Page 31 of The Stone Witch of Florence

THIRTY

THE APOTHECARY AT THE TWIN JANUS

July 9th of 1348, City of Florence

D awn came and Ginevra decanted her noxious brew into a jar, and dropped in the two bloodstones. The viscous liquid foamed, then settled, and she placed a lid, purposefully askew, atop it. Lucia, too bothered by her encounter at Alle Panche to have gone to sleep, watched her with puffy eyes from across the table.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Give it an hour, maybe less. It will become clear and golden, and then it is ready.”

But an hour came and went, and then two, and it was still a frothy, fizzy mess.

“I don’t think it’s working,” said Lucia unhelpfully.

“It must be because it’s so hot out,” said Ginevra. “It just needs a bit longer.” In truth, she was beginning to doubt that her gutter kitten was an effective substitute for a rare lynx.

“Come on, let’s go,” Ginevra said, tired and frustrated and impatient for progress in any of her current endeavors.

“Where?”

“To the crooked apothecary that Becchino knew. To see if he stocks the relics of Florence on his shelves. By the time we’re back, this will be ready and I’ll bring it to Zenobia.” So they rushed out the door, bringing Lucia’s rock-hard bread along for breakfast. Business hours were always ephemeral in Florence, and now finding a shopkeeper at his post could nearly be considered a miracle. Either way, he was certain to be shut up by midday. As they walked, they took the bread from their purses and tried to eat. Ginevra nearly broke a tooth before throwing her piece down in the street. Lucia pretended not to see and ate the whole thing out of vanity.

The twin Janus head identifying the shop was not easily found; they walked past it three times before noticing it carved into a wooden lintel above the partially sunken door frame, steps leading down to it from the street.

“Lucia, let me speak first,” said Ginevra quietly.

Lucia nodded blearily. Her head ached and her mouth was dry from the terrible bread. She just wanted the whole meeting over as quickly as possible so she could go to bed. They walked down to the sunken door and before they could even knock, a small peephole, disguised within the grain of the wood, opened and a pair of black eyes with drooping lids appeared. The eyes looked them up and down.

“How can I help, ladies?”

“Ser Apothecary?” said Ginevra. “You were recommended to us by a friend, as one who provides useful articles for pilgrims?”

The peephole shut and the door opened to reveal an ancient man with puffs of white hair clinging haphazardly to an otherwise bald head. His robes were dirty with grease spots of many a meal, and his fingers were crooked with arthritis. There was an odor that reminded Ginevra of the Genoese port for a moment, and she realized the source was an entire anchovy dried into his beard.

She looked over his shoulder and saw the shop was as derelict as the proprietor: dark, damp, and smelling of moldy earth. She saw a few jars of pale powders, the ink on their parchment labels now faded to illegibility. The stacks of comfits had melted into one large sticky mass, and the ubiquitous bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling were now anchors for cobwebs that spanned the width of the room. The decayed condition of the goods ruined their intended illusion; none of them were meant to be sold. They were only a lazy disguise so the apothecary could conduct his true business: the buying and selling of “holy relics.”

“Good afternoon, signoras, good afternoon,” he said, the anchovy jiggling precariously as he spoke. “What brings you to me?”

“We’re new to the city, pilgrims from Genoa,” Ginevra said, knowing she could not hide her accent from a man used to travelers. “We’d like to see as many of the Florentine saints as possible. Do our part in getting the pestilence lifted, you know?”

“Genoa?” he asked, raising a dusty eyebrow. “I would not be too loud about that, my dear, seeing as the sick came first to your city, after the earthquake. I myself am not afraid of such things, but it is a surprise that they let you in!”

“All the gatekeepers are dead, it seems,” explained Lucia.

The apothecary tutted for a whole minute. “What’s the point of paying all these taxes, dealing with all these municipal regulations if they can’t even keep the damn door shut?” He stopped talking, narrowing his eyes until they disappeared under the drooping lids. “How did you say you found out about me?”

“Others on the road. They said you are known to help pilgrims like ourselves by providing—guidance—in how best to keep our journey blessed.”

“Others on the road, hmmm?” he repeated.

