We covered the distance to our meeting point with Ugonio and Ciacconio under the Piazza Navona without any unforeseen occurrences. When, however, we met the corpisantari, Atto Melani found himself faced with a number of demands and an animated argument.
The two strange beings complained that, because of the adventures in which we had involved them, they had been unable to dedicate themselves freely to their activities. They claimed, moreover, that I had damaged some of the precious bones which they had carefully stacked, and which had collapsed upon me when we first met. The claim was scarcely credible, but Ciacconio had begun to wave under the nose of Abbot Melani an enormous, nau- seatingly evil-smelling bone, with still some flesh attached to it, which, the corpisantaro pretended, had been harmed during that incident. If only to be rid of that filthy, stinking fetish, Atto preferred to give in.
'Very well, so be it. But I insist that you will cease henceforth to bother me with your problems.'
He drew forth from his pocket a handful of coins and offered them to Ciacconio. In a lightning movement, the corpisantaro grasped the money in his hooked fingers, almost clawing Abbot Melani's hands.
'I cannot bear them, those two,' murmured Atto under his breath, massaging his palm disgustedly.
'Gfrrrlubh, gfrrrlubh, gfrrrlubh…' Ciacconio began to grunt quietly, passing the coins from one hand to the other.
'He is totalising the pecuniary valorisation,' said Ugonio in my ear, with an ugly, knowing grin. 'He is economiserly.'
'Gfrrrlubh,' commented Ciacconio at last, with satisfaction, letting the money slide into a grimy, greasy sack where it fell jingling onto what must be a sizeable heap of coin.
'Nevertheless, the two monsters are invaluable to us,' said Abbot Melani to me later, while Ugonio and Ciacconio moved into the darkness. 'That revolting thing which Ciacconio held under my nose was some butcher's refuse, anything but a relic. But at times it is better not to be too tight-fisted and to pay up; otherwise, we should risk making enemies of them. Remember, in Rome one must always win, but never crushingly so. This holy city reveres the powerful but takes pleasure in their ruin.'
After obtaining their reward, the corpisantari had delivered to Atto what we needed: a copy of the key to Tiracorda's coach-house and kitchen. Once we had emerged from the trap into the physician's little stables, entering the house was a matter of no difficulty. The late hour made it reasonable to suppose that only the old court physician would still be up and about, awaiting his guest.
We crossed the kitchen and entered the chamber with the old four-poster bed, then the lobby. We moved in the dark, finding our way only by memory and with the help of the faint moonlight. Thus, we climbed the spiral staircase: here we found the welcoming light of the large candles higher up the stairs, which Atto had had to extinguish the evening before in order to safeguard our retreat. We passed the first parlour halfway up the stairs in which were displayed the fine objects which we had so admired on our previous inspection. We then came to the first floor which, as on the night before, was plunged in darkness. This time, however, the door giving access to the chambers was open. All lay silent. The abbot and I exchanged glances of complicity: we were about to cross that almost fateful threshold and I felt myself strong with a courage as unusual as it was misplaced. The night before, all had gone well, so I thought, and we could again succeed this time.
Suddenly, three loud knocks coming from the lobby sent our hearts to our mouths. Almost instantaneously, we took refuge on the stairs from the first to the second floor, outside the other little room which housed the library.
We heard a stirring above our heads and then, down below, the shuffling of distant footsteps. Once again, we were caught between two fires. Atto was on the point of again blowing out the candles (which this time would certainly have aroused the suspicions of the master and mistress of the house) when Tiracorda's voice came clearly to our ears.
'I shall go, Paradisa, I shall go.'
We heard him descend the stairs, cross the hall and utter an exclamation of happy surprise. The visitor entered without a word.
'Enter dumb into here,' said Tiracorda joyfully, closing the door. 'Number to dine: three.'
'Pardon me, Giovanni, I am in no mood for laughter this evening. I must have been followed, and so I preferred to take another passage.'
'Come in, my friend, my dearest friend.'
Atto and I held our breath, glued like two snails to the wall of the staircase. The brief dialogue had been sufficient for us to recognise the voice of Pompeo Dulcibeni.
Tiracorda led his guest to the first floor. We heard the pair move away, and at length a door closed. As soon as we were alone, we descended from our hiding place and looked into the large vestibule on the first floor. I would have liked to ask Abbot Melani a thousand questions and to obtain his comments on as many matters, but silence was our only hope of salvation.
We entered a spacious chamber where, in the semi-darkness, we could descry two four-poster beds and a number of other pieces of furniture. By some miracle, I avoided tripping over a low coffer. When, however, my pupils grew accustomed to the darkness, I suddenly realised that two icy, frowning faces lay silently in ambush in the darkness.
Frozen with terror, I needed several seconds to realise that these were two busts, one of stone, the other of bronze, placed at my height upon two pedestals. Beside them I could now see a plaster Flercules and a gladiator.
Turning to the left, we passed into an ante-chamber along the walls of which stood a long row of chairs. Thence, we moved to a second more spacious ante-chamber, immersed in gloom. From a neighbouring room came the voices of Tiracorda and his fellow- townsman. With great circumspection, we approached the crack of the door, which was not completely closed. There, transfixed by the fine blade of light that issued from within, we overheard the strangest conversation.
'Enter dumb into here… Number to dine: three,' intoned Tiracorda, as when he had welcomed his guest at the front door.
'Number to dine: three… three…' repeated Dulcibeni.
'And so, consider calmly now; did you not perhaps come for this?'
The physician stood up and off he trotted to the left, out of our field of vision. Dulcibeni remained seated with his back to us.
The chamber was lit by two large candles of gilded wax, standing on the table at which the two were seated. The pomp of the furnishings, such as I had never seen before, left me both surprised and filled with admiration. Next to the candles stood a silver basket overflowing with wax fruit; the place was also illuminated by two large candelabra, one standing upon a little sandalwood table, the other on an ebony writing desk decorated with black mouldings and gilded bronze coats of arms. The walls were covered with rich crimson satin; everywhere hung fine pictures with varied and delightful figures: looking around, I recognised paintings of landscapes, animals, flowers and figurines: a Madonna and Child, a Pieta, an Annunciation, a Saint Sebastian and perhaps an Ecce Homo.
But dominating the room, in the middle of the longest wall, immediately opposite us, hung an imposing portrait of Our Lord Innocent XI, with a great gilt frame, carved with arabesques adorned with cut-glass foliage and garlands. Under this, on a pedestal, I espied an octagonal reliquary in silvered and gilt bronze which I imagined to be full of holy relics. More to the left, I could see a bed and a commode covered in red brocade. This last particular seemed revealing to me: we were in all probability in Tiracorda's study, where he received his patients.
We heard the doctor returning to the middle of the room, after opening and closing a door.
'How silly of me, I put it on the other side.'
He turned to the right and went to the wall on which, immense and imposing, hung the portrait of His Holiness. To our surprise, in the wall before us, there opened up another door: there were two invisible panels, covered in the same crimson satin as the walls. The secret doorway concealed a dark closet in which were stored the instruments of his art. I could distinguish pincers, forceps and lancets, vases of officinal herbs and a number of books and piles of paper; these were perhaps notes on medical consultations.
'Are they still in there?' asked Dulcibeni.
'They are here and they are well,' said Tiracorda busying himself in the little room. 'But I am just looking for a couple of pleasant little things which I had set aside for the two of us. Ah, here we are.'
He came out from the cupboard triumphantly waving a half-crumpled piece of paper, closed the secret door and sat down, preparing to read.
