that I have, I recognise that.’ By now, after all the time spent trying to put up with Rinaldo’s criticism, anger began to sneak into Uberto’s words without him being able to do anything about it. ‘The fact is that I am a monk, and since I was a small boy I have been taught that faith has no need for proof.’

‘So it seems logical to you to apply the same system of judgement to the sins of human beings and to Christ’s teaching, as though they were equal.’

‘I didn’t say that, monsignor.’

‘You didn’t say it, but your actions speak for you. I’m going to be straight with you, father Uberto. I am beginning to have grave doubts that you are the right person to carry out this mission.’

It was a low hit and one that Uberto wasn’t expecting. He opened and closed his mouth twice without making a sound, then finally he managed to say, ‘You want to dismiss me? But that’s not possible. There are only a few weeks left before the trial ends. We are already behind the pontiff’s schedule, and—’

‘Calm down, I know that it is rather late now to find a substitute. I only mean that you will be assisted by two franciscan friars whom I trust, so that, by way of a constructive collaboration, you can decide together what is for the best.’

This time Uberto was genuinely struck dumb. To be subjected to the judgement of the franciscans in everything he did was a humiliation worse than removal from his position. It was all quite clear now: the Archbishop had declared war. ‘If that is your decision, I will respect and accept it without argument,’ he said, with a visible effort to remain calm. ‘If, however, there is anything I can do to regain your trust, I would ask you to tell me.’

The Archbishop sighed. ‘We’ll see. Much depends on what the prisoner says when we interrogate him. If he turns out to be incontrovertibly guilty of the murders that he is accused of, and if the responsibility for the crime is not his alone, but involves others of his order, as you seem to think, the trial will come to a swift conclusion without the need to make any new appointments.’

‘Thank you, monsignor. I trust that things will happen as you have just described.’

Rinaldo made a sign as if to say that it was too early for thanks, then he looked out of the window and said, ‘At this point, I’d say that the time has come to lay aside our work in the monastery and pay our visit to the
Podestà
.’

It was the moment that Uberto had been waiting for. He had considered trying to convince the prelate to change his mind and he was sure that, after a minimum of insistence for form’s sake, Rinaldo would see sense. But just then he was altogether too cross. Let him find himself confronted with the consequences of his stubbornness, he thought.

‘Certainly, monsignor. I will go immediately and give the orders for a small cortège to accompany you.’

‘No cortège and no ceremony,’ replied Rinaldo. ‘We’ll only stir up the crowd. You and I will go alone, with two thurifers and a cross-bearer.’

Uberto bowed his head as though this idiocy was a sensible idea. ‘As you wish,’ he said, and left the room.

Striding down the stairs, he already knew which monks he would order to accompany them. One of them was almost certainly the spy who reported everything back to the Archbishop. In the course of the previous day he had twice caught the man speaking to Rinaldo. Uberto would make him carry the cross. It was only right that he shared the risks of a situation that had been created through his own fault. Then Uberto chose two brawny young men who would be able to defend them if they got into difficulties.

Standing in front of the prior’s closed door, Uberto stopped himself just as he was about to knock, struck by a sudden thought. At such an important moment in his life, he should pray before doing anything else. He hurried away towards the little chapel made in the cell where St Dominic had passed away.

As soon as Uberto went in he fell on his knees and addressed himself to the saint, asking him to intercede with the lord. The Inquisitor’s career was now almost over and Uberto knew it.

If he didn’t manage to interrogate the prisoner, the Archbishop would subject him to the humiliation of having to report to two franciscan priests, which was almost worse than being dismissed. If, on the other hand, they reached the
comune
safe and sound, Rinaldo would find out that the templar had already been interrogated under torture in Uberto’s presence and would suspend him from his job.

Only divine intervention could save him now.

Uberto examined his conscience and concluded that he had done his duty in the stamping out of heresy. Now the responsibility was no longer in his hands. If God wanted him to continue defending the faith, He would send a sign, removing the obstacles in his way.

In that precise moment an image entered Uberto’s mind of the Archbishop being lynched by the hordes.

Horrified, Uberto covered his face with his hands. Was it possible that St Dominic, the preacher saint who founded his order, would suggest such a vicious action? Without admitting to himself that he would even consider the murder of a minister of the Church possible, Uberto began to examine the occurrence in a dispassionate manner, as a sort of intellectual exercise. If Rinaldo da Concorezzo was out of the way, the Church would have him instead, and his career, instead of being crushed to oblivion would take a leap forward. Without the Archbishop, Pope Clement V might well trust him to take on the full responsibility of the trial. And even if another archbishop were nominated in haste, the director
in pectore
of the trial would nonetheless be Uberto, who had followed it from the beginning and knew the ins and outs better than anyone else.