“Um, yes?” said Ginevra.

“What were their names, then?”

“We did not ask,” she said.

The apothecary stared at her hard. Ginevra became uncomfortable under his gaze... Had he seen through her lie? She wished she spent more time preparing a story. She had been so eager to brew her remedy, she’d had no time to formulate a plan. Why did she always assume she could make something up as she went along?

But eventually the apothecary just shrugged. “The first thing I must do is consult the heavens, to see what is appropriate for your own individual situations.”

“Yes! Yes, please—do my friend first,” she said, nudging a reluctant Lucia forward. She felt badly, but she needed the apothecary to be distracted so she could scrutinize the dirty shelves to look for onion-shaped bottles, for any plants or pigments that might tint a potion purple or green.

“Whatever pleases,” said the crusty old man. “Come over to my counter, signora, and place your hands upon it.”

Lucia resignedly picked her way around the broken ceramics and oily rags that littered the floor. He laid down a parchment that was already covered in writing, then flipped it over. He picked up a piece of charcoal from a cold brazier, and began to draw with it, a spiral from the center outward to the edges of the parchment. He closed his eyes and leaned back his head.

“But don’t you need to know my birthday, at least, or...” Lucia began.

“Hush! The stars are speaking to me, don’t interrupt them.”

This man is a charlatan of the highest order , thought Ginevra, as she walked, in what she hoped was a casual manner, around the shop.

The apothecary leaned his head back even farther, and began droning as if he had swallowed a beehive. As his volume increased, so did the speed with which he drew his charcoal spirals, until he was almost yelling and the whole page filled in. Ginevra stopped her snooping, worried he might actually be having a seizure. But just as she stepped toward him, his head snapped forward and he said to Lucia, “Ah! Signora, it is clear. I would recommend some San Sebastiano con carne for you.”

“Con carne?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes, meaning, of course, with some of the holy flesh still attached to the holy bone. It is much more effective that way. And the stars tell me, you require something potent.”

“Oh...um...” stuttered Lucia.

“Of course, if you’re on a budget, I can ask the stars again to recommend some second-or third-class relics that will also be helpful in their own way.”

“Ah. No, it’s just how did you—how did you settle on San Sebastiano from that bunch of circles?”

“ Mystic circles, signora. I would not question your knowledge of Genoa, since your friend says you are from there. And in that way, you should not question my secret knowledge of the planets and stars.”

Ginevra intervened. She had come to get information about the thief, not to force Lucia to make up facts about Genoa. “Pardon me, Ser Apothecary, are you sure there isn’t something more...local, that would be more powerful since we are in Florence? Is it possible to get a relic of, for example, your San Zenobio?”

“Zenobio, eh? That’s not a request I have heard before. The body of San Zenobio was found miraculously intact and unblemished within the foundations of Santa Reparata. Such a man has been kept whole , as much as possible, only his head was separated for veneration and the rest still safely buried in his crypt. You might have gone and visited the head at its church, that is, until recently. You must have heard?”

Ginevra continued her play at ignorance. “Heard what? We only just arrived.”

“It is the biggest news besides the pestilence. The blessed head of Zenobio has been missing for some weeks now. And then two women show up from far away, asking for a bit of him, thinking I, an honest apothecary, serving my city in a time of great need, might have it.”

“No, of course, we would never suggest—” sputtered Ginevra.

“And who is your master that sent you here??” continued the apothecary, sending flecks of white spittle toward their faces. “You with your fake Genoese accent. I noticed it was false the minute you came in. Your friend might be from the north, but not you!”

“What? No, you’ve—my accent isn’t fake,” said Ginevra. Shit. Lucia looked back at her, panic-stricken, afraid to speak and be discovered as not actually from Genoa.

“Look, Ser Apothecary, I’m sorry I asked about Zenobio, I’m an ignorant woman from a far country... It’s so very lucky for us that you have a relic of Sebastiano. We will buy it, of course.”

“We will ?” said Lucia to Ginevra.

“Yes, we will,” she said pointedly.

The apothecary smiled and opened his hands, indicating their quarrel was of secondary importance to commerce. “It is a gift, signora. Free with your payment for your star reading.”

