Kitabı oku: «The Shadow Of The Bell Tower», sayfa 2
As she followed the course of her thoughts, a blade of light generated by a setting sun managed to filter through a small mullioned window at the top, at the apse of the cathedral above, illuminating the area where the heads of the Roman statues were piled up. Lucia’s attention was focused on some details that she had not been able to notice before, there near those heads carved in stone so many centuries earlier. A kind of pentacle had been drawn on the beaten earth floor, different from the one she used to see drawn on the cover of the family diary given to her by her grandmother some time before. The design seemed asymmetrical, representing a seven-pointed star carved out by drawing a continuous line within a circle. Each point of the star intersected a point on the circumference, at each of which there were Hebrew inscriptions, whose meaning Lucia did not know. At each of the seven points, the trace of wax cast, left by a candle that had been lit there, was visible. In the centre of the figure were two rag dolls, made of straw around which miniature clothes had been wrapped. They represented an old woman and a girl: the old woman’s clothes were burnt, while the young woman had a brooch fixed to her chest. Lucia gasped, her heart started beating wildly, and in a flash she understood everything. Some black magic rituals had been performed there, and the dolls represented her and her grandmother. It was clear that someone wanted to see them suffer, if not even die. Who? Who could it have been? Only one person could have gone down there. The church above was now closed, forbidden to the faithful for more than a year, so the crypt could not be reached from the cathedral. The passage you had walked through was closed by a constantly barred door, and only her uncle, the Cardinal, the Chief Inquisitor Artemio Baldeschi, had the key. Certainly, it had been too long since there had been no executions in Jesi, the last fire had been lit six years earlier, the one in which Lodomilla had lost her life. Now the Cardinal had to quench his thirst, his desire for victims, his desire to witness suffering and death directly before his eyes, under his gaze. Yes, because unlike the majority of the inquisitors who, once the sentence had been pronounced, handed the victim over to the secular arm of the Law, avoiding witnessing the torment of those they had condemned, Artemio used to attend the execution, in the front row, sometimes holding the torch and setting fire to the stack. He seemed to have a sadistic taste in seeing his victim writhing in the flames, he kept staring at her with his eyes until the end, and for a precise reason: to capture the soul of the condemned man the very moment he left his mortal body.
Emaciated by these reflections, frightened by what she had seen, Lucia grabbed the lantern and rushed up the stairs, her mind occupied by a single fear. Would she find the door open again? What if Uncle had remembered not to lock it and returned to close it? Or what if he did it on purpose, to induce her to go down there and bury her alive? No, it wouldn’t have been enough for Artemio, he had to see his victim’s suffering in the face, it wouldn’t have been like him to let her die there. He just wanted to scare her, and he succeeded. The little wooden door was open, Lucia went out into the hall, rested the lantern where he had taken it, she didn’t even look at Morocco and rushed into the open air, into the Square, still with the heart in her throat.
It was almost the sunset of a warm day at the end of May and the reddish light of the sun gave spectacular colours to the beautiful square where, more than three centuries earlier, Emperor Frederick II of Swabia was born. She said to herself that she should research the meaning of the symbols found in the crypt in the family diary, in the precious manuscript that her grandmother had given her. But now she had to calm down, and decided to take a walk around the city. She crossed the square, reaching the opposite side, turned left and went down to the Longobards’ Coast, to reach the lower part of the town, where merchants and craftsmen lived. The palaces were less sumptuous than those in the upper part of the city, but they were nevertheless enriched with decorative elements, with finished portals and frames around the windows. The facades were almost all embellished with plaster, painted in pastel colours, such as light blue, yellow, ochre, soft orange; it was difficult to leave bricks face to face, as it was for the stately palaces up in the centre. As a reminder that those residences had been built thanks to the money earned by those who lived there, often on the lintels of the portals or windows of the first floor there were inscriptions such as “De sua pecunia” or “Suum lucro condita - Ingenio non sorte”. At the end of the Longobards’ Coast, turning right, you could quickly reach the church dedicated to the apostle Peter, built by the Longobard community living in Jesi in the second half of the tenth third century. “Principles Apostolorum – MCCLXXXXIIII”, could be read above the portal; those who had engraved the date no longer had much memory of how the numbers were written in Latin, or perhaps they had never known it being an