NewTalesoftheVampires

Volume2

VITTORIOtheVAMPIRE

AnneRice

WithPandora,AnneRicebeganamagnificentnewseriesofvampirenovels.Now,inthesecondofher
New Tales of the Vampires, she tells the mesmerizing story of Vittorio, a vampire in the Italian Age of
Gold.

EducatedintheFlorenceofCosimode'Medici,trainedinknighthoodathisfather'sMountaintopcastle,
Vittorioinhabitsaworldofcourtlysplendorandcountrypleasures-aworldsuddenlythreatenedwhen
hisentirefamilyisconfrontedbyanunholypower.Inthemidstofthisupheaval,Vittorioisseducedby
thevampireUrsula,themostbeautifulofhissupernaturalenemies.Ashesetsoutinpursuitofvengeance,
enteringthenightmarishCourtoftheRubyGrail,increasinglymoreenchanted(andconfused)byhislove
forthemysteriousUrsula,hefindshimselffacingdemonicadversaries,warandpoliticalintrigue.

Againstabackdropofthewonders-bothsacredandprofane-andthebeautyandferocityofRenaissance
Italy,AnneRicecreatesapassionateandtragiclegendofdoomedyoungloveandlostinnocence.

ChapterOne

WHOIAM,

WHYIWRITE,

WHATISTOCOME

When I was a small boy I had a terrible dream. I dreamt I held in my arms the severed heads of my
younger brother I and sister. They were quick still, and mute, with big fluttering eyes, and reddened
cheeks,andsohorrifiedwasIthatIcouldmakenomoreofasoundthantheycould.

Thedreamcametrue.

Butnoonewillweepformeorforthem.Theyhavebeenburied,nameless,beneathfivecenturiesoftime.

Iamavampire.

MynameisVittorio,andIwritethisnowinthetallesttoweroftheruinedmountaintopcastleinwhichI
wasborn,inthenorthernmostpartofTuscany,thatmostbeautifuloflandsintheverycenterofItaly.

Byanyone'sstandards,Iamaremarkablevampire,mostpowerful,havinglivedfivehundredyearsfrom
thegreatdaysofCosimode'Medici,andeventheangelswillattesttomypowers,ifyoucangetthemto
speaktoyou.Becautiousonthatpoint.Ihave,however,nothingwhatsoevertodowiththe"Covenofthe
Articulate," that band of strange romantic vampires in and from the Southern New World city of New
Orleanswhohaveregaledyoualreadywithsomanychroniclesandtales.Iknownothingofthoseheroes
ofmacabrefactmasqueradingasfiction.Iknownothingoftheirenticingparadiseintheswamplandsof
Louisiana.Youwillfindnonewknowledgeoftheminthesepages,noteven,hereafter,amention.Ihave
beenchallengedbythem,nevertheless,towritethestoryofmyownbeginnings-thefableofmymaking-
andtocastthisfragmentofmylifeinbookformintothewideworld,sotospeak,whereitmaycomeinto
somerandomordestinedcontactwiththeirwell-publishedvolumes.

Ihavespentmycenturiesofvampiricexistenceinclever,observantroamingandstudy,neverprovoking
theslightestdangerfrommyownkind,andneverarousingtheirknowledgeorsuspicions.

Butthisisnottobetheunfoldingofmyadventures.

Itis,asIhavesaid,tobethetaleofmybeginnings.ForIbelieveIhaverevelationswithinmewhichwill
bewhollyoriginaltoyou.Perhapswhenmybookisfinishedandgonefrommyhands,Imaytakestepsto
become somehow a character in that grand roman-fleuve begun by other vampires in San Francisco or
NewOrleans.Fornow,Icannotknoworcareaboutit.

AsIspendmytranquilnights,here,amongtheovergrownstonesoftheplacewhereIwassohappyasa
child, our walls now broken and misshapen among the thorny blackberry vines and fragrant smothering
forestsofoakandchestnuttrees,Iamcompelledtorecordwhatbefellme,foritseemsthatImayhave
sufferedafateveryunlikethatofanyothervampire.

