Table of Contents

PREFACE

PREMISE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR’S NOTES

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES

To Giuseppe Luconi and Mario Pasquinelli, 

illustrious citizens who are 

part of the history of Jesi 

Amici di Jesi

Stefano Vignaroli 

THE BRONZE CROWN 

The Printer – second episode 

ISBN 9788835424680 

©2017 Amici di Jesi 

©2020 Tektime 

All reproduction, distribution and translation rights are reserved 

The pieces on the history of Jesi have been taken and freely adapted from the texts of Giuseppe Luconi 

Illustrations by Prof. Mario Pasquinelli, courtesy of the legitimate heirs 

Translation by Fatima Immacolata Pretta 

Website http://www.stedevigna.com 

Email for contacts stedevigna@gmail.com 

THE BRONZE CROWN

The Printer – second episode 

Translated by Fatima Immacolata Pretta 

NOVEL

PREFACE

Jesi, the birthplace of Emperor Frederick II of Swabia, returns being the stage of the adventures of the young scholar Lucia Balleani, in the second episode of the trilogy The Printer. Love and death, esotericism and reason, good and bad. These are just some of the ingredients that give rhythm to this new investigation, focused on the mysterious disappearance of the bronze crown, once placed above the rampant lion of the main of Jesi palace, that of the Signoria. With skilful alchemy, Vignaroli intertwines past and present, through the parallel events of the protagonists of the present day and of the homonymous ancestors. An attractive lady and haughty regent of the Aesina republic, Lucia Baldeschi is divided between the obligations of reason of state and the love for the fugitive knight, the brave leader Andrea Franciolini. 

Between history and legend, the action ranges from the severe buildings and the dark secret passages of a subterranean Jesi, to the open countryside of its earldom, populated by shepherds and monks by day and animated by magical rites during the moonlight. Then there are the palace intrigues, the feuds between the lords, and the battles: those among armies and against pirates, from Urbino to Senigallia, up to some of the most suggestive gorges of the Apennines. Places and distinctive features of an era, the sixteenth century, characterized by lights and shadows, divided between the cult of reason and the practice of esotericism and of which the characters of the novel are the faithful mirror. In demeanour, as well as in strengths and weaknesses. In their footsteps, between sensational discoveries and brilliant intuitions, the quarrelsome lovers, Lucia and Andrea, of the twenty-first century Jesi will come to the truth in the sign of timeless love. 

Marco Torcoletti 

PREMISE

After the first episode of the series “The printer”, here I am to present you the sequel, the second story. At the end of “The shadow of the bell tower” I had deliberately left several windows open to possible developments of the next plot. Bernardino, the printer, lies in desperate conditions in a room in the Santa Lucia hospital. Cardinal Baldeschi has died suddenly and has left the city government vacant. Will young Lucia Baldeschi finally take the reins of the government and prevent Jesi from falling into the hands of enemies who have always been pressing? Of course, she cannot leave the government in the hands of four corrupt nobles or, worse, entrust it to the papal legate sent by the Pope. But Lucia is a woman, and it is not easy to assume roles of power, traditionally entrusted to men. And what will happen to Andrea, her love, after escaping the gallows and having vanished in the wake of Mancino? Will he return to the scene to help his beloved? Or will controversial events lead him to other shores? 

And we also have to remember the parallel story, that of the scholar Lucia Balleani, our contemporary, who perhaps has finally found the love of her life, which will lead her by the hand to discover together with the reader new secret arcana. 

In short, the elements are all there, to face a reading that will again lead us through the alleys, squares and palaces of a splendid city in the Marche region, famous throughout the world for being the birthplace of Emperor Frederick II: Jesi. Enjoy the reading! 

Stefano Vignaroli 

CHAPTER 1

Bernardino had reopened his eyes after days and days of unconsciousness. Though the room was in the semi-darkness, he was dazzled by the light and white of the room. A small, bare room with white walls, no paintings, no frescoes on the ceiling, not even the company of a shelf with books. He thought he had already arrived in Paradise, but the excruciating pains he felt all over his body made him realize he was still alive. Hearing him complain, a nun approached him and brought him a cup of chicken broth to his lips, which until then had forced him to swallow despite his unconsciousness. Though cold, Bernardino swallowed it with greed, until it went through him and started coughing. But he grabbed the nun’s arm again, which was pulling the precious liquid away from him, as he felt his throat so burnt, that he thought he had come out of that hell of flames only a few minutes before. But it had been almost a month since the day his shop burned down. 

«You are still weak, my friend. Little by little, or there’ll be trouble. The Doctor recommended a few sips and often. And Doctor Serafino is a good man, otherwise you wouldn’t be with us at this hour!», the nun told him kindly, but in a firm voice. 

«The Cardinal, it was the Cardinal...», Bernardino tried to say, with his voice choking between new coughs. 

«Yes, yes, it was Cardinal Baldeschi who wanted you to be cured in this place, thanks to the intercession of his dear nephew. Unfortunately, the Cardinal is no longer here. A disgrace, a horrible disgrace. The Cardinal was killed, by one of his servants from what I know, a certain Mira. She made him fall from the balcony of his study, after stabbing him with a very sharp knife. Rumour said that the Cardinal caught the girl stealing from his study. A fight broke out between the two of them and the old man got the worst of it. But the servant girl was arrested, and will pay for her sins. Ah, she’ll pay!» 

Despite his pains, Bernardino grabbed the nun’s hand and made a superhuman effort to talk to her. 

«Are you telling me that Cardinal Artemio Baldeschi is dead? Is it true? But... how long has it been since I lost consciousness? From the way you speak, it doesn’t seem to be yesterday or the day before yesterday. And what about Lucia Baldeschi? From what you tell me, she must have been left alone!» 

«Stay calm. I told you, but you mustn’t make any effort! You spent a month on this bed, in the grip of fever, delirium, dreams that gripped your soul and your heart. My sisters and I were desperate for you. And instead, the good Lord has not yet welcomed you into His house, and you are still among us. I will send a message to Lucia Baldeschi, telling her that you have regained consciousness. She will be very happy and will certainly come to visit you the next few days.» 

«Sister, send for her at once. Palazzo Baldeschi is just across the street, in this very square. I can even see it from my window!» 

The nun smiled and withdrew her hand, still held by Bernardino’s hand. 

«For her safety, the Lady withdrew to the family’s country residence, near Monsano, with her daughters and their tutors. The Pope has already appointed a new Cardinal, who is arriving from Rome. Since it is not known what ideas she has, Countess Lucia prefers to stay away from the city for the moment. Consider that Jesi is in complete disarray! We no longer have either civil or religious authority, and we could be easy prey to enemies, both internal and external. So I consider the noble woman’s decision to protect herself and her daughters to be wise. We must not forget that her betrothed, Andrea, is still in circulation and could come at any moment to claim his seat as Captain of the People, as well as the hand of the noble Baldeschi.» 

«After all, he would have every right. The title of Capitano del Popolo1 belongs to him and his blood runs in little Laura’s veins», Bernardino said, with his voice almost starting to clear up. 

«You’ve only just recovered and already you can’t keep your damn mouth shut? Don’t say heresies! Wasn’t it enough to escape the flames once? Do you want to end up in the fire again?» the nun replied ironically, going to close the window shutters and plunging the room into darkness. «Rest now, for you need it!» 

«Just one thing, Sister. I have the urge to urinate. How can I do it? I’ll never get up from here!» 

«How do you think you’ve been doing all these days? Just relax. We’ve applied a hose, which conveys your moods directly into a jar under the bed.» 

Bernardino let go of the urine, marvelling at how in fact there was a strange odour in the room, due to the medicines and the poultices they had applied to his burns, but there was no smell of excrements at all. And he must have made some in a month that he was lying in bed! 

While he could remember nothing of the delusions and dreams of the previous days, from then on Bernardino’s rest was constantly agitated by nightmares, dreams and visions, which he himself, in his awake sleep, could hardly distinguish from reality. Now he saw himself surrounded by flames, now he felt protected in Lucia’s gentle arms. Only now did he realize that it was she who had rescued him, who had saved his life. He saw her clearly above him before he lost consciousness. And he would have expected to see her next to him as soon as he opened his eyes again. But every time he woke up, he found himself in the same half-light room, helpless, unable even to lift himself. The only human presences were the nuns, now one, now another, who took turns at his bedside, sprinkling him with ointments and poultices and trying to make him swallow the usual broth. There seemed to be no other food in that hospital than that. Only once had he sensed the presence of the doctor next to him, a gruff man with thick white hair and lace of the same colour. He had put his ear to his chest and said: «In three days we’ll try to get him up. Despite his age, this man is a rock. He has a more tenacious heart than mine. Tomorrow we can give him a visit from the noble Baldeschi. Just a few minutes, sister! We mustn’t tire him out. Too much excitement could still be fatal to him.» 

The printer felt asleep again, due to the medicines administered to him to relieve the pain. And this time he dreamed of being at work again in his printing house, completely rebuilt and renovated, more beautiful than before. And he dreamed of giving good advice to his noble lady friend. And he dreamed of seeing her on the People’s Captain bench, in the Hall of the Best in the Palazzo del Governo. And he dreamed the children, Anna and Laura, playing and chasing each other in the park of a sumptuous country residence, while he watched them like a caring grandfather. 

When, re-emerging to reality from one of his countless troubled dreams, he realized that next to his bed was the noble Lucia, he had the impression that all the pain had suddenly disappeared and he was regaining his strength. So much so that he managed to lift himself up a little, while Lucia, with a loving rather than charitable gesture, placed a pillow behind his back so that he was more comfortable, while allowing him to maintain that position. 

«Tell me you are not a dream, my Lady!» Bernardino said, with his voice interrupted by coughing. 

He felt Lucia’s hands looking for one of his own to hold her, giving him an unexpected feeling of warmth, which gave him a new strength. He lifted himself even more with his back, among the protests of the nun who threatened to immediately interrupt the visit. Bernardino did not perceive the nun’s nod to Lucia, but the result was evident, because the nun was silent, or rather he withdrew from the room, leaving the two friends free to talk to each other. 

«I’m glad you’re recovering, Bernardino. You don’t know how much, at this moment, I need you and your advice. The Cardinal is dead and the situation in the city is very difficult. It seems that the Pope was sending a new Bishop and the choice had fallen on the elderly Cardinal Ghislieri, of Jesi’s origin. He was supposed to take the reins of both the Church and the city government, but... But he never got to Jesi.» 

«Why?» Bernardino asked, intrigued. 

«Unfortunately, Leo X came suddenly to death in the past few days.» 

«But, he was only forty-six years old!» 

«Exactly, many believe he was poisoned. Giovanni De’ Medici was too close to his family, to the Lords of Florence, for the ecclesiastical oligarchy to accept him. And now, pending the election of a new Pope, the Cardinals gathered in conclave in Rome are dividing the territories between them. It seems that as linked of the Holy See for our city, without prejudice to the rights and privileges of the municipality, Cardinal Jacobacci has been appointed.» 

«But, Jacobacci is linked to the worst fundamentalist faction of the Guelphs.» 

«Indeed, but even of this Jacobacci we have not seen the shadow here in Jesi. And meanwhile, after the sack of 1517, misery rages in the countryside and the city. And it seems that the plague has come to Ancona, and I don’t think it will be long before it reaches us.» 

«Listen to me, Lucia! Take the reins of government in the city. You have every right to do so. Don’t worry about being a woman. Call the Jesi’s nobles together. They’ll be happy to help you. And place a crown over the rampant lion on the facade of the Palazzo del Governo. It will remind everyone that Jesi is a royal city and that it will be governed independently of the Church. If the Cardinal arrives late, it’s his loss. When he arrives he will think about religious matters, while the Civil Government will be of the people, as it must be.» 

«Are you instigating me to stir up a rebellion?» 

«No, I’m just saying you have to take responsibility. And take your rightful place. There is no other solution!» 

CHAPTER 2

I was sick, and you didn’t come to visit me... 

(Gospel according to Mark 6:56) 

At the sight of another black smoke, the Camerlengo could not refrain from puffing. After the death of Leo X, Giovanni De’ Medici, it was more than a month since the Cardinals were gathered in conclave, locked in rooms where only he could have the freedom to enter and exit as he wanted. The fact is that, precisely by virtue of this privilege of his, he had well understood that the high prelates had no intention of electing the new Pope, if they had not previously resolved among themselves the issues concerning the division of lands and feuds. The Bishop of Florence, Cardinal Giulio De’ Medici, was not at all convinced that the death of his relative had occurred due to natural causes, and he launched into long and protracted discussions about his suspicions regarding a hypothetical poisoning of the deceased Pope and the probable perpetrators of the plot. All to try to convince the majority of his colleagues to vote for him as the new pontiff. And so, between one vote and another, between one black smoke and another, not a few hours but sometimes even more than a whole day passed. 

When he saw the smoke, the Camerlengo arranged everything so that the Cardinals would be adequately refreshed. He would send some servants to set a table in a large empty hall and, when everything was ready, he would chase the servants away and open the door to the rooms where the Conclave took place. In fact, no one but him could speak with the Cardinals, so that they were in no way influenced in their choices.  

Innocent Cybo was immediately appointed Camerlengo at the death of Leo X, because he was his right hand man, the one who had been closest to him and who knew well how to administer the State of the Church in that period of vacancy of the highest authority. He had seen the usual familiar faces arrive, Cardinals of whom he knew life, death and miracles, vices, virtues and ambitions. He had immediately realized the absence of an important figure, Cardinal Artemio Baldeschi of Jesi. Someone had then told him that Cardinal Baldeschi had died in tragic circumstances, perhaps following a fight with a servant girl in his palace.  

Something unheard, one has to hear everything nowadays, had thought between himself Innocent. Once the maids offered their young bodies to their Lord and kept silent. Today they even have the audacity to rebel! Of course, if Baldeschi is no longer here, Jesi and his county are an attractive land of conquest for many of those present here. 