architect of Byzantine origin, already used to dealing with Arabic numerals, much easier to memorize. Opposite the church, the Franciolini’s Palace, just completed, was the residence of the People’s Capitan, Guglielmo dei Franciolini. He too had made his fortune as a merchant since, after the discovery of the New World, new commercial channels were opened and many new merchandise had also arrived in Jesi. Those who had been able to take advantage, had succeeded in a short time to accumulate considerable wealth. Lucia dwelt on the rich portal of the palace, limited by two columns and some square sandstone tiles, decorated with depictions of gods and symbols of Roman times. In all probability, while excavating the foundations of the house, decorative elements of a house of some Roman patrician had been found, and these had been reused to embellish the portal. Lucia recognized the God Pan, Bacchus, the Goddess Diana, and then some three-pointed lilies, and... a six-pointed star formed by two crossed triangles - strange, wasn’t it the symbol of the Jews? - and again a five-pointed star, a pentacle, and... a seven-pointed design inscribed in a circle, similar in every way to what he had seen just before in the crypt. These last drawings could not date back to Roman times, and in fact, looking carefully at the tiles on which they were made, one could see that these were of different features, more recent than the others, perhaps made for the purpose of decorating the portal. But what was the meaning of all this? In that little square the sacred coexisted with the profane: on the one hand the church dedicated to the principal of the apostles, to Peter, the first Pope in the history of Christianity, on the other hand pagan figures and symbols that could accuse the landlord of being a heretic. And yet the uncle Cardinal was on good terms with Franciolini, he had even proposed his son to her as her future husband! The more she looked at those symbols, the more Lucia thought that the place had something magical. Perhaps that palace had been built over the ruins of a pagan temple, and had kept its peculiarities. She tried to focus, to open her third eye to the vision, she invoked her spirit, to make it hover high and peer at elements that she would not otherwise have seen. Already in his cup-shaped hands, the semi-fluid ball of colours was materializing, when the door of the palace suddenly opened wide, showing in the half-light a young man wearing light battle armour, riding a powerful steed in turn harnessed on his head to protect him from any blows that might be inflicted by swords and spears.
The knight held with his right hand the banner of the Republic of Jesi, representing the rampant lion adorned with the royal crown. As soon as the door was completely open, he spurred the horse outside, almost overwhelming Lucia who was there in front. The girl, frightened, became distracted, and the sphere immediately disappeared. The horse, in front of the unexpected obstacle, soaring, kicking in the air with its front paws. Lucia felt a hoof at a very short distance from her face, but she did not panic and stuck her gaze into the sea-blue eyes of the rider, whose helmet visor was raised. For a moment he lost herself in those eyes, the horse calmed down and the knight looked back at the damsel, staring in turn at the girl’s hazel eyes. There was a moment of calm, of total silence, the crossing of the two glances seemed to have stopped time.
Who was that handsome knight, ready for a hypothetical battle to defend his city? Was it Andrea? If it had been, she should have been grateful to her evil uncle! But maybe Franciolini had other children. She didn’t have time to open her mouth, because after a few moments, the bells of St. Peter’s church began to ring, and gradually they were joined by those of St. Bernard’s church, then those of St. Benedict, and finally those of St. Florian. Throwing a last glance at Lucia, the knight spurred the horse again, reaching the nearby Piazza del Palio4 , the huge open space inside the walls, dominated by the Torre di Mezzogiorno5 . In short, other knights in arms squeezed around the one holding the banner, then came people on foot, armed with crossbows, daggers and any other weapon that could be used against the enemy.
«The Anconetans are attacking us!» cried the noble Franciolini. «Our lookouts sighted them from the Torrione del Montirozzo6 . Today, May 30, 1517, we prepare to defend the walls of our city.»
All the city gates were closed, the majority of the men on foot set out on the guard’s walkways, while the knights gathered in the square inside Porta Valle7 , ready to sortie against the enemy. But for that night, the Ancona army, led by Duke Berengario di Montacuto, did not approach to Jesi, but remained camped further downstream, a few leagues from the town of Monsano, half-hidden in the riparian bush near the Esino River.
For a few days the alert remained. At dusk, the Scolte8 reached the terraces, to strengthen the guard usually given to some lookouts, and from the walls resounded the call of a song that the population had not heard for several years:
«The trumpet sounded, and the day was over,
already by curfew the song went up!
Up, up, to the armed guard towers, there,
Be careful, quietly watch out!»