Idonotalwayshangaboutthisplace.

Onthecontrary,Ispendmostofmytimeinthatcitywhichformeisthequeenofallcities–Florence-
whichIlovedfromtheveryfirstmomentIsawitwithachild'seyesintheyearswhenCosimotheElder
ranhispowerfulMedicibankwithhisownhand,eventhoughhewastherichestmaninEurope.

In the house of Cosimo de' Medici lived the great sculptor Donatello making sculptures of marble and
bronze, as well as painters and poets galore, writers on magic and makers of music. The great
Brunelleschi, who had made the very dome of Florence's greatest church, was building yet another
CathedralforCosimointhosedays,andMichelozzowasrebuildingnotonlythemonasteryofSanMarco
butcommencingthepalazzoforCosimowhichwouldonedaybeknowntoalltheworldasthePalazzo
Vecchio.ForCosimo,menwentalloverEuropeseekingindustylibrarieslongforgottentheclassicsof
Greek and Rome, which Cosimo's scholars would translate into our native Italian, the language which
DantehadboldlychosenmanyyearsbeforeforhisDivineComedy.

AnditwasunderCosimo'sroofthatIsaw,asamortalboyofdestinyandpromise-yes,Imyselfsaw-
thegreatguestsoftheCouncilofTrentwhohadcomefromfarByzantiumtohealthebreachbetweenthe
EasternandWesternchurch:PopeEugeniusIVofRome,thePatriarchofConstantinopleandtheEmperor
oftheEasthimself,JohnVIIIPaleologus.ThesegreatmenIsawenterthecityinaterriblestormofbitter
rain,butneverthelesswithindescribableglory,andthesemenIsaweatfromCosimo'stable.

Enough,youmightsay.Iagreewithyou.ThisisnohistoryoftheMedici.Butletmeonlysaythatanyone
who tells you that they were scoundrels, these great men, is a perfect idiot. It was the descendants of
Cosimo who took care of Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo and artists without count. And it was all
becauseabanker,amoneylenderifyouwill,thoughtitsplendidandgoodtogivebeautyandmagnificence
tothecityofFlorence.

I’llcomebacktoCosimoattherightpoint,andonlyforafewbriefwords,thoughImustconfessIam
havingtroublebeingbriefhereonanyscore,butfornowletmesaythatCosimobelongstotheliving.

Ihavebeeninbedwiththedeadsince1450.

Nowtotellhowitbegan,butallowmeonemorepreface.

Don'tlookhere,please,forantiquelanguage.YouwillnotfindarigidfabricatedEnglishmeanttoconjure
castle walls by stilted diction and constricted vocabulary. I shall tell my tale naturally and effectively,
wallowing in words, for I love them. And, being an immortal, I have devoured over four centuries of
English, from the plays of Christopher Marlowe and Ben Jonson to the abrupt and harshly evocative
wordsofaSylvesterStallonemovie.

You'll find me flexible, daring, and now and then a shock. But what can I do but draw upon the fullest
descriptive power I can command, and mark that English now is no more the language of one land, or
eventwoorthreeorfour,buthasbecomethelanguageofallthemodernworldfromthebackwoodsof
Tennessee to the most remote Celtic isles and down under to the teeming cities of Australia and New
Zealand.

IamRenaissance-born.ThereforeIdelveinall,andblendwithoutprejudice,andthatsomehighergood
pertainstowhatIdo,Icannotdoubt.

AsformynativeItalian,hearitsoftlywhenyousaymyname,Vittorio,andbreatheitlikeperfumefrom
theothernameswhicharesprinkledthroughoutthistext.Itis,beneathall,alanguagesosweetastomake
oftheEnglishword"stone"threesyllables:pi-ea-tra.Therehasneverbeenagentlerlanguageonearth.I
speakallothertongueswiththeItalianaccentyou'llhearinthestreetsofFlorencetoday.