And in fact, the question of the assignment of the Episcopal Curia of Jesi was one of the first that had to deal with the Camerlengo as a substitute of the Pope. He decided that the best thing was to appoint a Cardinal who would not take part in the conclave, so he could leave immediately for those lands troubled by years of struggles, wars, betrayals and misgovernment, which had led the population, especially in the countryside, to a state of considerable misery and where, lately, it seemed that the terrible disease known as the plague was also spreading. The choice fell on Cardinal Jacobacci, who left Rome immediately, but who, having arrived at Orvieto, his native land, stopped there to enjoy a period of rest in his native places, which was perhaps prolonging a little too much. But someone said that the Cardinal had lost his head over a local maiden, and would not have left there for anything in the world. 

Gualtiero Jacobacci hadn’t lost his head over any maiden, neither young nor old. He had paused to admire the splendid façade of the Duomo, not yet finished, and had longed for those places where he had lived his childhood. In his life he had never seen the cathedral free of scaffolding. He knew that construction had begun over two hundred years earlier, but now the boxes were only left on the façade to allow artists to complete the refined decorations that would embellish it and make it famous in the centuries to come. He took advantage of the fact that the Episcopal Curia was free, as Cardinal Alessandro Cesarini, Bishop of Anagni and Orvieto, was in forced retreat in Rome to participate in the conclave, and was hosted by the local ecclesiastical community, also beginning to celebrate Holy Mass inside the unfinished cathedral. Everything had in mind, in short, except to reach Jesi, the seat that had been assigned to him by the Camerlengo. The fun would not last long, since sooner or later the new Pope would be elected and Cardinal Cesarini would return to the seat. But Gualtiero didn’t want to think about it. Carpe diem, he said to himself, making Horace’s quotation his own. Let’s seize the moment and enjoy this fine period. When the time comes, we’ll see what to do! Maybe, when the time comes, I could propose to Alessandro Cesarini an exchange: me here and him in Jesi. Jesi, like the entire Ancona region, is a sought-after seat for a high prelate. The countryside is known for its richness and the Church wants at all costs to bring those territories back under its wing in a definitive way, giving a cut to the old legacies of Municipalities, Lordships and local Nobility. An ambitious man like Cesarini will certainly not be able to say no to my offer. And I’ll be able to enjoy old age in my home country. 

Finally, after more than a month of black smoke, on January 9, 1522 the white smoke came out of the fireplace. The Camerlengo breathed a sigh of relief and rushed inside the wing where the conclave was held to perform his ritual duties. It seemed to him that an eternity had passed since the day Leo X died. He had found him lying on the table where he was eating. He had called the guards and had the body reassembled in bed, then he had beaten the Holy Father’s skull with a hammer, to make sure that the body no longer responded with any reflection, neither voluntary nor involuntary. When the limbs, legs and arms became stiff, he had called the Pope three times with the baptismal name: «John... John... John!». Having received no reply, he had officially declared the Holy Father dead. He had the funeral chamber set up and organized the funeral rite, at the end of which Pope Leo X would join his predecessors in the basement of the basilica built above the tomb of St. Peter. After that he had summoned the Conclave, but he realized that his position was considered very uncomfortable by a certain faction of the participants in the assembly, those closest to the De’ Medici family. He had always been the Cardinal closest to the Pope, but notoriously he was part of the same family as Giovanni Battista Cybo, who had occupied the papal throne until 1492 under the name of Innocent VIII. The evil tongues, since he was responsible for the Pope’s safety and all the food that arrived on the Holy Father’s table had to be approved by him, had suggested that he himself might be responsible for the unexpected and premature death of Leon X. In fact, he may well have poisoned the food, with the intention of aspiring to the pontificate and bringing a member of the Genoese family back to the highest office. Innocent knew very well that he was innocent and that he had not perpetrated any conspiracy against his beloved Pope. John De’ Medici had suffered from heartbreak since he was a boy, and for this very reason he never devoted himself to arms. So no one had poisoned him, he had collapsed and died a natural, albeit sudden, death. The fact of becoming a Camerlengo had partly removed suspicion from him, as he would not be eligible as Pope, but not entirely. Giulio De’ Medici and three or four other Cardinals continued to look at him in doggedness, but he responded to those provocations with the best of defences: silence. Of course, those weeks hadn’t been easy, but he had never been able to stand up to his enemies. Not a word had ever come out of his mouth, whether he accused the Medici of envy or of careerism. He continued to do his duty as if nothing had happened. But now, as he climbed the stairs with his breath down his throat, the fear that the Medici would be the new elected one was gripping him. He was convinced that he would somehow avenge the untimely death of his family’s member. And already Innocent imagined himself with his head resting on a stump waiting for the axe that, with one blow, would make it fly away from the rest of his body. When he opened the envelope where the name of the new pontiff was written, he drew the second sigh of relief in a few minutes. 

The Camerlengo looked out onto the terrace overlooking the square below and shouted, with what breath he had in his throat, to the faithful who were waiting curiously: 

«Nuntio vobis gaudium magnum! Habemus Papam, eminentissimum et reverendissimum dominum Adrianus Florentz, qui sibi imposuit nomen Adrianus sextus.» 

Rumours and acclamations rose from the square below, waiting for the new Pope to show up and speak to the crowd of the faithful. While Innocent was helping the new Pope to put on the sacred vestments of the rite, thoughts flowed fast in his mind. This Adriano VI won’t last long, before someone from the De’ Medici family gets their hands on it. But whether it lasts a month, a year or a century, no one can accuse me. From tomorrow, Innocent Cybo returns to Genoa. 

Like all the others, Cardinal Alessandro Cesarini packed his bags to return to his home in Orvieto. When he arrived on March 4 of the year of our Lord 1522, he was a little bewildered by the fact that his bishopric had been arbitrarily occupied by his colleague, but when he heard the latter’s proposal he could hardly believe his ears. He who would have made false cards to have the Episcopal Curia of Jesi, left vacant by Cardinal Baldeschi, if he saw it offered on a silver platter by those who had been chosen as its owner, only because it was linked to the places where he had spent his childhood. Incredible, but true! An opportunity not to be missed! Having sealed the pact with Jacobacci, Alessandro Cesarini, eager to rest for a few days, sent a messenger to Jesi, to announce his arrival and his settlement to the city authorities. The messenger arrived in Jesi only on March 12th, and the General Council of the City, meeting for the occasion in the Main Hall of the Palazzo del Governo and presided over by the nobleman Fiorano Santoni, took note of the appointment - even if Cardinal Jacobacci would have been more welcome - and also decided to give Cesarini a life annuity of 25 florins per month. All this when the Cardinal was already at the gates of the city, so he was not even in time to prepare a worthy welcome for the new Bishop, who found himself entering a city completely indifferent to his arrival. Cesarini was not only disappointed with the welcome, but also and above all with the fact that he found the city and the countryside in very different conditions from what he had expected. After the sack suffered by the city in 1517, there followed a few years of bad governance by Cardinal Baldeschi, who had reduced the area to conditions of misery never seen before in living memory. In addition to the damage and harassment that had been brought by the invading armies, the plague had returned as a nightmare to terrorize the population. And so Cesarini, who still had many interests in the area of Anagni and Orvieto, soon began to spend most of his time away from Jesi, citing as an excuse his nagging ecclesiastical commitments at the Papal See, and leaving in his place harsh vice-governors, who knew only how to be cruel and tyrannical towards the population. 

Lucia had worked hard, and not a little, to bring comfort to the plague-stricken. The disease had arrived in Jesi with a crate of hemp, coming from the markets of the East, bought at a bargain price at the port of Ancona by a family of Jesi’s “string made”. Some families living in the village of Sant’Alò were renowned since time immemorial for the skill and care with which they made ropes. They had their own system for obtaining cordage and ropes of all lengths and sizes from raw hemp, which were sold on the market at competitive prices compared to those manufactured in other parts of Italy. As soon as Berardo Prosperi, the head of the family, opened the box to check the quality of the hemp bought by his son and nephew, he was attacked by fleas, who finally free sought their blood meal, to the detriment of many members of the bourgeois community. The houses of the people that made strings were low buildings, which formed a single row, one attached to the other, at the edge of a large square, called “meadow”, where those craftsmen worked, essentially outdoors. In fact, they needed large spaces, where they could stretch the hemp fibres and weave them into ropes, with the help of strange wheel-like devices. 

No one noticed the insect bites because they were accustomed, but after a few days Berardo and some other men and women of the village fell sick, with a high fever, and with bubbles in various parts of the body, some on the back, some behind the neck, some on the belly. The disease had quickly spread from one house to another, all attacked as they were, and then it had spread to the countryside. But soon it had also struck families living in the city, within the city walls. 

Lucia had learned from her grandmother how to try to cure the plague victims. She had heard that in Ancona, where the disease had spread exponentially, those who could afford it were hospitalized and treated in the “Lazzaretto”. But according to her it was not a very wise idea to concentrate the sick people in one place. It was better to keep the sick person isolated in his house, to avoid infecting healthy people in turn; only by taking the appropriate precautions could one approach him. When she had to enter a sick person’s room, Lucia would cover herself well with warm clothes, but only after she had sprinkled an ointment of lemongrass, basil, mint, wild grass and thyme all over her body. The smell that emanated was almost nauseating, but it was an excellent remedy for not getting stung by fleas and lice that, who knows why, always haunted the homes of the plague victims. With a silk handkerchief, she also covered the mouth and nose before approaching the sick persons, in order to avoid breathing the bad moods emitted by them. The first thing to do was to strip the patient to see how many pustules he had on and what they looked like. If they were hard and dark, they should be smeared with an ointment of camphor oil and ichthyol in order to soften and mature. In fact, the pustules had to explode and to make their bad content, called by the doctors with the term “pus”, come out. The fever had to be fought with infusions based on willow bark and with the application of wet patches on the forehead of the patient. The whole house had to be purified with fumigations obtained by burning camphor oil, in which sprigs of cypress, pomegranate peel and cinnamon had been left to macerate for a few days. Lucia knew very well that if the sick person had difficulty breathing he was condemned to death. It mights as well have called a priest to give him last rites. But no religious, first of all Father Ignazio Amici, lent himself to bringing the rite comforts to the plague victims. They were all too afraid of being infected in turn. If, on the other hand, the pustules, within a few days, usually a week, softened and let the bad moods out, giving rise to scars, the patient could consider himself out of danger and would be on his way to recovery. When a plague patient died, all the furnishings, furniture, bedding, blankets and everything that came into contact, directly or indirectly, with the infected person had to be piled up in front of his home and set on fire. The corpses could not find burial inside the churches, but were taken to the open country and buried deep under a large layer of earth, better if clayey. 

Lucia had thus brought help to hundreds of sick people, both in the city and in the villages and countryside, and thanks to the precautions she had taken she had never become infected. She felt satisfied, but tired. Walking backwards along the Via di Terravecchia, after having visited a sick person near the church of St. Nicholas, she had to pass by several houses, in front of which the purifying bonfires were burning. The air of the summer day, already full of humidity, was made even heavier by the smoke that hovered over the city and partly obscured the sun’s rays. When she arrived in Piazza della Morte, she could not help thinking that, in days, a gallows would be reserved for her handmaiden Mira, accused of having killed Cardinal Artemio Baldeschi. She chased away that grim thought and slipped inside Porta della Rocca, gaining Via delle Botteghe, a much more pleasant and healthy area than the streets he had travelled until just before. It seemed almost as if the ancient Roman walls, strengthened and rebuilt a few decades earlier thanks to the ingenuity of the architect Baccio Pontelli, had acted as a natural bulwark to the plague epidemic, which had affected only a few inhabitants of the historic core of the city. As soon as she gained that comfortable environment, Lucia lowered the handkerchief through which she had filtered the air to breathe. She untied her hair, leaving it free to come down on her shoulders and along her back, then with her hands she tidied up her wrinkled dress. Of course, she did not have the elegant appearance that would have imposed his rank, but he felt more presentable. In a few steps he reached the Domus Verroni, slipped under the arch and looked for Bernardino. She saw him busy restoring his shop but, almost sensing his arrival, he was the first to call her. 

«My Lady! What a joy to see you here. As you can see, there’s so much work to be done, but I’m trying hard. I believe that in no more than a month’s time the printing works will be back at full capacity. And all thanks to you. I must be very grateful to you for all that you have done for me, and the first work I am going to publish will undoubtedly be your treatise on The Principles of Natural Medicine and Healing with Herbs.» 

Lucia smiled smugly, but Bernardino felt the force of that smile, trying to overcome the tiredness that was gripping her. 

«But you, Madonna, are really tired. I don’t want to reproach you for anything, but I think it’s time you stopped visiting all these plagued people. Sooner or later you’ll get sick too. Don’t you think about your daughter Laura? And Anna, who is another daughter to you? How could they do without you? You’re the last Baldeschi alive, take responsibility, once and for all! And not just towards the girls, but towards the whole town.» 

«Oh, Bernardino, don’t start with the stories I have to take back the city government. I told you: I’m a woman, I don’t feel like occupying a place that has always been rightfully a man’s.» 

«There isn’t a man in this town worth half what you are. It shows what you’ve done and are doing for sick’s. But it’s not enough. You cannot leave the city in the hands of incompetent nobles, who let Cardinal Cesarini’s vicar do his comfortable swine, terrorizing the city and the countryside, and demanding taxes and leaps from men tormented by misery and pestilence. It’s time to send away Cardinal and Vicar, and only you are capable of doing so, taking in hand the sceptre that is rightfully yours. And then there is Mira! Have you forgotten her? You promised to protect her, but the trial has gone ahead. And now, on top of that, there’s the charge of witchcraft for her!» 