The People’s Captain had imposed a curfew on the citizens. At 9:00 p.m., those who did not go up to the stands of the walls had to strictly retire into their homes. But the guard was bound to drop early. For the evening of June 3, a party was planned at Palazzo Baldeschi, where the engagement of the Cardinal’s niece, Lucia, with the cadet of the Franciolini’s house would be announced. In those days, every time Lucia crossed her uncle’s eyes, even if she was unable to read his thoughts, she saw only one word drawn on her face: “betrayal”. But she could not understand what interpretation to give to that word, at the same time so simple and so complex.
Chapter 2
Guglielmo dei Franciolini, People’s Capitan of Jesi, was a wise administrator, and he knew well that it was not the case to authorize a sumptuous party just in the days when the enemy was at the gates of the city. But he could not go against the Cardinal, reviving once again the disagreements between civil and ecclesial authorities. Just a few years earlier, the Government Palace had been completed and inaugurated with the blessing of Pope Alexander VI himself, who had granted the citizens of Jesi to continue to adorn the lion with the royal crown, provided that ecclesiastical authority was observed in the city and the countryside. So much so that on the facade of the palace one could read, above the symbol of the city, the inscription “Res Publica Aesina - Libertas ecclesiastica – MD”. And so the infamous Pope Rodrigo Borgia had granted a certain freedom to the Republic of Jesi, provided that it was nevertheless subjected to the power of the Church. With this agreement, the Jesi’s people were also spared the horrors perpetrated in the rest of the Marches by the Pope’s son, Cesare Borgia, who had proposed to become absolute lord of Romagna, Umbria and the Marches with ferocity and betrayal. It was past history, almost twenty years earlier, but in any case Guglielmo had to respect the pacts. Moreover, it was the engagement of his son Andrea with the Cardinal’s niece that further sealed the agreement between the Guelphs9 and Ghibellines of his city. After all, the enemy had been camped a few days ago on the banks of the river, much further downriver, and did not mention moving. On those curfew nights, the lookouts and the Scolte had not noticed any movement; the camp’s bivouac fires were clearly visible, almost kept burning all night long by the people of Ancona. The fear, not unfounded, of Guglielmo and his son Andrea, was that all this was a trick. Perhaps the enemies were waiting for reinforcements to attack, or perhaps they drew the attention of the Jesi’s inhabitants on that small camp, while the bulk of the army would appear elsewhere. The afternoon of Thursday, June 3 had been particularly hot. While Guglielmo was preparing for the ceremony, helped by some servants to wear elegant and colourful brocade dresses, which helped to increase his sweat production, he finished giving orders to the commanders of his guards.
«From vespers onward all the gates of the city must be closed. Also set up chains in the main streets, so that if the enemy breaks in, his progress will be hindered.»
The lieutenant interrupted him.
«The cardinal has made opposing arrangements, my lord. He wants all the gates of the city to be left open, so that the nobles living in the countryside have easy access to his palace and party. We cannot contradict him.»
«Strengthen the guard on the walls!» cried the Captain, tapping a fist on the table to underline his order.
«Even here, I have my doubts as to whether I can do that. The Cardinal, for security purposes, wants most of the armed guards deployed around his palace.»
«The Cardinal, the Cardinal!» Guglielmo was going mad with rage and heat. «So we risk handing the city over to the enemy! So be it, but we will close all the gates of the city at dusk. We’ll leave only Porta St. Florian open, from where the noble laggards can easily reach Palazzo Baldeschi. We’ve never suffered assaults from the western part of the city. The enemy always assaults from the valley, coming from the Esino plain. It would be difficult for an army to come from the hills. Moreover, the western walls are very high and immediately inside Porta St. Florian we have a small fort with a bombard, to further defence. Prepare my steed, and call my son. It’s time to go: we’ll parade with the barded horses through the streets of the centre before we reach the Cardinal’s Palace.»