“How blessed we truly are, by your generosity,” said Ginevra.

“Indeed. You should count yourselves so. I have been in business for many , many years. People know that when a truly rare and precious object is needed, I’M the one who has it. The fact that the two of you have found yourself here at my doorstep, in the middle of the apocalypse, illustrates my prestige among travelers, and the quality of my clientele.”

“Your logic is as infallible as your reputation,” replied Ginevra. She wished fiercely she could tell him that even the becchini found his business unpalatable.

The apothecary bent down below the counter and brought out a dusty wooden box. He opened the lid; it was filled with dried-out fingers.

He rummaged through it a moment before saying, “Aha, here is the one, it is perfect for you.”

“How do you know that one’s San Sebastiano?” asked Lucia. “They all look the same.”

“A true expert knows his wares, signora. That will be two florins for the reading.”

“Two florins??” the women yelled, for the second time in as many days.

“Does everything in Florence cost two florins?” Ginevra asked, incredulously.

“These days, yes,” he said without skipping a beat. “But in any time this would be a fair price for a reading that resulted in the acquisition of such a prestigious relic.”

Ginevra bit her tongue. “Of course. You are quite correct. Monna Lucia, you’ll hand him the money?”

“And that, of course, is just for the one reading. In order for you each to have your own personal relic—”

“I think the one will do just fine for the two of us. After all, San Sebastiano only had so many fingers. It would be unkind for us to take up two of them,” said Lucia, dropping gold coins into his open palm. If she was without a husband, she couldn’t go spending her whole fortune on dead fingers and burials.

“How magnanimous of you,” he said with slight disappointment.

“So, signore,” asked Ginevra, “if we may impose upon you further, since the shrine of San Zenobio is empty, what other shrines should we pray at in its stead?”

Encouraged by the pieces of gold, he continued: “Here, let me show you a book I have, that can be used by pilgrims to know all the places to visit.” He pulled a cheap-looking volume from behind his counter.

“Here you go. My highest recommended libri indulgarium et reliquarium : The Pious Pilgrim’s Guide to the Most Holy Sites of Florence Including the Best Prayers to Be Said at Them, and Number of Indulgences Granted per Visitor, and Where Best to Stay Nearby to Them .”

“That is a very long title,” said Lucia.

“And what may we find in this glorious treatise?” asked Ginevra.

“It details the most prestigious relics in the city, where they are in the churches, and so forth.” Ginevra reached out her hands eagerly to take a look, but as soon as she reached, he withdrew it. “But now is not the best time to be walking around—you know that miasmas float on every street, even inside churches and monasteries. I’m afraid you will find that our great churches, usually all shiny and carefully tended, will be dark and empty, with saints disappeared, the same as Zenobio.”

“Even still, we at least could see where they should be and surely that will count for something.” She stretched out her hand again and smiled, but he kept the book clutched close to his chest, as if he thought better of bringing it out to show them. Ginevra grew impatient. “I thought the San Sebastiano finger will protect us?”

“Oh, it will, it will. It’s just best not to strain it unnecessarily, you understand?”

“We have traveled a long way, and are intent on visiting the shrines.”

“Perhaps, if you each had your own relic, I would know you were adequately protected. As it stands now, it would be unethical for me to encourage your journey.”

Lucia looked at Ginevra imploringly, but she knew the man was not to be denied his sale.

“Perhaps you have something not quite so glorious as the Sebastiano finger? We must mind our funds carefully.”

“Of course, signora, I am here to serve. The stars tell me that Sebastian will be good for you as well—and I have a piece of skin from the forearm of the same, half the price would likely recommend—”

“A florin is still more than...”

“Then perhaps signora would be interested in toenail clippings belonging to the blessed San Gregorio. I could part with them for a donation of three lire.”

“Fine. The stars said he was good for me, too, did they?”

Lucia pressed three more coins into his palm. “Wonderful. Do the ladies wish me to read it to them?”

“Thank you, but we can read ourselves.”

“Ah, wonderful, how things are changing! Here we are.” He placed the book on the countertop next to the melted comfits, and noticed the gloom of his surrounds.

