Page 43 of The Stone Witch of Florence
FORTY-TWO
THE PORTA SAN NICCOLO
July 12th of 1348, the Road Back to Florence
F ra Michele and Ginevra walked some distance ahead so they could speak without being heard. “It just doesn’t make sense,” said Ginevra. “Do you really think the bishop believed the spell would work?”
“Not for a moment.”
“Then why would he go along with it?”
Fra Michele shook his head. “His family is in serious money trouble. Perhaps he means to sell the relics, and just wanted Giancarlo to do the dirty work for him?”
“Then why leave the golden reliquaries?”
“I don’t know. All I know is I wish we had come here without informing him.”
“Now it is done—what are we going to do about it?”
“We must announce the presence of the relics as soon as we reenter the city. The people will rally around us, and I will gather a contingent of men and we will confront the bishop. But first our witness—we must put him somewhere safe.”
Ginevra nodded. “Let us go to Sant’Elisabetta. It is close to the Porta San Niccolo—return their bread. Sister Taddea will be relieved to have it back and will watch Giancarlo for us.”
“Ginevra—”
“Yes?”
“I—I am not a virgin.”
“Nor am I,” she admitted.
They passed the rest of their journey in silence, each wondering what might have happened in the San Romolo crypt if Giancarlo hadn’t been so trusting of their virtue.
Late in the day, they reached the Porta San Niccolo and were surprised to find it had been closed. Fra Michele gave the gate a little push. Ginevra heard the distinct sounds of men’s voices and clinking metal.
“I suppose it’s good that the gatekeepers are back,” he said.
“Wait, Michele—” But the door was swinging open.
Ginevra stepped back and whispered frantically to Giancarlo, still standing obediently at the donkey. “Hide, you! If something happens to us, find Monna Lucia, the fine palazzo on the Piazza di Santa Trinita. Do NOT remove your blindfold, you must find your way somehow.” Ginevra pressed something into his hand, then shoved him against the city wall so he was hidden to those who stood in the gate. The door was opened and there stood the bishop himself, flanked by guards with fine clothing and too many knives.
“Michele?” he said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Since you would not help Monna Ginevra, I went myself—”
“Fool. You have inserted yourself into a dangerous plot.”
“What do you mean? Why are you here at the gate with your guards?”
“Arrest both of them,” said the bishop to the mercenaries.
“Arrest ME? You have gotten it backward. It is I who arrest you , for committing the worst of heresies. Guards, do it! Tie him up!”
But the guards were loyal only to the man who paid them, and were upon the travelers in an instant. The bishop made his way to the donkey, and palpated the bundle that was tied to its back. He smiled and patted it. Then took the donkey’s bridle in his own hands.
“Do not lay your hands on that sack!” said Michele.
“Guards, gag their mouths quickly, or they may say evil spells at you.”
“No, no, this is wrong!” cried Ginevra as she bobbed her head this way and that to avoid the gag. “Bishop, we have done as you asked, I am no heretic—”
“Then what is that pagan thing you wear around your neck?”
Ginevra looked down and realized that she had never tucked her figa back inside her garments.
The bishop nodded to the nearest guard, who came behind Ginevra and held her arms behind her back, thrusting himself into her and leering as another guard cut the coral from her neck. So numb with fright was she that the protestations she meant to shriek came out only as a whisper and they hardly needed to gag her. “Oh, please, oh, please, I have worn it since I was a child! It’s a harmless thing! You do not know what will happen to me without it.”
Fra Michele sputtered in protest through his gag until somebody smacked him.
“There, now off to the stinche . The jailkeeper lives yet. I’ll mind the donkey myself. I need to make sure there is nothing corrupt in their luggage.”
The guards shrugged, annoyed. They had hoped to keep the donkey for themselves.
The bishop scrutinized the surrounds, but Giancarlo stayed still and silent, and soon the gate was shut upon him. Once he was alone, Giancarlo peeked into his hand to find the heliodor. He was not worried the gate was closed. He’d been sneaking in and out of the city for months. He wished they’d have told him there would be trouble. He could have shown them any number of discreet entrances.