«What? What are you saying? The trial against Mira is being conducted by the civil judge, the noble Uberti, and...» 

«Father Ignazio Amici has collected the testimonies. It seems that, while the Cardinal was falling from the balcony, someone heard him shout “I’m flying, I’m flying”, even with a smile on his lips. And so there is no other explanation than Mira bewitched the Cardinal. I really believe that, in these hours, the young woman is under the clutches of the torturers of the Holy Inquisition. Maybe in a few days we’ll see a pile of wood in Piazza della Morte. Well, for those of us who know the truth, it would not be nice to witness the death of an innocent woman, moreover, in such an atrocious way.» 

Without even arguing back, Lucia turned out in indignation and walked fast towards the Midday Tower. «Be it ever!», she heard Bernardino shout as she walked away, more to herself than to him. «I have promised that no woman in this town will ever again end up on a burning pile. And I will keep my promise.» 

CHAPTER 3

Get the pliers and pincers ready, 

then we’ll light the fire. 

(Tomás de Torquemada) 

The guards, recognizing Lucia and aware of her authority, did not find the courage to block her way. The Countess, mad in her face, entered the Midday Tower like a fury. She found herself in a deserted hallway. Sometimes female cries, suffocated and muffled by the thick walls, reached her ears. Surely they were already torturing Mira. Not knowing where the torture room was, and unable to understand where the girl’s screams came from, he opened the first door he found. Judge Uberti was sitting behind a desk, absorbed in examining paperwork. Above the table stood a book with an elegant cover and the title written in block letters “Malleus Maleficarum”. 

«Noble Dagoberto Uberti! What does all this mean? You promised to judge my handmaiden, and to be merciful to her. Why, then, hand her over to the inquisitors? You heard my testimony some time ago. Mira defended herself. My uncle was attacking her. He may have killed her. She only wounded him, and not in a serious way. The fact that he fell from the balcony was an accident, a fatality, beyond the girl’s control. I have told you again and again: Mira deserves punishment, but not death!» 

Judge Uberti, compared to some years ago, at the time of the trial against Andrea Franciolini, had visibly aged. Deep wrinkles furrowed his face, his back had bent and, to walk, he had to help himself with a walnut wood stick. A serious form of arthrosis, testified by the deformity of the joints of his hands, afflicted him. His eyesight had also dropped considerably and he had to help himself to read with a glass lens mounted on a metal support. At that time there were few, in fact, those who owned glasses, which had to come from Venice and were very expensive. He lifted his head from the cards and answered Lucia in a calm, almost resigned voice. 

«You see, my Lady, I have studied the case well, and it seems to me that there are many, too many inconsistencies. You are the only witness, so I should trust what you tell me. Unfortunately, the same facts, told by you and told by Mira, are in stark contrast. You claim your uncle caught your handmaiden stealing from his study. But apart from the books, there was little there to steal. And notoriously, Mira can’t even read. Besides, I am well aware that your uncle kept money and valuables in other rooms. I believe instead that Mira entered the Cardinal’s study on purpose, hoping that, by offering him her body, she would be well rewarded.» 

«What are you insinuating, Judge?» 

«I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just trying to reconstruct how things went, and I think I’ve got the picture straight. You see, we had your uncle’s body examined by experts before we recomposed it for burial. Apart from the fact that he wasn’t wearing stockings, the Cardinal had the member completely covered in an oily substance, an ointment. According to experts, it was a substance based on plant essences, which only witches know how to prepare. But let us come to your uncle’s blood. You say Mira wounded him lightly with a knife, or rather, a letter opener. But there was an abundance of blood, scattered all over the study, and then around the corpse, so much so that it seems that the Cardinal, rather than the fall, bled to death. Only one wound, but it reached an important blood vessel. And what’s strange is that Mira should have been much dirtier in blood than we found. Her clothes were dirty, but if she struck so precisely, she must have had blood on her hands and arms. But she hadn’t! And the clothes? They weren’t exactly the clothes of a handmaiden, they were clothes of more important features.» 

«And what did you deduce from all this?» asked Lucia, with a voice that almost began to tremble, for fear that Uberti was about to tell the story that blamed her for the death of her uncle. 

«You see», and the Judge put his hand over the Malleus Maleficarum. «This book, provided to me by Father Ignazio Amici, enlightened me. Written by two German inquisitors, Jacob Sprenger and Heinrich Insitor Kramer, a few decades ago, it shows how to recognize witches, regardless of their powers. They can all be recognized by an indelible mark they wear on their skin, a mole, a spot, a birthmark or a scar, often hidden by armpit hair, pubic hair, or perhaps hair. This is why the Inquisitors, as a first step, have the witch denuded and have all her hair shaved in order to highlight this mark. But Mira didn’t even need to do that. She has an obvious mole on her upper lip, right under her nose, above which hair even grows. Father Ignazio affirms that it’s an unequivocal sign, and I agree with him, after reading this text.» 

«What does all this have to do with my uncle’s death?» 

«It has more to do with it than you, even as a witness, can imagine. The fact that Mira is a witch is confirmed not only by the mole, but also by the clothes she was wearing that day. The usual experts we have consulted have confirmed that those are clothes worn by the most powerful witches, clothes handed down from generation to generation, from mother to daughter. And so we come to the reconstruction of the facts, as it is now clear that they have actually happened. Mira, strengthened by her powers, enters the Cardinal’s studio with the clear intention of seducing him and bewitching him. The aim is to obtain money, a lot of money, in exchange for the amorous performance. The Cardinal falls there, lets himself be seduced, takes off his stockings and prepares to lie with your handmaid. But she wants to increase even more the satisfaction of her victim’s senses, and uses the ointment, to induce him to greater pleasure, and consequently to a greater gift of money. Only that ointment, in the right doses, increases the pleasure of the body, but in excessive doses causes hallucinations and visions. No, Mira doesn’t want to kill the Cardinal, that’s the least of her intentions: you don’t kill the hen that produces the golden eggs. But the situation has got out of hand. Who held the knife first? Perhaps the Cardinal in prey to obnubilation, perhaps to pretend to threaten the girl in a crescendo of erotic game. And he also uses it to cut off her clothes in order to strip her naked. And then the witch, feeling too much at risk, appeals to her powers. She doesn’t touch the knife, but guides it with the magical power of her dark powers. Only with the power of her thought does she throw it against the Baldeschi’s shoulder, in a very specific place. One wound, but fatal.» 

«And then what?» 

«And then, the final touch. She opens the window and plunges the Cardinal off the balcony, even leading him to believe he could fly. And then, how do you judge this woman? What punishment does she deserve? It was not, as you say, mere defence. Though at first it was not her will, she killed, and did so with good reason. What’s more, through the use of powers not common to all, but specific to women we call witches. WITCHES! Death is the well-deserved end for a killer like her. Beheading. But if she is a witch, we all know that the end she deserves is another.» 

«No!» exclaimed Lucia, who felt her heart beat fast in her chest at the thought of seeing Mira dying beyond a wall of flame. 

At that very moment, a louder cry from the torture chamber reached her ears. 

«That’s enough, Judge! Take me immediately to the room where they are torturing the poor woman. This horror must end at once!» 

«I don’t recommend it, it’s not a pretty sight to witness. Father Ignazio and his torturers will not be intimidated by the words of a maiden, no matter how noble...» 

«That’s an order. Take me to the torture chamber!» 

The Judge, sensing that the young girl knew what she was doing and that she could avail herself of the powers that were rightfully her’s, to be the descendant of Cardinal Baldeschi, as well as the betrothed of the one who should have been officially designated Captain of the People, lowered her head and obeyed Lucia. He led the young woman down the stairs and semi-obscure corridors, reaching a mighty door, in front of which two energetic men armed with spears barred the way to anyone. Mira’s cries were now very close by. When the judge beckoned, the two thugs stood to the side and opened the door. Lucia felt as if she had gone to hell. Her handmaiden Mira had been tied up on a table, completely naked, with her arms and legs spread apart to form the design of a St. Andrea’s cross. Her pubic and armpit hairs had been shaved and now, while one of the torturers was pulling the chains tied to the girl’s wrists and ankles, stretching the joints of her legs and arms almost to the point of dislocating them, another, with large scissors, was cutting her hair, throwing it into a burning brazier. In the same brazier, which gave off a pestilential smoke, several torture devices had been put in order to make them red-hot. Lucia, although she was crying both because of the smoke and the spectacle she had suddenly found herself witnessing, noticed Father Ignazio Amici taking a large pincer from the brazier and bringing the incandescent branches of the latter closer to one of Mira’s breasts. If she hadn’t stopped him in time, he would have grabbed her nipple with pliers, going so far as to pull it off. 

«Pervert of a priest you are. Stop it. What are you doing?» And she grabbed his arm, holding the heavy pliers. 

The Dominican turned and, with a sadistic smile on his face, recognized the young Lucia Baldeschi. 

«Oh, my lady. Have you come to witness your handmaiden’s confession? Welcome! We’re almost there, not much more and she’ll admit all her faults. After all, it is you who accused her, and it is right that you should be present when she condemns herself.» 

Since the Dominican had stopped, the torturer who had cut the accused woman’s hair had taken a very sharp razor in his hand, with the intention of shaving the head of the unfortunate. 

«Stop, stop everything. Untie her, dress her and take her back to her cell. I cannot tolerate a woman being treated in this way.» 

Lucia’s tone was authoritarian and everyone stopped. Even Mira stopped shouting. But Father Ignazio looked at her with an air of defiance. 

«I’m in charge here. Let me finish my work. We need to find all the marks Mira has on her body that prove she’s a witch. And then we must hear her full confession from her lips. On whose authority do you, Countess, wish to meddle in matters concerning the Church and the Holy Inquisition?» 

«With the authority that is rightfully mine, and which at this very moment I claim!», cried Lucia, with a strength of spirit that she did not even suspect she possessed. «From this moment I am your People’s Captain, and as such I have the right to decide the fate of this woman. You, jailers, do immediately what I have just ordered you to do: untie Mira, give her some clothes and take her back to her cell. You, instead, Father Ignazio Amici, follow me in Judge Uberti’s study. I must speak to you in private.» 

Lucia, going down the stairs to the room where she had been in conversation with Judge Uberti, to try to calm herself, repeated to herself, in her mind, the teachings received from her grandmother and, in more recent times, from Bernardino. 

Know yourself first, understand the Art so far mysterious. Be willing to learn, with much wisdom use knowledge. Your behaviour is balanced, and your speech is well ordered. And also keep your thoughts in good order... 

And yes, she had to weigh her words well and keep her thoughts in order, so as not to attack the Dominican in a bad way and go from the side of reason to that of wrong. Before entering the room she took two deep breaths, then asked the Judge to leave her alone with Father Ignazio. Uberti obeyed, though hesitant, and went out, closing the door behind him. 

Lucia stuck her hazel eyes into the priest’s light blue, almost watery ones, to show him that she was not at all afraid of him. 

«Minister of God, do you presume to call yourself? Is this how you witness the message of Our Lord? Jesus came down to earth to save sinners. Or am I wrong? And you, instead of preaching love, what do you do? You enjoy throwing mud at poor people, or worse, watching them die in atrocious suffering. Spend your Sunday homilies accusing alleged witches of spreading the disease that’s decimating our people with their practices. Spend your arrogance in denying religious comfort to the dying plague victims. I can also pass over the fact that you have denied a dignified burial to Christians on the pretext of avoiding the spread of the plague. But to torture a defenceless young girl like this is too much. Shame on you, and make amends!» 

«This is what Holy Mother Church wants. We must fight heresies and the devil, in whatever form they manifest themselves» Father Ignazio replied, without looking away, to make Lucia understand that he was accepting the challenge. «I act to pursue a precise intent, to enforce the Rule and the Laws! Since at present, in this city, no one else takes the trouble to do so...» 

«The only purpose you seek, Father Ignazio, do you know what it is? That of satisfying your lust. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you were about to do to me. Even though you’d ravaged me, administering your damn drugs, I was perfectly conscious. If my uncle hadn’t come into my bedroom that day, you wouldn’t have hesitated to abuse my body!» 

The Dominican, caught in the act, blushed his face and looked down. Then he tried to defend himself. 

«It is not so, my lady. Your memories are clouded. I was only trying to perform an exorcism, which finally succeeded. And it is because of my intervention that you are here and have not been burned at the stake, because I exorcised the devil you were staying with!» 

«Bullshit! All lies! You are a fake, a liar, and an opportunist. You disgust me. Do you know what I’m thinking of you? I’m thinking you’re a pervert. And that you’re impotent! Yes, a helpless man, who gets excited just by seeing suffering. That’s why you enjoy watching torture, because only by watching certain scenes does your member stand up!» 

«What do you say, Virgin Mary? You’re using language that doesn’t suit a noble bridesmaid like you! I assure you it is not so. My only aim is to enforce the laws, both divine and human. And I am not powerless, I follow only the rule of my order, which imposes chastity on me.» 

Lucia had understood, from the trembling voice of her interlocutor, that she was getting in advantage, and so she decided to launch the final lunge. She untied the ribbon that tied her blouse around her neck and, with a sudden and sudden gesture, opened it at the front, exposing her breasts. 

«And so, you are not impotent. So, you wanted my body! Take it now, that I offer it to you of my own free will. And prove yourself a man who can love a maiden sweetly.» 

Father Ignazio, aware of the trap the countess was luring him into, withdrew. In there, it was just the two of them. He knew well that the young woman would have no scruples about accusing him of having tried to abuse her, even with violence. And it would be his word against hers. 

«Cover yourself, please! It is not right of you to try to tempt me like this. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it», he said with a loud voice and his head down. 

«I knew you were impotent», continued Lucia, taking a lighted candle from the candelabra above the desk and handing it to her. «Why don’t you try pouring hot wax on my breasts? Maybe then you’ll start to get excited, and then you’ll finally want to own me. But no, I see you’re still backing away from me. As well as being powerless, you’re also a coward!» 

