Stefano Vignaroli

IN THE LION’S SIGN

The Printer – Third Episode

ISBN

©2019 – 2020 Stefano Vignaroli

©2021 Tektime

All rights of reproduction, distribution and translation are reserved.

The pieces about Jesi’s story have been taken and freely adapted from Giuseppe Luconi’s texts

Illustrations by Prof. Mario Pasquinelli, kindly granted by his legitimate heirs

Website http://www.stedevigna.com

E-mail for contacts stedevigna@gmail.com

Stefano Vignaroli

IN THE LION’S SIGN

The Printer – Third Episode

NOVEL

 PREFACE

In The Lion’s sign concludes the trilogy of Renaissance settings, entitled The Printer, preceded by “The Shadow of the Bell Tower” and “The Bronze Crown”. Protagonists, once again, are the indomitable leaders, the Marquis Andrea Franciolini, and the Countess Lucia Baldeschi, condemned by fate to constantly postpone the wedding, the seal of a great love. And with them, their descendants, the homonymous of nowadays Andrea and Lucia. The unexpected call to arms, which came from the Duke of Urbino on the day of the wedding, forces Andrea to go, through a perilous journey, first to northern Italy and then to the Netherlands, and Lucia takes again the charge of the regency of the city of Jesi and its county. So the narration splits: on one side there is the errant knight and his adventures, studded and enriched by the encounter with historical characters, as in the case of the cunning and ruthless Giovanni Dalle Bande Nere and the rival first and friend then, Duke Franz Vollenweider, mercenary, half trickster and half Lansquenet. On the other hand, Lucia, a caring mother, a lover with intense passions and a pink governess in an era dominated by men, who in the only Bernardino, the printer, finds a shoulder, a confidant and an ally. In the background, the clash between the Emperor Charles V and the Pope with his allies, from the King of France to the various lords of Italian cities, who made and broke alliances with Machiavellianism. Battles, intrigues, love, moonlight Sabbath and, above all, two great mysteries, emerged from the bowels of the earth, from the excavations in the square overlooking the Palazzo della Signoria (the Government Palace) in Jesi, tie and mark the events of the two Lucia and the Andrea of yesterday and today. An ancient codex, wanted and coveted even by Hitler, and an icon, depicting the transverse lion, symbol of the city, disturb dreams, generate anguish and lust for knowledge and lead to action. A fluid prose returns not only the colours, but also the sounds and atmospheres of places and situations and chains the reader to the page, from the first to the last chapter, in a crescendo of interest for the fate of the protagonists. Vignaroli signs a great historical fresco, in a mixture of fantasy and erudition, which worthily seals the last act of a great trilogy.

Marco Torcoletti

 PREMISE

After the first two episodes of the series “The Printer”, here we are at the end, the last episode of the saga dedicated to the Renaissance in Jesi. We left Andrea almost at the point of death, helped by his beloved, hidden in disguise. The plot has then moved to Urbino, but certainly our two heroes, Andrea Franciolini and Lucia Baldeschi, will have to return to Jesi to realize their dream of love. The wedding will have to be a festive and opulent event, and will have to be celebrated by the Bishop of the City of Jesi, Monsignor Piersimone Ghislieri. But are we sure that obscure plots, of destiny and of men, will not be able to hinder for the umpteenth time the union between Andrea and Lucia? The two lovers have found each other again, and not for anything they would want to leave each other again. Andrea finally wants to be a father to his little girl, Laura and, why not, to Lucia’s adopted daughter, Anna.

The girls are fantastic, they are growing up healthy and lively in the country residence of the Counts Baldeschi, and Andrea is enjoying their closeness. But winds of war will once again lead the Captain of Arms of the Royal City of Jesi to the battlefields. And soon to leave the peace and quiet regained. The Lansquenets press the gates of northern Italy and the Duke Della Rovere, in a strange alliance with Giovanni De’ Medici, better known as Giovanni Dalle Bande Nere1 , will do his best to prevent German soldiers from reaching Florence and even Rome. Avoiding the sacking of the Eternal City in 1527 will not be an easy task, neither for the Duke Della Rovere, nor for Giovanni Dalle Bande Nere, nor for Captain Franciolino de’ Franciolini.

Let us once again follow the events of the characters of the sixteenth century through the discoveries of ancient documents and archaeological finds of the young couple of researchers of our time. Once again, the scholar Lucia Balleani and the archaeologist Andrea Franciolini will take us and guide through the arcane mysteries of Jesi during the Renaissance, among streets, alleys and palaces of an old town centre that, at the gates of the year 2020, begins to burst from the underground ancient and important objects from past eras.

Stefano Vignaroli

 CHAPTER 1

Bernardino, on the threshold of his print shop, which overlooked Via delle Botteghe, at the arch of the ancient Domus Verronum, watched the wedding procession with great satisfaction. At last, after many obstacles and ups and downs, Countess Lucia Baldeschi, on a radiant day in late summer 1523, would join Andrea De’ Franciolini in marriage. In fact, to be precise, with Marquis Franciolino De’ Franciolini, Lord of the Alto Montefeltro and Captain of Arms of the Royal City of Jesi. The procession itself was preceded by drum rolls and trumpet blasts, the exhibition of flag-wavers, the evolutions of the elegant birds of prey launched by skilled falconers, and the parade of the noble families of the various districts of the city, each identified by its banner and the banner of the district to which they belong. The city was a riot of colours. Every street, every alley and every palace was festively decorated. The crisp air of September, as the day progressed towards the midday hours, had allowed the sun to warm the atmosphere in a very unusual way for the season, so much so that many nobles were sweating inside their brocade or velvet dresses. The luckiest were the noblewomen who had chosen to wear cool coloured silk dresses. Bernardino had recognized the members of the most important families of Jesi, not only by the banners, but because he knew their physiognomies well. The Counts Marcelli, the Marquises Honorati, the Amatori, the Amici and the Colocci. All headed towards Piazza San Floriano to attend the religious service presided over by Monsignor Piersimone Ghislieri, a bishop loved by all citizens. After a passage of jugglers and fire-eaters and another carousel of flag-wavers, finally appeared the bride, beautiful, on a horse with a white coat, with a mane hairstyle in fine braids that fell on one side and the other of the elegant neck of the animal. Lucia was wearing a splendid red damask silk gamurra, enriched by floral motifs drawn in light relief embroidery. With a white lace added to the rectangular neckline and the sleeve edges. The dress, up to her feet long, embellished with set buttons and precious gems, tightened at the waist by a finely woven belt, did not allow the bridesmaid to sit on the horse like an amazon, as she was accustomed. Both legs had to be placed on the same side of the horse, making it even more difficult and tiring to maintain balance on the saddle. But Lucia kept a haughty look, holding herself lightly on the reins, without ever looking any citizen in the eye. She allowed herself to be admired, without ever looking back at anyone. Only when she passed by Bernardino, did her face light up and sketched a smile like a greeting to her dear friend and mentor. The printer noticed it and pleased himself. Looking at the Countess Baldeschi with obsequious admiration, he remembered how red was the favourite colour of the brides of the time. Red was the symbol of creative power and, therefore, of fertility, but above all the fabrics of that colour were the most expensive and appreciated. The wedding procession was considered an integral part of the ceremony. Usually it represented a public display of the bride’s family’s wealth, parading through the streets of the city in her precious wedding dress, accompanied by the noble knights of the family. None of this for Lucia Baldeschi, who had not wanted any presumed member of her family around her. Her sober elegance and poise was almost that of a queen who went to the altar to marry her prince. A queen who had always made herself loved by her people for what she was and not for what she wanted to appear. And she would never want appearing differently just because that was a special day. All the citizens of Jesi had learned to love her as a woman with a strong and determined character, but at the same time with a good and kind soul. Bernardino queued for the procession which, shortly afterwards, would arrive on the churchyard of the Church of St. Floriano, where the groom, together with Cardinal Ghislieri, would be waiting for her. There, the wedding ceremony would take place with the exchange of the rings. After that, the bride and groom, celebrants and guests would enter the Church for the celebration itself.

Even if she didn’t show it, Lucia couldn’t stand the anxiety anymore. She couldn’t wait to get off her steed and get closer to her groom, extending her left hand forward, so that he would kiss the hand and hold it into his. But as soon as the white horse set foot in the Square, where the Swabian Emperor was born, it was immediately evident to the bride and all her cohorts that Captain Franciolini was not in his place, under the canopy prepared for this purpose in front of the Church. The Bishop, Cardinal Ghislieri, greeted the young bride with embarrassed arms. It was evident he didn’t know how to report the necessary explanations.

«Duke Della Rovere’s men... Yes, they were the Duke Della Rovere’s men who presented themselves a moment ago. They exchanged a few words with the Marquis and put a sealed envelope in his hand. He read it in the blink of an eye and then, without uttering a word, jumped on his horse and went off on a great career behind those men. Before disappearing, he turned around and shouted, “Excuse me with the Countess, but my person is urgently needed in Mantua!”»

 CHAPTER 2

The fortress of the princes of Carpegna was a safe refuge, thanks to the inaccessibility of the place, perched as it was on a rocky spur, overlooking a village of a few houses on Mount Carpegnia. A couple of months ago in the memorable 27th March 1523, the day when Andrea had been seriously injured during a chivalric tournament by the vile Masio from Cingoli. It was obvious Maso was jealous of his position and hoped for his death, or at least for a serious disability, to get himself in the good graces of the Duke Della Rovere. And he had tried every way he could, but it had gone wrong. Andrea had only learned later that on the same day, on 27 March, Pope Adrian VI had signed the bull that legalized the position of Francesco Maria Della Rovere, confirming in his favour all the individual concessions made by the previous popes and annulling the sentence of Leo X, who assigned the territories of Urbino and Montefeltro to the Medici. The Duke had been reinstated in his position, and his territories had been returned to him, for the annual census of 1340 florins for the Duchy of Urbino, 750 for the city of Pesaro and 100 for Senigallia. Only San Leo and Maiolo, where between January and February 1523 the troops of Giovanni De’ Medici, better known as Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, remained under the rule of the Medici, acting as a buffer between the Feltre and Medici lands.

Andrea had recovered in a very slow way, either because of the serious loss of blood suffered, and because he had been offended again an arm already injured during the sack of Jesi. He had hoped, opening his eyes again after days of agony, to find his beloved Lucia next to him, as happened when he had been injured years before. Instead, the only presence that he felt was a Franciscan friar, who was busy with decoctions and implants, of which Andrea was sure that he ignored the healing properties. Perhaps he had been instructed in this way by the Countess Baldeschi who, not being able to remain beside him, had entrusted his remedies to the friar. In fact, the unmistakable image of Lucia’s eyes, glimpsed through the visor of a concealed visor before losing consciousness, remained printed in his mind. But was he sure? Or was it only his imagination making him to believe it? Yes, the imagination of a person wearing the fear of death, which made him misrepresent reality in favour of concepts benevolent to him. Either way, no matter what happened, he was better off now. His shoulder continued to give him excruciating pain, but it was time to fully recover and the first thing to think about was revenge against Masio. Revenge is a dish best savoured cold. And he had had plenty of time to think about what to do.

He was regaining his strength little by little, and the high plateaus of Mount Carpegna were ideal for quiet and restful rides. There was no danger of ambushes, as the horizon completely uncovered did not allow anyone to sneak in. Therefore, in order to restore the spirit and muscles, Andrea used to saddle a mild mount early in the morning and go out into the pure, crisp air that only the mountain could offer. Every day he felt stronger and more confident, even if his shoulder was still sore. But he clenched his teeth, tried to resist as if nothing had happened, and soon the pains disappeared like snow in the sun. He wished to be healthy again, to reach his beloved and his city as soon as possible, to fulfil his promise of marriage, but also to take over the government of his city. And by virtue of what had been granted him by the Duke Della Rovere, he could demand all this in his own right. He was no longer the simple son of a merchant, however much his captain was appointed by the people of Jesi. Now he was noble, he was a Marquis, with a lot of lands, even if rough mountain lands, and moreover he was in the graces of the Duke of Urbino. Of course, he owed obedience to the latter, but he felt he could return to Jesi in full autonomy. Despite being immersed in these thoughts, he could not help but notice in the distance the cloud of dust raised by a handful of men on horseback coming up along the dirt road leading to the fortress.

He heard in the distance the calls of the sentries from the stands. Although the voices did not seem alarmed, there was a cannon shot warning of the arrival of a potential enemy. Then, the ringing of the bells made Andrea understand that there was no danger, that those men approaching were not in combat gear. When the group began to stand out better, he noticed a horseman with the proudest bearing, on a steed that surpassed all the other railroads in height, ridden by light armour. The colours were that of the Medici.

