Inquisition (34 page)

He saw their expressions change from surprise to alarm. The groom let go of the falcon, which sailed rapidly up into the blue sky, and pulled out his ornamental sword. Then all the men in the cortège followed suit. Mondino dashed off to the right and Gerardo followed him. However, behind them the mob threw themselves on to the swords without hesitating, perhaps trusting in their numbers, perhaps simply out of a suicidal mania. The two packs bumped into each other head on with shouts and cLanging of metal, a sign that many of their pursuers were armed, despite the law. Gerardo hoped that the bride would manage to turn the horse in time and get away at a gallop.

Not even in the panic of the chase had Mondino forgotten where they were heading, and twice he tried to take a turning towards Santo Stefano, but both times the masses armed with clubs barred their way. They were latecomers converging on the main piazza so as not to miss out on the spectacle. Mondino might have been able to trick them, but preferred not to take the risk. In the end they were pushed south, towards the Church of San Domenico, the last place that Gerardo wanted to find himself. Just the memory of Uberto da Rimini’s shining face and wily expression brought a knot to his stomach.

All of a sudden Mondino stopped and turned to him, puffing and pressing a hand to his side.

‘Are they still following us?’

Gerardo nodded, too breathless to speak. Their pursuers were fewer in number now, because the majority were still busy in the skirmish with the nuptial cortège, but the shouting was coming closer. There must be at least six or seven people: too many for two unarmed men to take on.

The streets were now full of other bands of men, yelling and armed with clubs. It seemed as though the mob had divided and instead of staying put in the piazza had begun to look for opportunities to let off steam around the city. Every so often the neighbouring streets rang with the noises of a fight or insults flung at some noble who had dared to lean out of his window. Now and again there were cries of ‘Bread! Bread!’ All the doors were bolted.

Gerardo and Mondino reached a high city wall with no way through. They certainly couldn’t stop there. Worn out from running, they still hurried on, until they got to San Domenico’s Basilica. They darted into a shadowy lane between two rows of houses and finally stopped to get their breath back. Just then Gerardo saw a strange procession emerging from the church courtyard. Two broad-framed Dominican monks, in white habits and black cloaks, walked along shaking incense burners. They were followed by another monk carrying a gold cross, and behind them came the Archbishop, in full vestment with all the paraphernalia: mitre, white dalmatica with red stripes back and front and a silver-plated staff. Bringing up the rear he saw the bald head of Uberto da Rimini, hoodless and looking disdainful as ever.

Gerardo wondered where they were going and if they knew the danger they were in. The ecclesiastics were feared and respected, but they were unpopular among the people just then, and at times of public disorder such as this the best thing for them was to be safely shut up in their churches and monasteries. He would have run the risk of telling them as much, if it weren’t for the presence of the Inquisitor. Uberto da Rimini didn’t know about the new developments in his situation and might react in a rash manner on seeing him free. Beside him, Mondino was also looking in amazement at the posse of priests striding towards disaster.

Perhaps he should have warned them anyway, but now there was no time. A bevy of marauders rushed out of a side street, shouting and hitting the doors of the houses with their clubs. As soon as they saw the priests they paused, intimidated by the sight of an archbishop in full pomp. But it sufficed for one of them to pick up a stone from the ground and fling it with a cry, for them all to descend on the religious group with their clubs raised.

A furious riot broke out. The two thurifers in the front line began to wield their incense burners like iron clubs, dispensing smoke and sparks around them. One managed to catch one of the aggressors on the head, sending him crashing down to lie in a heap. A piece of burning coal landed in the collar of another and he dropped his stick, shouting and jumping around to get rid of the embers. But these episodes only served to enrage the others all the more and they began to fall on the priests in a close-knit pack. The Archbishop and the Inquisitor were standing stock still as though the scene had nothing to do with them. Then one of the thurifers was hit on the head with a club and three men leaped on the Archbishop; they were now too angry to be intimidated by his sacred regalia.

