Page 32 of The Stone Witch of Florence
THIRTY-ONE
DINNER AND AN EXPLOSION
July 9th of 1348, Palazzo Tornaparte
G inevra went to the dark cellar where she had stored her medicine pot. It was still frothing and oozing out from under its askew lid. Not ready. Now she was very nervous it would not work at all. She would wait a few hours longer, and return to the Girolami tower today either way, do what she could for Zenobia with what she had. She would use the time to draft her report for tomorrow’s visit with Inquisitor Michele.
She went back upstairs to gripe to Lucia, but Lucia had already gone to take a nap and no amount of heavy sighs or loudly moved plates could rouse her. She sat down at the long rectangular table in Lucia’s dining hall. The little cat ran in and burrowed under her skirts to nap on her feet. Feeling slightly better for the company, she pulled out the original list of robberies drawn up by Inquisitor Michele, and looked over the new discoveries she had added in her own rough handwriting.
Santa Trinita—shoulder of San Giovanni Gualberto.
Theft noticed: July 8. Relic last seen: unknown.
San Paolino—shoe of San Francesco.
Attempted theft noticed: July 8. Relic tampered with, left behind.
Santa Maria Novella—finger of San Tommaso D’Aquino.
Theft noticed: July 8. Relic last seen: winter 1348.
The dates and letters began to swim before her eyes. The inquisitor was expecting her, and all she had discovered was apparently already known to everyone in Florence.
She shook the cat off her feet and went to the cellar to look at her jar again. Still oozing. An eel made a little splash in the well, and she realized that she hadn’t really eaten anything of substance since Taddea’s porridge. She could make another eel pie? No, that would take hours, and Ginevra was hungry right now. And she needed to go to Zenobia. She filled her fancy green-and-purple cup with vinello again and drank the whole thing. She filled it back up and carried it to the garden, intent on picking some apples. The peacocks gathered round her, hoping for treats. “I could make you into a pie, too,” she said to them, already a bit drunk. They took no notice of her idle threat, and went back to pulling worms out of the spaces where dirt showed between flagstones.
She picked up a nice-looking apple from the ground and took a bite. It was sour and made her mouth dry. She sat down fully on the sun-warmed stones. The vinello was working its own magic, dulling the thoughts that refused to quit her exhausted brain. Perhaps Lucia was right. She would just lay down for a moment and rest her eyes. She listened to the pecking of the peacocks and burbling of the fountain. A line of cool shade crept over her face as the sun shifted its position behind the tall walls of the courtyard.
A peacock stared at her. “What are you doing here?” it asked.
“I—I’m helping.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes?”
“Trouble follows you. The malocchio waits for you to drop your magic jewel.”
“I will not drop it.”
“Are you sure?”
She felt desperately for her amulet, but her hands became tangled in her clothing until she could not move them. The peacock came forward and snapped at her nose with pointed teeth.
“Ginevra! Gineeevra!!” She woke with a start. A peacock hopped off her with an indignant “scree.” The courtyard was all shadows. She had been asleep for hours! She looked up and saw Lucia, waving from the roof terrace of her home. “Did you sleep in the dirt all afternoon? You know we have three empty beds in here, right?”
“Um, yes, it looks like I did... The peacocks...”
“What about them?”
“They—nothing—they ate the rest of my apple!”
“Well, pick another one and get me one, too. Come on up to the roof. It’s lovely and cool up here. We’ll have supper.”
Ginevra brushed the grit off her cheek and went to join her. A much-needed meal, then to Zenobia. Up on the roof, the city was laid out before them, and the waning toenail moon, as if in tribute to San Gregorio, rose in the still-light sky. Lucia had fished down the shriveled salami from the kitchen rafters, and found more of her husband’s expensive claret. Ginevra wanted to protest—the salami would keep for ages, and they didn’t know when they could get more—but she was too hungry. She took the knife from Lucia, who was struggling to cut into the unwieldy sausage, and sliced them both a generous portion. Dainty nibbles became hearty bites, followed by large draughts of the pomegranate-colored wine. The fat and salt and sugar were restorative. Ginevra felt the fog lifting from her brain with each swallow.
“It almost seems like a normal summer night from up here, doesn’t it?” said Lucia.
Ginevra looked out at the bell towers and rooftops that stretched out from the Piazza Santa Trinita. The bricks of the church gleamed yellow and lovely. No sign that inside it was covered in mold and emptied of its relic.
“It makes me ache in a way. When I was younger, I thought I would find my own husband and we would have a house like this, and I would sit on a peaceful terrace as we are now, with children.”
“You have to marry a rich man, for that. And trust me, it’s not such fun.”
“Well, it hasn’t been much fun for me without one, either. But—no matter. It never could have been; he did not—he did not need me how I needed him.”