Roasts of the most varied variety of game, soups, salads and pastas, already in the late afternoon had been arranged on the large table where the guests would take their seats. The Cardinal held Lucia by the hand, while the servants sprayed the roasts, especially the cranes, peacocks and swans, with orange juice and rosewater, in order to make them more appetizing. The beef fillets, once boiled, were completely sprinkled with spices and sugar. Particular attention was paid to the side dishes, vegetables of all types and colours, which more than to be eaten, were used to cheer the eyes of diners and stimulate the appetite. In the soup tureens they showed off soups of various colours. The soups, which were usually served as desserts, had a sweet taste and were seasoned with sugar, saffron, pomegranate seeds and aromatic herbs. The real broth, prepared by boiling a mixture of meat, vegetables and spices in water, was used as a first course, especially in the countryside and in the castles of the peasant nobility. The broth was drunk while the meat, removed from the broth, was eaten separately and served with aromatic herbs. The Cardinal had ordered the cooks not to serve it, while he had instead cooked a novelty, originally from the court of Charles VIII, macaroni, obtained from wheat semolina shaped into vermicelli and seasoned in sauces made with olive oil, butter and cream. The desserts, apple and sponge cake, and fruit, apples, quinces, chestnuts, nuts and berries were placed on two separate tables. The wines in the jugs were those typical of the county, Verdicchio and Malvasìa. Only two jugs contained a red wine, a precious gift given to the Cardinal by the Grand Duke of Portonovo a few years before. On the dessert table, instead, the wine was that of sour cherry, from the countryside of Morro d’Alba.
«The guests will begin to arrive in a moment», said the Cardinal, addressing Lucia, finally freeing her from the grip of his icy hand. The young woman had never been able to understand why her uncle’s hands were always so cold, almost as if blood did not flow under his skin. Not even prolonged contact with her much warmer hand had been able to increase the temperature of Artemio’s. «Let’s go get ready.»
So saying, he retired to his rooms to get dressed in pomp and circumstance, while two young servants approached his niece. They would take her to the toilet, to devote themselves to her, first giving her a perfumed bath, then dressing her, and finally making her wear a sumptuous green silk gown. While she let herself be cared for, Lucia thought back to Andrea Franciolini’s eyes. And already! In those days she had inquired, and the handsome horseman whose eyes she had met only for a moment was her betrothed. And she had fallen in love with his eyes, his face, his poise, it was as if there had always been an alchemical affinity with him. She already felt him part of herself, part of her own soul, her whole body vibrated with the thought that soon she could talk to him, get to know him better, stare into his eyes, that they would certainly hide nothing from her. She looked out the window of the room, but felt a strange sensation: the sky of that long day that was turning into sunset was leaden. A hood of sultriness, of humidity, was gripping the city, instilling in her heart the feeling that something bad was going to happen in the short term, and that this something would also affect her in the long term. But what? She couldn’t understand it, even with her powers of vision. Her uncle’s mind, as usual, had also been hermetically sealed that day, but when she looked into his eyes only one word kept ringing in her head: “Betrayal”. Why? She wanted to make her sphere materialize, to throw it high into the sky so that she could see for her, but she couldn’t do that right now, in front of witnesses. While the tall blonde servant girl finished lacing her dress behind her back, the one with the smallest build and darkest hair made her wear the jewels, necklaces and bracelets of gold and precious stones, of exquisite workmanship, made by the Cardinal especially for her by goldsmiths of the school of Lucagnolo. At that moment, Lucia felt a lack, she felt a twinge in her heart as if someone was piercing it with a dagger, or with a sword. She collapsed in her chair and lost consciousness for a few moments.
«My lady, my lady, how do you feel?» The black maid’s voice came muffled to her ears.
«It’s nothing, it’s just the heat, this cursed heat, and the emotion. I feel better now.»
Lucia hadn’t associated her feeling with what would happen soon afterwards to her beloved Andrea.
Executor of the barbaric aggression of that day was the soldier of Francesco Maria Della Rovere, Duke of Montefeltro and already banner holder of the Church. Since the new Pope, Leo X, had stripped him of his state, he had hired Spanish and Gascon soldiers as mercenaries and, after having plundered many castles devoted to the Pope, he headed towards Jesi, in order to conquer this papal stronghold, with the help of the Ancona’s people led by the Duke of Montacuto and thanks to the secret support of the highest ecclesiastical office of the city, Cardinal Baldeschi. As promised by the Cardinal, the soldier coming from the hills west of Jesi, found Porta St. Florian open, had easy reason of the guards of the Fortino, attacked by surprise, and was soon in Piazza del Mercato, just when the procession of the nobleman Franciolini, coming from Via delle Botteghe, arrived in the same square.
Franciolini and his men were not ready for battle, they were not wearing armour, they were going to a party and only had light weapons with them.
«Betrayal!» said Guglielmo, getting off his horse and facing a Spaniard armed with a short dagger. «Chain the streets, don’t let them go down into the valley, or they’ll open the gates to the army of Ancona, and we’ll be caught between two clamps.»