«Enough, please! I repeat: tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it!» 

The priest saw with relief Lucia put the candle away and put her robe back on, and then continued with her speech. She felt the sweat raging down his brow and down his back. 

«Do you want to know the truth? You're a coward anyway, and you won’t have the courage to tell anyone. Mira is not responsible for my uncle’s death. I am. It was I who wounded him and caused him to fall from the balcony. And now that you’ve heard, I’ll tell you what I want you to do. You will release Mira from the charges of witchcraft. You will say the accusations were unfounded and return my handmaiden to Judge Uberti. After that, start packing your bags. I want you as far away from Jesi as soon as possible. Tomorrow I will send a messenger to the Holy Father, to Adrian VI, advising your transfer to Haute Savoie. Up there heresies are raging and an inquisitor like you will know what to do to fight them. There is a need for you, in those borderlands, to bring back to the fold the lost sheep!» 

«The new Holy Father?» replied Father Ignazio, now visibly pale, feeling all his certainties fading. 

«Have you been so busy serving your Holy Mother Church that you did not even know that the papal throne was occupied by Bishop Adriano Florensz of Utrecht, more than six months ago? After the death of Leo X, the Council took a long time to elect the new pontiff. But in the end, it chose, and not the Bishop of Florence, Giulio De’ Medici, as you might have expected.» 

«And so, the Church is now ruled by a man close to the Reformers? And our papal legate? When will he arrive at the headquarters?» Father Ignazio was completely shaken by the news. 

«How misinformed you are, my dear! Cardinal Cesarini arrived from Rome in the middle of last March, but it seems that Jesi is not a see that has met his graces. He left one of his vicars and soon returned to Orvieto. Considering his perennial absence, the civil authorities have requested his replacement. But we will await word from Rome, which will not be long in coming. Listen to me, pack your bags, before all the evil you have done turns against you. You are still under the protection of that garment you wear, but I believe that those clothes will soon be tightened on you.» 

Father Ignazio, having nothing more to reply, went head down towards the door, walked out passing by Judge Uberti without even giving him a glance, and went away through the meanders of the tower. Certainly, in those months he had been so concentrated in demonstrating that Mira was a witch, that he had completely lost contact with reality! 

Still dazed by the conversation that had just ended and immersed in her thoughts, Lucia had not even noticed that the Judge had returned to the room, patiently waiting for him to speak. She heard the sentence coming out of her own lips as if it were someone else speaking. 

«The charges of witchcraft against Mira have been dropped. It is for you to judge her. Try to be merciful! 

«Her guilt in being responsible for the Cardinal’s death is now widely proven. And, for a murderer, the sentence is death. There is little to discuss. The only clemency I can reserve her is a quick execution without an audience to attend. Mira will be beheaded at dawn tomorrow morning. I will not go public with it. It will be between her and the executioner.» 

«The only thing I ask is that she don’t suffer», replied Lucia, shrugging her shoulders. 

«One sharp blow, well settled, and the young woman’s head will roll on the floor of Piazza della Morte. Mira won’t even have time to realize that her head is no longer attached to her neck.» 

Lucia felt the tears that were about to burst from her eyes, but she pushed them back, sensing their salty taste in her throat. Her grim thoughts were interrupted by an unusual clamour, which reached the windows from outside, from the Piazza del Palio and the surrounding streets. A crowd of people, coming from the countryside, armed with pitchforks, knives and other rudimentary tools, was entering the city from Porta Valle and headed threateningly towards the upper part of the city. 

«At the Palace. Let’s get to the Bishop’s office!» 

«Death to Cardinal Cesarini’s vicar!» 

«Death to the thief, death to the usurper!» 

Lucia, hearing those sentences, understood what was about to happen, and realized that the situation was really serious. She had to do something to stop those people and to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. 

A popular uprising right now would mean the end for this city. I must prevent these villains from turning the centre into a massacre. The population has already been decimated by the plague, all we need now is the infighting between citizens to destroy Jesi. 

CHAPTER 4

The castle of Massignano was welcoming and safe, but Andrea had really tired of training against The Mancino and his thugs. Not that he minded the company of these rude men. Often in the evening he drank wine and played dice with them and more than once he fell asleep on the naked floor, on the other thugs. Of course, The Mancino, even though he had long lost the use of his right arm, knew how to duel well, and more than once he had made the sword fly out of his hands. The more time went by, the more the two became friends, but Andrea was a man of action, and a nobleman, and often wondered how long he had had to endure that semi-captivity, to please the Duke of Montacuto, as a demonstration of his gratitude for having saved him from the gallows. From one day to the next, Andrea waited for the Duke to summon him and finally make him leave for Montefeltro, where he would put his qualities as a leader in the hands of a powerful Lord. And yes, he just couldn’t bear to keep on spending his time in that absurd way. It was as if the Duke was purposely keeping him in that stalled condition, as if he enjoyed keeping him idle for as long as possible. 

«If the Duke hasn’t arranged your transfer yet, you can see that there’s some obstacle, material or political. My master is a shrewd man, though he appears to be a rougher person than we who serve him. But what he has in addition, compared to us, is the ability to make his mind think», and The Mancino touched his temple with his index finger, to underline this concept of his. «You’ll see, in due time everything will be organized, nothing will be left to chance.» 

«Gesualdo, I can make my head work well, and all I understand is that I’ve been here in this castle for almost four years and my limbs are getting lazy. If I had to be face to face with an enemy, I don’t know how it would end... Maybe not good for me!» 

The Mancino, who had understood the antiphon, so as not to plunge young Franciolini into melancholy, jumped up, grabbed his heavy sword with his left hand and invited his friend to the fight. 

«Come on, then, let’s see how rusty you are. In my opinion, what you miss most in here is a woman. It’s useless to keep thinking about your Lucia, who knows if you’ll ever see her again! Leave it to me and tonight you’ll have company. A man needs to let off steam not only the muscles in his arms and legs. I know a couple of maids who, in need, know what to do to satisfy a muscle that has been hibernating for too long! Just give them a couple of silver coins at the end, and it’s done», and he burst into a fat laugh. 

Andrea, struck in the heart, took up the sword and violently crossed it with his left-handed one. 

«You bastard, what do you take me for? For one who goes to whores? I am faithful to my beloved, I swore allegiance to her that I was near death. She healed my wounds and I should reward her with a betrayal?» 

Gesualdo leaned back, holding himself firmly on his legs, and made the young man’s sword crash to the ground with thunder. 

«Eh, love plays tricks on you! Yes, you’re very distracted today, you fight very badly, my friend. You’re lucky to have me in front of you and not an enemy, or you’d be dead already.» 

Andrea raised his sword again and struck a new blow against The Mancino’s sword, which made it swirl, causing his opponent’s unbalance and fall to the ground. In an instant, the edge of the blade resting threateningly on the young man’s neck. The latter, with an agile leap backwards, got rid of the grip and with a kick made the sword fly away from the The Mancino’s hand. Then he regained possession of his own and went on the attack again. This time it was Gesualdo in a position of inferiority. The thugs who watched were not new to the skirmishes between the two and bet who on one who on the other. In short, the crowd became uncontrollable: the two continued to fight, railing against each other, sometimes even shouting, while the bystanders continued to bet higher and higher sums and incited the fight. Until, all of a sudden, everyone was silent. Andrea and Gesualdo realized that something was wrong and stopped fighting. They raised their heads and came face to face with Duke Berengario of Montacuto. 

«Stop playing games, you two, and go make yourselves presentable. Tonight you’ll have the honour of dining at my table», he said in an authoritative voice. Then he turned around in his heels and disappeared down the corridor, in the direction he had come from. 

Rarely, during those long years, had Andrea entered the wing of the castle where the Lord, the Duke of Montacuto, resided. They were much richer rooms, both in furniture and decorations, than the ones he was used to frequent, in the part of the Fortress where soldiers, armigers and servants stayed, and where he had hardly conquered a room with a straw mattress, thanks to Gesualdo’s intercession with the Duke’s lieutenant. 

The times that Andrea found himself in the Duke’s presence were then counted on the fingers of his hands. It was good that the Duke was often far from the Castle, as he spent a lot of time in Ancona, both to keep the administrative affairs of the city under control, now that he had ousted the Council of Elders, and to follow closely the construction of the fortified citadel, a new bulwark to defend the port. The fact is that, since the Duke had saved him from the gallows with a precise purpose, that of sending him to the service of the Malatesta of Rimini, he had expected to have to leave that place of idleness much earlier. And instead, the Duke seemed to take pleasure in not receiving him, when for one reason, when for another, and to keep him among those barbarians, who had nothing to do with him, with his nobility, with his lineage, with his culture. He had not found even a book to read so that he could spend his time in a dignified manner, and his only hobby was to train himself to fight, which had really bored him. His only comfort was the friendship of Gesualdo who, despite his humble origins, he considered a faithful and wise companion in dispensing advice. The fact, now, of walking beside him, comforted him and instilled in his soul the courage he needed to face the eventual conversation with the old Duke of Montacuto. 

«Here we are at last. The time has certainly come to leave for the Montefeltro territories, to fight for real, to have brave men at my orders», Andrea told his friend, walking down a long corridor, where the sounds of footsteps were muffled by carpets placed above the floor, and the noises and voices were not allowed to rumble, thanks to a series of tapestries that covered the walls. «I will do as I am commanded, but on one point, on one point only, I will be intransigent with the Duke. You, Gesualdo, will have to accompany me. You will be my guide and my right arm. I want no one else beside me on the journey from here to Rimini.» 

«My young friend, you are strong and robust, while I am an old invalid. I don’t think our Lord will agree to your request. Even if he hasn’t summoned me for some time now and hasn’t entrusted me with any more missions after the one we both know, just knowing me away from here could be cause for concern for the Duke. Listen to me. Be quiet and make no foolish demands!» 

«Shut up, you! You may be old and crippled, but you fight much better and you’re much smarter than a young warrior. And then...» 

The words faded into his mouth, because they had reached the end of the corridor. The door wide open in front of them showed the dining room, where a long table was laid with all God’s blessings. Two reverent servants held open the heavy red velvet curtains that served as a frame at the doorway. As they passed by, the servants bowed deeply, then closed the curtains once the guests had crossed the threshold. Andrea and Gesualdo looked with wonder at the roasts of peacocks, pheasants and guinea fowl, roast potatoes and boiled vegetables. All the dishes were adorned with decorations, in a blaze of colours rare to see. Not to mention the smells, which reached Andrea’s nostrils to remind him of the perfumes that only in his father’s house he had appreciated at the time, and which he had almost completely forgotten. The wine in the pitchers was red, the typical dark colour of Mount Conero’s wine. Andrea felt a slight elbow, a prelude to the advice whispered by Mancino. 

«Go easy on the wine. For someone like you, used to Verdicchio and Malvasìa, the Rosso Conero can be dangerous. It goes straight to the head!» 

«The good moment may not last long, so we must act now in support of our friend Sigismondo Malatesta», Berengario began to say to his guests as he bit into a chicken leg, holding it by the bone, while the grease from his hand slipped down his forearm. «Now that Leon X is dead, Urbino and Montefeltro must be taken away from the Medici and the Holy See! Soon all the territories of the region of the Marche, including the Marca Anconitana, will have to be restored to the right balance. Subjected, yes, to the state of the Church, but still with independent civil governments. Unfortunately, Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere seems to have retired himself in Senigallia, renouncing to regain the Duchy of Urbino, taken from him by Cesare Borgia and then passed to the nephew of Pope Leo X. Moreover, the territories of Jesi are in total abandonment. After the death of Cardinal Baldeschi, a papal legate was sent, who seems not so much to govern the city as to finish reducing it to exhaustion, to misery, taking advantage of the vacation of a civil government.» 

At these last words, Andrea’s heart leapt. The civil government of the city of Jesi was his by right. If the Duke of Montacuto wanted to restore the political balance, it would have been enough to send him back to his city, and he would have taken care of it and put this notorious papal legate back in the ranks. What was the point of sending him to fight for the Lord of Rimini? But perhaps the Montacuto’s intentions were quite different. Perhaps it would have served him well to maintain the situation of disorder in neighbouring Jesi, now that he had taken out the Council of Elders and had taken over the government of the City and the Marca Anconitana. Perhaps, at the last moment, he would have turned his back on everyone and sold Ancona to the Pope for a few tens of thousands of gold florins. Or perhaps he would have allied himself secretly with the Duke Della Rovere and would have made a common front with him, against the Pope and Malatesta himself, so that the latter would not have extended his expansionist aims towards the South. Who knows! Andrea would not have been sorry to return to Jesi and be able to see his beloved again. But if he hadn’t even been informed of the death of his sworn enemy, Cardinal Baldeschi, let alone if it had passed through the Duke’s mind to have him return home. So Andrea decided to remain silent and continue listening to Duke Berengario’s reasoning, distractedly bringing some potatoes to his mouth and savouring their delicate goodness. Only a few years before, the existence of this delicious tuber, which had recently been imported from the New World, was not even known. A servant poured red wine into his bowl and he gobbled it to accompany the potatoes on their way to his stomach. 

«The recently appointed Pope, Adriano VI, is a puppet, a puppet in the hands of the ecclesiastical oligarchy, who made it possible to wipe out the House of Medici, who were taking too much power, even in Rome. I don’t think it will last long, before Giulio de’ Medici devises something to take him out and take back the reins of the Ecclesiastical State. So we must seize the moment before it’s too late. Early tomorrow morning, Andrea, you will leave for Pesaro, where you will take command of a garrison of Sigismondo Malatesta’s army. You will lead this garrison towards Urbino, while the Malatesta will reach the same city from the North with the rest of his army, through the Montefeltro territories. You will grip Urbino in a vice, from the north and the south, and both the Medici occupying Montefeltro and Count Boschetti, who governs Urbino on behalf of the Holy See, will have no escape. You, Gesualdo, will accompany Andrea as far as Pesaro. The road is long and risky, and you know the best ways to go. You will make sure that Andrea arrives at his destination as soon as possible. Then you’ll come straight back. Whether he knows that for some reason, valid or not, you followed Andrea into battle. In four days I want you back here in the castle, or else...», and two fingers crawled through the skin of his neck, simulating what a knife blade pressed against his jugular would do. 