A chorus of women wailing could be heard behind the closed windows of the neighbouring houses. Gerardo, who until then had merely been watching, found himself running forward without knowing he was doing it, and heedless of Mondino’s shout to come back. He would happily have left Uberto da Rimini to look after himself, but he could not stand by and watch while the crowd ravaged an archbishop of the Church of Rome, above all one with the reputation for fairness of Rinaldo da Concorezzo. The image that stuck in his mind, as he raced out of his hiding place in the alleyway and threw himself into the mêlée, was the ecstatic expression on the Inquisitor’s face. The man seemed to be contempLating the scene as though witnessing a miracle, not a horrific spectacle of violence. Gerardo saw two men lift their clubs to cosh the Archbishop and Uberto doing nothing whatever to defend him. On the contrary, Uberto was watching with an expression of sublime joy and at a certain point seemed even to have nudged him forward into the fray. Rinaldo da Concorezzo bent double beneath the attack, lost his mitre and fell to his knees.

The two rioters exchanged a look, in all likelihood stunned by the enormity of their actions, and in that moment Gerardo thundered in, dispensing kicks, and thumps with his good hand, to push the men away from the prelate. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mondino, who had followed him, pick up a stick that had been dropped and begin to swing it at arms length to keep them at bay.

Gerardo helped the Archbishop get back to his feet, but just then Uberto da Rimini hurled himself at the templar and clamped his hands around his throat. Gerardo saw a murderous intent in the dark gimlet eyes that terrified him. But the Inquisitor was smaller than him and not as strong; nor was he trained to fight. Two swift punches to the face were enough to knock him to the ground, where he lay with a stupefied expression on his face. At that moment they were joined by a swarm of monks from the monastery, unarmed but ready to use their fists. People started coming out of the surrounding houses as well, and yet the aggressors gave no sign of retreating. More rabble-rousers, attracted by the sounds of a fight, began to assail the monks from behind with a shower of stones. They were mainly men and women farmers, barefoot and dressed in sackcloth clothes with chausses wound around their calves and ankles.

‘Let’s go, they don’t need us any more,’ said Mondino, coming up beside him.

Gerardo realised that the physician was right. The fight continued, but the monks and the people who’d come out to help them were getting the upper hand. It was not the moment to waste time and risk having to give explanations that might not be believed.

The templar felt his bad arm being grabbed, causing him a wave of intense pain, while the peevish voice of the Inquisitor bawled as loud as possible: ‘Here’s the sorcerer! Here’s the murderer!’ holding on to him with a strength that was difficult to credit in such a small pair of hands. Gerardo turned quickly round, elbowing him full in the face. Mondino, with noteworthy readiness, followed the blow with a stroke of his club to Uberto’s bald head, laying the man flat out on the ground. ‘Run!’ he shouted, looking around for an escape route. Fortunately the Inquisitor’s shout had been lost in the general hubbub and no one took any notice of them. On impulse, Gerardo knelt down by the Archbishop and kissed his ring. ‘We are innocent, monsignor,’ he said. ‘The
Podestà
has set us free. Please tell the Inquisitor, when he comes round.’

Rinaldo da Concorezzo looked at him with a warm smile, giving him his complete attention, as though there weren’t a pitched battle going on around them and they were alone in the piazza.

‘I believe you, my son, although I don’t know who you are,’ he said, lifting his right hand. ‘And I bless you.’

Gerardo briefly bowed his head and then leaped up again and set off after Mondino who was already a long way ahead, running in the direction of Santo Stefano.

Guido Arlotti didn’t let himself be distracted by the nuptial procession, but his men had caught the contagious feeling of excitement and violence that was now pervading the city.

They had thrown themselves into the fray, lashing out at the bride’s relations, jabbing the horses’ hocks with daggers to make them crash to the ground, their frantic neighs joining the general babel of shouting. The bride had managed to get away, turning her horse quickly and kicking hard with the heels of her embroidered slippers. But her parents were left on the ground in a pool of blood, wounded or perhaps even dead, relieved of their purses and jewellery. The lure of loot was even stronger than that of violence and Guido had a hard time extricating five of the men that he had used to foment trouble in the crowd. Only by promising them twice the agreed money did he convince them to follow him, and they walked on, hiding what they’d stolen under their robes as they went.