Giovanni De’ Medici, Andrea said to himself, the famous and notorious Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, or better Ludovico di Giovanni De’ Medici, officially repudiated by his family as the illegitimate son of Giovanni il Popolano, but still strongly tied to it. Why would he have gone so far? Would he have known of my presence? Has he come to challenge me? Will he want to take back the territories of the upper Montefeltro on behalf of his family?

The unexpected arrival worried Andrea a little, also because in a possible clash with the Medici thugs he would have had only a few men in the service of the Counts of Carpegna. And they were little compared to the fame that accompanied the soldiers of fortune of Captain Giovanni dalle Bande Nere. He turned towards the fortress, thinking it was better to confer with the Medici within safe walls and flanked by men he trusted, when he saw that the Counts Carpegna, the brothers Piero and Bono, had gone out of great career and were riding towards him to bring him help. Sure of being protected, he turned towards potential enemies, who had by then come a short distance away from him. Andrea put his hand to the hilt of the sword, secured to the saddle of his mount, clutching it, ready to unseat it at any hint of hostility from the new arrivals. The man famous for his Black Bands raised one arm, signalling his retinue to stop, then with a leap he got off his horse and approached on foot, keeping his arms wide and raised. The gesture was evident and Andrea relaxed, taking his hand off the weapon and getting off the horse in turn. When he was a few steps away from him, the man expressed himself in a deep reverence. Andrea watched him, squeezed him from head to toe, trying to understand why this apparently so mild person had been associated with the reputation of a ruthless warrior. He was a young man, he was about twenty-five years old, his face adorned with a manicured beard, not too long. The hair, dark and cut short, was evident because the captain was not wearing any kind of concealment, and was the outline of a round face with a serene air. The man was not even tall, seen from the ground. He was probably trying to ride tall, mighty animals to overpower those around him. He wore a scorched earth coloured doublet, with the five red balls and the three-pointed lily embroidered on the front, to symbolize loyalty to his family of origin.

«It’s an honour for me to see you here, sir», Andrea said, in turn sketching a bow as a greeting, anxious to know the reason for the unexpected visit. «Now then, may I know what prompted you to move from the stronghold of San Leo, your undisputed bulwark, to the Mount Carpegna, which represents for you a treacherous ground full of perils?»

Giovanni mocked himself and widened his mouth in a smile, then Andrea saw him get closer to him, until he put his hand on his shoulder, almost in a gesture of friendship. From him? From someone he considered an enemy? Did he have to expect to fall into some kind of trap? There was little to trust. Andrea stiffened and the other one lowered his arm, then he started talking.

«I bring good news for you, maybe a little less for me» the Medici said. «The Duke of Urbino has agreed with the new Pope, and...»

«You’re telling me things I already know. The deal with Adrian VI happened two months ago!»

A smile was printed on the lips of the interlocutor again.

«Don’t interrupt me, let me finish. I’m not talking about the Pope who, I think for a little while longer, sits on the papal throne. I speak of the Bishop of Florence, of Julius De’ Medici, who will soon take his rightful place. There are rumours that Adriano Florensz is in very poor health and has a short life. If the good Lord does not call him back to his side, he will have to renounce the office soon. And the papacy will return again to the house of Medici.»

«And you are here to make me believe that my lord, the Duke Della Rovere, who has always been a bitter enemy of the house to which you belong, has already made a secret agreement with the Bishop of Florence, even before having the certainty that he will be elected to the papal throne! Do you think me stupid?»

«Trust me! To show my good faith, I have brought you a gift, which I’m sure will please you.»

With a snap of his fingers, Giovanni beckoned to approach one of the remaining thugs... The latter jumped to the ground and went to lay a large wicker basket next to his lord. Then he bowed in reverence and retraced his steps. The tension could be cut with the knife. Everyone remained silent, even the Counts of Carpegna had stopped at a respectful distance and were waiting for how the events would unfold. The only noise that could be heard was the withering of the banners, which were stretched out under the wind. Giovanni opened the basket and grabbed the macabre contents, showing it to Andrea. A head cut off cleanly from his neck, still dripping blood, his hair entangled between the fingers of the man whose outstretched arm was waving it proudly under his nose. Andrea barely held back a gagging gag, but he recognized to whom that sort of trophy had belonged in life.

«Your worst enemy, Messer Franciolini! Masio da Cingoli. As you can see, I’ve taken the trouble to make sure he doesn’t bother you anymore. You should be grateful!»

«To tell you the truth, I had other intentions about him. I was going to describe the facts to the Duke Della Rovere, in a letter whose contents I already had in mind, calling for a fair trial for this little good. The last of my wishes was to kill him without the intervention of justice. If I had done so, I would have put myself in his shoes. Let it never be said that the Marquis Franciolini is a coward!»

«You could have always challenged him to a duel, but since someone else thought of him, you had saved your honour and you can certainly consider yourself satisfied», and so saying Giovanni dalle Bande Nere threw Masio’s head with contempt on the ground, near Andrea’s feet, resuming his speech immediately, before the latter had a chance to reply. «But there is more, and this is the good news for you. My troops and I are leaving San Leo. Given the terms of the alliance between the Medici and Duke Della Rovere, there is nothing more to fear in these parts. In the coming days, the communities of San Leo and Maiolo will fall under your jurisdiction. Our presence is instead claimed in Brescia. It seems that the Lansquenets have moved from Bolzano and press on the gates of this city. The Gonzaga on the one hand and the Visconti-Sforza on the other, feel themselves in danger, being the bulk of the Venetian forces at the moment engaged in Dalmatia to repel the attacks of the Ottomans. Della Rovere, alone, was unable to stand up to those gangs of bad soldiers, and no one wanted the army of Charles V of Hapsburg to come behind them and threaten cities like Milan, Florence or, worse, Rome. My soldiers of fortune are needed, and our common friend, Francesco Maria, has understood this well!»

If I were not in these conditions, surely the Duke would have summoned me and my men to fight at his side, rather than this bloodthirsty angel-faced man, Andrea said to himself, beware of expressing this thought. But, at the end of the day, perhaps it is better now. Away the Medici, these territories are quiet at the moment and I will be able, as soon as possible, to return to Jesi and marry the Countess Lucia.

He took one last look at Masio’s head, took pity on it, picked it up and put it back inside the basket, closing it with the lid, then turned to Giovanni.

«I am happy for you, Sir Ludovico», and he remarked the voice on this name, aware of how unwelcome it was for the person in front of him to be so called. «I thank you for everything and I wish you good luck.»

Having said this, he turned around, jumped on the horse, reached Piero and Bono, who had remained silent spectators until that moment, and started again at their side towards the fortress, spurring the horse at a fast pace.

«A boaster, there’s nothing to say!», Piero from Carpegna said.

«Yeah!» Bono replied.

«Forget it», Andrea intervened. «He won’t bother us anymore, and that’s what’s important. Rather, retrieve the basket with Masio’s head. I want him to be given a decent burial. I really can’t stand that someone took the trouble to do justice for me, and I don’t want it to be said that I accepted with pleasure the summary execution of that coward. Coward when he was alive and coward remains. But I am no equal to him!»

«And it’s true!», Piero replied again. «You have a noble and generous soul, and we all appreciate it. We’ll provide Masio’s mortal remains are settled. In fact, we’ll also send someone to look for the rest of the body, after Giovanni dalle Bande Nere has left San Leo.»

 CHAPTER 3

Eleonora was so beautiful. Her naked body, half-abandoned on the bed, beaded with sweat, reflected the flames of the fireplace, taking on her an amber colour, which revived again Francesco Maria’s desire. Making love with his wife was much more satisfying than making it with a maid or, worse, with a slut. He reached out his hand and grazed her nipple. He felt it rise up under the delicate touch, then he saw Eleonora move, wake up from the torpor and lean towards him again. The mouths joined in a long kiss. A meeting of lips, of tongues, of naked bodies burning to unite again, in a weave of long hair, her blonde hair, his dark hair. Before penetrating his wife again, the Duke put his dark, almost black, eyes into her sea-blue eyes.

«I love you», he whispered to her, realizing those two words, apparently so simple and obvious, would not be uttered in the presence of any other woman. In response, Eleonora took his face in her warm hands, caressed his rough beard, and accompanied him to lie on his back on the linen sheets. Then she sat astride him, sliding his swollen member between her thighs. Francesco Maria was in ecstasy. He loved she took the initiative. He watched Eleonora from below swinging above him, in an ever tightening crescendo of swinging movements, in an ever faster and more pressing rhythm. Drops of sweat, from her forehead, came to rasp his chest, his cheeks, his forehead. He pushed his warrior’s hands along the flanks of his indomitable filly, until they reached her breasts, to start caressing them in a circular motion. He felt Eleonora get even more excited, her gasping breath turn almost into a cry of pleasure. He realized that he could no longer hold back and flooded the belly of his woman who, having reached orgasm, shouted even louder, then stopped and fell on top of him, making sure that his member still did not leave the coils of her womb. Francesco sighed, satiated with the night of love, waited for the erection to slowly come to an end, then gently moved the helpless female body. He knew well that after the third intercourse, Eleonora fell deeply asleep. He made sure that her breathing was regular, covered her naked body with a sheet, and got out of bed, putting on his stockings. He brought a couple of grapes of sweet white grapes to his mouth and then, thoughtful, he approached the window admiring the silvery reflections of the moon on the lake waters. For some months he was a guest in the Scaliger castle of Sirmione, a castle surrounded by water on all four sides and built in a strategic position, on the southern shore of Lake Garda, by the Lords of Verona, precisely to counter the fearsome enemies who invariably descended from the Alps, along the valley of the river Adige. And in that period the enemy was even more fearsome, because instead of being a regular army, it was made up of bloody bands of Germans, who were called Lansquenets, and who fought to the advantage of the Emperor Charles V of Habsburg, but they did it in their own way. The waters of the lake were calm on that mid-November night and the surrounding landscape, illuminated by the moon and overlooked by the silhouettes of the mountains, was truly impressive. From the window, Francesco Maria could look out onto the dock below, a large square shaped like an irregular square, bordered by the castle walls and invaded by the waters of the lake. Through an opening in the walls, boats of a certain size could find safe shelter inside. The dock was the station for the Scaligera fleet, a fleet that would hardly have seen the open sea, considering the lake had no navigable emissaries communicating with the shores of the Adriatic Sea. Only through a series of complicated manoeuvres along artificial water channels and flooded fields could boats be transferred to the large dock at the Armed Citadel of the city of Mantua. From here, through the Mincio, it was possible to easily reach the great river Po, the ancient Eridano, and finally sail towards the Venetian territories and the Adriatic Sea.

Looking beyond the walls, Francesco Maria, at the moment, could only observe placid waters, dotted here and there with hulls, and mountainous ramparts, whose peaks had already begun to cover themselves with the first snow. But the enemy could appear suddenly, from one moment to the next, and the Duke was not happy his wife Eleonora and her retinue were there. Yes, on the one hand he was happy to be able to enjoy her company and the love encounters like the one that had just ended, but on the other he feared for her safety. It had been almost twenty years since they had married. Of course, they were only two fifteen-year-old boys at the time of the marriage, a political marriage that had strengthened the alliance between the Urbino and Mantua’s families, but there were very few opportunities to be together. She in Mantua, at the Gonzaga court, and him in the Marche to fight and fight and fight. The first son, Guidobaldo, who was now nine years old, had arrived almost two decades after his wedding day, and those last two months had been the first real period in which Francesco Maria had been able to enjoy his closeness. Since the family was reunited, one could also think of considering a few more children, perhaps a few girls, in order to take anything away from his first-born Guidobaldo. But it seemed that, despite the frequent love encounters of recent times, Eleonora did not seem to getting pregnant. Was she too old to procreate anymore? But no! She was thirty-three years old, she was no longer a little girl, but she was certainly still of childbearing age. In all of this, his heart suggested on the one hand to keep his wife close to him, in order to enjoy her love and her presence, and on the other to send her back to Mantua to protect her from the horrors of a possible battle against the infamous Lansquenets. Moreover, in those very days, news had arrived of the death of Pope Adriano VI, who had been promptly replaced on the papal throne by Giulio De’ Medici, with the name of Clemente VII. It wasn’t certainly an unexpected event. Francesco Maria had foreseen this and his emissaries had worked to make pacts with the Medici, even before he had been elected Pope. But what worried him, and for which he could not sleep at night, not even after a satisfying meeting with the beautiful Eleonora, was how Charles V would react to the new situation. He would have moved, certainly he would have moved on several fronts, in an official way against the France of Francis I Valoise, against his usual enemy, in a less official way by making the Lansquenets spread in Northern Italy in order to subjugate Milan and aim at Florence and Rome, to reunite all the Italian territories, besides those already owned by Naples, Sicily and Sardinia, under the only imperial crown. It would not have been easy to prevent the Germanic army, once paved the way by the Lansquenets, to reach Rome, put it to fire and sword and finally reach the city of Naples, ally of Charles V. It was only to be hoped in the courage and resourcefulness of Giovanni Ludovico De’ Medici. And of his man, who was anxiously waiting day by day for his trusty Marquis of Alto Montefeltro. To interrupt the flow of Francesco Maria’s thoughts was the sighting of the silhouette of an enormous boat, flying the flag of the Serenissima Republic2 , that from the waters of the lake demanded the opening of the access door to the dock. While the guards, from the patrol walkway, put in place the series of complicated manoeuvres that would allow the opening of the door, the Duke realized that, next to the banner depicting the lion of St. Mark, lying and with the classic open book between his legs, there was another smaller one on which stood a rampant lion crowned. It was thanks to the moonbeams that he was able to distinguish the designs of the flags even in the darkness of the night. His heart was finally more relieved. That flag was the signal he had agreed with his men. Marquis Franciolino Franciolini, or rather, his most trusted Captain of Arms, Andrea Franciolini from Jesi, was coming. With his heart in his throat, he finished dressing and hurried down the stairs, to reach a large salon and lay in impatient anticipation. Once the docking manoeuvres were over, whoever got off the boats had to enter that room. The Duke called some servants, who provided to set the table in order to welcome the new arrivals. Even if the time was late, after a long journey, finding refreshments was certainly appreciated by everyone.