“Excuse me one moment, signoras, I think a light might be in order.” He shuffled into a back room.

“Ginevra! This place is so dirty , I don’t feel well—”

“Shhh...let’s look at this book quickly and then we’ll leave.”

They brought the book into the light of the doorway. Each page contained a woodblock print illustration of a reliquary, and a messily written description of how to properly pray to it. The women leafed through quickly.

“Look, Lucia! Santa Reparata and the Baptistry are right here. The first places robbed...”

“Of course. They’re the most famous churches in the city. The first stop for anyone.”

“True,” said Ginevra, “but next there is Santa Maria Novella and the chapel of San Barnaba. Also robbed.”

“Yes, and the four churches of the Rogazione procession are here, too,” said Lucia.

Ginevra took out the inquisitor’s list and ran her finger down it. “And from those churches are taken the torso of San Piero, the left foot of Santo Stefano, and the left and right buttocks of San Paolo.”

Lucia nodded and continued flipping. “And if all those places are present, there must be... Yes, my Santa Trinita on the opposite page...but Giovanni Gualberto’s crucifix is recommended, not his shoulder, not the bit that was taken. Ginevra, this is just—”

“Lucia, the thief must have come here and been shown this very book!”

The proprietor returned and placed a lumpy tallow candle on the counter.

Ginevra gave him what she hoped was a charming smile: “What a wonderful and useful treatise.”

Lucia brought the book closer to the feeble light.

“Ah, yes! San Paolo’s left buttock,” said the apothecary, glancing at the open page. “A most worthy and effective relic.”

“Ser Apothecary,” said Ginevra, “we will buy the book, as well.”

“I’m afraid not, signora. It’s a very rare volume.”

Lucia scoffed and the apothecary looked at her.

“Quite rare. The very last copy, I couldn’t do without it. You’ll have to make do the old-fashioned way, with what you can remember.” He shuffled to put it away in his back room.

Ginevra looked at Lucia.

“No! Ginevra, I don’t want to spend any more money here. And besides, this book just has—”

“Alright, fine, there is another way without money—do you have that bottle of holy water? I saw you fill it up yesterday at Santa Trinita.”

“Yes...”

“Quick, then—put this in.”

“What is it?”

“It is a selenite, whoever drinks water touched by it will become very agreeable for a very brief moment.”

She dropped a translucent grayish crystal into Lucia’s little flask.

“But does it have to be holy water? My holy water? I need it.”

“It can be any water, but do you see anything else around?”

“But how will I get him to drink it?”

The apothecary returned. “Signoras, you are still here? It seems clear our business is concluded.”

Ginevra stalled as Lucia stood frozen, clutching her flask. “Please, if you won’t take money, we have traveled with—” Ginevra cast her mind about to the contents of Lucia’s home “—some beautiful cloth.”

“The end is truly upon us! A Genoese offering textile to a Florentine! Suspicious women! Hussies! Get out of my shop. OUT!” He picked up a jar of beans and rattled it at them as if they were a pack of stray dogs.

“Get it on him,” Ginevra mouthed to Lucia.

Lucia, not knowing what else to do, held the flask up to her nose, then did a gigantic fake sneeze and sprayed her holy water all over the face of the stunned apothecary.

His face quivered with rage. The anchovy in his beard also quivered with rage.

Shit, shit, shit , thought Ginevra. Her elixir was not working. Agnesa had died under her fingertips. And now this selenite did nothing. She had lost her touch with gems.

The apothecary went over to poor Lucia and grabbed the front of her dress.

“YOU—DID YOU—ah—did you want to see my book again?”

“What? Yes! Yes.”

“Actually,” interjected Ginevra, pulling her friend away from his grip, “we were hoping to buy it.”

“Buy? Oh, no! I couldn’t take money from such lovely creatures, please, take it. I insist. As I said, it is my very last copy, but I suppose I can make do.”

“Um, thank you, we will.”

“How else may I serve you, gentle ladies?”

“Well,” said Ginevra quickly (she wasn’t sure how long the selenite would last), “actually, we had a few questions—namely, do you know where Zenobio and the stolen relics are?”

