The Bronze Crown

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!»