“Oh, my dear friend—do not think that. Look, I wasn’t going to tell you—I saw his widow yesterday. It was said he spent their whole marriage ignoring her, despondent over some other lost love.”
Ginevra didn’t know what to make of all this—of the sentimental brooch, now pinned to Lucia, of this purported pining. What good did any of it do for her, except to make it difficult to feel justified in her anger. “Maybe he acted this way after I was gone. But before he missed me and commissioned jewels in my name, he stood to the side so his uncle the bishop could order me mutilated, so the old inquisitor could take away the funds from my convent and leave the women in their charge with nowhere to go.”
Lucia sat back in her chair. “Well, it is a bit hard to defend him, when you put it that way.”
The pair lapsed into silence.
Ginevra felt badly, then, for ruining the mood when Lucia was just trying to be kind. “Maybe, though, there is still a nice rich man somewhere. Or two, why not? One for each of us.”
“Handsome brothers,” said Lucia, appreciating the distraction of this new game. “The elder for you and the younger for me. Assuming, of course, my present husband dies.”
“Oh, he’s sure to, one of these days. Just like my Ludovico.”
“Then we can be with good men, and we’ll take them up here to enjoy the cool air—”
“And the streets wouldn’t be so quiet. We’ll hear the sounds again of neighbors returning before curfew—”
A loud BANG echoed up from the interior courtyard.
“What now??” said Lucia.
But Ginevra knew the sound exactly. “No, no, no, no.”
She ran down to the cellar with a sinking feeling and a lamp held aloft. It was as she feared: the lid had exploded off her jar and a honey-colored film covered everything. The eels were at the surface of their well, investigating the strange globules that now floated in their home, swallowing and spitting them back out.
Lucia entered right after. “My well! My eels!”
“They’ll be fine... I think...” said Ginevra, distractedly. She held the lamp over the jar. “Oh, no, oh, no...there’s hardly any left...and the bloodstones... Oh, they’re gone! I cannot try another batch. I am the stupidest woman on the earth.”
“Ginevra, you’re not! Don’t say such a thing.”
“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep. I should have been tending it, sitting by it. I don’t understand. I left the opening askew...”
Lucia blanched. “Left askew?”
“Yes—to keep it from bursting. I don’t understand.”
“Oh. Oh, Ginevra, I’m so sorry. I came down here to get the wine and I saw your jar was leaking. I knew the substance was precious so I refastened the lid... Oh, dear, I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”
Ginevra looked up slowly from the jar. “Why would you touch this? You don’t even know how to make bread. Why would you assume—”
“I don’t know what I was thinking. I feel awful, stupid, just please tell me what to do to make it right. I’ll go find more cats, or if you need money to buy ingredients, my purse is yours!”
For a long time, Ginevra said nothing, but clutched at the coral pendant through her dress. It was warm. As the peacock had warned, the malocchio hovered nearby, aroused by her anger. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When she spoke again, it was slow and full of effort.
“You were only trying to help. I can’t make another batch unless we can find the bloodstones. I can’t cure anyone else unless we find the bloodstones. I’m not sure where they’ve gone.” When she mentioned the lost jewels, her eyes flashed with the anger her words did not express.
“We’ll find them—I’ll find them!” said Lucia hastily. “They’ve got to be in this room somewhere.” But after going round on hands and knees, raking over the earthen floor with their fingers and shining their light to the bottom of the well, the gemstones were still missing.
“Oh, God, I’m a useless woman. Any brewer’s wife would have known not to do what I just did... Look! There is still a bit that clings to the inside of the jar. Perhaps it can be useful?” She reached out to grab it.
“Don’t! Just don’t touch it. I’ll do it.”
“We could go pray to San Antonio. He’ll help us find them.”
“Just go to bed. You’ve done enough. I’ll keep looking...”
“If anyone should keep looking, it’s me. You take what is left in the jar and go to the Girolami. By the time you are back, I’ll have found the stones and—”
“I SAID I will look for them,” interrupted Ginevra. “Go to your chamber and pray for the little girl. Surely, you can do that properly, at least?”
“Of—of course. I will. I’m sorry. Good night.”
Ginevra turned and went back to raking her fingers along the dirt floor, commending herself on restraining her temper. But the little barbs she couldn’t resist, about the bread and the praying, worked their way deep into Lucia’s flesh and stung terribly.
Any rest Lucia had gotten during the afternoon was wasted as she lay awake praying to San Antonio di Padua to find the missing bloodstones, promising to light a candle for him, too, eventually.
She, then, became worried about all the saints to whom she owed favors. Her thoughts turned to the Divine Nine. How proud she’d been, to once think she was good enough to become a holy nun. She should probably confess about that as well. With these nasty thoughts swirling about her mind, she managed only to fall into a troubled rest as the sun began to rise on the next day.