AndthatmyEnglish-speakingvictimsfindmyblandishmentssopretty,accentedastheyare,andyieldto
mysoftlustrousItalianpronunciations,isaconstantsourceofblissforme.

ButIamnothappy.

Don'tthinkso.

Iwouldn'twriteabooktotellyouthatavampirewashappy.

I have a brain as well as a heart, and there hovers about me an etheric visage of myself, created most
definitely by some Higher Power, and entangled completely within the intangible weave of that etheric
visageiswhatmencallasoul.Ihavesuch.Noamountofbloodcandrownawayitslifeandleavemebut
athrivingrevenant.Okay.Noproblem.Yes,yes.Thankyou!-aseverybodyintheentireworldcansayin
English.We'rereadytobegin.

ExceptIwanttogiveyouaquotefromanobscurebutwonderfulwriter,SheridanLeFanu,aparagraph
spokeninextremeangstbyahauntedcharacterinoneofhismanyexquisitelywrittenghoststories.This
author, a native of Dublin, died in 1873, but mark how fresh is this language, and how horrifying the
expression of the character Captain Barton in the story called "The Familiar": Whatever may be my
uncertainty as to the authenticity of what we are taught to call revelation, of one fact I am deeply and
horribly convinced, that there does exist beyond this a spiritual world - a system whose workings are
generally in mercy hidden from us - a system which may be, and which is sometimes, partially and
terriblyrevealed.

Iamsure-Iknow...thatthereisaGod-adreadfulGod-andthatretributionfollowsguilt,inwaysthe
most mysterious and stupendous - by agencies the most inexplicable and terrific; - there is a spiritual
system-greatGod,howIhavebeenconvinced!-Asystemmalignant,andimplacable,andomnipotent,
underwhosepersecutionsIam,andhavebeen,sufferingthetormentsofthedamned!

Whatdoyouthinkofthat?

Iammyselfrathermortallystruckbyit.Idon'tthinkIampreparedtospeakofourGodas"dreadful"or
our system as "malignant," but there seems an eerie inescapable ring of truth to these words, written in
fiction but obviously with much emotion. It matters to me because I suffer under a terrible curse, quite
uniquetome,Ithink,asavampire.Thatis,theothersdon'tshareit.ButIthinkweall-human,vampire,
allofuswhoaresentientandcanweep-weallsufferunderacurse,thecursethatweknowmorethan
we can endure, and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, we can do about the force and the lure of this
knowledge.

Attheend,wecantakethisupagain.Seewhatyoumakeofmystory.It'searlyeveninghere.Thebrave
remnantofmyfather'shighesttowerstillrisesboldlyenoughagainstthesweetlystar-filledheavensfor
metoseefromthewindowthemoonlightedhillsandvalleysofTuscany,aye,evenasfarasthetwinkling
sea below the mines of Carrara. I smell the flowering green of the steep undiscovered country round
wheretheirisesofTuscanystillbreakoutinviolentredorwhiteinsunnybeds,tobefoundbymeinthe
silkynight.

Andsoembracedandprotected,Iwrite,readyforthemomentwhenthefullyeteverobscuremoonleaves
meforthehideawayofclouds,tolightthecandlesthatstandready,somesix,ensconcedwithinthethick

ruggedlyworked silver ofthe candelabra whichonce stood on myfather's desk, inthose days when he
wastheold-stylefeudallordofthismountainandallitsvillages,andthefirmallyinpeaceandwarofthe
great city of Florence and its unofficial ruler, when we were rich, fearless, curious and wondrously
contented.

Letmespeaknowofwhathasvanished.

ChapterTwo

MYSMALLMORTALLIFE,

THEBEAUTYOFFLORENCE,

THEGLORYOFOUR

SMALLCOURT-

WHATISVANISHED

IwassixteenyearsoldwhenIdied.Ihavegoodheight,thickbrownhairdowntotheshoulders,hazel
eyes that I are far too vulnerable to behold, giving me the appearance of an androgyne in a way, and a
desirablenarrownosewithunremarkablenostrils,andamedium-sizedmouthwhichisneithervoluptuous
norstingy.Abeautifulboyforthetime.