Only with the strength of his arms and his short dagger, he had already landed two Spaniards, leaving them in a pool of blood. Guglielmo was a skilful fighter, and he was quick to catch the enemy. As soon as he saw his opponent hesitant, he would stick the knife in his heart, then pull it out, clean the blade on his clothes and start fighting again. The enemy vanguards didn’t wear armour and it was easy to be right with them. But the enemies came out of Via del Fortino by the dozens, by the hundreds, like a flooded river whose banks could not hold back the water. A Spanish crossbowman took aim and pointed his weapon at Andrea, who was still proud on his horse. The young man had found himself in the middle of the battle at other times and had not given importance to the fact that at the moment he was not wearing armour, but a colourful brocade suit. He had his steed soaring to the fray when he was hit in the right thigh. Other arrows reached both horse and rider. Andrea fell to the ground, with at least four darts piercing him. His horse, hit in the chest, ruined his heavy body on top of him. He tried, without succeeding, to slip away from the mass of the heavy animal, but the forces were abandoning him. Guglielmo, aware of his son who had landed, turned towards him, distracting himself from the fight and turning his back dangerously on the enemy to come to his aid. He saw Andrea’s eyelids drooping, called out to him, but had no answer. He realized that his cadet was now unconscious, perhaps dying. Just at that moment a long blade pierced him, penetrating from behind his back, making its way between his ribs, cutting through his heart and coming out of his chest, accompanied by a powerful stream of blood. Guglielmo barred the eyes that, at the moment of the passage, were still staring at the brave and agonizing son.
Easily right of that small handful of men, Spaniards and Gascon spread through the streets of the city. Some went up Via delle Botteghe up to the Porta della Rocca, surprising the soldiers on guard, killing them and opening the door. Others went down to the valley to open Porta Valle and Porta Cicerchia and thus facilitate the entrance into the city of the Ancona army, which had been waiting for days for nothing more than that moment. Although taken by surprise, the inhabitants tried to organize a defence inside the town, spurred on by some nobles, in particular by Fiorano Santoni, who immediately gathered a squadron of people who, chained the streets as arranged by the People’s Capitan, prepared to fight the enemy in the streets, alleys and squares. But the latter, strengthened by the contribution of the Ancona’s people, was too numerous and the Jesi’s inhabitants, humbled by the cries and tears of women and children, abandoned the defence.
Above all, the mercenaries in the pay of Francesco Maria Della Rovere were thirsty for pillage and the inhabitants, considering that they had not been able to save their homeland, tried at least to save their property, but even in this they had no success: the rich gentlemen were taken prisoners and their women, who had tried to escape, with their jewels, in the churches, saw themselves reached by the Spaniards even inside the sacred places, where they did not disdain to strip them of what was precious on them and rape them. At a certain point, a woman, Eleonora Carotti, with a haughty and male bearing, managed to slap a Gascon who was placing his hands in her breast to take away the jewels he had hidden there and at the same time take advantage to grope her. She found herself between him and another group of Spanish soldiers. If the slapped Gascon had been astonished, without reacting, the others had not lost heart, they landed the damsel, stripped her of her clothes and, making sure she was a woman to all intents and purposes, had raped her one after the other, holding a knife to her throat. The last soldier, having reached his unhealthy pleasure, sank the knife, cutting her throat mercilessly.
The sacking of Jesi lasted eight days, many palaces were set on fire, some with the inhabitants inside, bound so that they would burn alive inside their homes, guilty that the looters hadn’t found enough money or valuables to take away.
There was no respect even for sacred things, nor for religious people, and many priests were tortured and tortured to confess where they had hidden the church ornaments. The plundering spread to the whole countryside and no place, city or country, was spared.
Baldeschi Palace, which had been barred the whole time, on the eighth day opened its doors to Grand Duke Francesco Maria della Rovere and Duke Berengario of Montacuto, who were welcomed in conversation by the Cardinal. The latter had in fact arrogated to himself the right to negotiate the surrender with his adversaries, being no longer present in the city a higher civil or ecclesial authority than he was.
After the servants had offered wine of cherries and sweets made with sultanas, at the Cardinal’s nod, they withdrew and closed the three men alone in the study.
«You have gone too far. The agreements were that you would find no obstacles and you would have to kill Franciolini and his son, taking over the city. An easy conquest, instead for days and days you sowed terror, destruction and death», thundered the Cardinal addressed to the two Dukes.
