Page 48 of The Stone Witch of Florence

FORTY-SEVEN

A CHANCE TO BE KIND

Late in August, 1348, City of Florence

A close sun baked dusty streets, and thin lines of shadow outlined open doors and empty fountain heads. On their beds, upon their floors, and in the dirt of their gardens, the bodies of dead Florentines had begun to dry out into hollow husks. The city was silent, as if respecting the dead on their arduous journey from soft flesh to hard bone. Except for one place; behind stone walls and locked doors, the convent of Sant’Elisabetta hummed with activity. Here the still living gathered together. Visitors shuffled slowly through the halls, quiet and purposeful. They stopped first in the chapel, where they whispered prayers to sacred bread enclosed in a new crystal orb. They were there because it was said that here, at last, the plague’s secrets were discovered and could be unraveled. The methods were unorthodox, but effective. So, that August of 1348, Sant’Elisabetta became again a bit of an open secret in Florence and the surrounds: the sort of place everybody knew about but nobody talked about.

In what had been the women’s ward, there was Taddea, spooning porridge into the mouths of peasant, priest, and lord. In the kitchen was the noblewoman Monna Lucia Tornaparte, sweating over eel pies that were only slightly burnt. And in the courtyard where gossiping nuns once spun golden threads, Ginevra di Genoa made a soup from secret stones and ladled a noxious broth, tasting of honey and smelling of ammonia, into any bowl that was proffered.

Running about, tripping over cats and people with his hands full of clean sheets or dirty bandages, was the still-blindfolded Giancarlo di Sporco, merchant of luxury ceramics, would-be necromancer, doomed lover of his people. Though Ginevra had made him poke many needles into many bowls of olive oil, made every traveler who came to the convent tell him every joke they knew, the Eye still clung stubbornly to him. If he so much as peeked out of his blindfold, all the cats in the place yowled like demons until he put it back on. But still, his blindness did not trouble him. He was elated, at last, to be bringing true help instead of harm. Lucia sewed him a new mask that had no danger of slipping. She made it so it fit the contours of his face and laced securely up the back of his head. It was embroidered with special prayers to San Tommaso, to make doubly sure the malocchio would find no way to escape. San Tommaso, pleased with the many candles Lucia eventually delivered to his shrine, was only too happy to guard the jettatore ’s blindfold. A helper to all was the boy Piero, who had taken his leave of the bishop’s household immediately following the Miracle of the Virgin of Requisiti, as the incident came to be known.

Those recovering in the beds and waiting in line told stories about the bishop—how he had found himself relieved of all personal properties by his creditors, that he had been chastised by the Pope himself for shouting in front of a crowd that genuine relics were only replicas. Some said you could see him now, wandering behind the windows of his palazzo (church property), with a bandaged face, eagerly awaiting his next salary installment (which, of course, was delayed). It was advised that if you attended a mass or a procession led by him, you’d better keep a hand pointed into horns behind your back. Mothers whispered to each other that if the bishop baptized your child, you had better take the baby straightaway to a healer who knew about needles and olive oil because it was understood that the bishop of Florence was badly cursed by the malocchio .

Ginevra stepped away from this gossip, outside of the efficient little cloister, for the first time in many weeks to walk over an empty bridge and through empty streets and meet with the Inquisitor Michele di Lapo Arnolfi at the steps of the half-built cathedral. He had asked her to come, to say goodbye. He was on his way to Avignon, summoned by the Pope. It was rumored he was to be made cardinal, as the Virgin of Requisiti clearly favored him.

He took both her hands in his. “Monna Ginevra, our sacred bones are back in their homes. A miracle, witnessed by many, occurred. You will be known as a most holy woman.”

Ginevra looked down at the ground. She hadn’t the heart to tell the inquisitor it was no miracle, but the battle between the figa and the malocchio that had started the fires. “It will be a refreshing change to be thought of as holy,” she said at last. “Though after all I have seen of your bishop, I do not think I need the church to tell me what is holy and what is not.”

The inquisitor sighed. “Here, we are in agreement. I have seen that God works great things through you, your little stones and strange ways. Without you, we never would have had our relics back. But besides that—I shall—I shall miss you dearly.”

“Will you?” asked Ginevra, suppressing a smile. “Well, I suppose I shall miss you, too.”

“That is pleasant to hear... I don’t think anybody has ever missed me before. Ginevra, here—the letter that expunges your prior charges and rescinds your banishment. And here is my letter of recommendation and promise of finances for the Guild of Doctors, Apothecaries, and Grocers. It includes my own eyewitness account of how you expelled the pestilence from yourself in prison, applying the powers of stones in such a way that no guild physician ever has.”

“Thank you, Michele,” said Ginevra, with a half-hearted smile.

“What’s this? Is that all the emotion you can muster? Is this not the very reward you asked for?”

“Michele—when we first met, you told me that your recommendation would not matter—the guild would never let me in, anyhow. I didn’t believe you, but now I see—even with your protection and blessing, again I was hauled before a violent crowd. I thank you for completing the terms of our agreement but I fear even so I must keep my work in the shadows.”

Fra Michele put his hand on her shoulder.

“Have faith, woman. I give you this letter now not as my final act, but so you have proof of my intentions: I will share all you have accomplished with His Holiness, and secure his blessing for your request. It is but a small favor you require, in return for great service.”

Ginevra was stunned. An inquisitor was making her case before the Pope . It was the ultimate endorsement, guaranteed to secure her admission to the guild. She had done it, really done it. And she didn’t even have to marry a rich man. She smiled fully now, and Michele returned her joyful gaze.

“And there is one last thing, dear Ginevra: I have not forgotten what I told you in the meadows.” He went up the front steps of Santa Reparata. “Hear me, Citizens,” he shouted so loudly that pigeons flew out from under the dilapidated scaffolds. “I, Michele di Lapo Arnolfi, Inquisitor of His Holiness Pope Clement VI, declare that Ginevra di Genoa is a righteous woman of God.”

Though there was no one to hear it besides the dead mason on the scaffold, now all but a skeleton, Ginevra was grateful.

“May we meet again, God willing,” he said, coming off the steps. “And until then, may the for-hire messenger donkeys clop with purpose, straight and true, with letters between you and me.” With these words, the inquisitor took his leave, and began the long journey north to Avignon. He did not bring his pomander.

Ginevra looked around at the piazza, just as desolate as when she had first arrived. The plague still raged, outside their convent. Perhaps it would forever. She could not cure the whole world. But in the midst of this overwhelming blackness, she was just glad for the chance to be kind inside the walls of her own dear city.