“Signoras, look around you at my establishment. Does it look like I’m involved in anything that would be so lucrative?”

“But, do you know where they are?”

“Surely you must realize this line of inquiry is insulting. Perhaps there is another question I could answer instead?”

Ginevra changed her tactics. The selenite was not a truth serum.

“Very well, who else has visited your shop? You said this is your last copy? Who else have you sold it to?”

“Why, a number of pilgrims over the years. They know to come to me for it. It is very rare.”

“Did any of them smell badly?” asked Ginevra.

“Of course,” said the apothecary. “All pilgrims smell badly.”

Lucia nodded in agreement.

“Do you remember what any of them looked like?”

“My sight is not so good for earthly matters. Anything farther away than a book is a complete blur. But my customers prefer it that way. Now, are you quite through taking up my time?”

The selenite was wearing off.

“We’re through, thank you! Come on, Lucia.”

Blinking in the hot sunlight, the women gulped the rot-tinted air of the city, now fresh and sweet after exiting the apothecary’s gloomy lair. They ran away, taking several twists and turns until they were sure the apothecary could not follow them.

“Ginevra, did you see—”

“The anchovy in his beard, I KNOW.”

“Oh, yes, that. But I meant how the selenite worked—could we not have given it to him at the start and saved my florins?”

“I didn’t think of it, sorry—I’ll pay you back when I’m a doctor. But look, now we have this book! Surely, here is the answer. There are nine relics in here and all are missing .”

“Ginevra, that is what I have been trying to say! This is not a rare volume. He was just trying to swindle us. This book—the relics inside are famous! Together, they are called the Divine Nine and they sell this sort of guide at the gates, on every street corner.”

“The Divine Nine? I never heard of this.”

“It’s new, since you left, to attract more pilgrims. I was a fool not to see it right away! The thief might have read about them in this book from the apothecary, but he also might have asked anybody where he should go.”

Ginevra felt deflated. All this running around and all she had learned was what she should have known right from the start. “The inquisitor should have told me all this! Wine has dulled his wits.”

“He certainly should have mentioned it,” said Lucia, indignant. “But looking at it laid out like this, do you think maybe the thief is from an enemy city? From some place jealous of the Divine Nine?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” said Lucia, “last night you said the thief spreads word of his deeds as soon as they happen. He leaves behind these bottles when he could easily keep the crimes hidden for months. This makes sense if he’s from a rival city—he would want everyone to know that Florence cannot protect its most precious possessions.”

“That is brilliant, Lucia! You may have hit upon it. And by the way, your sneeze back there was also brilliant. I’ll take the selenite back now.”

Lucia took out her holy water flask and shook it. Then she dumped the whole thing out on her hand.

“Ginevra, I’m sorry...it must have flown out...”

“ Damn. You’re sure?”

“I’m so sorry, let’s go back and look for it.”

“No, no, it’s alright. He won’t be pleased to see us. It’s my own fault for putting you up to it. If I’m being honest, I have no idea how to catch a thief. I don’t know why I thought I could solve a mystery that has stumped all the holy men of this city.”

“ I know what we should do next.”

“What?”

“Go home and take a nap. We have been awake since yesterday morning. It’s so hot right now and the air is heavy like thunderstorms will come. It’s unnatural to be awake on an afternoon such as this.”

“I can’t sleep now. I must go to little Zenobia and then prepare to see the inquisitor. I hope my elixir has settled...”

“I’m sure it will turn out alright. And, Ginevra, please don’t be hurt, but I can tell by the circles under your eyes that you need rest as well. It will be easier to think after.”

“You sleep, then. I promised Zenobia I’d come back...”

“If you run yourself ragged, you won’t help anyone. You’ve got to keep your wits about you and there’s no doing that without sleep. In normal times, I’d rest every afternoon. My mother taught me it’s important to retain one’s youth.”

“Well, we’ll see. I suppose if the medicine is still bubbling when we get home, I could try to rest for a moment before going out.”

“If it’s not done, we’ll pray for Zenobia to be safe until it is, which should give you some extra time.”