Even trying with himself not to admit it, Andrea had noticed a light of betrayal shining in the Duke’s eyes as he spoke. He had never trusted him, and now even less so. When he and Gesualdo were dismissed and, on their way out, they met two ugly thugs, who had never seen each other at court before, Andrea’s fears were even more pronounced. Fortunately, The Mancino, in whom he had blind faith, in the hours and days to come, would be at his side to defend him at the cost of his own life.  

«Who do you think those two are, Gesualdo? Assassins, perhaps? Cutthroat?» 

«I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve seen them. But their faces don’t inspire anything good. But let’s not talk about that here. Come on, let’s go pick out the horses for the morning. We can talk quietly in the stables.» 

When Matthew and Amilcare were inside the hall, the Duke had the door bolted, then clapped his hands. Immediately some handmaids, dressed in colourful clothes, with transparencies that highlighted all their feminine graces, reached the hall through a back door and began to dance to a melody played by invisible musicians, hidden who knows where. Berengario was over sixty and, in his life, he had had three wives, all disappeared at a young age and in mysterious circumstances. Someone, at court, whispered that he himself had had them killed, once they had bored him. He had always been a lustful, as well as a lover of the delights of the table, so much so that he had doubts as to which circle of hell he would end up in after his death. But little mattered. The important thing was to enjoy the pleasures that life offered him while he could. And from that point of view, in private, he didn’t want to miss anything. He reached out to one of the handmaids, the one wearing a bright red tunic, and ripped it off her, leaving her completely naked. The girl already knew what she had to do, and she was well aware that, if she did not perform her task properly, the next day her lifeless body would be found in the middle of the woods by some hunter. She approached the Duke and pulled down his stockings. Then she took the member in her hands until it was swollen, lowered her prosperous breasts down her lord’s belly, trying to excite him more and more. Only when she felt the man about to explode, she turned over and allowed herself to be sodomized. In the end, the Duke drove out a satisfied cry of pleasure and, as a reward, slipped a gold coin into the dimple between the young woman’s breasts, who was able to hold it without letting it fall to the ground. 

«Come on, my dear guests! There’s food and women for everyone in here. Bring it on. It’s on me, and I’m generous today. And at the end, we’ll talk business, too.» 

The stables of the castle of Massignano could hold more than a hundred horses, but there were about thirty at the moment. Leaving aside the quieter and more docile mares, The Mancino drove Andrea to the area where a few brick compartments had been built, where the fiercest steeds were locked up to prevent them from getting nervous just by seeing each other. 

«Stallions are harder to assemble, but they give much more satisfaction. They are much quicker and can shoot at the enemy, not giving a damn about the arrows hissing near their ears. And even if you weigh them down with trappings, their performance is very little reduced. Here it is», said Gesuald, opening the door of a shelter, where a black horse whined nervously at the sight of the newcomers. «Ruffo is my favorite. He is a Murgese, a horse from Puglia, where horses were once bred for the Emperor Frederick II of Swabia and his family.» 

Andrea appreciated the beautiful shapes of the steed, then lowered his eyes to study its legs and hooves. 

«You can see that it’s not a horse bred in green and humid plains, but on the arid and stony hills of the Murgia. We love to remember Frederick II in Jesi, because it is the city where he was born, and I had the opportunity to have in my hands his treatise “De arte venandi cum avibus”, where he describes how these were horses suitable for falconry, because, unlike others, the Murgese is not afraid of hawks or eagles flying around him, especially when they swoop down to return to the gloved arm of the master...» 

Their speeches were interrupted by hearing voices indicating the presence of other people. The Mancino signalled to Andrea to be silent and to remain hidden, cowering near Ruffo and approaching the wooden door of the shelter without closing it completely. The two thugs just crossed paths in the rooms upstairs had perhaps had the same idea, that of coming to choose the horses for the next day. Convinced that there was no one in the stables, they spoke quite loudly, so that it was easy to hear them talking. A lump went up to Andrea’s throat when the guys stopped right in front of the half-closed door of Ruffo’s shelter. The idea of being discovered in there and having to face them weren’t much liking to him, also because both he and Gesualdo were unarmed. 

Luckily, the two of them moved on. 

«It’s better not to risk riding stallions we don’t know about», said the older, uglier one, a guy with a pockmarked face framed by a shaved beard. «Let’s get two young geldings, instead. We have the advantage of the night anyway. We’ll reach the Montignano Tower at our leisure and have plenty of time to prepare for the ambush. It will be a quick and easy job and the Duke will reward us well.» 

The other one accompanied the last words said by his friend with a loud and fat laugh. Under the incredulous eyes of Andrea and Gesualdo, who continued to remain well hidden, threw their miserable saddlebags on the first two horses that came into their sights, jumped on the animals’ backs and disappeared in the darkness of the night, leaving behind them the wake of their loud laughter and their pestilential smell. 

CHAPTER 5

Culture is what most people get, 

many transmit and few have. 

 (Karl Kraus) 

That morning, too, Lucia woke up, with the first rays of the sun filtering through the shutter, in Andrea’s comforting arms. Her naked body, saturated of love, of the love given and received during the night, was protected by the strong and muscular arms of her beloved, which enclosed him like a shell. She had known Andrea for such a short time and yet she was so in love with him that she could no longer conceive her life without him. If at that moment she had woken up on a bed alone, she would already have found herself with a lit cigarette between her fingers, even before she got up. But now she didn’t, now Andrea was there to satisfy her, and nothing else was needed. She had discovered in him a man who was passionate about culture, history, ancient and modern literature, and this made that young man the ideal companion for her, with whom to share interests and passions, beyond the home and the bed. She had asked him more than once what kind of work he did and he had always answered evasively: the anthropologist, the archaeologist, the geologist. In short, she had not yet understood exactly what his source of financial support was. In order to be a researcher, as he defined himself, he had to have support, to be a scholarship holder in some university at least, Italian or foreign. Or have funding from some important private organization interested in his studies. You knew very well how difficult it was to carry out research with the limited funds made available by the government and the Ministry of University and Research. It seemed as if Andrea had enough money to do whatever was on his mind. But perhaps he was supported by the wealth of his family of origin. Who knows, maybe the Franciolini family, over time, had managed to administer their assets in a more effective and productive way than the Baldeschi-Balleani. But what did it matter? Now she still enjoyed the warmth of skin-to-skin contact, contrasted by the coolness of the sheets that partly covered their bodies. Outside soon the sun would hit hard, but the thick walls of the ancient Palazzo Franciolini kept the environment cool even in the middle of summer, without the need to install any air conditioning splits. 

She had tried to limit her movements as much as possible, but at a certain point Andrea had perceived her awakening, had just opened her eyelids slit open, had brought his lips closer to her face, had printed a kiss on one cheek and had untied her from the embrace with delicacy. At that point Lucia, though reluctantly, decided to get up. She reached the bathroom and let the lukewarm water from the shower run over her body for a long time, then, still in her bathrobe and with her hair wet, she gained the kitchen and prepared coffee for her and Andrea. She sat down at the table, with the steaming cup in front of her, greedily resuming the reading of the text she had left up there the previous evening. Attracted by the strong smell of the drink, Andrea soon appeared and pulled down his coffee from the pot and sat down in front of her, activating the tablet to read the morning news on the ANSA website. 

«I don't understand why you don’t turn on the television instead of ruining your view on that small screen. There’s news on certain channels all the time and...» 

«It’s not the same», Andrea interrupted her. «Some particular news on TV doesn’t pass it on. I’m following closely the events of the archaeological sites destroyed by the Jihadists, the Islamic extremists. The official news are making us believe that the situation is much more serious than it is in reality. But in any case, for me, the loss of finds thousands of years old remains a fact of extreme gravity. When some of these areas are freed, I think I might be ready to leave immediately to assess the damage and bring help to the historical reconstruction of the ancient cities. We saw last year with Nineveh that much of what the ISIS militants had shown as destroyed could be salvaged.» 

«And would you leave me here alone for millennia-old ruins?» she turned to him, grabbing his hand and holding it in hers. 

«If you wouldn’t follow me, yes. Work is work, and I find mine very exciting. Of course, not that I’d stop loving you, but I wouldn’t give up my commitments anyway.» 

Pretending to be a little offended, Lucia took her hands out, looked for the pack of cigarettes and lit one. 

«Without perhaps disdaining some exotic love affair, eh? Never trust men. They’re traitors by nature.» 

Lucia drew long from the cigarette and puffed the smoke at him, who took it out of his hands and pulled it back. 

«Oh, not me. I'm a faithful man!» 

«That statement is all to be considered. You’re 30 years old and you make love like a “matter expert”. I know nothing about your previous life. Who knows how many women you had before me!» 

As if not to get involved in a speech he didn’t want to face for any reason in the world, Andrea changed the subject. 

«But let's come to your work, rather. What did you find so interesting in the humble library of this dwelling, that you’re up until two in the morning and find yourself here at seven in the morning already reading again?» 

Waiting for an answer, Andrea crushed the cigarette half consumed in the ashtray. Lucia, unsatisfied with the dose of nicotine she had taken, pulled the electronic cigarette out of the case and pressed the ignition button. The steam puffed out by the young woman vanished into the kitchen air. 

«These documents refer to the history of this city in the first decades of the 16th century, and are interesting, because they describe the events that followed the death of Cardinal Baldeschi, in a different way from how I knew them and how they are described in the official texts of the history of Jesi. It is very strange how the copy of “The History of Jesi” preserved in this building, which should be twin to the other two found in the Baldeschi-Balleani Palace and the Petrucciana Library, does not have the pages torn out, but is intact. But what is more interesting is that some details are reported in a different way compared to the other texts that I had the chance to have in my hands.» 

«For example?» asked Andrea, intrigued. 

«For example, I was convinced that a high prelate of the Ghislieri family had succeeded the Cardinal my ancestor to the office of Bishop. Instead it seems that things had gone quite differently and Ghislieri came to hold this office only after a certain period of time. I thought that my ancestor Lucia Baldeschi would never have taken the position of Captain of the People and instead it is reported here that in 1522, for a certain period of time, the government of the city was carried out, even if in collaboration with the noble caste of Jesi, by a woman, who had even averted a popular rebellion, appeasing inflamed souls with her feminine sensibility. Very strange for those times!» 

«I believe that certain news must be assessed for its truthfulness. It’s not uncommon for documents from ancient times to contain sensational historical forgeries. And then often those who wrote these chronicles tended to mix realities and legends in a very easy way. Come on, let’s get dressed and go out for a walk through the old town, before the air out there gets too hot. Sometimes stones reveal much more than books, if one can interpret them. Let an archaeologist guide you, and you won’t regret it!» 

Convinced that Andrea knew many more things than he had revealed to her in a few months, she ran to the bathroom, gave her hair a blow-dryer to finish drying it, put on makeup, put on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans and went back to the kitchen ready to go out. She felt Andrea’s smug look on her, realizing that, not having bothered to wear a bra at all, the shape of her nipples was distinctly printed on the t-shirt. But who cares. If even Andrea had been jealous of her graces, better this way: jealous man, man in love! 

As they went up, hand in hand, the steps of Baldassini’s Coast, enjoying the still fresh air of the early morning hours, Lucia let the stones of the ancient buildings whisper centuries-old stories, brooding in her head what she had read the night before. 

MISERY 

The raids of the invading armies were not over and between 1520 and 1521 Giovanni De’ Medici’s men first and then Leo X’s men stayed in our area. The latter were Swiss hired by the Pope, who had stayed for twenty-six days, causing endless damage to the city and the countryside. 

In addition to the damage and the harassment, the plague had returned as a nightmare to terrorize the population. At a General Council meeting on December 6, 1522, when a threatened passage of 2,500 militant Spaniards in the pay of the Pope had to be dealt with, it was decided to make the possible to drive them away, even with some gift, and if they wanted to come in any way, to receive them outside the city, it being known that they were carrying the contagion with them. All of Italy, after all, in those years was reduced to the most miserable conditions. To the ruins and carnage caused by the battles and raids of foreign armies, were added the floods and the plague, which continued everywhere to make its victims. 

Despite the preventive work of the citizens, the terrible disease, according to some, in particular according to the historian Anthony Gianandrea, arrived in Jesi by way of Ancona, in certain bales of ropes. It was also said that this plague came by God’s just judgment, because the year before some young people, finding a dead body of a stranger in Caldora’s house, all in one piece, as a joke, brought it in the days of Carnival in disguise for the city and, not having been punished for it, but rather by all the people helped, in a dream appeared to them the image of a black man who warned them that shortly afterwards they would die of the plague. It is a fact that the plague threw the population into the blackest misery. 

Already the year before a multitude of locusts had almost eaten all the fodder, bringing a great hunger and many other miseries, which was the universal opinion that, if the Magistrate had not helped many with public money and ordered that those who killed a certain amount of locusts be rewarded, the following year a good part of the population would have starved to death. Such was the misery that the poorest people, not having enough to feed themselves, were forced to eat grasses, such as beasts, and some quantity of semolina. 

In the meantime the two young people, almost breathless, had reached the top of the climb, they had walked a short stretch of Via Roccabella and had come to Piazza Colocci, illuminated by the sun on a beautiful July day, stopping to admire the facade of the Government Palace, better known as Palazzo della Signoria. 