They hurried towards the road that Gerardo and Mondino had taken. Although the two were out of sight, Guido was able to follow the sound of their pursuers. He couldn’t let them get away. If they had been freed, it meant that the
Podestà
thought them innocent, and that was precisely why it was better for everyone if they didn’t talk.

Now they had to die and Guido was quite happy to carry out their death sentences. In any case the plenary indulgence would absolve him of any blame. But first he had to catch up with them.

He gave a shove to one of his men who was about to divert into a prostitute’s lane, anxious to squander a part of the booty as soon as possible. ‘No women until we’ve finished the job,’ he said. ‘Start running, we’ve lost too much time already.’

With their knives unsheathed to discourage any marauders in the chaotic battlefield that the centre of Bologna had become, they ran until they turned up in the area of San Domenico’s Basilica, where a thick crowd of Dominicans was driving back the remaining ruffians.

Guido saw the Archbishop standing calmly with his mitre on his head and staff in his hand. Although he wasn’t doing anything at all, he dominated the scene. Uberto da Rimini was just getting up off the ground, with a scarlet bloodstain on his bare crown. Guido caught his eye and the Inquisitor nodded imperiously towards a road to the right that led to Santo Stefano and St Jerusalem. Mondino and Gerardo must have gone that way.

Guido looked about him. He couldn’t spot a couple of his men, they must have deserted. But the three he had left were more than enough for what had to be done. Although beginning to run out of breath, he threw himself back into the chase.

‘Is this the place?’ asked Mondino, looking doubtfully at the gap in the ruined house at the end of the alleyway. ‘Are you sure she’ll be here?’

‘No, but if I had to bet on it, I’d do it without a second thought.’

The templar seemed certain of what he was saying and yet Mondino was having difficulty imagining the banker’s daughter going through the dark doorway that gaped like a toothless mouth, to descend into a subterranean ruin that, from what Gerardo said, seemed a cross between a Roman sewer and a catacomb.

Then he remembered that Fiamma was responsible for the most horrendous deaths he had ever seen. There was no saying what she would be capable of.

They walked towards the house, without taking any notice of the rocks and rubbish strewn across the road under their feet, but they had only gone a few yards when a voice behind them said, ‘Commend your souls to God.’

Mondino recognised the voice instantly, and turning round felt no surprise at seeing the thuggish shape of Guido Arlotti accompanied by a man whose long hair didn’t quite manage to cover his severed ears. What truly frightened Mondino was the sight of another two men blocking the other end of the lane.

Gerardo and Mondino stood back to back without saying a word, firmly set on defending themselves although it was clear that they didn’t have much hope. Two unarmed men against four cut-throats with daggers. This time there hadn’t even been the pretence of arresting them. It was all over.

‘Let’s see how you manage without a cur-loving witch to hold your hand,’ continued Guido, coming towards them. ‘We must disarm at least one of them,’ murmured Gerardo. Mondino shrugged his shoulders. It was pointless discussing strategy now. They would just have to die with dignity, and possibly not alone.

‘At my signal, we’ll both go for severed ears,’ whispered Gerardo. ‘If I manage to grab his dagger, we’ve got a chance.’ then, without waiting for confirmation, he yelled, ‘Now!’ and tore forward.

Mondino was right behind him, determined to sell his life dearly. They had both lost their caps in the struggle to save the Archbishop and Gerardo’s long hair fell over his eyes, obstructing his vision for a second. That second was fatal. While the youth bounded towards the man with the lopped-off ears, dodging a thrust and deflecting its trajectory, Mondino felt an acute pain in his right shoulder and only when he crumpled on the ground, in the filth and excrement, did he realise that he’d received the blow meant for Gerardo. In an instant his mind was filled with the thought of Adia and of what might have developed between the two of them. Then he thought of his treatise, which would never be finished now, and the secret that he hadn’t been able to discover.