earlier, in order to complete our understanding of the galleries under the Donzello.
Contrary to our usual practice, therefore, we did not lower ourselves through the trapdoor leading from gallery B to A, as we would have done in order to return to the Donzello, but continued on our way. Thanks to the plan drawn up by Atto, it was clear to me that we were proceeding in the direction of the river, with the inn to our right and the Tiber to our left.
The gallery offered no surprises of any kind, until we came across a square stairwell not dissimilar to that all too familiar one which led down from the secret chamber in the Donzello to the galleries below.
'But if we take this, we shall emerge in the Via dell'Orso,' said I, as we began to climb the stairs towards the surface.
'Not quite, perhaps a little more to the south, in the Via Tor di Nona.'
The ascent led to a sort of vestibule with a floor of old bricks, again very like that which we had crossed so many times on our sorties from the hostelry.
On the ceiling of this vestibule, our eyes (and above all our probing hands) discovered a sort of heavy lid of iron or perhaps lead, which muffled all vibrations and resisted any attempts to open it. We needed to remove that last obstacle in order to discover to which point on the surface our path had led us. We put our backs to the heavy disc, and, with a great heave, pushing vigorously against the last step of the stone stairway, our combined efforts managed to shift it, with a loud clanging on the flagstones, just enough for us to squeeze out from under the ground. As we did so, we glimpsed and heard a violent struggle, which was taking place only a few yards from where we emerged.
We moved forward under the dim nocturnal light. In the semi- darkness, I could distinguish a carriage in the middle of the road, upon which two torches set on either side cast a sinister, oblique light. Suffocated cries came from the postillion, who was struggling to break free of the grip of several individuals. One of the attackers had taken the reins and stopped the horses, which were whinnying and snorting nervously. Just then, another individual slipped out of the carriage, holding a voluminous object in his arms (or so it seemed to me). There could be no question about it, the carriage was being robbed.
Although confused by my lengthy peregrinations under the ground, I instinctively recognised our surroundings as the Via Tor di Nona which, parallel to the Tiber, leads to the Via dell'Orso: Abbot Melani's estimate of where we would emerge had proved correct.
'Quick. Let us get closer,' murmured Atto, pointing at the carriage.
The scene of violence which we were witnessing had almost paralysed me; I knew that, very nearby, at the end of the Sant'Angelo Bridge, a detachment of guards were usually stationed. The risk of being involved in so grave a crime did not dissuade me from following the abbot who, keeping prudently close to the wall, was approaching the scene of the robbery.
'Pompeo, help! Guards, help!' a voice whined from within the carriage.
The weak, stifled voice of the passenger belonged without the shadow of a doubt to Giovanni Tiracorda.
In a flash, I understood: the man in the driver's box, who uttered hoarse little cries as he vainly struggled against overwhelming forces, was certainly Pompeo Dulcibeni. Against our every expectation, Tiracorda had asked him to accompany him on his errand to serve the
Pope at the palace of Monte Cavallo. The physician, being too old and weak to drive his own carriage, had preferred to be accompanied by his friend, rather than by some anonymous coachman, on his delicate and secret mission. The corpisantari, however, had lain in wait nearby and had intercepted the carriage.
It was all over in a few moments. Hardly had the bag been extracted from within the coach than the four or five corpisantari who were immobilising Dulcibeni released their prey and took to their legs; they passed very close and disappeared behind us in the direction of the trap from which we had just emerged.
'The leeches, they must have taken the leeches,' said I, excitedly
'Shhh!' warned Atto, and I understood that he had no intention of participating in what was taking place. Some of the inhabitants of the surrounding houses, hearing the noise of the brawl, had meanwhile come to their windows. The guards might arrive at any moment.
From within the carriage came Tiracorda's feeble complaints, while Dulcibeni descended from his box, probably in order to succour his friend.
It was then that something incredible occurred. A fast-moving shadow, turning back from the trap into which the corpisantari had disappeared, approached in a zigzag and slipped back into the carriage. He still seemed to be carrying under his arm the voluminous object which we had seen him snatch from poor Tiracorda.
'No, you wretch, no-not the crucifix! There is a relic…'
The physician's imploring voice echoed piteously in the night as, after a brief struggle, the shadow emerged from the opposite side of the carriage. A fatal error: here, Pompeo Dulcibeni awaited him. We heard the cruel, sharp crack of the whip which he had recovered and which he now used to hobble the marauder's legs, causing him to fall to the ground. As he struggled uselessly to rise from the dust, by the light of one of the torches, I recognised the clumsy hunchbacked figure of Ciacconio.
We drew a little closer, thus risking being seen. With our view partly obscured by the still open door of the carriage, we heard the whip crack once again, and then a third time, accompanied by Ciacconio's inimitable grunt, this time carrying a clear note of protest.
'Filthy dogs,' said Dulcibeni, as he placed something back in the carriage, closed the door and jumped back into the box, urging on the horses.
Once again, the sheer speed of the sequence of events prevented me from considering the motives of prudence and of the intellect, and even the righteous fear of God, which should have persuaded me to escape from the perilous influence of Abbot Melani and not to involve myself in rash, criminal and violent deeds.
That was why, still set on our bold plan to save the life of Our Lord Innocent XI, I did not dare draw back when Abbot Melani, dragging me from the shadows, guided me towards the carriage just as it was moving away.
'Now or never,' said he when, after a brief chase, we leapt onto the footmen's platform behind the body of the carriage.
Hardly had we grasped the great handles behind the coach when there was another thud on the platform and rapacious hands gripped me, almost causing me to fall into the road. Almost overcome by this last shock, I turned and found myself facing the horribly deformed and toothless grin of Ciacconio, who held in his hands a crucifix to which was tied a pendant.
Thus weighted down by a third unasked-for passenger, the carriage meanwhile tilted sharply to one side.
'Filthy dogs, I shall kill you all,' said Dulcibeni, while his whip cracked again and again.
The carriage turned left, along the Via del Panico, while on the far side the disorderly band of corpisantari watched impotently as our vehicle made off. Clearly they had all returned to the surface when Ciacconio failed to rejoin them. Three or four of them set out to follow us on foot, while we again veered to the right at the Piazza di Monte Giordano in the direction of the Santa Lucia sewer. Because of the ambush, Dulcibeni had been unable to take the road to Monte Cavallo and seemed now to be proceeding haphazardly.
'You've played another of your tricks, is that not so, you ugly beast!' cried Abbot Melani to Ciacconio as the carriage gathered speed.
'Gfrrrlubh,' grunted Ciacconio in self-justification.
'Do you see what he has done?' replied Atto, turning to me. 'As though winning were not enough, he had to turn back to rob the carriage of the crucifix with the relic, which Ugonio already tried to filch the first time we entered Tiracorda's stables. And thus, Dulcibeni has recovered the leeches.'
Behind us, the corpisantari did not abandon their chase, even if they were already losing ground. Just then (we had again turned left) we heard the tremulous, terrorised voice of Tiracorda, who was leaning out from the window: 'Pompeo, Pompeo, they are following us, and there is someone here behind…'
Dulcibeni did not reply. An unexpected and exceedingly violent explosion deafened us, while a cloud of smoke momentarily deprived us of our sight and our ears were pierced by a cruel, lacerating whistle.
'Down! He has a pistol,' Atto exhorted us, crouching on the platform.
While I followed his example, the carriage again accelerated. Already sorely tried by the assault of the corpisantari, the horses' nerves had been unable to withstand the sudden detonation.
Instead of taking shelter, Ciacconio opted as usual for the most insane solution and climbed on top of the