«I don’t understand why people insist on calling it Palazzo della Signoria, when in Jesi a real Signoria has never existed», Lucia began by addressing her erudite companion, hoping for his usual competent intervention. 

«And indeed Jesi was a Republic, as we can see in various writings on the icons on the walls of this palace. A republic, however, subject to the highest papal power, which extended its protective wings so far: “Res Publica Aesina, Libertas ecclesiastica - Alexander VI pontifex maximus”. This was to remind everyone that Pope Alexander VI himself, in the year 1500, inaugurated and blessed this palace, the work of the architect Francesco di Giorgio Martini, granting the city of Jesi to continue to be an independent republic and to continue to be able to adorn the symbol of the city, the rampant lion, with the royal crown, provided that it was in any case respectful of the power of the Church, and at the same time accepted the important presence of a papal legate.» 

«Interesting. So it is clear that the name Palazzo della Signoria is linked to the architect who built it, and who is among those who designed the Palazzo Vecchio in Florence.» At that moment, Lucia set her gaze on the marble icon, depicting the rampant lion in relief, surmounted by a bronze crown post. Underneath the icon, an inscription in a Latin that was not very comprehensible. «It seems that this crown, above the lion, has very little to do with the rest of the work. Why didn’t the sculptor who made the work also sculpt the crown above the lion’s head? And this inscription? A very rough Latin, I’d say. The dates aren’t written correctly either!» 

MCCCCLXXXXVIII 

AESIS REX DEDIT FED IMP 

CORONAVIT RES P. ALEX 

VI PONT INSTAURAVIT 

«Sure», replied Andrea. «I’'s a rather “macaronic” Latin, but what do we want to do with it, here we are between the end of the 1400s and the beginning of the 1500s. Maybe the Latin grammar had fallen into oblivion. But the meaning of the sentence is that in 1498, with the blessing of Pope Alexander VI - Rodrigo Borgia - in the facade of the Palazzo della Signoria of Jesi the crown was added to the rampant lion, in honour of the birth given by the city to Emperor Frederick II. But if you raise your eyes you also see that the Pope had another icon added, the one depicting the crossed keys, symbol of the Vatican, and the phrase “LIBERTAS ECCLESIASTICA – MCCCCCCC”, to reinforce the concept we were talking about just now.» 

«Trying to translate it literally, the meaning of the sentence seems a bit different», continued Lucia. «Taking the lion as the implied subject of the sentence, one could translate: King Esius gave it, Frederick the emperor crowned it, as a symbol of the “Res publica”, Alexander VI Pontiff established it. That is, King Esio, the mythical founder of the city of Jesi, indicated the lion as its symbol; later, Emperor Frederick II, who was born here in Jesi, had it crowned proclaiming the city “royal”, i.e. faithful to the Empire; finally, Pope Alexander VI had the symbol installed on the facade of the palace, to seal the fact that Jesi remained an independent republic, although subject to ecclesiastical authority.» 

Doubtful, Andrea remained silent for a few moments, then resumed, not without a hint of scepticism. 

«I would have to consult some texts to answer you properly. In any case, you are certainly right about one thing: the bronze crown was added in a postponed manner at a time after the execution of the sculpture itself.» 

CHAPTER 6

Everything took light from her: she was the smile that illuminated everything around her 

(Leo Tolstoy: Anna Karenina) 

The afternoon lights cast sinister shadows on the faces of the angry crowd. Lucia was quick to run up the Pastori’s coast, walk diagonally along the dark road that ran under the walls of the Rocca and emerge in the Government’s Square, even before the first of the troublemakers arrived in that place going up the Longobardi’s Coast. He climbed the three steps that led to the churchyard of St. Augustine Church, thus remaining in a higher position than the square. In front of it, on the opposite side of the square, stood the Government Palace, recently completed and finished also inside thanks to the work of illustrious architects, such as Giovanni di Gabriele da Como, Andrea Contucci, known as Sansovino, and other distinguished sculptors and woodcarvers. Only the wooden blacksmith had yet to complete his work: he had been assigned the delicate task of carving and working on the ceilings of the Sala Grande, the Chancellery, the Camera del Podestà and other rooms. 

When the first people armed with rudimentary tools, such as pitchforks, axes, shovels, but also knives and spears, founded who knows where, began to arrive noisily in the Government’s Square, Lucia tried to stand up in all its height, to be noticed by all, dominating the crowd. She was excited, her heart was in her throat, she didn’t know if the words that would come out of her mouth could be the right ones. But she had to try everything. Someone began to recognize her, pointing her out to others, to those who were invading the square. 

«It’s the noble Lucia Baldeschi! The betrothed of the late Captain of the People!» 

«Yes, if we’d had had Andrea dei Franciolini at the head of the town and the countryside, we certainly wouldn’t be like this!» 

Lucia was afraid that someone might say at that point that she agreed with her evil uncle to kill Andrea, and that if the latter hadn’t been executed, it had been by pure chance, and certainly not by her intercession. She didn’t even realize that everything around her was forming like a luminous aura, so intense that people were almost afraid of it. As the sun went down, the Square was illuminated by the light that she herself emanated from there, from the churchyard. When she raised her arms and everyone was silent, Lucia could not escape the whispered phrases of those closest to her. 

«She is a Saint. She is the Virgin Mary made person!», they said, kneeling down and dropping their weapons to the ground. All this instilled more courage in her, who knew she had powers beyond the norm, which at times were beyond her control, as in this case. But she could not waste time chasing after her thoughts, the fact that if her grandmother had had time to finish instructing her, she would now be able to control these abilities to perfection. She had to talk to the person in front of her. So she let her words be inspired by her grandmother’s spirit, which perhaps still hovered indomitably around her. 

«Gentlemen, rising up against the authorities makes no sense at all. There inside that Palace, the nobles and elders of Jesi, what we call the Council of the Best, are just waiting for a strong leadership. And now is the time. Yes, because Pope Adriano VI has decided to recall the papal legate, believing that Cardinal Cesarini is more useful in Rome than here in Jesi, where he is hardly ever present. And that is good for us!» 

The news, still unknown to most of those present, even because it was only partly true, had its effect and the buzz began to rise in the crowd, forcing Lucia to raise her voice, almost to the point of feeling pain in her throat. 

«As I was saying, this is good for us. We have every right to expel the Cardinal’s exiled vicars. And we will do so without bloodshed. I already know I have the support of the Pope, to whom I have sent missives on the matter, through messengers who are already on their way to Rome. Father Ignazio Amici, the Dominican Inquisitor, is already packing his bags, but rest assured that he won’t be the only one to leave the city in the coming days. And we’ll have a Bishop from Jesi again, Cardinal Ghislieri. Go on, then, lay down your weapons, go home and sleep soundly. Also because - and this is a solemn promise on my part - tomorrow morning I will go through that door, yes, the door of the Government’s Palace. I will present myself to the Council of the Best and claim the office that is rightfully mine, for having been promised in marriage to Andrea Franciolini: I will be YOUR CAPTAIN OF THE PEOPLE!» 

The enthusiasm exploded among the bystanders, those who were on their knees rose up, everyone abandoned tools and weapons in their hands, someone headed towards the young noblewoman to lift her and carry her in triumph along Via delle Botteghe to Piazza del Mercato. Lucia, lifted up by the arms of some energetic men, smiled, and her smile illuminated everything and everyone. At a certain point even the bells of the various churches began to ring festively. When the procession arrived in front of Palazzo Baldeschi, Lucia asked to be put to the ground, because she was very tired and wanted to return to her home to rest. 

«Go now, and come back tomorrow to celebrate the new Captain of the People and the new Bishop of Jesi.» 

As the crowd dispersed and Lucia was about to cross the threshold of her family palace, many did not escape the movements there, at the entrance of Palazzo Ripanti. Cardinal Cesarini’s vicar was hurriedly loading his luggage onto a horse-drawn cart. 

The bastard has understood and is already leaving!, she said to herself. It’s better that way. I’m not so sure I can control everyone who claims his head. 

The emotions of that day had been so great that Lucia sank into a deep sleep, without having even had dinner. She would have liked to take a hot bath before going to bed, but at the palace she no longer had a maid to take care of her. Moreover, since she had preferred to adopt the country residence for the girls, she had moved most of the servants there, and in the austere Baldeschi palace there remained very few servants, mostly male, who took care of the kitchens and stables. 

She was awakened by an insistent knock on the door of her room, when the sun had not yet risen. She struggled to get out of bed, got herself settled as best she could, and opened the door by a crack, to see who was disturbing her at that unusual hour. A young boy, still beardless, but dressed in full dress, stockings, and with a long feathered hat on his head, did a reverence and tried to apologize for the time, almost stammering. 

«Excuse me so much, Madame, but what I must tell you is of the utmost urgency. The executioner sent me from Piazza della Morte.» 

Lucia’s throat went up and her mind, as sleepy as it was, suddenly became clear again, remembering that this was the time decided for Mira’s execution. What was going on? Why had the executioner sent this young man to trouble her? 

«Wait a few moments, boy. I’ll make myself presentable, and I’ll be right with you. Take a seat in one of the chairs along the corridor. I’ll be as quick as I can.» 

She styled her hair, put on a sober dress to give her freedom of movement, and soon reached the young man in the corridor. 

«Well? What’s going on?» 

«The executioner wants you in Piazza della Morte.» 

«Why on earth?» replied Lucia outraged. «I made it clear that I would never want to see my handmaiden executed! So why disturb me?» 

«There is a problem. The last wish of a condemned person is sacred and must be granted. The executioner cannot proceed until the victim has been satisfied. It is an unwritten law, but for Gerard, our executioner, it is a matter of honor.» 

«And what have I to do with it, pray? What is Mira’s last wish?» 

«That is the point. Your handmaiden has asked that you be near her on the point of death. You must come.» 

«That’s out of the question. I swore to myself that I would never witness a capital execution again.» 

«In this case I’ll have to go and wake up Judge Uberti, who won’t be very happy...» 

Having understood the antiphon, and knowing that in those days it was better not to make trouble with the authorities of the old guard, Lucia decided to follow the young man in Death’s Square. At the end of the day, a few hours later she would show up at the Government’s palace and would forever give greetings to the old “caryatids”, which would no longer continue to hold public office. So it was better not to start antagonizing Judge and others ahead of time. 

Walking along Via delle Botteghe in the dampness of the early dawn, Lucia squeezed herself into her dress, shivering with cold, even though it was already the height of the summer season. She crossed Porta della Rocca, continuing to follow the boy who was leading the way, but when she caught a glimpse of her young handmaiden, her heart leapt, she felt it pulsating in her throat and could not hold back the tears that were trying to gush from her eyes. Mira’s head was already resting on the stump. The executioner was there beside her, with the hood on his head and the sharp axe resting on the ground. He hadn’t even bothered to pick up the condemned woman’s hair in a ponytail or a bun, because the previous day Father Ignazio Amici’s torturers had thought of having it cut almost to nothing. The noblewoman felt the pleading gaze of her handmaiden upon her and could not help but approach her, caressing the back of her neck and bringing her lips closer to the girl’s cheek. 

The servant lowered her gaze and turned to her old mistress with a thread of voice. 

«Now I can die happy. I have you next door. I know you have spared me a more atrocious torment and I wanted to thank you personally before I die. Pray for me, and commend my soul to the Lord.» 

Lucia took Mira’s hand, came closer and whispered words into her ear, so that neither the executioner nor the boy who had accompanied her could hear. 

«I would also like to spare you this torment. I have some gold coins with me. I could pay for the silence of these two. I’ll send the boy to the carpenter to ask him to make a chest, saying this was your last wish: to be buried inside a sarcophagus. The executioner won’t kill you, but he’ll tell everyone he did it. I will have him fill the chest with stones, so that it weighs as if it contained your body, and I will have it placed in the basement of the Church of Death. No one’s going to look inside. You will run down the hill and reach the convent of the Poor Clares of the Valley. Dressed as a nun, no one will recognize you. Let some time pass and then get away from Jesi. You can make a new life somewhere else...» 

«No, my lady. Death no longer frightens me. My life ends here, today, on this square, on this stump. See that my body is given a proper burial.» 

Mira looked at Gerardo, nodding her head. The executioner understood at once. The condemned woman’s wish had been granted. We could proceed. Lucia stepped back, let go of Mira’s hand, as the axe rose. She looked at the executioner’s eyes through the holes drilled in the hood and saw them shiny. But she did not have time to verify the truthfulness of her sensation, because with a sharp blow the instrument fell on the victim’s neck. The head rolled on the pavement, while the rest of the body was shaken by convulsions for a few brief moments, until it stiffened and fell sideways. Blood splashes from the neck grazed Lucia, but not a drop went to soil her clothes. 

After a moment of absolute silence, a cock crowed in the distance. It was getting daylight, when the Piazza della Morte was crossed by a prolonged cry, a cry coming from the bowels of Lucia Baldeschi. 

«Noooooooooooo...!» 

CHAPTER 7

The mounts were fast and didn’t fear the climbs, descents and paths in the bush. So, to avoid the centre of Ancona, Andrea and Gesualdo had crossed the narrow valley between the hills, climbed up the Taglio di Candia and, leaving the Rocca di Montesicuro on their left, descended towards Paterno. From there, they had soon reached the castle of the Torrette, possession of the peaceful Counts Bonarelli. The doors of the castle, as usual, were open, and therefore Gesualdo beckoned his young friend to cross the inner courtyard without stopping to give many explanations. 

«Hey, you! Slow down and get off your horses. Don’t you know your manners, you peasant peasants?», a guard apostrophized them, taking an arrow from his quiver and arming his crossbow, while the two knights were raising the dust of the yard and scaring away anyone who was in their way. 