Still thinking of it as an abstract possibility, the Inquisitor considered the ways in which an eventual killer would carry out such a crime, and his face darkened. In practice he could only count on Guido Arlotti for jobs of that kind and the ex-priest would never consent to assassinate an archbishop of the Church of Christ, or not unless he was ordered to do so by the Pope himself.

The only answer was that Uberto himself should carry out the saint’s wishes. But even that made no sense. The Archbishop had to be got rid of immediately and even if he wanted to, Uberto could hardly stab the man in his study or in the middle of the street with everyone watching.

Resigned, Uberto mentally confessed to St Dominic that he was unable to decipher his message; da Rimini made the sign of the cross and opened his eyes. In a trice everything became clear.

A beam of sunshine coming through the half-closed shutter lit up what had been the saint’s bed, the very place where he had taken leave of the temporal world. The rest of the room was in darkness, but the modest mattress lying on a few boards of rough-hewn wood shone like a royal throne. Uberto knew that he had committed the sin of presumption and he hurriedly began to ask for pardon, tears welling up in his eyes at the emotion of it all.

He had thought that it was up to him to interpret the message, that it was up to him to act. In his pride he had even considered, albeit in an abstract way, the idea of committing murder, damning his soul for eternity. Whereas the vision of the Archbishop killed by the mob was only a premonition, sent by St Dominic to reassure him. God and the saints were themselves capable of removing every obstacle from his way. How could he presume to do their job for them?

Uberto promised that he would impose a heavy penance on himself, humiliating his body and his spirit, to atone for his sin of presumption. And immediately afterwards he gave thanks for what had been granted to him: the opportunity to move up a step in the Church in order to fight against heresy more readily.

As though in answer to his prayers, the ray of sunlight slowly vanished and the room returned to its former dimness.

Uberto got to his feet and left the chapel, full of renewed energy. He dropped in to the prior’s office to ask permission to go out with three monks and the cross. When the big man objected, he explained that it was the Archbishop’s explicit request and having obtained permission he went to tell his chosen monks to get ready. Then he walked back upstairs to his study. There was no doubt that Rinaldo da Concorezzo’s final hour had come. Guided by the divine hand, a rock or a club would kill him that very morning.

Uberto himself wouldn’t have to dirty his hands and he was pleased about that. Still, he would keep his eyes open and if he got the chance to give divine providence a helping hand, he wouldn’t hold back.

The guards took the long way round when escorting Mondino to the
comune
to avoid crossing Piazza Maggiore, where more and more people were gathering. From a long way off, noise and shouting could be heard coming from the piazza, despite the fact that the market was not being held there because it was a sunday.

‘What’s going on?’ asked the physician of no one in particular.

They hadn’t bound his hands. In order to stop him running away, two guards flanked him, while luca, the section leader, walked a few yards ahead of them.

It was he who answered, without turning to face Mondino. ‘Word’s got around that they’ve arrested the sorcerer who killed those men and turned their hearts into a piece of iron, and since it’s a templar monk, the
Podestà
thought he’d let him go and hush it all up so as not to get into trouble with the Church. The mob want to dispense justice without having to wait for a trial.’

Mondino felt his heart miss a beat. His last hope of salvation had vanished with those words.

‘What’s the name of the man you’ve arrested?’ he asked, just to be sure.

‘Francesco Salimbene. But they say it’s a false name. I should think you probably know him.’

‘And does the
Podestà
really want to set him free?’

‘Are you joking? I don’t know who would suggest such a thing.’

They were passing behind the Palazzo di Accursio that had been bought by the
comune
and become the headquarters for Council of the elders. Mass had finished and people were swarming out of the churches and then heading off in small groups towards the piazza. No one paid any attention to the party of guards.

‘Keep quiet and don’t do anything stupid,’ said luca, suddenly stopping and turning to look at him. ‘If they find out that you’re implicated in those murders too, they’ll lynch you on the spot and we wouldn’t be able do anything to help you.’

‘I am innocent,’ said Mondino, looking him in the eye.

‘Well then, you must be doubly quiet,’ replied luca, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

They walked on and soon afterwards came out into the piazza next to the main square where the tinkers set up their stalls on feast days. The whole area between the Palazzo degli Anziani and the old town hall, which had served as prison to King Enzo, was overflowing with people. The piazza itself was as crowded as St Bartholomew’s Day, during
La Porchetta,
the Suckling Pig fair. But the rabble that had come together that day didn’t have the look of joyous expectation as they did for the traditional throwing of food and money from the balcony of the
comune
. The shouting and general drone belonged to a crowd of malcontents, baying for blood. Mondino put his head down and walked on.