Page 45 of The Stone Witch of Florence
FORTY-FOUR
THE SLEEPING BISHOP
Night, July 12th of 1348, the Bishop’s Chamber
P iero’s master returned from his night away in a very good mood and with a brand-new donkey. After supper, as was usual, Piero lay down on his truckle pallet on the floor of the bishop’s chamber. As was not usual, in the dark hours of the early morning, he crept over to the grand platform bed and eased back the curtains, staring hard into the dark until the shape of a person could be discerned upon the silk sheets. The bishop lay on his back, his face stern in sleep. Piero started to be afraid, but then stopped. He’d been frightened so much already that he’d grown used to it. He leaned over his master and placed the gold-and-amber brooch on his left chest, just as Monna Lucia instructed. Immediately, the bishop’s eyes opened wide, their whites glinting in the faint light from the window.
Piero ducked down and covered his face with his hands. When there was no noise, he rose up and peeked through his fingers. The bishop stared out into the darkness, but his body did not move. The amber jewel glowed soft and golden, as if lit from behind.
“Bishop...are you awake?” he whispered.
“No...” answered the bishop, a soft slur in his voice.
“You’re sure?”
“I am sure. I am. Asleep.”
“Then—will you really tell me your true secrets, any that I ask of you?”
The bishop’s mouth trembled, and a tear rolled down from his unblinking eye.
“Oh! Why are you crying?”
“B-because I do not wish to tell you my secrets.”
Piero began to doubt his mission—this man had been kind, taken him in, and now he was using a spell to make him cry. “Just tell me one thing, then, and I won’t ask anything else—why did you put Ginevra in prison, after she came all this way to find our relics for us?”
Tears now streamed down his cheeks, but his voice was hard and angry. “It must be me who finds them... It is all arranged. Our Lady of Requisiti will reveal them to me...choose me in front of a crowd of believers.”
Piero forgot his promise to ask only one question. “The Lady of Requisiti? Do you mean the gilded statue that is sent through the streets when there is trouble?”
“Her, none other.”
“How do you know she’ll reveal them to you? Did she tell you in a dream?”
“No—” choked the bishop, fighting hard to stay silent.
“Then how do you know??”
Struggling against the power of the jewel, the bishop spat out quickly: “I hid them inside her, just this afternoon. I took them off Ginevra’s donkey and put them there.”
“But, everyone is worried about them! And Ginevra is in prison .”
“Of course they are worried. I made them worried. For months, I have seen to it that news of the relics’ disappearance has spread. Paid vagrants to shout the news from the ringhiera . It is the talk of the town, for those who still have tongues in their heads. Word has even reached the Pope! Think how pleased he will be with me when he learns I’ve recovered them. What relief to the citizens to know their relics are back safe; what adulation they will heap on me, their savior.”
“If you have them, why not put them back now?”
“No. No. Not yet. It must appear as a miracle with many witnesses—the relics will pop out of the statue, as the relic of San Marco showed itself to the Venetian bishop. Then I will have the support of the people... The Pope will make me a cardinal. His only Italian cardinal is dead, you know.”
Piero did not feel bad for making the bishop cry anymore. “You stole relics to be made a cardinal? Cardinals are supposed to be GOOD. You are already rich and powerful. Look at how fancy your sheets are! Why would you do this?”
The bishop ground his teeth, struggling to stay silent.
Piero gave him a little shove. “Why??”
“Because—the fortune of my family is depleted. We are ruined, our name is mud, our properties seized, unless I can restore it. The cardinalate brings wealth, allies, immunity. My creditors would be made to kiss my ring. It is the only way.”
“So you hired a thief to do your dirty work and steal our relics for you?”
“Hired? Ha. I didn’t even have to pay him. A broken man. He would not even look me in the eye. He followed a ridiculous book. Did whatever I told him...until he didn’t. Until he took them for himself. But it does not matter now. God, in his infinite justice, leans on the side of the Acciaiuoli. Your Ginevra has returned the relics to me—”
A rooster crowed, the bishop’s words ended in a terrible snore, and like lightning Piero jerked back the jewel and lay upon his own pallet.
The bishop sat up with a start, a tear-wet face, and a strange sense of urgency. He had intended to wait a bit to hold the “miraculous” procession, so it might by chance coincide with the plague’s natural end as the weather cooled. But something told him—if he was going to go through with his plan—it had better be as soon as possible.
He pushed his lazy servant Piero awake, and then gave him instructions and made arrangements for the trial of Ginevra di Genoa and the Inquisitor Michele di Lapo Arnolfi to happen in one day’s time.