me, too. The palace is magnificent and the halls grandiose, even the travertine fagades are not bad, although…'
He had to break off, because Ciacconio was making us climb a staircase which rose, perilously devoid of any handrail, through the dull emptiness of another great cavity. We all joined hands. The stairs seemed endless.
'Gfrrrlubh,' exulted Ciacconio at the top, pushing open a door that led to the street. Thus, half-dead with fear and fatigue, we again found ourselves in the open.
Instinctively I filled my lungs, heartened, after five days of quarantine inside the Donzello, by the fine, refreshing night air.
For once, I could make myself useful. I immediately recognised at once where we were, having been there several times with Pellegrino who purchased provisions for the Donzello at this place. It was the
Arco degli Acetari, near to the Campo di Fiore and Piazza Farnese. Ciacconio, his nose in the air once more, immediately dragged us towards the broad open space of Campo di Fiore. A light drizzle silently swept over us. In the piazza we saw only two beggars curled up on the ground near to their poor possessions, and a boy who was pushing a hand cart towards an alleyway. We came to the opposite end of the piazza and suddenly Ciacconio pointed out a small building to us. We were in a familiar street, the name of which escaped me. No light came from the windows of the building. At ground level, however, a door was ajar. The street was empty, but in order to exercise the greatest possible caution, Ugonio and Ciacconio mounted guard on either side of us. We drew near: the muffled sound of a distant voice reached us. With extreme caution, I pushed the door open. A little staircase led down to where, behind another half-open door, light seemed to be issuing from a room. The voice came from there, joined now by that of the person addressed.
Atto preceded me until we reached the foot of the stairs. There, we realised that we were walking on a veritable carpet of scattered leaves. Atto was gathering some of these up, when suddenly the voices drew nearer, just behind the half-closed door.
'… and here are forty scudi,' we heard one of the pair say.
We rushed up the stairs and went out of the street door, taking care, however, to leave it ajar, so as not to raise any suspicions. With Ugonio and Ciacconio we hid by the corner of the building.
Our aim had been true: Stilone Priaso emerged from the door. He glanced around him and walked rapidly towards the Arco degli Acetari.
'And what now?'
'Now let us open the cage,' replied Atto. He murmured something to Ugonio and Ciacconio, who replied with a sordid and cruel smile. And off they trotted on the trail of Stilone.
'And what about us?' I asked, covered in confusion.
'We are going home, but calmly. Ugonio and Ciacconio will await us underground, after completing a certain little errand.'
We returned by a more circuitous route, avoiding crossing the middle of the Campo di Fiore, so as not to be seen by anyone. We were, Atto mentioned in passing, not far from the French embassy and there was a risk of being surprised by the night guard. Thanks to his acquaintances, he could even have asked for asylum. But at that hour, rather than arrest us, the embassy's Corsican guards might perhaps have preferred to rob us and cut our throats.
'As you may know, in Rome there exists 'the freedom of the quarter': meaning that the Pontiff's men and the Bargello can arrest no one in the quarter of the embassies. This arrangement is, however, becoming all too convenient for fugitive assassins. That is why the Corsican guards do not waste much time on subtleties. My brother Alessandro, who is maestro di cappella to Cardinal Pamphili, has absented himself from Rome at the present time. Otherwise he could have provided us with an escort.'
We returned under the ground. Thanks be to heaven, our lanterns were undamaged. We walked through the subterranean labyrinth in search of the hall with the frescoes, and we were on the point of giving ourselves up for lost when, from some unknown passageway, the corpisantari appeared at our side.
'Did you have a pleasant conversation?' asked Atto.
'Gfrrrlubh!' answered Ciacconio with a smug grin.
'What did you do to him?' I asked with concern.
'Gfrrrlubh.'
His grunt calmed my fears. I had the bizarre impression that I was, by some obscure means, beginning to understand the corpisantaro monochord language.
'Ciacconio has but affrighted him,' assured Ugonio.
'Suppose that you had never seen our two friends,' explained Atto, 'then imagine them both jumping upon you screaming, in a dark underground passage. Next, suppose that they asked you a favour, in exchange for which they would leave you in peace, what would you do?'
'I should certainly do whatever they asked!'
'There you are, they merely inquired of Stilone what he had just been up to, and why.'
Ugonio's account, briefly, ran as follows. Poor Stilone Priaso had visited the shop of a certain Komarek, who from time to time worked in the printing press of the Congregatio De Propaganda Fide, and at night undertook a few clandestine jobs on his own to supplement his earnings. Komarek printed gazettes, anonymous letters, perhaps even books placed on the Index: all prohibited material, for which he ensured that he was very well paid. Stilone Priaso had commissioned him to print a few letters containing political predictions, on behalf of a friend in Naples. In exchange, the two were to share the profits. That was why he was in Rome.
'And the Bible, then?' asked Atto.
No, said Ugonio, Stilone knew absolutely nothing about any Bibles. And he had taken nothing from Komarek's shop, not even a single page.
'So it was not he who lost the bloodstained page underground. Are you sure that he told the truth?'
'Gfrrrlubh,' sniggered Ciacconio.
'The scarified presence did pissify upon himself,' explained Ugonio gleefully.
To complete their good work, the pair had searched Stilone Priaso, finding on him a minuscule and much fingered booklet which he probably always kept under his clothing. Atto scrutinised it by the light of the lantern, as we were setting out on our return journey:
ASTROLOGICALL TREATISE CONCERNING THE INFLUENCES OF THE HEAVENLY BODIES
Pro, and Contra Matters Sublunary for the entire Year 1683
CALCULATED FOR THE LONGITUDE, AND LATITUDE
of the Most Serene City of Florence
BY BARTOLOMMEO ALBIZZINI OF FLORENCE
and by the Same Dedicated to the most Illustr. Lord, and most Ven. Patron Sig.
GIO: CLAUDIO BUONVISI
Ambassador of the Most Illustrious amp; Excellent Republic of Lucca to His Most Serene Highness Cosimo III. Grand Duke of Tuscany
'Tut tut, an astrological gazette,' exclaimed Atto with great amusement.
Son faci le Stelle che spirano ardore…*
He trilled melodiously, arousing in Ciacconio grunts of admiration.
'Ooohh, castricated cantor!' applauded Ugonio, with a servile expression.
'A gazetteer, that much I had understood,' continued Atto without paying any attention to th e corpisantari. 'But that Stilone * The Stars are torches / Which inspire ardour…
Priaso should be a judicial astrologer, no, that I could not have imagined.'
'Why did you suspect that Stilone was a gazetteer?'
'Intuition. However, a poet he could surely not be. Poets are of melancholy humour, and, unless they have a prince or a cardinal to protect them, I can recognise them at once. They will read you their doggerel on the slightest pretext, they are poorly dressed, and they invariably try to get themselves invited to one's table. Stilone, however, had the apparel, the words and the eyes of one who 'has a well-lined belly', as they say in his part of the world. At the same time, however, his is a reserved character like, for example, that of Pompeo Dulcibeni, nor does he talk out of place, as Robleda is wont to do.'
'What does judicial astrology mean?'
'You will of course know more or less what astrologers do?'
