Page 44 of The Stone Witch of Florence

FORTY-THREE

THE STINCHE

Evening, July 12th of 1348, City of Florence

L ucia stooped to pat the little cat who followed her pacing. Piero had not come to her with the bishop’s secrets, nor had Ginevra returned. She had spent one night alone and now another was approaching. She was afraid to leave her house lest she be discovered as not dead by the bishop. A gentle rapping at the door brought short-lived relief, but she opened it upon a blindfolded stranger.

“Who are you, then?”

“Dama Tornaparte? I am the relic thief, at your service. Monna Ginevra sent me.” He knelt and held up the heliodor.

Lucia slammed the door in his face. Then opened it a crack. He did have the heliodor. And he didn’t smell anymore.

“Where is she, then?”

The thief frowned. “Your bishop—”

It was all Lucia needed to hear. “Come inside. Quickly.”

Lucia sat rapt as Giancarlo told her all that had come to pass, of how Ginevra had taught him to bandage his evil eyes, how he had failed at his spell, and how the bishop of Florence had betrayed him and stolen the relics for his own self. Lastly, he told of his escape and how Ginevra and Fra Michele were now locked up together in the stinche .

A song floated on the evening air through the window, pausing their conversation.

King and miller, priest and nun

Last night they supped and drank their wine

Now bones are whitening in the sun

On dirt unturned, ’neath untamed vine

“I do not like that song,” said Giancarlo.

“Becchino!” cried Lucia, who leaped up and waved her arms from the window.

The gravedigger stopped his cart. “It’s Dama Dionysia! Pleased to see you alive and well—I thought you’d have drowned in a wine barrel by now.”

“Aha—yes, that was an interesting party. Listen, does your work take you to the stinche ?”

“Sure, I go in every day or so to get the dead ones.”

“Can you carry messages as you carry the dead? To somebody held within the walls?”

“That depends—”

“I will pay for your discretion.”

“In that case, I am the trusted squire of your secrets. They’re expecting me tomorrow morning. What lucky debtor is getting a love letter?”

“Don’t be rude!” said Giancarlo from inside the house.

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s his way.” Lucia turned back to Becchino. “It’s my friend with the scar on her nose.”

“Interesting pair, you two. Sneaking around church altars and getting all drunk as monks. It’s no wonder she’s in the stinche . Only surprise is you’re not there with her!”

“Yes, well, my freedom depends on your discretion. You will come here first thing in the morning?”

“As it pleases you and, Dama, you might want to pack some food and drink for her as well. Those who sell food to the prisoners in regular times are all dead. There is but one guard and he doesn’t get around to cooking every day. A pie, if you can make one, is a good place to hide a message.”

On the splintery wooden floor of the stinche , Ginevra curled up and waited to die. It would come for her now, and it would be unpleasant. Without her coral, she was no more protected from plague than anyone else. From the smell and the dark stains on her straw pallet, she guessed the current plague was but one among many that contaminated the cell.

Giving her only dose of medicine to an inquisitor would be the last bad decision she made in a life full of nothing but. Why had she involved herself in this ridiculous scenario? To try and join a guild ? She was a fool with a far-fetched plan and an impossible goal; she saw that clearly now. As if the truth of it was written on the moldy stones of her jail cell.

Already she felt unwell. Her stomach cramped, her head ached. But perhaps it was only despair she felt, not pestilence. Ah, well, if plague did not find her, she would be convicted as—what had the woman on the docks in Genoa been called, so long ago?—a witch and unrepentant heretic , and burned up. The malocchio had been lurking in the shadows since she was a child, and now it was close, and ready to pounce. She closed her eyes and remembered Vermilia asking her so long ago, What do you know? But her mind was blank. Her world was silent. The Nemesis stone did not tug at her hand. No golden strings played their notes of truth. Her luck, such as it was, had run out.

Fra Michele was allowed, on account of his status, to roam the whole giant cube of the prison building, and stood in front of the locked door of Ginevra’s cell, speaking to her through the bars. “Ginevra, Ginevra, forgive me, I’ve brought this whole mess upon you.”

She answered from her place on the floor. “It’s alright, Michele. Death comes for us all.” She held no ill will for him. She was too tired.

“Don’t die yet,” he tried to joke. “We still have work to do.”

She rolled over and remained stoic with her back to him.

Michele continued to speak, anyway. “I never liked the bishop but I didn’t think he was evil . Disagreement in politics is a healthy thing, for the commune. I know times are strange but to collude with a thief...and what will he do with our relics now that he has them?”

He muttered like this all night outside Ginevra’s door, talking about how he would write a letter to the Pope and all would be settled, even though he knew it would take weeks to get there, and that the Pope had sided with the bishop in the expulsion of the last inquisitor. After hours of monologizing, he grew tired of Ginevra’s silence, but when he drew breath to admonish her properly he saw that she was not being obstinate but was overtaken by great black swellings rising at her throat.

The jailer gave Fra Michele access to her cell, so he could perform last rites. He who had been too afraid to serve his constituents now rested Ginevra’s head on his lap as her breathing became more labored, and helped her as the spasms of vomiting came and went. This is how Becchino found them in the morning.

“Ah—Ser Inquisitor, bad luck, eh? One day, you’re sending sinners to the stinche , the next day you yourself are a sinner in the stinche —”

“What do you want ?”

“I’ve come for the lady Ginevra.”

“She’s not dead yet. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“In that case, she might like this? Sent from her friend, the Dama Tornaparte.”

Fra Michele placed Ginevra’s head gently down upon the filthy pallet. He went to the bars, and was passed a lumpy pie, the burnt head of an eel poking through the crust, and a bottle of wine.

“I don’t think she can eat much.”

“Well, if I was you, I’d still open that pie immediately , best fresh, you know.”

“I don’t need a gravedigger telling me about pies,” he said, uncorking the wine with his teeth and taking a big swig.

“What I’m trying to say, dense sir, is there might be more than eels in this pie.”

“OH. Oh. I see. I see. I will eat it right away, then. Carefully.”

“Now you’ve got it. Enjoy. I’ll be back the day after next to collect the lady.”

The jailkeeper walked by on his rounds, and Becchino hurried away.

Fra Michele knelt back by Ginevra and inexpertly poured wine down her throat, which made her choke and sputter but raised her from her stupor a little bit. “Look!” he said, breaking the pie apart once the jailkeeper was out of earshot. “You have a message from a Signora Tornaparte—do you know her? She says that Giancarlo is with her.”

Ginevra smiled weakly at the news. It hurt too much to talk.

The inquisitor read the letter in hushed tones, one eye out for the jailer. It detailed how Piero was to spy on the bishop. Ginevra stirred at Piero’s name—he had not left her! He had been trying to find her! Fra Michele took a huge bite of the pie. He yelped in pain and spat out a mouthful of eel bits, a broken tooth, and two little green stones speckled in red. He held them out in wonder.

“What sort of eel part is this?”

Ginevra’s eyes opened: How could she have forgotten? It was a plain truth that fish dearly love to eat magic jewels. Lucia’s eels must have swallowed the bloodstones when the medicine jar exploded over their well! She forced herself up on the rough boards, took the stones from Fra Michele, and pressed them against her throat until the golden strings hummed and the air filled with vibrations. But her hands were too weak and she kept dropping them. Fra Michele put them back and held his own hands flat against hers, all the way through the spasms and twitching that followed. This way the bloodstones stayed in place until their magic forced the sickness out and she puked up a great black glob and fell asleep. He whispered into her unconscious ears that if this was not the magic of God, then nothing was, and swore he would do everything in his power to see that she was admitted to the Guild of Doctors, Apothecaries, and Grocers.