Iwouldn'tbealivenowifIhadn'tbeen.

That'sthecasewithmostvampires,nomatterwhosaysotherwise.Beautycarriesustoourdoom.Or,to
putitmoreaccurately,wearemadeimmortalbythosewhocannotseverthemselvesfromourcharms.

Idon'thaveachildishface,butIhaveanalmostangelicone.Myeyebrowsarestrong,dark,highenough
overmyeyestoallowthementirelytoomuchluster.Myforeheadwouldbealittletoohighifitwasn'tso
straight,andifIdidn'thavesomuchthickbrownhair,makingasitdoesacurly,wavyframeforthewhole
picture.Mychinisslightlytoostrong,toosquaredofffortherest.Ihaveadimpleinit.

My body is overmuscular, strong, broad-chested, my arms powerful, giving an impression of manly
power.Thisratherrescuesmyobdurate-lookingjawandallowstometopassforafull-fledgedman,at
leastfromadistance.

Thiswell-developedphysiqueIowetotremendouspracticewithaheavybattleswordinthelastyearsof
mylife,andferocioushuntingwithmyfalconsinthemountains,upanddownwhichIranoftenonfoot,
thoughIhadalreadyfourhorsesofmyownbythatage,includingoneofthatspecialmajesticbreedmade
tosupportmyweightwhenIworemyfullsuitofarmor.

Myarmorisstillburiedbeneaththistower.Ineveruseditinbattle.Italywasseethingwithwarinmy
time,butallofthebattlesoftheFlorentineswerebeingfoughtbymercenaries.

AllmyfatherhadtodowasdeclarehisabsoluteloyaltytoCosimo,andletnoonerepresentingtheHoly

RomanEmpire,theDukeofMilanorthePopeinRomemovetroopsthroughourmountainpassesorstop
inourvillages.Wewereoutoftheway.Itwasnoproblem.Enterprisingancestorshadbuiltourcastle
threehundredyearsbefore.WewentbacktothetimeoftheLombards,orthosebarbarianswhohadcome
downfromtheNorthintoItaly,andIthinkwehadtheirbloodinus.Butwhoknows?SincetheFallof
ancientRome,somanytribeshadinvadedItaly.

Wehadinterestingpaganrelicslyingabout;alientombstonesmostancientweresometimesfoundinthe
fields, and funny little stone goddesses which the peasants still cherished if we didn't confiscate them.
BeneathourtowerswerevaultsthatsomesaidwentbacktothedaysevenbeforetheBirthofChrist,andI
know now that is true. These places belonged to the people known to history as the Etruscans. Our
household, being of the old feudal style, scorning trade and requiring of its men that they be bold and
brave, was full of treasure acquired through wars without count or record - that is, old silver and gold
candelabra and sconces, heavy chests of wood with Byzantine designs encrusted on them, the usual
Flemish tapestries, and tons of lace, and bed hangings hand-trimmed with gilt and gems, and all of the
mostdesirablefinery.Myfather,admiringtheMediciashedid,boughtupallkindsofluxuryitemsonhis
trips to Florence. There was little bare stone in any important room, because flowered wool carpets
coveredall,andeveryhallwayoralcovehaditsowntoweringarmoirefilledwithrattling,rustingbattle
dress of heroes whose names nobody even remembered. We were incalculably rich: this I had more or
lessoverheardas achild,and therewassome hintthatit hadto doasmuch withvalorin waraswith
secret pagan treasure. There had been centuries of course when our family had warred with other hill
townsandforts,whencastlebesiegedcastleandwallswererippeddownassoonastheywerebuilt,and
outofthecityofFlorencehadgonetheeverquarrelingandmurderousGuelfsandGhibellines.

TheoldCommuneofFlorencehadsentarmiestoteardowncastleslikeoursandreduceanythreatening
Lordtonothingness.

Butthattimewaslongover.

