Fermerdy Beggars, Pailliards, Strollers, Buskers, Bourdons or False Pilgrims, Fraters or Jarkmen, Money Droppers, Rooks, Cunning-men and Cunny-shavers, Counterfeit Cranks, Dommerers, Sky Farmers and Gaggers, Duffers, Sharks or Sharpers, Faulkners, Fators, Saint Peter's Sons, Files, Bulkers, Nippers and Foysters, Hedge Priests or Patricoes, Swigmen, Abram Men, Amusers, Anglers (or Hookers), Chopchurches, Collectors, Pinchers, Swaddlers, Ark Ruffians, Wiper Drawers, Badgers, Bawdy Baskets, Sneaks, Snudges, Cleymers, Cloak Twitchers, Crackers, Flying Porters, Rum Dubbers, Lully Triggers, Leggers, Lumpers, Heavers, Hostelers, Jinglers, Whipjacks, Kid Lays, Queer Plungers, Reliquaries, and so on and so forth.
'How do you manage to remember all those names?'
'With the job I do…'
He went on to explain that the Fraters, who are also known as Jarkmen, counterfeit the seals of pontiffs or prelates — which they call jarks in their gibberish — and show them off, pretending that they have permits to issue indulgences, saving sinners from purgatory and hell and to absolve all sins, in exchange for which they exact payment in gold from the credulous.
'The Cunning-men are so-called because they are false, they pretend to be soothsayers and hoodwink simple villagers, claim ing in exchange for money to foresee the future and to be full of the Holy Spirit. The Hedge Priests are false friars or false priests who have never taken either minor or major orders. They go from village to village and say mass, after which they make off with the takings from the collection; as penitence, they impose yet more charity, all of which ends up in their pockets. The Bourdons are false pilgrims who beg for alms on the pretext that they must travel to the Holy Land or to Santiago de Compostela or to Our Lady of Loreto. The Dommerers claim to have relatives or brothers in the hands of the Turks and beg for alms to ransom them, but it is not true. The Swigmen, on the other hand…'
'One moment: if the cerretani do all these things, then how come no one stops them?' Atto objected.
'Because they are secretive. They are divided into sects, no one knows how many there are nor where they are.'
'But are they sects, as you claim, or just groups of rogues?'
'Both. They are above all rogues, but they have secret rituals which they use to swear fidelity to the group and to tighten the bonds of brotherhood. Thus, if one of them is taken, the others can be sure that he will never talk. Otherwise he could fall victim to a curse. That, at least, is what they believe.'
'What rites do they practise?'
'Ah, if only one could know. Black masses, sacrifices, blood pacts and other such things, probably. But no one has ever seen them. They go into the countryside to do such things in isolated places: deconsecrated chapels, abandoned villas…'
'Are they numerous, here in Rome?'
'They are especially to be found in Rome.'
'And why is that?'
'Because the Pope is here. And where there are popes, there's money. What's more, there are the pilgrims to be gulled. And now, there's the Jubilee: more money and more pilgrims.'
'Has no pontiff ever issued an ecclesiastical ban against these sects?' interrupted Atto.
'If a sect — or a group of criminals — is to be prohibited, it must be clearly known,' replied Sfasciamonti. 'Specific actions must be attributed to it and its members must have names and identities. How can one ban a vague grouping consisting of wretched homeless and nameless vagabonds?'
Atto nodded in silence, thoughtfully scratching the dimple on his chin.
When we returned to the calash, dawn was about to break. Sfasciamonti took leave of us.
'I shall be coming later to the Villa Spada. First I must go home. My mother is expecting me. It is today that I must deliver her provisions, and if I do not come on time, she worries.'
'Together?' I exclaimed in astonishment, as I and Buvat looked at one another in unison.
We had barely taken our leave of Sfasciamonti. Abbot Melani had already taken his place in the calash to return to the Villa Spada when, instead of making room for us, he closed the door behind him.
'You, stay here for the time being,' said he laconically.
He then held out a letter to me, already closed and sealed. I recognised it at once: it was that letter, the reply to his mysterious Maria.
'But Signor Atto,' came Buvat's and my own weak protests, for in truth we both longed for a little rest before facing the new working day.
'Later. Now, be on your way. Buvat will deliver the message. Alone, however, for you,' and here, he turned to me, 'are not appropriately dressed. I shall have to make you a present of a new suit sooner or later. I shall explain to you where you must go: with Buvat, I'd be wasting my breath.'
'Permit me to insist,' I retorted.
I quickly read the addressee's name:
Madama la Connestabilessa Colonna
My thoughts criss-crossed in my head and I knew not to which I should give precedence. I could not wait to return home and rest (also, to meditate upon the latest disquieting occurrences), but at the same time, I found myself suddenly faced with the revelation of the identity of the mysterious Maria who corresponded with Atto in secret and whose arrival was awaited at the Villa Spada.
The Connestabilessa Colonna: I knew that name. Indeed, who in Rome had not heard of the Grand Constable and Roman Prince Lorenzo Onofrio Colonna, scion of one of the most ancient and noble families in Europe? He had died some ten years previously and she must be the widow…
'Come, then, let us hear,' Atto burst in, interrupting the flow of my thoughts. 'What do you want?'
At that instant, I saw the Abbot's face shift from an attitude of impatience to an expression of stupefaction, as though he had been struck by a lightning-like idea or a sudden memory.
'How silly of me! Come, sit down with me, my boy,' he exclaimed, opening the door for me and offering me a seat. 'Of course, we must talk. Come now, tell me all. I suppose that during the night you have had the good taste to set aside a few moments from your well-deserved rest in which to compile for me a detailed account of all that you overheard,' said he with the most natural air in the world, without so much as sparing a thought for the fact that we had just spent the night gallivanting across Rome.
'Heard? Where?'
'But is it not obvious? At last night's dinner, when I used the pretext of the torch to make you dance that minuet all around the table just in order to place you behind Cardinal Spinola. Come, tell me, what did they say?'
I was dumbfounded. Atto was admitting to having pretended to mistreat me when he ordered me to draw close to him because, so he said, there was not enough light; and then he had sent me brusquely to the other end of the table on the pretext that the torch was burning his neck. Not only that; the Abbot had arranged the whole thing in order to induce me to listen to the diners' conversations!
'Really, Signor Atto, I cannot see how any of those conversations could be of interest to anyone. I mean, they spoke of frivolous and unimportant matters…'
'Unimportant? In every utterance of a cardinal of the Holy Roman Church, there is not a single syllable, my boy, that is not imbued with some significance. You may even say that they are all old goats, and I in my turn might even decline to contradict you, but whatever issues from their mouths is always interesting.'
'It may well be as you say, but I… Well, there was just one thing that seemed somewhat curious to me.'
I told him of the misunderstanding that had taken place between the two Cardinals Spinola and how Cardinal Spada's mes sage addressed to the one had been delivered to the other, as well as its content.
'It said: 'All three on board tomorrow at dawn. I shall tell A.''
Atto remained silent and pensive. Then he declared: 'That would be interesting; truly interesting, if…' said he to himself, staring meditatively at Buvat sitting hunched up by the side of the road.
'What do you mean?'
He stayed silent a moment longer, looking me straight in the eyes, but in reality mentally following the rushing chariot of future events.
'What a genius I am!' he exclaimed at length, giving me a great slap on the shoulder. 'That Abbot Melani is really a genius to have sent you off on the pretext of that torch to stand close to those persons who laugh out of