The first to disembark were the servants, who provided to stack on the pier trunks and personal belongings of the noble warriors who had accompanied in navigation. The servants of the castle rushed out, both to transfer the luggage of each one in the rooms already assigned to them, and to direct the newly disembarked servants to the wings of the castle reserved for them, so that they could refresh themselves, rest and, if they wanted, take advantage of the company of some tramp. Immediately afterwards the sailors went ashore, who were soon directed to the openings that gave access to the town of Sirmione, on the southern side of the walls of the dock. They couldn’t wait to reach the taverns, to feast, drink wine and lure some beautiful villagers. The women of the Venetian and Lombard lands were in fact renowned throughout the peninsula for being passionate and always available lovers. And then they spoke with that singing idiom that would open the heart even to the most gruff of sailors. And all for a few coins, much less than what one was accustomed to pay in other areas for the sexual favours of certain damsels.

The last to get off the big boat were the noble warriors, each escorted by his own attendants. One after the other, they crossed the threshold of the large saloon where they were welcomed by the Duke Della Rovere, who invited them to bid farewell to their subordinates and sit at the table set. Soon it would be a feast, the food would certainly not be lacking and the wine would be flowing. At a nod from the Duke, some handmaids with colourful transparent dresses, which left nothing to the imagination, began to dance sinuously on one side of the room, to the rhythm of a lullaby reminiscent of exotic atmospheres. Women took prisoners and made slaves during the campaigns of the Serenissima against the Ottoman Empire. Women who came from the lands of the Near East and who knew how to make their bellies dance independently from the rest of the body. At a second nod of the Duke, the girls got rid of the coloured tunics and kept wearing only tiny costumes to cover breasts and pubis. The music changed and the young maids, one more beautiful than the other, one more sensual than the other, began to perform the provocative belly dance. In the meantime, the servants poured over the sumptuous table all sorts of things, from hare pies to roast wild boar, from sweet-and-sour game to jugged rabbits, from vegetables of various colours to chicken and beef broths flavoured with spices. The jugs of wine did not have time to make their appearance on the table that already had to be replaced with other full.

Francesco Maria reviewed the faces of his guests. The Duke of Orvieto, with a chicken leg in his hand and a mug of wine in the other, had already approached one of the dancers, throwing kisses with greasy lips towards her. That one, for all answer, had got rid of the upper part of the costume and had remained bare-breasted, continuing the dance in an even more provocative way. The Marquis of Villamarina, for his part, had sat down at the table, with the serious intention of eating and drinking to his heart’s content, almost without regard to the dance performance. But he shook his head to the rhythm of the music. Messer Vittorio dei Gherardeschi, Count of Hunting and Lord of the lands of Polverigi, looked around a little lost, as if everything that was happening in the salon did not concern him at all. He approached Francesco Maria, greeted him with respect and asked to be accompanied to his lodgings, as he was very tired and wanted to rest. The Duke Della Rovere had scrutinized everyone, but had not yet been able to locate Andrea. The latter, in a completely unexpected way, entered at a certain point in the hall from the opposite entrance to the one from which all the others had entered, the one used by those who came from the mainland, from the town of Sirmione. Andrea appeared tried, he was very pale and had dark circles around his eyes.

«My God, Andrea! It seems that ships are your worst enemy!», and so saying Francesco Maria approached his friend, holding him in an affectionate embrace. «Luckily I have other plans for you, and tomorrow we will talk about it in all tranquillity. Now have a seat and enjoy my hospitality to the full. You will be able to restore body and spirit, and tomorrow you will feel like another man!»

He saw Andrea looking around, admiring the table set, casting his eyes on the oriental dancers who, now almost all with their breasts uncovered, some even completely naked, were indulging in the repressed desires of noble warriors. Then the young Captain of arms approached the table, picked some olives in brine, drank a glass of wine and expressed the desire to leave.

«Tell me about the trip, Andrea! How come you got off the ship and came here from land?», Francesco tried to hold him back.

«My dear friend, you said it yourself a little while ago. We will talk about it calmly tomorrow. Now I am very tired and I only wish to retire to rest.»

«Do you want me to send you company in your room? Those exotic beauties are capable of resurrecting a corpse!»

«But not me. At this moment I would not be able to touch a woman, other than my betrothed, even with one finger. Pretend I’m accepting your offer and take the girl in your room.»

Francesco Maria burst into laughter.

«I cannot! In my rooms there is already Eleonora. I too, these days, am not able to touch any other woman who is not my beloved.»

 CHAPTER 4

“Everyone is what he pursues.

I am what I am, I am what I love,

I love what I am.”

(Elio Savelli)

Andrea still could not understand why he had followed the Duke’s men without blinking an eye, just moments before the wedding ceremony with his beloved Lucia. His powerful white steed, still dressed for a party, was biting the road, without struggling at all to keep up with the armigers who were heading beyond the Esino river, towards Mount Returri. The ride was easy, without trappings, without even hiding it on the head. The thick blonde hair of Andrea caressed the air fluttering. The sleeves of the crimson doublet swelled and deflated at the whims of the wind. But Andrea’s mind was in turmoil. Thoughts incapable of being held in check crowded into his head and overwhelmed his temples, hoping to be taken into consideration.

«You have always pursued the hope of being able to unite in marriage with Lucia. And now the time had finally come, what do you do? You leave her there, on the churchyard of the Church!», the first thought began to torture him. «Remember, Andrea! Everyone is what he pursues in life! Not to reach one’s goals means to fail miserably.»

«I am what I am!», Andrea defended himself against himself. «I love to be what I am. And I am a man of arms, and as such I must obey those who command me. So I made the right choice. One cannot shirk one’s duty because of a damsel.»

«You love what you are, but you are also what you love», a second thought replied to him, without giving him a break, in an incredible play on words. «And who you love is Lucia. With her you should be one body and one soul. What difference was there in following these men now, immediately, rather than tomorrow, or tomorrow the other or in a week’s time? And your little girl, Laura, to whom you gave smiles until this morning, making her understand that now she could trust the affection of a father, what will she think of you? That you’re a coward, that you escape love and affection depending on how the wind turns. Was it not licit to at least explain to her why you are leaving?»

«I'm not a pussy, I’m a Captain of Arms!», Andrea’s warrior spirit replied with vigour. «If these men were in a great hurry to take me with them, there must be a reason, and a very serious one, from what I could read in the letter sent to me by the Duke. A warrior does not shirk his duty. Never! Much less for matters of love. Love can wait, the enemy can’t.»

Immersed in these mental disquisitions, Andrea had not even noticed that, having passed the watchtower at the top of Mount Returri, the group of soldiers he was following, having crossed the short village of Santa Maria delle Ripe, was heading, in a fast descent, towards the valley of the Musone River. He silenced all his thoughts and concentrated on the route. If they had to head towards Mantua, the road to follow was certainly not the one, which bent towards the south. Logic would have wanted that one covered the road Fiammenga up to Montemarciano and then went up again along the Adriatic coast, up to Ravenna, to then bend towards Ferrara. And from there reach Mantua in an easy way, without any difficulty. The road they were driving along led straight to the Swabian Castle of the Seaport, south of the mountain of Ancona, between the mouth of the Musone river and the one of the Potenza river. A castle built by Frederick II to defend and bulwark of an important port in which could station the Ghibelline fleet. To the only thought of the sea, Andrea had a gagging.

And soon, in fact, the valley of the Musone widened towards the Adriatic Sea. The imposing basilica of Loreto, dedicated to the cult of the Virgin Mary and protected by mighty ramparts were on their right, high on the hill, while Andrea and his companions followed a wide road for a few leagues, arriving in view of their destination. The outline of the Swabian castle, with its imposing donjon towering towards the sky, approached quickly. The sun was now setting towards the horizon and, putting the horses in step, you could hear the sound of the backwash and smell the salty smell brought by the wind. The sunset set the sky on fire in a bright red, fading into shades of orange where the sun was hiding behind the horizon line, marked by the mountains of the Apennines. Scenes and colours that would have infused the feeling of nostalgia in the heart of any person, let alone in that of Andrea, already in turmoil for the whole story he was living. He would have wanted to turn the horse around and run back to Jesi, to his beloved, to his home, to his affections. But once again, the nitrites of the horses and the cries of the armigers brought him back to reality. They were in front of the main entrance of the castle, in a large quadrangular clearing that, on the opposite side, opened towards the sea. While his escorts were shouting to the guards in the stands, to be recognized and to lower the drawbridge, Andrea looked at the port. The sea was calm, flat, almost a table. Some stars were already shining in the sky, a sky that was taking on the tones of turquoise and that would soon become much darker, wrapping things and people in the black cloak of the night. The silhouette of a huge boat, a three-masted sheep, caught Andrea’s attention. In his life he had never seen such a large vessel. And the fear that the next day he would have to climb on it gripped his heart. On the highest tree, the central one, waved the banner of the Serenissima Republic, a laying lion, the lion of St. Mark, with an open book, the Holy Gospel, between the front legs. When the drawbridge was descended and the huge doors of the portal opened, the captain of the castle guard went out and approached Andrea, handing him a folded banner. He bent to his address in an obsequious bow and handed him the banner.

Andrea got down from his horse, nodded to the Captain to lift himself from the reverent position and took the object from his hands. He unfolded the drape, in which, on a red cloth background, had been made, at the end of the embroidery, the golden design of a rampant lion adorned with the royal crown on his head.

«My Lord, Marquis Franciolino Franciolini, you’ll fight under the sign of the lion!», the lieutenant began to profess. «Tomorrow morning you will deliver this banner to the ship’s crew, who will hoist it on the flagpole, beside the flag of the Serenissima Republic. The Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere gave precise dispositions. The rampant lion, the symbol of your city, but also of Frederick II of Swabia, who granted in his time to adorn it with the imperial crown, will be the symbol of your strength and your authority.»

The Scroll was interrupted and he had a parchment delivered by another soldier, who had remained behind him, a short distance away.

«Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere appoints you, as written in this parchment, Grand Lion of the Bailiff, a title that gives you great powers and the possibility, indeed the duty, to accompany the Venetian commander on the bridge of the combat galleon.»

So saying, he rolled the parchment and delivered it in Andrea’s hands.

«Tomorrow morning at dawn you will board with your men and deliver the credentials to the “Capitano da Mar”3 Tommaso de’ Foscari. Two lions and two captains of arms will be united against common enemies, on one side the Turks of Sultan Sèlim, on the other side the Lansquenets. The Duke Della Rovere trusts you will hold high the honour due to your flag and to the one of the Serenissima Republic, our ally. And now, my Lord, allow me to lead you to your rooms to call for a deserved rest. Tomorrow morning you will be awakened early, even before sunrise.»

Andrea was confused, he didn’t know what to say, and so he remained silent. Certainly his friend Duke knew how to flatter him with the honours, but in doing so he always found a way to send him to the wreck. The fact of embarking on a ship didn’t please him at all, but by then he had arrived there and he couldn’t back down.

At night he turned and turned around between the sheets, getting little or no sleep. When he sank into sleep, he was assailed by nightmares that reminded him of the only battle fought at sea. Sea and blood, fire and death. And the figure of the Mancino who tormented him, approaching him until he became a giant, who accused him of letting him die among the waves. And he woke up in a bath of sweat, realizing he had slept only for a few moments. When the servant in charge of the alarm clock arrived, he felt almost relieved to be able to get up. It was still dark outside, but from the window he could catch a glimpse of the ship illuminated by the whitish light of an almost full moon. The servant helped him to wear a light armour, consisting of a wire mesh bodice with more compact reinforcements at the shoulders, forearms and neck. Above the armour, a half red and half yellow satin cloak. In the yellow part the design of the lion of San Marco, in the red one the crowned rampant lion.