«No self-respecting army, especially if made up of mercenaries, renounces the spoils of war», replied Della Rovere in a calm tone, almost bored, concentrating his gaze on the nail of the little finger of his right hand, perhaps regretting the fact that during the fighting this had broken. «We kept our word. Now you keep yours, and we will retire in good order, leaving you the undisputed Lord of this city.»
«So be it!», continued the Baldeschi, swallowing the toad, and still satisfied in his heart of how the operation had gone. If several of our fellow citizens had left us, worse for them, it was no big deal. «As promised, I will intercede with the Holy Father so that you, Grand Duke Della Rovere, may have your lands and title returned. You may retire to Urbino and be respected forever by your subjects. As for Ancona, dear Duke, within a month I shall have ten thousand gold florins poured into the coffers of your city, which will serve to enlarge and fortify the port, but the merchants of the city of Jesi must be guaranteed a commercial port of call. And now, withdraw your armies.»
Francesco Maria Della Rovere finally gave the order to his troops to leave the city. The invaders left with a caravan of a thousand beasts loaded with all God’s goods, as well as a large lot of money, valuables and artillery pieces. For his part, the Montacuto, not fully trusting the word of the Cardinal, withdrew the bulk of the army, but left a garrison in Jesi, which would leave only after the defeated city had paid what was agreed.
In those days, Artemio Baldeschi had been too focused on the course of events, to look after what his sister and niece were doing, and he had not even noticed that the girl had disappeared since that famous Thursday evening. The two maids, the blonde and the brunette, Mira and Pinuccia, who were waiting for the Cardinal’s sure rant the moment he finally noticed her, were well aware of her absence. The two maids knew very well that, from that evening, Lucia was locked up in the Franciolini’s house, intent on curing Andrea, who had been seriously wounded in the clash with the enemy, and they knew very well that if the girl’s uncle found out, he would be even more furious.
On the evening of the party, Lucia, having finished dressing, had gone out onto the balcony of the palace overlooking the square below to watch the procession of the nobleman Franciolini arriving on the opposite side, from Via delle Botteghe. It was dusk and it seemed that everything was going well, that everything was quiet, and the bad feeling she had felt just before had already vanished. But suddenly, from Via del Fortino, more and more armed men had begun to appear, more and more numerous, who had immediately engaged in battle with the men in the procession following the People’s Capitan. He had seen his beloved Andrea struck by arrows, and had seen Guglielmo shot dead from behind. That coward with a huge sword had taken advantage of his moment of distraction, for having seen his wounded son, to hit him from behind. Lucia could not watch helplessly that horror, she had to run to Andrea’s aid, who beyond the arrows, was oppressed by the weight of his horse that was ruined on him, perhaps lifeless. She rushed down the stairs and gained the entrance hall; she was about to open the front door when she realized that the fighting was raging throughout the square and that it was not appropriate to go out of there. She entered the stables and spotted the side service door, the one used by the stable-keepers, which overlooked the alley. The wooden door was bolted with a bolt from the inside, it was easy to open it and find herself in a dark and smelly alley a few meters away from the ancient Roman cistern. A few steps and she would have been in the Piazza, on the side of the church of St. Florian. To avoid being noticed by the crowd of fighters, and cross the square unscathed, he had to use a stratagem. Just a few days earlier, her grandmother had taught her a sort of invisibility spell. Not that it made her invisible in the true sense of the word, but it made her go unnoticed by others. She hoped that it would work, recited the formula and began to cross the square, always keeping close to the walls, first of the convent, then of St. Florian Church, then those of a recently built building, the Ghislieri Palace, arriving at the corner where both Via del Fortino and Via delle Botteghe appeared in the square. If she had arrived there thanks to the spell of invisibility or because no one had taken care of her, so busy in the battle, she was not allowed to know. The fact is that she had come to the square with her agonizing love. As many as four arrows had hit him, two in his right leg, one in his left shoulder, the last one passing through his right arm at the biceps muscle. He had lost a lot of blood, and was in a state of semi-unconsciousness, his left leg crushed against the pavement by the weight of the horse’s torso. Lucia focused on the dead beast, ordering with her mind her partial levitation. The change of position of the animal was almost imperceptible, but it was enough that, starting to pull Andrea by grabbing him under the armpits, the girl managed to free him from that unfortunate position. The young man’s eyes, as if by magic, regained light, staring at the girl’s eyes for a moment that she thought sublime, then turned backwards, while Andrea lost consciousness completely. Lucia did not despair, she placed two fingers on her beloved’s jugular shower and could feel a faint pulse.