Gesualdo lifted the banner with the insignia of the Duke of Montacuto, inviting Andrea to do the same, to make it clear who was meddling in their path. The guard peered at them in doggedness, spat on the ground, but lowered his weapon. In a few moments, the two knights came out of the northern door of the castle and found themselves on the wide dirt road running along the coast up to the mouth of the Esino river. 

By now the sun was high, when Gesualdo spoke to Andrea for the first time. The sea, on their right, was crossed by the splendid reflections given by the sun’s rays. Such was the glow that one risked blinding oneself looking at the expanse of water. On the left the hill sloped steeply down to the road, sometimes with rocky ledges, sometimes with the last offshoots of an intricate forest of chestnut oaks, oak and downy oaks. 

«Soon we will be at Rocca Priora. It is Jesi’s territory, but I have some friends there. We’ll stop for refreshments and ask about the safety of the route. We know very well that some ugly faces should have passed before us. If they’re smart people, they shouldn’t be noticed. But I had the impression that those two were fools», said Gesulado, pulling the reins and slowing down his brake pad. 

Andrea adjusted and the horses went from a fast gallop to a more moderate pace, to a trot that forced the riders to squeeze their knees and follow the animals’ movements. 

«Fools and drunks, but no less dangerous for this, on the contrary!» replied Andrea, taking a look at the rock they were approaching. «Look, Gesualdo! Doesn’t that seem strange to you? It’s a border outpost, but there’s no carving on the guard’s walkway.» 

He didn’t have time to finish the sentence, and his steed soaring as two arrows had come hissing and had stuck in the ground just a few steps from his legs. Andrea had to hold on tight so as not to be thrown off, but he stayed in the saddle, looked towards his old companion and understood at once what Gesualdo was planning to do. The latter had the horse discarded on the right, until it turned on itself, to give the impression to the enemy that he was beating in retreat. Andrea imitated him, going after him. They turned back for a short stretch on the road, then bent inland and entered the intricate riparian forest, mostly poplars and willows. While the poplars stood high, the willows offered good protection to the two horsemen, who moved with circumspection, trying to make sure that their passage did not shake the treetops more than the wind did, they reached the Esino river, which at that time of the year was rather low, because the season had been dry for some time. They had their horses submerged in water to go on the other bank and reach the Rocca without crossing the bridge they were about to cross when they were attacked. 

«Be careful. The other bank is marshy ground. The horses could sink in the mud and we would be forced to abandon them. And it wouldn’t be good to stay on foot. We have to stay in the water. Do you see that channel? It takes the river water to the pass that surrounds the rock. We’ll reach the back of the castle through the moat. I remember there’s a back door there, which won’t be hard to unhinge. It’s a wooden door, which allows you to get into the basement. We don’t know what happened. Maybe our two “friends” have surprised the guards and now they are inside the castle, but I’m not sure. I heard with my own ears that they would be waiting for us at the tower of Montignano, which is a much less protected garrison and is already in the territory of Senigallia.» 

«And what do you think happened here?» 

«Perhaps the castle, without our knowledge, was the victim of an enemy attack. Perhaps it fell into the hands of the soldiers of Duke Della Rovere. I don’t know, but I’m sure of one thing: whoever threw those arrows at us is inside the fortress. They were not thrown from above, from the guard’s walkways, but from some slits that open between the first and second floor. If we are lucky, we will enter the fortress from the cellars and take these enemies of ours by surprise, which in my opinion should not be numerous.» 

«No, Gesualdo, it could be suicide. We don’t know who we’re dealing with, and we don’t know how many men we’ll find in there. Rather we try to slip out the back of the castle and head north.» 

«Perhaps you are right, my young friend. I see you have the mind of a skilled strategist, rather than the impulsiveness of an old warrior like myself, who always seeks confrontation at any cost. And that is good.» 

Meanwhile, they had reached the moat surrounding the fortress and were now under the strangely lowered drawbridge, despite the hostilities shown from the inside. Always remaining in the water and making as little noise as possible, they circumvented the building, reaching the side overlooking the sea, on which no windows opened, in order not to offer easy access to pirates coming from the Adriatic. 

«At this point it should not be risky to leave the rampart», whispered The Mancino, trying to keep the tone of voice as low as possible. «We will find ourselves in the gravelly ground that leads from here to the sea shore.» 

In fact, in that area the ground was not marshy, and the debris brought by the river Esino over the centuries had formed a beach of gravel and pebbles, very beautiful to see, as insidious for the hooves and legs of horses. As the animals were dry, the horsemen spurred them on to move away at a fast pace, but the gravelly bottom hindered the movements of the animals, which the more they tried to start, the more they sank among the stones. At a certain point, Gesualdo’s horse bent on its front legs, remaining on its knees: the horseman, unbalanced forward, was thrown from the saddle and found himself on the ground, to get back on his feet with a skilful somersault. He returned to the horse, took up the reins, shouted at him to get up and jumped back into the saddle. 

«I see with pleasure that you are still as nimble as a young man, despite your age and despite having the use of only one arm. Congratulations. I was right to want someone like you at my side for this perilous journey!», said Andrea, who despite the situation had not lost his spirit. 

But the hustle and bustle, the noise of the horses’ paws on the gravel, the human screams and the equine nitrites, had certainly not gone unnoticed from the inside of the fortress, from which at that moment three knights dressed in armour were coming out, with their hidden tight in their heads and their spears in remains. 

«As he wished to prove!», said Gesualdo. «The signs are the Della Rovere’s ones. Let’s run, while there’s still time. I don’t want to be stabbed by their spears. We have a bit of an advantage. And even their horses will have a hard time galloping on the gravel. Let’s put our steeds in the pass and head north along the beach. If we keep our distance, they won’t catch up with us. As soon as possible we’ll jump inland and head towards the village of Monte Marciano. Piccolomini has always remained neutral, both towards Jesi and Senigallia. The Della Rovere thugs will not chase us.» 

But a little further on, still on the beach, towards the north, a group of warriors on foot, dressed in coloured tunics, also bearing Della Rovere’s insignia, emerged. A first deaf explosion was heard, accompanied by a cloud of smoke. Andrea heard an object whistling, passing quickly near his ear. 

«What was it?» he asked his friend. 

«A lead ball. They have firearms. Muzzle-loading rifles. Much less accurate than arrows, but much more deadly if they catch you.» 

«We’re in a vice, Gesualdo. What do we do now?» 

«There!» replied the latter who, at a glance, had already made a plan. A small grassy strip had conquered a tongue of beach and headed for the hill, a short distance away. «That’s a good escape route.» 

While other lead balls whistled near their heads, the horses, as soon as they reached the most stable strip of ground, were satisfied, regaining their strength and briefly gaining the hillside. In the meantime, the three enemy horsemen had also thrown themselves into pursuit, and now what passed near their ears were no longer metal balls, but dangerous arrows with a very sharp tip. Fortunately, Andrea’s and Mancino’s horses were much faster than the others, and were not even weighed down by knights in armour. The two friends pushed the horses up the steep path that climbed towards the village of Monte Marciano. When they reached the top of the hill, with the village already in sight a few leagues away, they turned downwards, and saw that the men of Della Rovere had not ventured beyond a certain point. 

«As expected, they did not enter the Piccolomini’s territories. For now, we have saved our lives», said the Left-handed man. 

«For now!», was Andrea’s reply. 

The two thugs, Amilcare and Matthew, came from a small mountain village in the territory of the Serenissima Republic of Venice. Ponte nelle Alpi was located on the Alemagna road, which continued northwards, beyond the rocky bastions of the Dolomite Mountains, until it reached the Germanic lands. At least once every two months the inhabitants of the village trespassed into the Tyrol to stock up on beer. Some of them had tried to learn the art of distilling barley and hops in order to obtain the good, frothy, amber-coloured liquid, but given the difficulty of understanding the language of their Tyrolean friends, they had never managed to obtain a product as good as the one they were going to buy on the other side of the pass. Amilcare, who was particularly fond of beer, had brought a certain supply of beer, but it was now running low. 

«In these areas, I don’t know why, beer becomes undrinkable. We’ve only been riding for an hour and a half and it’s become as hot as piss», said Amilcare, draining the wineskin and burping noisily.  

He threw the empty, floppy container to his younger companion, who grabbed it on the fly and lifted it over his open mouth, dropping the last drops of liquid. Then, disappointed, he hooked him behind the saddle. To Matteo, in order to put something invigorating into his body, the local wine was fine too and so he grabbed two wineskins of Rosso Conero from the cellars of the castle of Massignano. He realized that the red wine was good even if it was not fresh, but that much less could be ingested than beer before he started to turn his head. So, for the moment, he tried not to pass it on to his companion, who would drink an exaggerated amount without realizing it. 

«I’m still thirsty! Pass me the wine, Matthew!», almost shouted Amilcare to his companion, heedless that they were approaching the walls of the castle of Rocca Priora, after noisily crossing the wooden bridge that allowed them to cross the river Esino. 

«No way!» replied the other one. «We must remain lucid, at least until lunchtime, to complete the mission entrusted to us by the Duke. After weve skewered the court dandy and his bodyguard, we can celebrate. Try to be quiet, rather. We’re under the castle walls. You don’t want to throw a whole garrison of militia at yourself, do you?» 

Amilcare made a gesture with his hand, as if he wanted to chase away an annoying insect. 

«The Duke said that we don’t have to worry, neither here in Rocca Priora, nor when we arrive at the Tower of Montignano. He greased the hinges of the right doors and no one will care about us. Do you see soldiers watching us on the guard’s walkways?» 

«No, but that doesn’t reassure me. They may be well hidden, but they are certainly watching us.» 

«But they won’t stop us. And at the tower of Montignano we won’t find anyone. We’ll have a clear field, we’ll take positions, we’ll wait for the two of them and we’ll kill them without them even noticing. A simple and clean job. Then all we have to do is go back to Ancona and collect the fee and away... home. I can’t wait to get back to our dear mountains. And, as soon as I can, be sure I’ll knock on the door of the burgomaster of Vipiteno for a good supply of good beer. More than wine!» And so he emitted another resounding burp in the direction of a slit in the castle walls, behind which he had the impression that he saw shining eyes watching the scene. But no one from the fortress gave any sign of life, and the two of them got through it without any trouble. They advanced northwards along the seashore, with the horses struggling a bit to advance in the gravelly ground, until they reached the Mandracchio, a bulwark erected by Piccolomini to defend the hinterland from pirate raids. They entered the fortress and watered the horses, then they quenched their thirst at the source of fresh water themselves. The square, already early in the morning, was a comings and goings of people of all kinds, from farmers who with the cart loaded with fruit and vegetables went to sell their products at the market of Monte Marciano, to local lords who demanded tithes from the farmers to continue to cultivate the land they owned, to armigers who saddled the horses, after having carefully chosen them in the stables. A stableman approached Matthew and Amilcare and, after overcoming the disgust due to the smell they emanated, he turned to them in a kind manner. 

"Do you need fresh mounts, sirs? For two denarii I’ll take your horses and give you two well rested. When you ride back from here, you may take your horses back.» 

«I don’t know if we will come back» replied Matthew, making sure that it was not Amilcare who replied, the latter being much more rude than him. «The horses belong to the Duke of Montacuto, and we’d better bring them back to him. Our heads are at stake. Rather, we must reach the tower of Montignano. It shouldn’t be far now. Show us the best way.» 

«What’s the reward for the information?» asked the boy to Matthew, making good and bad play. 

Matthew poured some red wine from one of the full bottles of wine to the one that contained the beer, emptied just before, and offered it to the young stable boy. 

«This should be enough. If it is not enough for you, I can always offer you to smell my partner’s breath. You only have to ask!» 

The boy looked at Amilcare with a disgusting look and accepted the wineskin he was wearing. 

Take the valley and go to the foot of the hill. Do not head towards the town of Monte Marciano, but keep to the right to reach the ridge of the hill. Always follow the path on the top of the hill and you will reach the tower long before the hour of desio. Good luck!» 

«Good luck to you, boy. And thank you.» Matthew would have almost pulled a coin out of the bag the Duke had given them the night before, but Amilcare’s gaze made him desist from rewarding the groom any further. 

Amilcare is right, said Matthew to himself. With his kindness, he could be a spy and put us on the tail of the thieves, once seen the bag with the coins. Better not to have to risk wasting time having to cut the throats of vulgar little thieves! 

For Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere, expelling the Medici from Urbino and taking possession of his lands in Montefeltro was now a matter of principle, and the time had come. His father Giovanni Della Rovere, lord of Senigallia, had the architect and strategist Francesco di Giorgio Martini build a majestic fortress in Mondavio, practically halfway between Senigallia and Urbino. Francesco did not understand much about the strategic position of that sumptuous fortress, as it was entirely within their possessions, and not in a border position, where it would have been right to be. At that point they would never be attacked, and in fact the fortress had never been besieged since its construction had been completed, and almost thirty years had passed since that day. But the building was a majestic fortress and presented itself to the human eye as a frightening war machine, in which every shape and structure was designed to withstand the attacks launched both by traditional jet weapons, and by the most modern firearms, which were now becoming more and more widespread. The fortress itself was equipped with the deadliest known war machines: catapults, bombards and other deadly devils. In the armoury there were also so many rifles, pistols and arquebuses that they could arm a garrison of about a thousand armigers. The depot where the gunpowder was stored was well insulated and protected, and the keepers had hung on the walls an image of St. Barbara, to avoid, thanks to its protection, the danger of accidental bursts. 