«These clothes won’t be able to protect me from anything!», Andrea began to complain, with the servant who was helping him in the dressing. «An arrow in chest and goodbye Marquis Franciolini! And what about the stockings? Simple leather pants, without even metal studs for protection. Pass me the helmet, come on!»

«No helmet, my Captain. You’re all good. On board you have to be light, you have to be able to move easily, to run from one side of the galleon to the other and, if necessary, climb trees. An armour like the ones you are used to wearing in land fighting would only be a hindrance. Trust me, my Lord!»

«I trust you, and I also believe that I will not reach Mantua alive. If seasickness won’t kill me, the enemy will do it. I will be an easy target for the Turkish pirates. They will shoot me with arrows and feed on my corpse. Ah, what a fine destiny I’m going to meet, just to please my friend the Duke!»

«You have nothing to fear, my Lord. The galleon is really safe and suitable for resisting any attack by other vessels. And Commander Foscari knows his business. He knows how to govern the vessel and fight at sea like no other in the world. You will see. And now, refresh yourselves. You will need to be strong to face the journey», and so he clapped his hands, letting other servants with trays coming into the room.

The servant who had helped him dress, took a silver chalice and had his hands washed with rosewater. Then he invited him to sit at the table. The other servants placed in front of him, in sequence, three trays. In the first one there were some cups, some filled with donkey milk, some with Sicilian orange juice, others with steaming cow’s milk. A second tray contained sweet food, milk bread, donuts, cookies, marzipan, pinocchiate4 , cannoli5 with cream, puffed, arranged in saucers decorated with large salad leaves. The third tray was dedicated to salty foods, anchovies, capers, asparagus, shrimps, accompanied by a cup filled with sturgeon eggs with sugar. Apart, in some jugs, there were wines, from muscatel to trebbiano to fermented sweet wine. Andrea was afraid that, once aboard the galleon, everything in his stomach would go up to his jaws. He would have vomited everything he had ingested. But the scents that tickled his nostrils were too tempting, so he soaked some cookies and two donuts in donkey milk, gobbling behind the cup of warm cow’s milk. He was careful not to touch the salty foods and, above all, the wines. Satisfied, he let out a loud burp, after which he declared himself ready to reach the Venetian boat.

Seen up close, the Venetian ship was really impressive. Andrea had never seen such a large vessel, not even that of the Turkish pirates faced more than a year ago. He noticed with pleasure how the galleon was extremely stable. The waves passed under the hull, but the mammoth ship, in fact, just did not seem to move. His attentive eye did not miss the curious metal panels, which covered the wooden sides of the boat in several places. While trying to understand what they were for, his attention was drawn by the ship’s captain. Tommaso De’ Foscari was hurling himself out of his arms, beckoning the young man to go on board through a comfortable walkway placed between the pier and the left side of the ship. Not without some fear, Andrea reached the bridge, greeting his new companion with a bow. While he was handing the banner to Foscari with the rampant lion, to be hoisted on the flagpole near the other flag representing the lion of St. Marco, he realized that being on top of that ship did not bother him at all. The galleon was a different thing than the one on which he had lost two of his best companions, the Mancino and Fiorano Santoni. The movements due to the lapping of the waters under the hull were not felt at all.

«As you can see, my dear Franciolino, this is one of the best ships in the fleet of the Serenissima Republic», the ship Captain began to explain to him, surrounding his shoulder with an arm. «It’s a very large ship and therefore it is very stable. But at the same time it’s also agile and easy to manoeuvre. In addition to the wind it can be propelled, if necessary, by two orders of rowers. Among the crew, servants, rowers and soldiers, there are more than five hundred men on board. Almost an army. And that’s not all. It’s a very safe ship. I noticed, a little while ago, how you were looking at the metal bulkheads on the sides. They protect the hull from the enemy’s incendiary balls. When needed, they can be lifted, creating a barrier even higher than the walls of the ship itself, and between one bulkhead and another, fire vents can be inserted, bombards capable of throwing explosive projectiles at opponents. But there is even more. On board we have as many as one hundred harquebusiers, men capable of using in an excellent way the new deadly firearm invented by the French. I can’t wait to show you this war machine at work.»

Continuing to speak, the Captain had led Andrea to the bridge, where he had taken the helm, explaining how in marine jargon the front part of the ship was called the bow and the rear stern, the left side port and the right side starboard. Then he began to shout orders to the sailors in order to prepare the ship to sail. The orders, pronounced in strict marine jargon, were completely incomprehensible to Andrea.

Drop anchor - Retract the tires - Lower the mainsail - Drop the pimp - Hoist the foresails, they were all commands whose meaning he did not fully understand. In any case, he could observe how, at each Captain’s command, the crew moved in a fast and precise way, without any uncertainty. In short, the galleon detached itself from the dock and set sail, starting sailing north, with a nice sirocco wind that inflated the sails to the maximum. Foscari held the rudder firmly in his hand and continued to explain to Andrea what he was doing.

«The Adriatic Sea is a closed and also rather narrow sea between the Italian and Dalmatian shores. And therefore it is quite safe. It is unlikely that sudden storms break out, as they do when you cross the ocean to reach the New World. However, we have not to underestimate the fact sometimes the wind turns and becomes dangerous. The “Garbino”6 , the wind that blows from the land, can lift the sea and cause even massive swells. In addition it makes it difficult to steer the ship, as it pushes the boats out to sea. As you can see, we always try to sail rather offshore to avoid the shallows, but always in view of the coast, so that we never lose course. The “Garbino” can fool you, making you lose sight of the coastline and therefore disorienting navigators, especially when the sky is cloudy and you can’t get oriented thanks to the sun and the stars. We sailors fear another wind, the “bura”, the “Buriàn”7 , which brings snow and frost, and blows especially in the winter season. The “bura” is sometimes so strong to sweep away everything it finds, including the sailors on deck who, if they end up in the icy waters, have little hope of surviving.»

«My dear Tommaso», Andrea interrupted him, by now having become familiar with his new friend. «I must confess that I am very afraid of the sea. I don’t even know how to swim and I had a very bad experience last year off the coast of Senigallia. So, I would prefer you to avoid telling me certain details. You already gave me the creeps. If you go on like this, I will be nauseous and then I will be in pain for the rest of the navigation. Today instead I can see a beautiful day, the wind that is caressing us is warm and pleasant, and this ship is so stable that I do not feel any discomfort. Therefore, let me enjoy this voyage, and maybe tell me about your exploits as a warrior. I know that you fought against the Turks on Dalmatian soil... But, what I see there towards the shore is the outline of the Rocca Roveresca? Have we already reached Senigallia?»

«The ship is fast and the wind is favourable. Yes, we have already reached Senigallia. And since you talked about Turks, be ready to meet them, because these waters are infested by Sultan Sèlim’s pirates.»

«I know this very well. Ah, if I could make them pay for what they made me lose a year ago! Two of my best friends lost their lives in the clash with those unfaithful bastards. And I got away with it by a whisker.»

«Excellent, my dear Franciolino. So, if we are going to have to fight them, while I will govern the ship, I’ll leave you to give the orders to gunners and harquebusiers. Now I will explain how.»

The navigation continued quietly until late afternoon. Captain Foscari was about to prepare the galleon to dock at the port of Rimini to spend the night, when a lookout, from his position at the top of the highest mast, shouted: «Pirate ship to starboard! Galleon flying the Turkish flag, in battle trim.»

«It’s Selim!», Andrea whispered to Captain Foscari, already beginning to feel a certain excitement at the idea of the fight.

The Sea Captain shouted some orders in seafaring jargon. Andrea didn’t understand anything, but he could admire again how, at each command, the crew of the ship was moving in perfect synchrony to comply with the will of the captain. In a few moments, the protective metal panels of the right side of the ship were lifted, the fire mouths were loaded and the bomb squad set themselves in combat position. The harquebusiers, instead, loaded their weapons, moved to the left side of the galleon, near the port wall.

«It’ll be yours the honour to order to fire», Foscari said, addressed to Andrea. «But not before the enemy made the first move!»

«Shall we let the pirates attack us? Isn’t that imprudent?»

«You’ll see!»

The conversation between the two was abruptly interrupted by the enemy attack. A little bit of arson balls were set off from the Turkish vessel. Many of them rained in water, extinguishing themselves in a cloud of steam and salt water splashes, several feet away from the Venetian ship. Some balls hit the metal panels, and even these fell into the sea, without causing any damage to the hull. Andrea felt at some point hit by a gush of lukewarm water, lifted by one of the incendiary balls that fell very close to the bridge. Wet as a chick he prepared to order to respond to the fire. The bomb squad had loaded the cannons with explosive balls. Andrea ordered to light the fuses, while his friend Tommaso prepared the next manoeuvre.

«Fire at will! Let’s not give them a chance to adjust the shot», and looked for a solid foothold to hold on tight, foreseeing the recoil due to the simultaneous explosions of at least forty cannons.

But, to his amazement, he saw the blows go off, accompanied by clouds of smoke in correspondence of the fire mouths, without the stability of the galleon being affected more than much. Sure, a little bit the ship began to swing and the fast manoeuvre ordered by the Captain immediately afterwards worsened not a little the condition of Andrea’s stomach. But he had to resist. He could not get seasick. The ship was now pointing fast the bow towards the Turkish galleon. The sails had been lowered, and it was moving only by oars. In fact the manoeuvre had to be precise, one could not rely on the whims of the wind. Two orders of rowers on each side could push the ship at the speed desired at every moment by the captain, through the master of oarsmen, called “subcommittee”. The explosive bullets had done their duty. They had hit the Turkish ship in several places, causing serious damage. The mast had been felled and several leaks had been opened on the hull, which was now leaning on the right side. The pirates were lowering the small boarding boats on the opposite side, towards the open sea, both to abandon the ship that was about to sink, and because they never gave up and would have prepared to assault the Venetian ship. Both Andrea and Tommaso De’ Foscari knew well that the religion of those bastards taught them that to die in battle meant to be assumed in glory by their God. None of them would ever surrender. They would have fought until they all died, but if a single handful of those ruthless pirates had managed to get on board, several men would have lost their lives. Of course, soon the Turks would have been overwhelmed, but they would still have succeeded in claiming numerous victims. And Tommaso would not have wanted to lose even one of his men. Therefore the manoeuvre had to be precise. He drove the ship around the Turkish galleon, so as to be between it and the pirate boats. Andrea could at this point realize how deadly was the new weapon called blunderbuss. The fifty harquebusiers fired in unison against the small boats to the order shouted by Captain Franciolini, just in the moment in which the Sea Captain made him the agreed nod. The men hit by the blunderbusses’ balls were decimated like flies: heads that were pulverized, bodies that were thrown into the water like rag dummies, legs and arms that were torn from logs that were still dying for a short time and then bled to death. While the harquebusiers loaded their weapons again, the surviving pirates threw themselves into the water to try to escape the shot. But the second volley was no less destructive than the first. They were also ordered to fire some explosive balls with cannons, in order to sink the Turkish lifeboats. A few arrows hissed above the heads of Andrea and Tommaso, but none went to score. The harquebusiers and the bomb squad were well protected by the ship’s walls and mobile panels. In the sea they started to outline a reddish blotch, a kind of island of blood, whose inhabitants were fragments of burnt wood and corpses flushed. Luckily Andrea’s attention was turned instead to a single boat that was moving away from the place of the battle. It was a little bigger than the others, it had a small mast with a square sail, above which waved a red flag with a half moon and a white star.

«It’s the Sultan! He is running away with his trusted men», Andrea exclaimed, excited. «Let’s chase him. We could capture him and make him a prisoner. The Duke Della Rovere will certainly be grateful!»

Captain De’ Foscari put an arm around his friend’s shoulder, in an attempt to calm his soul.

«Let’s leave him. It’s not worth the risk. He’s still a dangerous man. We have won the battle. We can continue our journey, now without any more hindrances.»

«But... In a short time he’ll reorganize himself, and return to haunt our seas and terrorize our coastal cities!»

So saying, Andrea lowered his head, a bit mortified. And he saw what he never wanted to see. The blood, the corpses, the pieces of the boats destroyed. This time he couldn’t hold back his stomach. The gagging of vomit rose strongly. The movements of the ship, however slight, were now unbearable. He felt his legs give way. He fell on his knees.

Tommaso called a couple of armigers, who were immediately beside him.

«Take him below deck, to my cabin, and have him lie down in my bunk. He led the assault on the pirates very well, but he is a land fighter. And the blood, in the sea, has a completely different effect. Watch over his rest. I will spend the night here, on the bridge.»