Wehadsurvivedduetoclevernessandgoodchoices,andalsobecauseweweremuchofftoourselves,in
high craggy uninviting country, crowning a true mountain, as this is where the Alps come down into
Tuscany,andthosecastlesmostneartouswereabandonedruins.

OurnearestneighbordidrulehisownmountainenclaveofvillagesinloyaltytotheDukeofMilan.

Buthedidn'tbotherwithusorwehim.Itwasaremotepoliticalmatter.Ourwallswerethirtyfeethigh,
immensely thick, older than the castle and keeps, old indeed beyond anyone's most romantic tales and
constantlybeingthickenedandrepaired,andinsidethecompoundthereexistedthreelittlevillagesbusy
withgoodvineyardsthatwieldedmarvelousredwine;prosperousbeehives;blackberries;andwheatand
thelike;withplentyofchickensandcows;andenormousstablesforourhorses.Ineverknewhowmany
peoplelaboredinourlittleworld.Thehousewasfullofclerkswhotookcareofsuchthings,andvery
seldomdidmyfathersitinjudgmentonanysortofcasehimselforwastherecausetogotothecourtsof
Florence.Ourchurchwasthedesignatedchurchforallthecountryround,sothatthosefewwholivedin
lessprotectedlittlehamletsdownthemountain-andtherewereplenty-cametousfortheirbaptisms,
andmarriages,andsuch,andwehadforlongperiodsoftimewithinourwallsaDominicanpriestwho
saidMassforuseverymorning.Inoldentimes,theforesthadbeenseverelycutdownonourmountainso
that no invading enemy could make his way up the slopes, but by my time no such protection was
necessary.

Thewoodshadgrownbackfullandsweetinsomegulliesandoveroldpaths,evenaswildasitisnow,
and almost up to the walls. One could make out clearly from our towers a dozen or so small towns
descending to the valleys, with their little quilts of tilled fields, orchards of olive trees and vineyards.
They were all under our governance and loyal to us. If there had been any war they would have come
runningtoourgatesastheirancestorshaddone,andrightlyso.

There were market days, village festivals, saints' days, and a little alchemy now and then, and
occasionallyevenalocalmiracle.Itwasagoodland,ours.Visitingclericsalwaysstayedalongtime.It
wasn'tuncommontohavetwoorthreepriestsinvarioustowersofthecastleorinthelower,newer,more
modernstonebuildings.

IhadbeentakentoFlorencetobeeducatedwhenIwasverysmall,livingindeluxeandinvigoratingstyle
inthepalazzoofmymother'suncle,whodiedbeforeIwasthirteen,anditwasthen-whenthehousewas
closed-thatIwasbroughthome,withtwoelderlyaunts,andafterthatonlyvisitedFlorenceonoccasion.

My father was still at heart an old-fashioned man, instinctively an indomitable Lord, though he was
contenttokeephisdistancefromthepowerstrugglesofthecapital,tohavehugeaccountsintheMedici
banksandtoliveanoldstylecourtlylifeinhisowndomain,visitingCosimode'Medicihimselfwhenhe
didjourneyintoFlorenceonbusiness.

Butwhenitcametohisson,myfatherwantedthatIshouldberearedasaprince,apadrone,aknight,and
I had to learn all the skills and values of a knight, and at thirteen, I could ride in full battle dress, my
helmeted head bowed, at full speed with my spear thrust towards the straw-filled target. I had no
difficultywithit.Itwasasmuchfunashunting,orswimminginmountainstreams,orhavinghorseraces
withthevillageboys.Itooktoitwithoutrebellion.