Therefore the Duke had chosen to move here, leaving the Rocca Roveresca of Senigallia, because Mondavio represented the ideal place from which to leave again to the conquest of Urbino. And he had to do so before the Malatesta arrived from Rimini or, worse, from Pesaro. The late spring of the year of the Lord 1522 was the right time to move his garrisons. Pope Leo X had died and had been replaced by Cardinal Adriano Florentz of Utrecht, who had taken the name of Adriano VI. He was a puppet, whose strings were pulled by the ecclesiastical oligarchy, and everyone was convinced that it would not last long before the Cardinal of Florence, Giulio De’ Medici, had planned something to regain the papal throne. So the moment had to be seized, anticipating the moves of both the Malatesta and the Medici. But he considered his lieutenant, Orazio Baglioni, incapable. And even if he wasn’t strategically and militarily incapable, he still considered him a Malatesta spy. Only a few months earlier, in December, Francesco was allied with the Malatesta, and together with him had driven the papal legions out of Fabriano and Camerino, restoring the power of the Dukes of Varano, and then heading with the militia united towards Perugia. They had stopped at the news of the death of Pope Leo X, returning to their territories of Senigallia and Pesaro respectively. Officially, Francesco Maria Della Rovere was still allied with the Malatesta, and proof of this was that lieutenant who continued to have him under his feet. It was necessary to eliminate him and take a valid substitute in his place, if he wanted to enter Urbino quickly, mocking his old ally. Only one name was on his mind, that of Andrea Franciolini. He had taken information about him, at the time when he had attacked the city of Jesi, some years before. The mercenaries in his pay had reduced him to dying, but he got away with it. He hadn’t really understood how he had escaped the death sentence hanging over his head, perhaps with the help of the Duke of Montacuto, at least that’s what people said. Franciolini was young, but he had a reputation for being good, both as a leader and a fighter. But at the moment it seemed that he had been detained, for some years now, at the court of Duke Berengario of Montacuto. Thanks to some spies he had at the castle of Massignano, two young servants of Senigallian origin, he had finally obtained the information he needed. 

«The Montacuto has agreed with the Malatesta to send young Franciolini to his service. On the 22nd of May, Andrea Franciolini, with an escort man, will pass through the parts of Senigallia, to reach the Malatesta in Pesaro and join his army», the young cook Giuliano had told him, one day he had returned to Senigallia with the excuse of visiting his mother. «But he will never get there because it is a trap. In fact, the Duke of Montacuto has already made arrangements in secret with the new Pope to “sell” the Marca Anconitana to the Papal States for a few thousand gold florins. And so now Franciolini is an inconvenient character. He’ll have him killed by two assassins at the Tower of Montignano. It doesn’t matter at this point if the one who has so far considered his right-hand man, Gesualdo, known as The Mancino, will also be involved. The Duke of Montacuto needs money, a lot of money, he is indebted to the bone to build a huge and useless fortification to defend the port of Ancona. And he can no longer justify his expenses to the Council of Elders. So...» 

«I get it», said Della Rovere, slipping some silver coins into the boy’s hands. «So he decided to sell the city, fortress, port and territories to the highest bidder, eliminating the inconvenient characters. I believe that any day now they will find all the members of the Council of Elders of the city of Ancona dead. Who knows, perhaps an epidemic, as sudden as it is providential!» 

The same evening, Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere returned to Mondavio. The next morning, the servants of Orazio Baglioni found the lieutenant lying on his bed with his eyes barred and the foam coming out of his lips. On the cabinet beside the bed was found a glass still containing residues of poisoned liquid. 

«He killed himself», the Duke said as soon as he was told the news. «He confided to me a few days ago that he was suffering from love pains. He was in love, but the bridesmaid who was the object of his desires had twice refused him. Pity, he was a good soldier. Now I’ll have to find a worthy replacement.» 

The spring day was already heralding the arrival of a hot summer, and Francesco Maria wore a light yellow doublet and comfortable stockings. He was thirty-two years old at the time, but he proved to be much older. He was a man not very tall, but robust, his physique tempered by the countless battles, always fought on the field. Even as a warlord, he had never backed down in front of the towel. And the enemies he had killed were no longer even counted. The long dark beard, the ruffled hair and the squinting of the Montefeltro family, inherited from his mother’s side, made him a treacherous man, who was fearful of anyone who came before him. It was uncommon for him to wear light clothes like that day. Often, even in his apartments, he wore studded jackets and reinforced stockings. And he never abandoned his sword, always placed in its sheath on his right side. For political reasons, he had married very young, only fifteen years old, to the beautiful Eleonora Gonzaga, with whom he had had a son, Guidobaldo, who was now eight years old. Wife and son were far from him and his battlefields, and enjoyed the luxury and comfort of the court of Mantua. But when Urbino was under his power again, he would see to it that Eleonora and Guidobaldo joined him at the Ducal Palace of Urbino, which was no less beautiful than the Gonzaga castle. And the fact of having Eleonora again beside him, would have allowed him to start thinking about some other children. Of course, his descendants were assured, but a gentleman who respects himself must have a host of children, to be shown in public and to be directed, at the appropriate time, to hold important positions of power, worthy of the name they would bear.  

Thinking of his faraway wife had tickled his desires and instincts from too much repressed, and he already felt his own sex rising. But how could he satisfy in that place instincts that emerged in all their power? 

He called a trusted armiger, the one who in the absence of the lieutenant commanded his garrisons stationed in Mondavio, Captain of Arms Lorenzo Ubaldi. 

«Now that the trusted Baglioni is gone, I’d like to review the fortress to see what strength we have. Guide me, now, through the meanders and ramparts of the castle.» 

But the Duke’s intent was to be led into the dungeons, where he knew young women were also imprisoned. Therefore he was interested, but superficially, in the St. Barbara’s, the soldiers’ quarters, the arms yard and the guard walkways. Instead, he dwelt on a small study, which had belonged to his father, in the main body of the castle, where a solid wood desk dominated in the centre and three walls out of four were occupied by shelves full of books. Although it did not seem so, the Duke was still passionate about culture and literature, as well as art and architecture, and therefore decided in his heart that he would spend a good deal of time in that room. While he thought he could make it his personal study, another blaze from his lower abdomen reminded him of the urgency he had. He nodded his head to the soldier who was accompanying him and, still under his guidance, walked down the stairs, went out into the gun yard, passed by a modern gunpowder, stroking the cold metal barrel with his hand, then pointed to a vaulted opening closed by a mighty iron gate.  

«What's there?» he asked, pretending not to know. 

«The prisons, Excellency!» 

«I want to visit the prisoners. Do you have the keys to the locks?» 

«Yes, but I advise against it, Your Excellency. It’s not a pretty sight. Most of them are condemned to death and...» 

«I’ll decide what’s good and what’s bad for me!» he turned to his soldier, looking at him sideways, with a cross-eyed eye that he didn’t know which direction he was facing. «Open!» 

When he crossed the gate, he was met by the prison guard, a man with a hunched back, soaked teeth and pestilential breath. Attached to his waist, the bunch of keys used to open the cells. The two men accompanied Francesco Maria along a dark corridor, with a dirt floor, which went downhill to the basement of the fortress. Having reached a cavern illuminated by some torches, where the smell of excrement was unbearable, the Duke realized that the cells occupied by the prisoners were all on the same side, so that they could not see each other and could in no way communicate with each other.  

«What have they done?» he asked. 

The jailer approached the first cell and spat in the direction of the man in it.  

«He is a murderer. In the worst category. He killed his wife and wounded his daughter to death. He’ll end up hanging by a rope! I can’t wait to see him dangle.» 

The prisoner, at first, looked down, then, in a sudden fury, began to scream. 

«I didn’t do it! How can I tell you?» 

They moved on and, in short, the man shut up. In another cell there was a young girl, a girl who must have been about 14 years old. She had her arms chained to the wall and she was squatting on the floor. A filthy dress, which once must have been white, could not properly cover her breasts, which, though immature, overflowed from her untied neckline. Even her legs were completely uncovered. Dirty with dirt and mud. The jailer winked at the Duke. 

«She is a witch. She was caught in the woods picking herbs. We should hang her, or burn her at the stake, but we still wait for some priest from the Holy Inquisition to come here and give her a fair trial. We’ve had to chain her up, because we’re afraid that, thanks to some magic, she might escape by taking flight. But she’s good, and she’s learned my lessons well. Would you like to try, Your Excellency?» 

The henchman, caring nothing of his Lord’s lineage, elbowed the Duke, then tinkered with the padlocks and opened the bars of the cell. Then he freed the girl’s wrists too, slapped her with a loud slap and stared at her with a grim and threatening look. 

«You know your duty! Do it well and you’ll be safe this time too. The inquisitor will not come and your trial will be postponed.» 

Without even realizing it, Francesco Maria, he found himself alone in the cell with the young witch. Not that it pleased him too much, he felt disgusted to want to take advantage of such a young and defenceless girl. What if someone found out and told his wife Eleonora? But when he heard her stockings slipping off and noticed that the little witch had delicate skin and two lips that knew how to kiss his most sensitive points, he understood that her jailer had instructed her more than well. He allowed himself guided by the young woman, who after kissing him and stimulating him for a long time, brought his turgid sex inside her, until he reached the coveted intercourse. Francesco Maria enjoyed, as he had not enjoyed for so long, but he could not free his mind from a single thought: how to restore freedom to that poor girl?  

«What’s your name?» he asked her, still gasping for breath, beginning to caress her neck, making her kneel before him and guiding her so that her mouth approached his whitish liquid dripping sex. 

«Ubalda», replied the girl, beginning to lick his moods, and then welcoming the Duke’s member, who had regained strength and turgidity, between her lips. 

Francesco Maria let her do it for a long time, until he reached a second moment of pleasure. At that point he squeezed his hands around the witch’s neck. He heard her make a brief groan, then her young body, deprived of the possibility of taking on air, sagged, slowly collapsing on the ground floor. He had restored her freedom. Forever and ever. 

CHAPTER 8

All it takes is one rejection, one measure, one syllable,  

one breath, to propose a new round... 

(Giusi Verbaro: “Summer Solstice”) 

The sun was rising fast and another day full of sultriness and humidity was already foreboding. Lucia drove all the dismay she felt for Mira back to the depths of her bowels and made her way to the Government Palace, trying to bring to mind thoughts that were pleasing and that would help her face the Council of Best. Only a couple of weeks before, on the occasion of the summer solstice, she had gone to Apiro to celebrate the event with her lifelong friends. She had spent two wonderful days up on Colle del Giogo. The pure mountain air had ensured that the plague epidemic had by no means touched that small community, based on agriculture and pastoralism, and always in harmony with nature. When Alberto and Ornella had welcomed the young “witch”, by now official guardian of the community’s secrets and respected by all the inhabitants of Apiro and the surrounding area as their spiritual guide, Lucia had realised how, despite the years had passed, her two guests had not changed their appearance at all. Their features were as they had been when she had met them, that she was still a child. And every time she went up to Apiro, the couple always managed to surprise her by proposing something new, which could be a potion, like an invocation, or a talisman, or simply a proverb or some phrases. Things that always remained imprinted in Lucia’s memory, all to be considered as pearls of wisdom. Even that time had been, in short, two days full of magic, full of that subtle power that Mother Earth gives. Symbols, signs, dances, parties, fire and... magic, magic, magic, magic. At a certain point Ornella had sung a lullaby, a prayer that proclaimed the power of the Earth, and whose words had deeply touched the young woman’s heart. 

The earth teaches me immobility, like the grass that soothes with light. 

The earth teaches me suffering, like the old stones that suffer for memories. 

The earth teaches me humility, like the buds that are humble in the beginning. 

The earth teaches me solicitude, like the mother who protects her offspring. 

The earth teaches me courage, like the tree that stands alone. 

The earth teaches me the limit, like the ant crawling on the ground. 

The earth teaches me freedom, like the eagle that hovers in the sky. 

The earth teaches me resignation, like the leaves that die in autumn. 

The earth teaches me regeneration, like the seed that germinates in spring. 

The earth teaches me to forget myself, like the melted snow that forgets its life. 

The earth teaches me to remember kindness, like the dry fields that cry for rain. 

Then Ornella had turned her gaze upwards, towards the sun that was reaching its zenith on what was considered the longest day of the year, and she had passed to talk about another element, the air. 

All it took was a gap, a measure, a syllable, a breath, to propose a new round. It is the solstice that now makes the difference and the wind presents itself as an element of rupture and truth. 

It is the living wind, the wind that drags memories! 

In front of the portal of the Government Palace, Lucia’s soul had calmed down. She looked up above the large doorway and carefully observed the effigy of the city, depicting the rampant lion carved on a splendid marble slab. The artist who had executed the work at the time had decorated the lion’s head with a crown, an imperial symbol, to remind everyone of the status of Royal City attributed to Jesi by Frederick II. Recently the city had been almost completely succumbing to the ecclesiastical authorities, who had had a stonemason climb up to remove the crown from the effigy. It was also decided to remove all the swallow-tailed merlons that adorned the city walls, but this decision had not yet been followed up. 

Luckily the uncle died and the political air that is blowing has definitely changed in the last few days, Lucia thought to herself. Otherwise we would already have the bricklayers on the guard’s walkways intent on removing the Ghibelline merlons, or working to make them rectangular! But I swear on my name, as true as it is that my name is Lucia Baldeschi, that I will put a crown back on our lion’s head. Ah, if I can get it back! 

Absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed that a crowd of onlookers was gradually gathering in the square. More than curious people, her convinced supporters. Until a round of applause of encouragement came out. Someone had shouted: For Lucia! For our Captain of the People!, and this was followed by the clap that now rang in Lucia’s ears and gave her that little bit of courage she still lacked to cross the austere doorway of the Palace. She slowly turned back on herself, nodded her hand to her supporters, and finally crossed the threshold. Of course, she would have preferred to have Bernardino at her side, perhaps only because of the physical presence of a man at her side. Even if he had remained completely silent, it would have helped to decelerate her heartbeats. As soon as she entered, she found herself in the splendid inner courtyard of the Palace, designed and built by Sansovino, embellished in the centre by a well of rare beauty. She neglected to dwell on the architectural details and climbed up the staircase, until she reached the first gallery. She took to the right, passing through a door that was the entrance to the