 CHAPTER 5

A warrior cannot lower his head,

otherwise he loses sight of the horizon of his dreams.

(Paulo Coelho)

In his awake sleep, lulled by the lapping of the waves, which flowed rhythmically under the hull of the galleon at anchor in the port of Rimini, Andrea’s eyes were filled with the images of the last two months, spent next to his beloved Lucia and the two beautiful girls, to whom he had become attached in a way he would never have believed possible. He loved Lucia, just as he loved Laura, the fruit of their love, just as he loved Anna, who looked so much like her adoptive mother. Certainly there was blood of the Baldeschi family in that little one, even if it had not come out of Lucia’s womb, but from that of a supposed witch who had finished her days in the flames. And the suspicion of who had impregnated that alleged witch had now become a certainty for Andrea. Cardinal Baldeschi, Lucia’s uncle, could not give any other explanation, but now he was dead and could no longer cause them any trouble, as he had done in the past. The mere thought of that grim character gave him the shivers. Not much time had passed since, after having settled all his business in Montefeltro, he left the Counts of Carpegnia and returned to Jesi on a hot day at the end of July. As in the previous occasion, seeing the walls, gates, towers, watch towers and bell towers of his city had aroused in him emotions difficult to contain. But this time he could enter the city with his head held high, strong of a noble title, protected by the Duke of Urbino. And with full rights he could claim to be appointed Captain of the people and to be able to get married with his betrothed.

After a brief stop at his father’s palace, just to freshen up and change his clothes, he rushed to the country residence of the Counts Baldeschi. He knew well, in fact, he would not find Lucia in the Palazzo del Governo, nor much less in the Baldeschi Palace in Piazza San Floriano. He had presented himself to the servants and made himself announced to the landlady. Lucia had been waiting a long time, but when she had crossed the threshold of the hall on the ground floor, Andrea was struck by her radiant beauty, as if it was the first time he saw her. She was wearing a green silk “gamurra”, which highlighted her feminine lines and features. Her hazel eyes, in the center of her pale face, were almost fixed on him. They were sweet and penetrating at the same time. The neckline of his dress generously showed his shoulders and the dimple between his breasts, his skin as light as milk. A necklace of white pearls adorned her neck and the hairstyle of her hair was designed to do justice to the beautiful face of the lady. The cascade of dark hair was pulled back by a braid that surrounded the nape of the neck, so as to leave the forehead completely uncovered. In the perfectly oval face, with delicate features, the lips stood out of an unnatural vermilion, given by the colour obtained from poppy flowers. The eyebrows just mentioned and the high, spacious forehead gave her the appearance of a real Lady. At her hips, one on each side, the two little girls of about six years old, completely similar to her in appearance, bearing and hairstyle, held her gently by the hand. The only differences between the two girls were the height and colour of their hair, one a little taller, long and with wavy blond hair, the other a little lower and with straight black hair, shaved at the top of the head to emphasize the width of the forehead. Andrea had understood, already from the other time he had glimpsed the girls playing in the garden of that same villa, that his daughter had to be the blonde. Without taking anything away from the brunette, she was a beautiful little girl and had two heavenly eyes just like his. Lucia had sent the girls to sit on a sofa and had brought her right hand to the knight, who taking it in his hands, had knelt down and kissed it.

«Up, up! Get up!», Lucia had told him, the cheeks that were getting inflamed. As he got up, Andrea found himself with his face at a very short distance from her. The impulse had been to bring his lips closer to hers and kiss her for a long time, but he had to hold back because of the presence of the servants, but especially the two girls.

The two remained like that, for a while, staring into each other’s eyes, without uttering a word. Then Andrea cleared his voice.

«Your hazel eyes. I think I saw them the last time behind a raised concealed. It was you the day of the tournament in Urbino. I’m sure of it. I recognized your eyes. Of the same colour, there are no others in the world. It was you who saved my life, who blocked Masio. And I just do not understand, I do not understand how a bridesmaid, as beautiful and delicate as you, had the strength and courage to intervene in a manner worthy of a man of arms.»

«You must still know me well, Messer Franciolino - or can I still call you Andrea? - In any case, behind the facade of femininity, I’ve always been able to assert myself, even in situations that required not only strength, but also cunning, brains and reasoning. And no one has ever managed to trick the here present Countess Lucia Baldeschi. And I assure you that many have tried.»

«I imagine that these years for you, here in the city, have not been easy. I know you have taken on some very important responsibilities. And I know you have done it very well. They also told me you are a daredevil, and more than once you have ventured on dangerous journeys, and moreover without an escort. A very risky thing for a lady of your rank.»

To these words, Lucia had lowered her gaze, sighing. Andrea, having understood to have touched a perhaps painful button for his beloved, had brought back the speech on a different plan.

«Of course, after the events of Urbino, I would have expected to find you at my side, to be assisted by your loving care, as at the time of the sack of Jesi. Instead I found myself in a remote and solitary castle, with the only company of two gruff mountain Counts, and a small handful of their servants.»

«I made me sure someone were taken care of you, but I could not stay in Montefeltro. I had come all the way there undercover, just to see you. And now that you are well, I am waiting for you to...»

«But of course, of course, you are absolutely right», and he prostrated himself again at the feet of his beloved, taking his hand between hers. «I humbly apologize to you for having dwelt in useless chatter. The purpose of my presence here is one and only one. That of proposing myself as your husband. It’s strange having to ask you directly, usually the hand of a lady is asked for through the intercession of her parent, or her guardian. But better this way. I am ready to declare my immense love to you, and I believe that your heart is also beating strong for this knight, as you have made me understand many times.»

Lucia ordered him to get up for the second time. Andrea stood up, continuing to hold her hand. He could smell the scent of rose water, which was making him intoxicated, almost drunk. Once again he had the instinct to kiss her. He gently moved his torso closer to her, until he felt the pressure of her breasts against his chest. He touched her cheek with his lips, in a very light, almost imperceptible kiss. Lucia retracted a little.

«And you got it right. Yes, I’m ready to marry you, on one condition only, that you want to be the father of both girls.»

«And this is granted. I want to be. They are two marvellous girls and, as far as I can see, already well educated. We must give them credit for this.»

«I think it’s good to say goodbye now. You must visit our beloved Bishop, Cardinal Ghislieri, and make arrangements with him for the wedding ceremony. I will be willing to abide by whatever the Cardinal may wish to arrange. Go, now!»

The Venetian ship, as stable as it was, was more subject to rolling and pitching movements as it approached the coast. The manoeuvres due to the docking, moreover, accentuated said movements, as well as awakened the nausea and the headache of Andrea. From the sailors’ voices, he understood that they were approaching Marina di Ravenna. From the small window of the captain’s cabin you could see a thick pine forest to frame the coast. As he pulled himself up from his bunk, he banged his head on the ceiling of the cabin, which, although one of the highest, located between the second and third aft decks, was always lower than its height. Just as he was fighting a gagging gag, trying to swallow the bile coming up from his stomach, the Sea Captain entered the cabin.

«We’ll stop here, at Marina di Ravenna, for a few days, in order to supply the ship with food and ammunition. It will take another two days until the Delta of the Po River, then we’ll sail up the Po River to Mantua. From here to Mantua, the journey will be much less easy than it has been until now. Especially the river navigation will create many problems. We’ll be able to find shallows, narrower stretches of rivers, in short, it will not be easy to reach our destination with such a large ship. Take my advice, disembark here. I will get you horses and an escort. By land, you will reach Ferrara, where you’ll be a guest for a few days of the Duke of Este, our friend and ally. From Ferrara to Mantua the road is not long. I will send you a messenger as soon as our ship has arrived in the city of Gonzaga and we’ll meet there.»

Andrea was relieved of the proposal. He couldn’t wait to disembark and finally jump on a horse.

 CHAPTER 6

Beauty will save the world

(Fedor Dostoevsky)

Muddy up to his neck, Andrea had his forehead beaded with sweat, despite the stinging cold of the beginning of a winter that, in fast steps, would open the doors to the year 2019. The municipal administration had been clear. By the following spring, Piazza Colocci had to be restored and the archaeological excavations, which had brought to light the remains of the lower floors of the old Government Palace, would be buried. Everything had already been photographed, the main finds transferred to the new archaeological museum, on the ground floor of the Pianetti-Tesei Palace, and by then it had been given too much time to citizens, tourists and curious people to take a peek, completely free, at the uncovered square. But Andrea was not satisfied, he did not give up. Down there, at a lower level, there must have been the remains of the ancient Roman amphitheatre. Evidence of this were the ancient balls of the “ball game”, an ancient discipline dating back to Roman times. This game, also known as Harpastum, or spherical ball game, was an integral part of the training of gladiators and was played mainly by legions to guard the borders. According to Andrea, the balls found about twenty years earlier at the bottom of the well in the inner courtyard of the Palazzo della Signoria were not referable to the eighteenth-century game of tennis court, as had been asserted so far. They were instead the testimony that in that area took place, between the first century B.C. and the third century A.D., games in which gladiators and slaves were involved, in the same way as those that could be seen in Rome inside the Coliseum. Of course, he could not go down to the bottom of the well to break through its walls, but according to him a passage from the rooms of the ancient Government Palace to the levels below had to be there. Everything was there to find him. The very expensive radar surveys that he had carried out completely at his own expense proved him right, but every time he thought he was close to the sensational discovery of the possible passage there was something that went wrong. There were sewer manifolds that could not be touched except at the risk of flooding everything, there were metal bulkheads to protect and consolidate the foundations of the Palazzo della Signoria. Here remains of fireplaces, which could not be touched except by unleashing the wrath of the delegate for Cultural and Artistic Heritage. And now there was also snow. Since December 8, an early but heavy snowfall had prevented him from working for a few days. Then, when the snow had melted, it had left so much mud that it was almost impossible to stand upright in the excavations without sliding continuously. Irritated, cold, with nerves on edge, he lifted the pickaxe. He would have given a dry picket to the back wall, the one that separated the old government building from the foundations of the present one, finished building around the year 1500, but he stopped with his arm in the air. Something had attracted the attention of his eyes. The mud, draining downwards, had left uncovered a detail he had never noticed before. A vaulted arch limited by the ancient bricks, almost at the top of the ground he was trampling on and representing the floor of the ground floor of that ancient building, undoubtedly delimited an opening, even if it was occluded by debris and semi-basement.

Certainly the bricks that delimit this arch are older than the rest, have a more irregular appearance, are darker. Perhaps they are from Roman times...

Andrea rubbed his hands satisfied, breathed on them to warm them a bit and looked around for the right tools, leaving the pickaxe. He tried to clean the hypothetical opening, as much as possible with his bare hands, helping himself with a small folding hoe shovel to remove the debris, then finishing the work with a brush to remove dust and soil. Little by little, came to light a wooden door, quite well preserved, closed with a latch. It would not have been difficult to open it or break it down but, not knowing what he would find beyond and it was by now dusk, he decided for that day he could be satisfied and he could suspend the work to resume the next day.

Better go home and recheck the radar readings. I would not want to have any surprises. And then better to get help from someone. One can never be too careful in these cases. Never open that door to cause collapses. At which point all the work of months and months would be blessed.

He gathered his tools, put his work bag over his shoulder, came out of the excavations and headed down to Costa Baldassini to reach his home. The cozy warmth of his home and the smell of smoke from the cigarettes consumed by his companion put him in a good mood. He threw the bag on the ground near the entrance, tried as much as possible to free his shoes from the mud and ran up the stairs. He found Lucia asleep, with one arm and the head resting on the living room table, the notebook lit in front of her and the cigarette butt still smoking in the ashtray. He caressed her hair gently, evoking her awakening.

«My God, Andrea! I collapsed. I must have been really tired. I worked all day trying to interpret a new document, which I found here among the paperwork in your library and which refers to the period when your ancestor Andrea Franciolini went to fight in the Netherlands in support of the King of France against Emperor Charles V of Habsburg. Aside from the politically entangled period, for which the pope was now a partisan for France, now a partisan for the empire, the chronology of dates in this document seems strange. And then there is this representation, which seems much older than the times we are discussing. It is a lion who is lying, lying down, engraved on stone, it seems to me. I don’t understand what it means: it is neither the rampant lion symbol of Jesi, nor the lion of San Marco, symbol of the Venetian Republic. It looks more like an icon, a high-relief on stone, coming from some dwelling or from some construction of Roman times, almost similar to those decorative tiles that adorn the outline of the portal of this palace.»

«As you know by now, those tiles were decorations of an ancient Roman temple that stood in this place in antiquity, and that were found during the excavations of the foundations.»

«Exactly. And so my idea is that whoever designed this illustration was inspired by a decoration of the ancient Roman amphitheatre, which stood more or less between Piazza Colocci and Via Roccabella. After all the lions were used by the Romans, inside the arenas, in the fights with the gladiators.»