I was, however, a divided being. The mental part of me had been nourished in Florence by excellent
teachersofLatin,Greek,philosophyandtheology,andIhadbeendeepintotheboys'pageantsandplays
ofthecity,oftentakingtheleadingpartsinthedramaspresentedbymyownConfraternityinmyuncle's
house, and I knew how to solemnly portray the Biblical Isaac about to be sacrificed by the obedient
Abraham,aswellasthecharmingAngelGabrieldiscoveredbyasuspiciousSt.JosephwithhisVirgin
Mary.Ipinedforallthatnowandthen,thebooks,thelecturesintheCathedralstowhichI'dlistenedwith
precocious interest, and the lovely nights in my uncle's Florentine house when I'd fallen asleep to the
sounds of spectacular opera extravaganzas, my mind brim full of the dazzle of miraculous figures
swooping down on wires, lutes and drums playing wildly, dancers frolicking almost like acrobats and
voices soaring beautifully in unison. It had been an easy childhood. And in the boys' Confraternity to
which I belonged, I'd met the poorer children of Florence, the sons of the merchants, orphans and boys
fromthemonasteriesandschools,becausethatisthewayitwasinmytimeforalandedLord.Youhadto
mixwiththepeople.

IthinkIcreptoutofthehousealotasasmallchild,easilyasmuchasIslippedoutofthecastlelater.I
remembertoomuchofthefestivalsandsaints'daysandprocessionsofFlorenceforadisciplinedchildto
haveseen.

Iwastoooftenslippinginandoutofthecrowd,lookingatthespectacularlydecoratedfloatsinhonorof
thesaints,andmarvelingatthesolemnityofthoseinsilentrankswhocarriedcandlesandwalkedvery
slowlyasiftheywereinatranceofdevotion.Yes,Imusthavebeenascamp.IknowIwas.Iwentoutby
thekitchen.Ibribedtheservants.Ihadtoomanyfriendswhowereout-and-outroutiesorbeasties.Igot

intomayhemandthenranhome.

Weplayedballgamesandhadbattlesinthepiazzas,andthepriestsranusoffwithswitchesandthreats.I
wasgoodandbad,butnoteverreallywicked.WhenIdiedtothisworld,attheageofsixteen,Inever
lookedonadaylightedstreetagain,notinFlorenceoranywhere.Well,Isawthebestofit,thatIcansay.I
canenvisagewithnodifficultythespectacleoftheFeastofSt.John,wheneverysinglesolitaryshopin
Florencehadtoputoutfrontallofitscostlywares,andmonksandfriarssangthesweetesthymnsontheir
waytotheCathedraltogivethankstoGodfortheblessedprosperityofthecity.

Icouldgoon.ThereisnoendtothepraiseonecanheapupontheFlorenceofthosetimes,forshewasa
city of men who worked at trades and business yet made the greatest art, of sharp politicians and true
ravingsaints,ofdeepsouledpoetsandthemostaudaciousscoundrels.IthinkFlorenceknewmanythings
bythattimethatwouldonlymuchlaterbelearntinFranceandEngland,andwhicharenotknowninsome
countriestothisday.Twothingsweretrue.Cosimowasthemostpowerfulmaninalltheworld.Andthe
people,andonlythepeople,ruledFlorencethenandforever.Butbacktothecastle.Ikeptupmyreading
andstudiesathome,switchingfromknighttoscholarinatwinkling.Iftherewasanyshadowonmylife,it
wasthatatsixteenIwasoldenoughtogotoarealuniversity,andIknewit,andIsortofwantedtodoit,
but then again, I was raising new hawks, training them myself and hunting with them, and the country
roundwasirresistible.

Bythisageofsixteen,Iwasconsideredbookishbytheclanofelderkinsmenwhogatheredatthetable
everynight,myparents'unclesmostly,andallverymuchofaformertimewhen"bankershadnotrunthe
world,"whohadmarveloustalestotelloftheCrusades,towhichtheyhadgonewhentheywereyoung,
andofwhattheyhadseenatthefiercebattleofAcre,orfightingontheislandofCyprusorRhodes,and
whatlifehadbeenlikeatsea,andinmanyexoticportswheretheyhadbeentheterrorofthetavernsand
thewomen.

