Page 40 of The Stone Witch of Florence

THIRTY-NINE

THE INQUISITOR you must have known you were transgressing.”

“Against the rules of men, perhaps. But sinning before God, no. People were dying and I helped them. The methods I used—the secret gemstones? Doesn’t the power of all things on the earth come from God?”

“Perhaps. But these powers must be translated through the church, or there would be chaos. You know that.”

“I thought only to show Christian charity. I thought learned men could understand what I was doing. But their minds were small.”

“Let us forget it,” said the inquisitor. “It was long ago, and you are here, doing penance.”

“It is not long ago for me. They cut off a piece of my face as punishment for saving children. I think about it every day. Anything I do has the shadow of this cast over it. When Ludovico—when I got that letter, I thought it was perhaps a chance to free myself of this shadow. To sleep without nightmares. To live freely in this place I once held so dear.”

“I will pray for you to be relieved of your tortured mind.”

Ginevra spit on the ground.

They lapsed into silence until it was dusk and time to make camp: wine, bread, and a fire against wolves. Ginevra did all the work. The inquisitor sat and thought about how to prove to his travel companion that he was not evil. He settled on telling the truth.

“Ginevra, I must tell you something: your Ludovico was dead before the letter was sent.”

She looked up from the fire. “I know. You are a terrible liar for a priest.”

“Well, it’s not something I have much practice in.”

She went back to her task.

“You know, you must take comfort in the fact that God especially chastens those whom he loves, visiting them with all manner of trials and obstacles. Such as he has visited you...”

“Humph.”

“And you have not had it so bad as you might—your face is only minorly ruined. Still quite lovely, actually. They could have taken a hand, or a foot! Do you know the story of the man who had no shoes?”

“There are many men without shoes.”

“I mean the one who was distraught and cursed God, until he met a man without feet...”

“And the man with no feet said, ‘Hey, give God a kick in the ass for me, would you?’”

The inquisitor opened his mouth, shut it, and then burst into laughter. He laughed until he fell over and Ginevra could not help but catch it herself, to see this fussy man rolling around in the dirt, and soon the both of them had tears streaming down their faces and the stale bread became the merriest meal either of them had had in months, the inquisitor and the stone witch.

Later, as they sat watching the fire die, the inquisitor spoke again: “I am sorry for what happened to you. I... I do not think it was right.”

Ginevra smiled sadly. “You say these words to me now in the wild darkness. Let you say them in the daylight, on the steps of Santa Reparata. Then I might believe you.”

“Alright. I shall.”

She looked at him across the fire, incredulous, but in the flickering light, she saw only sincerity. “You would do this thing, truly?”

“I promise before God I will. If I do not die first, from this pestilence that floats all around us.” Here he took out his pomander and huffed, but Ginevra could see his heart was not in it.

“Ser Inquisitor—”

“Please, we are here in the dirt together. I am Michele.”

“Fra Michele, then—I have with me a small dose of an elixir, and I can’t promise it will work, but it may keep the pestilence away. I was saving it for someone, but she died. Now, I would give it to you, if you will take it. It will be at least as helpful as whatever you sniff.”

“But, you swore you would practice no—” Fra Michele stopped himself, and placed his hand on his heart. “What I meant to say was it is an honor that you give something to me.” He drank the contents down with coughs and sputters. “It tastes like cat piss,” he said.

“Yes, it would.”

He laughed again and then began to weep and so did Ginevra, and they embraced and cried together for all the misfortune that had come to pass in their time, and the heaviness of bearing it and not just lying down to die. But when they parted and went to their separate chaste sleeps in the sweet-smelling grass, it was the contented rest of those who know they have made a friend of an enemy.