«And they often made a mess of it. What horrible shows! And yet at the time they were appreciated by the population. In any case, since we are on the subject, I must tell you that just a little while ago perhaps I identified a passage that could lead to the remains of this ancient amphitheatre. I managed to isolate a wooden door, at a lower level than the rest of the excavations, which in my opinion should have given access to the cellars of the ancient Palazzo del Governo. And if the accounts are correct, those cellars should correspond with ancient environments referable to some areas of the amphitheatre.»

«Have you tried to open the door?»

«No, I need the proper tools and someone to assist me. I don’t want to cause a collapse.»

«And who do you want to find as assistants? We are close to the Christmas holidays, all your archaeologist friends have disappeared for a while now and the city administration has already decided to close the excavations soon!»

«I think one person is enough. And I believe that whoever is right for me is now here in front of me.»

«Oh, forget about getting me involved in another one of your whimsical adventures just because you’re leveraging the fact I’m in love with you», Lucia replied, indignant. «I have no desire to be buried alive among the ruins of a Roman amphitheatre. Besides, you know very well that I suffer from claustrophobia.»

«I know», Andrea said. «But I also know that your curiosity as a scholar manages to prevail over all fears. You have demonstrated this in the past. And if you think that down there you could find the original icon representing that laying lion...»

«Hey, you think you can always get me to do whatever you want!»

Lucia stretched out a nervous hand towards the cigarette packet and took one out to light it. She remained with the cigarette in her mouth and the lighter lit in her hand, interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. On the display appeared a cell phone number, not saved in the phonebook and preceded by the international prefix +49.

Lucia and Andrea exchanged a questioning glance, then he beckoned her to answer. Lucia activated the speakerphone, so that Andrea could also listen to the conversation. On the other end of the phone, a male voice began to speak in almost perfect Italian, although with a marked accent on the letter er.

«I speak with Countess Lucia Baldeschi-Balleani?»

«To serve you! To what do I owe the honour...?»

«Let me present myself! I am His Imperial and Royal Highness, the Archduke Sigismondo of Habsburg Lorena, titular Grand Duke of Tuscany and Grand Master of the Sacred Military Order of Santo Stefano Pope and Martyr.»

«Damn!», Andrea escape in a whisper, not to let his voice to the microphone of the telephone. «Maybe he decided to continue to finance our archaeological research!»

Lucia put her index finger in front of her nose, to tell her companion to be quiet.

«It’s a pleasure for me learning of your interest in my person. To what do I owe, if I may ask, this honour?»

«I see that you have received an excellent education, and for that I must congratulate you and your family. But let’s come to the argument. You see, according to the article 5 of the present Statutes of the Order of St. Stephen, and in accordance with the ancient Statutes of the Order itself, every year I choose three noblemen to be raised to the rank of Bailiff Grand Cross of Justice, in consideration of high merits acquired in life, work and study. Never before this honour has been reserved to a woman. But, seen the results of your research on the origins and history of your noble family, I felt for this year to make a break from the rule. And I decided that you are the one chosen by me to be named Knight of the Grand Cross of Bailiff. Therefore, I officially invite you to the investiture ceremony, which will be held in Florence on the day of Holy Christmas.»

«But, Christmas will be just in a fortnight! I have commitments, both work and personal. You know, my fiancé, my family», Lucia tried to take time, a bit confused.

«Don’t worry. Come to Florence with your fiancé or other members of your family. Clearly, the trip for you is entirely at my expense. I am already e-mailing you the reservation for the train Frecciarossa Ancona - Florence, round trip, first class. I look forward to it!», and hung up, without even giving her time to answer.

Andrea and Lucia looked at each other with astonished air, then they burst into laughter.

«Knight of Gran Croce del Balì! My respects, Lady!», Andrea declaimed with mocking air, bowing in a bow. «I think I have enough reasons to begin to be jealous. At my expenses, I will accompany you to Florence, there isn’t to be trusted.»

«But come on! His Imperial and Royal Excellency will certainly be an old caryatid», Lucia replied with an amused air.

«His Highness, not His Excellency», Andrea ran. «In any case, the voice seemed quite youthful. I don’t trust it, I don’t trust it. I will go with you, if you decide to go, whether you ever let yourself go alone! And then we can’t spend Christmas one away from the other, there’s not even a chance. Florence is a beautiful city, one of the most romantic cities in Italy. Better not to waste the opportunity to give you the most exciting kiss of your life over the Arno river, on the Ponte Vecchio.»

«Oh, and since when have you become romantic, you who have always been a pile of muscles and stubbornness?»

«Well, since you made me jealous!», Andrea smiled. «But beyond that, Florence is a beautiful city of art and we could combine the useful with the delightful. After all, someone wrote, “Beauty will save the world” or am I wrong?»

«Fedor Dostoevsky in “The Idiot”. Before you go out of your way to pronounce a quotation, try to be sure you know what it is all about, otherwise, rather than the figure of the scholar, you’ll do the following...»

«...Of the idiot!», he broke out in a laugh, approached Lucia, held her in a warm embrace, brought his lips closer to her perfumed face and began to kiss her.

«The last word is always yours, eh?», Lucia managed to pronounce, while she was panting, trying to catch her breath and taking off her blouse. She felt Andrea’s hands go looking for the bra buckle to unbuckle it, then she saw him take off his shirt to remain shirtless too. The urgency of the bodies in seeking mutual contact dragged them into the bedroom, where fresh sheets welcomed the two lovers now completely naked.

«Beauty will save the world», Andrea repeated, making her understand this time the allusion was addressed only to her.

 CHAPTER 7

Riding in the Po Valley in that season was considered by Andrea almost worse than sailing in the open sea. Accustomed to the hills and mountains of his beloved lands, he would never have expected to advance by leagues and leagues in a completely flat terrain. But the worst element was the humidity, the fog that made you lose your sense of direction, so much was thick in certain places, and infiltrated under clothes until you get to torment the bones. Not to mention the paths, which often got lost in the dense bush or led straight to swamps and marshes, impossible to cross, long and endless turns, if not to go back on their own steps to choose another branch of the road. And luckily the two soldiers who accompanied him were practical of the places, otherwise Andrea would have already given up to reach Ferrara, throwing himself on the ground and remaining at the mercy of the traps of the wild nature of the Eridano plain. Finally, coming out from the wood of Porporana, a wide stretch of cultivated countryside extended, towards the village of Pallantone, to the bank of the river Po. After midday, the sun had succeeded in triumphing over the humidity, and so Andrea noticed, not without disappointment, that without protection from the forest and fog, he and the two armigers who accompanied him were completely out in the open and easy target of any malicious attackers. He didn’t even in time to finish this consideration, that two knights strangely barded overcame them of great career, lifting mud splashes and brandishing over their heads daggers a little shorter than those that Andrea was used to use.

«Who are they?», Andrea asked worried.

«Lansquenets. The swords you have seen are called Lanzichenette, or Katzbalger. The latter term, in their language, means cat fur. Someone means that, being the bearers of this weapon of low social extraction, they are unable to buy themselves a real scabbard and therefore use the skin of a domestic feline in place of it. But it is not so. Many Lansquenets, while fighting as mercenary soldiers, belong to the rich bourgeoisie or the Teutonic nobility. The term Katzbalger actually refers to the ferocious ferocity with which they fight. In battle they are able to throw themselves between the first lines of the enemy pike men, passing under the forest of the protruding spears and vibrating those swords like cleavers, in order to break them. But they have no qualms about mutilating their opponents either, aiming at parts of their body not protected by armour. Listen to me, my Lord, they are dangerous people. Better to stay away from them.»

«If they are as dangerous as you report, how come they are free to roam our lands like this?»

«They are mercenaries, and therefore free to put themselves in the pay of the Lord who pays them better. The worst of them are those paid in double money. They are the most ruthless, trained to fight on the front line or in areas considered high risk. And therefore they are paid with double pay.»

«Doesn’t the term “double money” mean that they have no scruples about putting themselves at the service of two masters at the same time, infiltrating as traitors or spies between the ranks of the enemy?»

«Maybe even! I have told you so. These are people who are not to be trusted. But go on!», Fulvio, the trustworthy armiger, continued. «The village of Pallantone is renowned for its taverns. They cook their game like nowhere else that I know of...»

«...And they accompany it with an excellent sparkling red wine. A true delicacy», Geraldo, the other armiger who had never spoken until then, added.

Andrea, crossing the streets of the village, noticed several signs of inns and taverns, but his companions headed safely to the main square, where a flag sign indicated in Gothic letters the Guardians’ Inn of the embankments. In fact, from the square you could distinctly hear the sound of water rushing through the floodplain just behind the buildings on that side. Andrea and his companions tied the mounts to the rings fixed in the outer wall of the tavern, made sure to have swords in their sheaths and entered the room. The room was quite crowded and the smell of game cooked in brine was mixed with the smell of sweat emanating from patrons. A plump man, with a robbed face and a beaded forehead of sweat, with a white sinus tied around his waist, came to meet them and accompanied them to a free table.

«What do you gentlemen like?»

«Bring us a good pie of quails and partridges and rock partridge. And a nice mug of Lambrusco for each one of us», Fulvio ordered, being the spokesman for the whole group.

He didn’t have time to finish saying these words, the door was opened wide in a bad way with a kick from the outside by an individual of strong tonnage, followed immediately behind by another man of his own ream. Both men were holding the sword in their hands, rather than lined up. Realizing the presence of the Lansquenets, most of those present got up from the tables, trying to earn their way out, in order to avoid unnecessary skirmishes with men known for their arrogance and arrogance. More than one man, near the threshold, stumbled by chance into the boot of one of them. The man rolling on the ground didn’t even have the courage to face the Lansquenet’s gaze. He got up, shrugged off the dust and walked out of the tavern with his legs up. Andrea, Fulvio and Geraldo remained at their posts, staring at the newcomers almost with an air of challenge. Those, on the moment, pretended not to even pay attention. They took their place at a table left free by the previous patrons, banging their Katzbalger with thunder over it. One of them grabbed a Lambrusco jug, carried it to his mouth, swallowed ample swigs of it, and finally burped loudly.

«Scheisse! This wine is shit. Innkeeper, bring us some beer.»

«You know very well we don’t have beer where we live», he replied almost stammering the man with the stealing face and the sweating that was increasing considerably. «If you don’t like red wine, I can go down to the cellar and get you a good fresh white. I assure you that you will not regret it!»

«You will regret it, that you have not served us beer!»

One of the two Lansquenets jumped up and grabbed the man from behind, holding a mighty arm around his neck. Andrea saw the waiter’s face turn more and more red, lifted off the ground by the considerable height of his torturer, his feet dangling a palm from the floor. If he had not intervened, that man would soon have suffocated to death.

«That’s enough!», Andrea exclaimed, standing up. «If you want to start a fight, do not take it out on an unarmed person. There is no fun. Fight as men, and not as cowards, against those who are as armed as you are.»

The Lansquenet, caught off guard, trained his grip, allowing the innkeeper to catch his breath. But his friend, who had been sitting at his table until that moment, grabbed his sword and headed threateningly towards Andrea. The latter, extracting his sword from its sheath, tried to study at a glance his opponent.

Many muscles, but little brain. I have to play smart. Let’s see. The sword is strong, and held with only one hand. But the guard is peculiar, consisting of an iron rod shaped in the shape of eight, like that of the great battle swords. I can parry its slice down, but I couldn’t let the weapon slip out of his hand. I would be unbalanced, at that point, and the crossed return would leave me no escape. In the blink of an eye, with a single blow, he could pull my head off my neck. And goodbye Andrea!

«Why are you meddling in things that don’t concern you, friend? It’s not good manners to interrupt a discussion in which one has no voice. Especially for a nobleman who has embroidered the design of a rampant lion on his tunic. Come on, show me how much of a lion you have in your blood!»

Only the set wooden table separated Andrea from Lansquenet. Fulvio and Geraldo had got up from their chairs and were heading towards the other, energetic man, in order to prevent him from grasping the sword too. They were quick to grab him under his arm, one on each side, forcing him to abandon his grip on the innkeeper. Then Fulvio pulled out a stylet and put it against his neck, in order to make it harmless. Andrea, for his part, saw his opponent lift the Katzbalger. He put himself with his dagger in a defensive position, waiting for the slash to be parried. He waited for the falling blow but, making a feint at the last moment, allowed the sword of the Lansquenet to continue its trajectory and, by inertia, to drag behind the arm that held it. The Katzbalger’s sharp edge went to stick it on the table, splitting it in two. The Teuton, unbalanced, fell to the ground together with his sword. Lambrusco’s jug, flown in the air, drew an arched trajectory, falling and crashing right on his head. Around the Lansquenet, a red patch of wine and blood was formed. Andrea took advantage of the momentary dizziness of the adversary to come over him and lean the tip of the sword against the nape of the neck.