Mymotherwasspiritedandbeautiful,withbrownhairandverygreeneyes,andsheadoredcountrylife,
but she'd never known Florence except from the inside of a convent. She thought there was something
seriouslywrongwithmethatIwantedtoreadDante'spoetryandwritesomuchofmyown.

Shelivedfornothingbutreceivingguestsingraciousstyle,seeingtoitthatthefloorswerestrewnwith
lavenderandsweet-smellingherbs,andthatthewinewasproperlyspiced,andsheledthedanceherself
withagreat-unclewhowasverygoodatit,becausemyfatherwouldhavenothingtodowithdancing.

Allthistome,afterFlorence,wasrathertameandslow.

Bringonthewarstories.

Shemusthavebeenveryyoungwhenshewasmarriedofftomyfather,becauseshewaswithchildonthe
nightshedied.Andthechilddiedwithher.I'llcometothatquickly.Well,asquicklyasIcan.I'mnotso
goodatbeingquick.

Mybrother,Matteo,wasfouryearsyoungerthanme,andanexcellentstudent,thoughhehadnotbeensent
off anywhere as yet (would that he had), and my sister, Bartola, was born less than a year after me, so
closeinfactthatIthinkmyfatherwasratherashamedofit.

Ithought them both—Matteoand Bartola -the most lovely andinteresting people inthe world. We had

countryfunandcountryfreedom,runninginthewoods,pickingblackberries,sittingatthefeetofgypsy
storytellersbeforetheygotcaughtandsentaway.Welovedoneanother.

Matteo worshipped me too much because I could outtalk our father. He didn't see our father's quiet
strength, or wellfashioned old manners. I was Matteo's real teacher in all things, I suppose. As for
Bartola, she was far too wild for my mother, who was in an eternal state of shock over the state of
Bartola'slonghair,thehairbeingallfulloftwigsandpetalsandleavesanddirtfromthewoodswhere
we'd been running. Bartola was forced into plenty of embroidering, however; she knew her songs, her
poetry and prayers. She was too exquisite and too rich to be rushed into anything she didn't want. My
fatheradoredher,andmorethanonceinveryfewwordsassuredhimselfthatIkeptconstantwatchover
herinallourwoodlandwanderings.Idid.Iwouldhavekilledanyonewhotouchedher!

Ah. This is too much for me! I didn't know how hard this was going to be! Bartola. Kill anyone who
touchedher!

Andnownightmaresdescend,asiftheywerewingedspiritsthemselves,andthreatentoshutoutthetiny
silentandeverdriftinglightsofHeaven.

Letmereturntomytrainofthought.

My mother I never really understood, and probably misjudged, because everything seemed a matter of
styleandmannerswithher,andmyfatherIfoundtobehystericallyself-satiricalandalwaysfunny.

Hewas,beneathallhisjokesandsnidestories,actuallyrathercynical,butatthesametimekind;hesaw
through the pomp of others, and even his own pretensions. He looked upon the human situation as
hopeless.Warwascomictohim,devoidofheroesandfullofbuffoons,andhewouldburstoutlaughing
inthemiddleofhisuncles'harangues,oreveninthemiddleofmypoemswhenIwentontoolong,andI
don'tthinkheeverdeliberatelyspokeacivilwordtomymother.

Hewasabigman,cleanshavenandlonghaired,andhehadbeautifullongtaperingfingers,veryunusual
forhissize,becauseallhiseldershadthickerhands.Ihavethesamehandsmyself.Allthebeautifulrings
he wore had belonged to his mother. He dressed more sumptuously than he would have dared to do in
Florence,inregalvelvetstitchedwithpearls,andworemassivecloakslinedinermine.Hisgloveswere
truegauntletstrimmedinfox,andhehadlargegraveeyes,moredeep-setthanmine,andfullofmockery,
disbeliefandsarcasm.

Hewasnevermean,however,toanyone.

Hisonlymodernaffectationwasthathelikedtodrinkfromfinegobletsofglass,ratherthanoldcupsof
hardwoodorgoldorsilver.Andwehadplentyofsparklingglassalwaysonourlongsuppertable.