«What’s your name, friend?», he asked him, lifting him by the arm and returning him to an upright position, but without lowering his guard, continuing to threaten him with the tip of the sword.

«Franz», the other answered.

«Well, Franz. You are lucky for today. I keep your sword and spare your life. But don’t get in my way anymore, because I won’t be as lenient with you a second time», and so he pushed him towards the exit, turned him around and kicked him out with a kick in the ass, sending him eating the dust of the square in front. It did not go as well for his companion, who lay lifeless on the ground in the pool of his own blood. Fulvio had not hesitated to sink the blade of the stylet at the slightest attempt of his opponent to escape from the grasp.

The man with the stolen face was watching the scene stunned. In the meantime another innkeeper had left the kitchen, very similar to the first one, although with less hair on his head, most likely his brother.

«What have you done?», the latter intervened. «You are insane! We’re accustomed to the harassment of these handsome people. We let them vent, they get drunk, they do some damage, they mess something up, but then they leave, and for days and days we live in peace. Now instead...»

«Two days will not pass that nothing will remain of this place but smoking ashes», his brother replied, massaging his painful neck. «And the guardians of the embankments will be found at the bottom of the floodplain, finished who knows how!»

«I imagine that the guardians of the embankments are you two», Andrea said, addressed to the two innkeepers. «Meanwhile, at the bottom of the floodplain let’s throw this cheek!»

«In fact, my Lord, it was not a good idea to let that Franz free. He will surely come back here in force and demand his revenge. And we will no longer be here. It will be the two of them who will pay the price» Fulvio intervened, addressing a nod to Geraldo, who helped him to pull up the corpse, drag it to the window and throw it into the canal that ran behind the inn.

Andrea, Fulvio and Geraldo emerged from the windowsill, observing with satisfied air how the strong current was carrying away the inert body of the Lansquenet.

«I’ll find a way to offer adequate protection to our guests», Andrea said. «I’ll talk about it with the Duke of Ferrara. I am sure he’ll send some of his guards here to protect them. Fulvio, Geraldo! Let’s go. Let’s try to reach the city before nightfall.»

The Guardians of the embankments paused at the entrance of the inn, watching the three knights move away until they disappeared into the afternoon fog. In their hearts they knew that no guard of the Duke of Este would ever arrive in that remote place to offer protection to two innkeepers. All that remained was to bolt the place and move away from Pallantone. Their lives were at stake.

 CHAPTER 8

Bernardino went out in front of his store with a copy of his last work in his hand. He wanted to see it in daylight, to see how the colour illustrations had come. With that illustrated edition of the Divine Comedy he had surpassed not only his predecessor Federico Conti, but also himself. Bernardino had taken up the Florentine edition of the poem of the great poet Dante Alighieri. He knew that in the year of the Lord 1481, Lorenzo Pierfrancesco De’ Medici had commissioned Sandro Botticelli to create one hundred plates illustrating scenes from the poem. Of these one hundred, Botticelli had made only nineteen, which had been engraved on plates, in order to be printed, by the engraver Baccio Baldini. Since the work was not completed by Sandro Botticelli, the Florentine edition, which had a white space at the beginning of each song, was eventually marketed without images. The dream of being able to realize a princely edition of the Divine Comedy, with all the illustrations printed in colour, had been cultivated by Bernardino for years and years. He had managed to have the missing plates drawn, in the same style as Botticelli, by some Benedictine monks of the Abbey of St. Urbano, in the country of Apiro. But the real master’s touch, which had allowed him to see his dream come true, was that of having had some of his trusted collaborators trace the engravings by the Florentine Baccio Baldini. The latter had been given for dead in Florence in 1487, at the age of fifty-one. Another thirty-five years had passed and, therefore, if he had been alive, he would have been over eighty years old. A rare, but not impossible thing, Bernardino had always said. And in fact, it was known that his workshop continued to produce very fine engraving work on gold and copper, which could not have been the work of his young students. Behind it was his hand, which continued to work in the shadows. Why he wanted to be believed dead, even if the hypotheses were very much, no one knew for sure. Someone said that he wanted to escape the creditors to whom he owed exorbitant sums. Others said that he feared Botticelli’s wrath, because he had not met his expectations in making the engravings of the plates with which some of his works were to be printed to decorate the poem by Dante Alighieri. The fact is that the nineteen plates produced at the time had remained in the engraver’s workshop and had not been printed. Not only that, but they were no longer claimed by the Medici who had commissioned them, nor by Botticelli, who had conceived the drawings.

Paolo and Valentino, two faithful workers of Bernardino, had gone to Florence and had identified the engraver’s workshop. Not even a shadow of him. Perhaps a few years ago he had really died and his students had in fact managed to refine their workshop techniques until they reached and surpassed the art of their master. It was not an easy task for Paolo and Valentino, but in the end the offer in money made Baccio’s students capitulate, who gave up the engravings of Botticelli’s works for a sum of three thousand gold florins. Much more than they were actually worth, but Bernardino was convinced that he would certainly recover the sum with interest if he managed to print his Divine Comedy. The friars had made not only the missing illustrations, but also the engravings of the same on copper plates, which Bernardino would then bring back on lead plates, more suitable for printing. Using coloured inks for the illustrations was not new, but it involved long and repetitive steps to obtain a good result. Besides black, Bernardino had used red, blue and yellow. No more than four colours, it had been said, otherwise he would not come up with them.

He browsed with satisfaction page by page, appreciated each of the hundred illustrations, smelled the smell of printed paper, felt the leather cover with his fingertips following with his fingers the engravings of the title, letter by letter, D, I, V, and so on. He finally raised his eyes to the blue, clear, cloudless sky of the early afternoon of a day at the end of March. He admired the swallows that were already circling in the air, animating it with their garrisons. He was tired, he felt tired. He wanted to be one of those swallows to see the world from a different perspective, from above, flying like them and swooping down on everything that attracted his attention. But he understood, from the heaviness of his legs, that age was getting more and more felt every day. At great stride he was about to reach sixty, and they were not few, especially for someone who had always worked like him. He had the feeling of a void in his chest, his heart taking a dive like when you feel a sudden fear. A few missed beats, a few coughs, and the heart resumed at an accelerated pace, only to be quieted down in a few moments. It was an unwelcome sensation, but to which Bernardino had been getting used for some time. Once the sight was in focus again, a few steps away from him, the noble Lucia Baldeschi materialized.

«Bernardino! How pale you are! What happens?»

«Oh, nothing serious, Lady Lucia. Palpitations. Every now and then my heart aches, but I’ve learned that by imposing upon myself to make a few strong coughs, it resumes its regular rhythm.»

«Nothing serious, you say? You are of a certain age, and you shouldn’t underestimate the signals your heart sends to you, or these palpitations, as you call them, will take you straight to your grave. And it would be an eventuality I couldn’t like so much. Take it!», and she extended to him a small dark glass bottle, containing some liquid. «When you feel these disturbances, put a couple of drops in your mouth. But do not swallow them, hold them under your tongue for a long time and they will restore your heart to a normal rhythm and contraction force. If your tachycardia – that’s what we call your disorder in medical terms - should worsen, every night before going to bed, take a drop of this elixir and hold it under your tongue as I told you before. In doing so, you will be preserved from new attacks, which may sooner or later prove fatal.»

«My Lady, do you wish to strike fear into me? I know that I am old, I know that the accident that occurred to me during the fire in my print shop didn’t leave me unscathed, I know that I also have some pains due to the fact I have been working with lead for years, but from here I want to believe that I am one step away from the grave...»

«I don’t say this, Bernardino. I only say you must take care of yourself. You know very well how much I care about you and your friendship. And in fact that is why I am here. I wanted to tell you I’ll go to Apiro the next few days, and so I came by to say you goodbye.»

The printer stuck his eyes into the noblewoman’s hazel eyes. He admired her beauty, he admired how, from the girl she was, in a short time she had become a mature woman, even more beautiful and pleasant. Wrapped in her gamurra in shades of blue, tightened at the waist by an elegant leather belt, the generous neckline that showed off the curve of her breasts, Lucia was breathtakingly beautiful. Her long black hair was gathered behind the back of her neck in a braid, while her forehead was surrounded by a simple leather lace, embellished on the front by a precious stone of the same blue colour as the dress she was wearing. Bernardino, who had never wanted to tie himself to any woman in his life, understood that the only one with whom he had fallen in love, with whom he had managed to share his passion for the arts, poetry and literature, was at that moment a step away from him, but was completely unreachable. Not only would he never make love to her, but he would never even get a kiss or a caress from her. He had to make do with her looks, her smiles, her words. And it was already a lot. For the rest, he could only dream of her.

«Lady, why go to Apiro? There is no one left to bind you to those places. They are places damned by God, populated by demons and servants of the devil, witches and sorcerers. You are a noblewoman, why do you want to be mistaken for a healer or, worse, a witch?»

«Oh, come on, Bernardino! What are these talks? Did it hurt you to work with the Friars of St. Urban’s Abbey? They too are from Apiro, and yet they have served you well for your work. To prepare infusions and medicines like the one I have given you now, I need to collect medicinal plants. And in Apiro, especially in the area of Colle del Giogo, I can collect many of them and of excellent quality. And then this is the best season to collect them. I will also take advantage of the flowering Crocus to get the precious stigmas and I will also find many good asparagine shoots. So I’ll also be able to supply my kitchens. I’ll stay away for a few days and return refreshed in body and soul. The winter was long and I spent it in anguish for not having any news about Andrea. Now I need to distract myself a bit, and do it my way. By the way, I would also like to visit Germano degli Ottoni, the regent of the Community of Apiro.»

«I see that my advice is like words thrown to the wind. Give me an ear at least in this: let me know you’ll be accompanied by a trustworthy escort! In addition, at this point, since you are going to go to the town of Apiro, I want to ask you a small favour», and he put into Lucia’s hands the precious book that she had been admiring until just now. «This is the first copy I printed of the Divine Comedy containing the illustrations made by the friars of St. Urbano. Stop by the Abbey and give the book to the Guardian Father, greeting him and thanking him on my part. I believe he will be very happy to see this work finally completed, and to keep a copy of it in the library of the Convent.»

«Are you sure you want to part with it? It seems to me it’s the only copy you have printed so far!»

«I have verified the quality and I have everything ready to print hundreds and hundreds of copies. I believe right this first copy should be delivered to the community of friars who have worked so hard to make it.»

«Well, Bernardino, if it’s your will, I’ll be happy to carry out this mission on your behalf.»

Lucia almost made the tome disappear by putting it under her arm. Then she approached the printer with delicacy, touching one cheek with her lips, like a greeting. Bernardino pretended nothing, but his heart was in turmoil. As he watched her go, he abandoned himself sitting on a wooden bench, near the entrance to the store. He put his hand in his pocket and squeezed the bottle that Lucia had given him. But he didn’t have time to put a few drops of the medicine in his mouth, because he collapsed earlier. He panting, looking for air, his eyelids lowered. He felt that his heart was no longer beating, it was still. He slipped off the bench, until he reached the ground, then everything around him went dark. When he opened his eyes again he saw Valentino above him, holding his nose with his fingers and pushing his breath hard into his mouth. He beckoned him to stop, finding the strength to carry the bottle he was still holding in his hand to his mouth. He managed to pour a few drops, holding it under his tongue. In a few moments he felt a strange heat pervade him, regained his strength, retreated to his feet, refusing the help of Valentino who was holding his hand, and went back inside the store.

«Paolo! Valentino! Prepare the machines. We are going to press!»

 CHAPTER 9

Spring is ecstasy.

Flowering is an act of love.

(Anonymous)

Before leaving the city; Lucia went to the Bishop’s Palace to greet Monsignor Piersimone Ghislieri, who was pleased to receive she in the audience hall.

«My dear Countess, I am very happy to see you», he said, extending his ringed hand towards the young woman, prostrate at her feet. «Come, come, stand up, and tell me, rather! Any news from your betrothed? Is it known when he will return? When will I finally be able to join you in marriage?»

«Eh, how many questions, Your Eminence. If I had the answers, I would be very happy to share them with you. Unfortunately, my informers report to me that Andrea was sent last autumn to fight in the Netherlands, to accompany the French soldiers in the dirty war against Charles V of Habsburg. The winter has been long, and nothing more has been known about Andrea and his comrades-in-arms. But my heart tells me he is certainly alive.»

«From what I know, the French are having the worst, so much so that our Pope Clement VII, in order not to be overwhelmed by events, is trying to make a possible alliance with the Emperor, in order to safeguard the State of the Church.»

«Really? And our beloved Pope doesn’t think to the rest of Italy? In doing so he would open the way for the Lansquenets, who could reach as far as Milan, plunder it, and from there go as far as Florence and even Rome. And what will happen to our people, who are giving hand in hand to the French army, what will happen to them?»

«We must have faith in our Holy Father. You will see, everything will go well. But tell me the real reason why you came to see me. I don’t believe, Countess Lucia, that you have come here to talk about war and politics. So?», and the Cardinal took an attitude of listening, looking at the young lady of subtext, with cunning eyes.

Lucia blushed slightly, feeling so observed by a high prelate. She tried to conceal the embarrassment, detaching her gaze from the Cardinal’s eyes and staring at the cheerful flames of the large fireplace.

«For a few days I will stay away from Jesi, and therefore I will not be able to follow, as I did all winter, the government and administration of the city. Therefore, in my absence, I put these functions, which you have entrusted to me with such confidence, back into your hands. Clearly, until my return.»

«Well, I have no problem with that, even though I am more experienced in governing souls, rather than material and earthly matters. But, gracefully, tell me where you wish to go, and for how long you will be absent. Are you not going to join your beloved in the Netherlands, risking your own life?»

«No, don’t worry. My intention is to stay away only a few days. I’ll go to the Apennines and reach the abbey of St. Urbano. I have a mission to accomplish on behalf of Bernardino, the printer. I have to deliver to the Benedictine monks, brothers dear to you, a copy of the Divine Comedy made by my dear friend the printer and enriched with illustrations drawn by the hand of the monks themselves. I will take the opportunity to gather a few days in meditation and prayer and do penance. After the long winter that has passed, I need it.»

«Well, my dear little countess. I don’t want to hinder in any way this will of yours. But allow me to have you accompanied by some men of my confidence. They will be your escort, and I will feel more at ease.»

Lucia, who had no intention of being controlled day and night by the Cardinal’s thugs, pretended to think a little bit about it, then took up her word again.

«I thank you, Your Eminence», and Lucia lowered herself a little to take back the Cardinal’s hand and kiss the ring to say goodbye. «I have already given orders to four of my men to prepare the horses and provisions. I am already well escorted. Don’t worry about me.»

Of course, the next morning at an early hour, even before dawn, Lucia gave instructions to the girls’ housekeepers, woke up the stable boy, saddled Morocco, and galloped off, without any escort or provisions.

She arrived at the abbey of St. Urbano which was late afternoon. The air was sparkling. Although the sun was shining, the mountains around were still snowy. Going up from Esinante towards the abbey, Lucia had stopped in a wide clearing dotted with colourful flowers. The characteristic of these flowers, called Crocus, was to sprout in mountain meadows immediately after the snow had melted. The stigmas of the Crocus were much sought after by housewives and healers. The first ones, from the cultivated seedlings that blossomed in autumn, obtained saffron, an excellent reddish yellow spice to be used to make tasty dishes. The healers used instead the medicinal properties of wild flowers, which in nature blossomed in spring. The stigmas of the latter had to be dried as soon as they were picked and then stored in well closed glass jars. Crocus, in addition to having digestive, sedative and tranquilizing properties, could in fact be toxic, especially if taken in high doses or if the stigmas had not been dried properly, according to the rules handed down from mother to daughter. Therefore, once satisfied with the harvest, Lucia was quick to jump back on her steed to reach the abbey. Among other things, she would have asked the Prior, Father Gerolamo, to use the drying room, which no doubt was provided by the convent’s pharmacy. But when she arrived on the spot, the first thing that caught her eye, and that made everything else take second place, was Father Ignazio Amici’s cart, abandoned in the grassy square. Of course, it was covered with a beautiful layer of dust, which shows it had been there for quite a while. But the fact that Father Ignazio could arrive there from one moment to the next put a lot of anxiety on her.

The Prior, in all probability, had noticed the hesitant lady in the abbey square from the window of his cell. And so he had gone out to help her get off her horse and to welcome her.

«My Lady, I am truly honoured by your presence. But, tell me, how is it that you have come so far, in this still harsh season, and moreover alone, without any escort? Isn’t it unwise for a noblewoman to go around as you do?»

«Well, now that I see that cart, some fear is also beginning to come over me.»

«Don't worry», Father Gerolamo smiled. «If you are referring to Father Ignazio Amici, I believe we’ll no longer have to deal with him and his inquisitorial manias. A year and a half ago, after staging that farce of a trial up on the Colle dell’Aggiogo, he disappeared and no one knew anything about him anymore. But I assure you he certainly doesn’t roam these woods like a wolf. Someone would have sighted him sooner or later. I myself have made some inspections and found irrefutable convincing me our brother Ignazio, on the very day of the vile executions, has put his feet in foul, falling inside a sulphurous resurgence. Satan has called him back to himself, he has fallen straight to hell!»

«Well, although I never wish death to anyone, not even to my most bitter adversary, this news comforts me. But let’s come to the reasons for my visit.»

«Sure, but not here, my Lady. It’s starting to get cold. Come with me, let’s go to the library. We’ll converse in front of a nice lit fireplace.»

The library itself was a warm and comfortable environment. The walls were almost completely covered with shelves filled with books. Each section was marked with a letter of the alphabet, indicating the initial of the title of the texts stored there. Some friars worked in absolute silence, sitting at some desks, arranged in the centre of the room. A large fireplace spread light and warmth throughout the large living room. At a nod of the Prior, the amanuensis rested their instruments in good order and took their leave, one after the other. In short, Lucia remained alone with Father Gerolamo. First she gave him the precious tome entrusted to her by Bernardino. The Prior appreciated it, first sniffing it, to smell the printed paper, then flipping through some pages, finally dwelling on some of the illustrations.

«An excellent job!», he said, heading towards the section of the library marked with the letter D. «Thank your friend the printer. Few in the world know how to work as he does.»

«It is he who thanks you. Without your work, his work would have had much less value. And that is why he wanted you to have the first printed copy.»

«I am delighted, and my confreres will be too. But come to us. Soon darkness will fall, and I imagine that you will need hospitality. We have no nuns here in St. Urbano, so I will have to have a room prepared for you for the night in the guesthouse. I hope you are not afraid to be alone.»

«Don’t worry, I’m very tired and I’ll sleep like a log. And then it’s just one night. Tomorrow morning at dawn I will leave again. I’ll pay a courtesy visit to Mayor Germano degli Ottoni and I’ll return to Jesi before tomorrow evening. But I would like to ask you a couple more things. First of all I would like to pray, and then I would ask you to participate in the Vespers prayer together with your confreres.»

«And for that there is no problem. We recite the evening prayer in the church and there is always some faithful to attend. Take your place in the nave and turn to the Lord as you see fit. There are also confessors if you want to take advantage. Do you have any other request, my Lady?»

«Yes, if I may. The last favour I would like to ask you is to have the stigmas of the Crocus that I collected this morning dried for me. You know very well they must be dried as soon as possible, to take advantage of their medicinal properties.»

«Unfortunately, I cannot satisfy you in this. The brother who treated the pharmacy was very old and passed away just a few months ago. We have not yet had the opportunity to replace him, so there is no one who is able to use the equipment that belonged to him.»

Lucia was about to ask to do the job herself but, aware the request would be a serious embarrassment for the Prior, she held back. She should have found a valid alternative to dry the stigmas before returning to Jesi. She didn’t know how, but she would have thought about it.

«Well, sure, I understand. Provide me at least some glass jars to store them properly.»

«All right, my lady, for those there are no difficulties. After Vespers, you can have dinner in the refectory with us and, at the end of the meal, our guardian brother will give you the jars you need.»

«Thank you very much, Father, and before I leave, I will not fail to make a generous offer to your Convent.»

Rather than prayers and glass jars, Lucia’s thoughts were focused on other interests, even during the conversation with the prior. She was well aware that on that day, March 21, the spring equinox would occur, but the night that was coming would be even more magical because of the astral circumstance that included both the new moon and the entry of the sun into the constellation of the ram. In her head resounded a phrase that her grandmother had often repeated to her: “The new moon in ram carries the sacred fire of love, which will make us all free”.

So, once she was left alone in the small room of the guesthouse, several times she looked out of the window to admire the sky, which appeared to her eyes as a carpet of bright stars, where the moon could not be seen, but its presence was perceived as a dark disc evident in a precise point of the sky. She remembered one by one the words of the prayer that her grandmother Elena had taught her, to address to the Earth, to the Good Goddess.

Make me free.

Light the Sacred Fire and

Make me free to be.

Make me free to Love.

Make me free and you will teach me to have within me all the loves of the World.

She felt a shiver down his spine at the thought that some of the friars had just been able to intuit his thoughts. The Inquisition was a very powerful institution of the Church, even in those remote places. But now the desire to reach the Colle dell’Aggiogo, the magical place where she had been initiated into the art of healer and where she received the book “The Key of Solomon” to be its custodian, was too strong. At the end of the day, what was wrong, once she got up there, in lighting a bonfire, perhaps in order to dry the stigmata of the crocus, recite the prayer to the Good Goddess and thus celebrate the spring equinox in a dignified way, even if in solitude? She could have returned to the monastery before dawn, before the morning prayer of the monks, and no one would have noticed anything.

When she was sure that everything was quiet, she grabbed the jars with the crocus and went out in the stinging cold of the night, reached her horse, untied it, so as not to make noise led him on foot for a good stretch, then jumped on the saddle and took up the steep that, past the small towns of Poggio and Frontale, led to the Colle dell’Aggiogo.

The clearing in front of what were the ruins of Alberto and Ornella’s house was softly illuminated by the bluish glow emanating from the stars. The celestial vault was crossed by the Milky Way and the main constellations, the Small and the Big Dipper, Orion, the Bull, the Charioteer, the Greater Dog, and so on, were well recognizable by Lucia. The place reminded Lucia too much of the tragic events of which it had been the scene not even two years ago, and so she decided to continue towards the top of the hill. She found a quiet clearing, tied Morocco to a tree, collected wood and lit a bonfire. In a short time the flames rose cheerfully, spreading upwards in a thousand sparks. The young girl placed the Crocus near the fire, and concentrated on the flames, which at each instant took on different shapes and shades of colour.

The sparks make everything invisible and unreal, real and visible.

Now Lucia’s face was illuminated by the flames and made even more alive by their light. The girl, immersed in her thoughts and meditations, had not even noticed the young women who were getting closer to the bonfire and who, holding hands, had joined in her meditations.

Everything is love, and love frees everything and everyone and makes us free.

Lucia heard these words coming to her ears, in a muffled manner, as if they were spoken in a whisper of her own voice. Then she looked around and saw herself surrounded by at least a dozen girls who, in the heat of the bonfire, had begun to undress until they were naked, forming a circle around the fire. She threw more wood to revive the flames and increase their height, and felt the instinct to get rid of her clothes too.

The Aries wraps us in his embrace. It invites us to embrace, to feel the grip, to feel the heart bursting in our chest for happiness.

Declaring these words, she took two of the young women close to her by the hand, inviting the others to do the same to join in a circle around the bonfire.

We deserve ourselves.

We must love ourselves.

We must heal by giving love and love.

To heal is to free the love we have inside,

and unleash the strength we feel inside.

It's time to blossom and taste the sparkling air

and full of love.

The girls now, twelve in all, including Lucia, were dancing in a circle holding hands, completely naked, in the light of the fire and the stars.

In this New Moon, which brings change

and teaching, we just have to embrace each other

and be able to love all the way.

The ram brings the fire of love as a gift.

At that point, the circle broke and, two by two, the girls let themselves fall to the ground, beginning to caress each other, their bodies soaked in sweat, glistening in flames. Hands caressed their hips, tongues searched for swollen nipples, lips as red as fire kissed vaginas. The earth welcomed mooing and subdued cries, as each of the young women reached the highest pleasure. Then they changed companions and the ritual began again. Lucia had already reached the apex three times, when she realized that the fire was fading, the brightness of the celestial vault was fading and that, eastwards, she began to see the glow that preludes the new day. She realized that she was left alone, that there was no one next to her. Had she imagined everything? In an uncontrollable trance, had she only practiced autoeroticism, stimulated by the heat of the fire? It didn’t matter! The night had been wonderful, her body had enjoyed, it had merged with some of the elements of nature, with fire, with earth, with air, with water, which she now felt flowing in a nearby stream. In short, she was at peace with herself. Even the Crocus had dried to the right point and could be used for healing purposes. But now she had to be quick to return to the convent. Or to decide not to return there at all, so that the friars, especially the Prior, would not be suspicious of her and her behaviour. It certainly did not befit a maiden to wander through the woods on a new moonlit night, especially if it coincided with the spring equinox. She would have been immediately accused of being a witch!

Therefore, she collected her things, recovered her steed and headed towards the town of Apiro. Better to tell the Prior that she left early so as not to disturb the friars. After all, Germano degli Ottoni, to whose dwelling he was going, would have confirmed the version of the facts, if there had been any shadow of doubt on the part of anyone. But perhaps they were entirely unnecessary concerns.

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