My mother always smiled when she said such things to him as "My Lord, please get your feet off the
table," or "I'll thank you not to touch me until you’ve washed your greasy hands," or "Are you really
comingintothehouselikethat?"Butbeneathhercharmingexterior,Ithinkshehatedhim.

TheonetimeIeverheardherraisehervoiceinanger,itwastodeclareinnouncertaintermsthathalfthe
children in our villages round had been sired by him, and that she herself had buried some eight tiny
infantswhohadneverlivedtoseethelight,becausehecouldn'trestrainhimselfanybetterthanarampant

stallion.

Hewassoamazedatthisoutburst-itwasbehindcloseddoors-thatheemergedfromthebedchamber
looking pale and shocked, and said to me, "You know, Vittorio, your mother is nothing as stupid as I
alwaysthought.No,notatall.Asamatteroffact,she'sjustboring."

Hewouldneverundernormalcircumstanceshavesaidanythingsounkindabouther.Hewastrembling.

Asforher,whenItriedtogointoher,shethrewasilverpitcheratme.Isaid,"ButMother,it'sVittorio!"
andshethrewherselfintomyarms.Shecriedbitterlyforfifteenminutes.

Wesaidnothingduringthistime.Wesattogetherinhersmallstonebedroom,ratherhighupintheoldest
towerofourhouse,withmanypiecesofgildedfurniture,bothancientandnew,andthenshewipedher
eyesandsaid,"Hetakescareofeveryone,youknow.Hetakescareofmyauntsandmyuncles,youknow.
Andwherewouldtheybeifitweren'tforhim?Andhe'sneverdeniedmeanything."

Shewentramblingoninhersmoothconvent-modulatedvoice."Lookatthishouse.It'sfilledwithelders
whose wisdom has been so good for you children, and all this on account of your father, who is rich
enoughtohavegoneanywhere,Isuppose,butheistookind.Only,Vittorio!

Vittorio,don't...Imean...withthegirlsinthevillage."Ialmostsaid,inaspasmofdesiretocomforther,
that I had only fathered one bastard to my knowledge, and he was just fine, when I realized this would
havebeenaperfectdisaster.Isaidnothing.

ThatmighthavebeentheonlyconversationIeverhadwithmymother.Butit'snotreallyaconversation
becauseIdidn'tsayanything.

Shewasright,however.Threeofherauntsandtwoofheruncleslivedwithusinourgreathigh-walled
compound, and these old people lived well, always sumptuously dressed in the latest fabrics from the
city,andenjoyingthepurestcourtlylifeimaginable.Icouldn'thelpbutbenefitfromlisteningtothemall
thetime,whichIdid,andtheyknewplentyofalltheworld.

Itwasthesamewithmyfather'suncles,butofcourseitwastheirland,this,theirfamily's,andsotheyfelt
moreentitled,Iassume,astheyhaddonemostoftheheroicfightingintheHolyLand,orsoitseemed,and
they quarreled with my father over anything and everything, from the taste of the meat tarts served at
supper to the distractingly modern style of the painters he hired from Florence to decorate our little
chapel.

Thatwasanothersortofmodernthinghedid,thematterofthepainters,maybetheonlymodernthingother
thanlikingthingsmadeofglass.

Ourlittlechapelhadforcenturiesbeenbare.Itwas,likethefourtowersofourcastleandallthewalls
around,builtofablondstonewhichiscommoninNorthernTuscany.Thisisnotthedarkstoneyouseeso
muchinFlorence,whichisgrayandlooksperpetuallyunclean.Thisnorthernstoneisalmostthecolorof
the palest pink roses. But my father had brought pupils up from Florence when I was very young, good
painters who had studied with Piero della Francesca and other such, to cover these chapel walls with
murals taken from the lovely stories of saints and Biblical giants in the books known as The Golden
Legend.

Not being himself a terribly imaginative man, my father followed what he had seen in the churches of
FlorenceinhisdesignandinstructedthesementotellthetalesofJohntheBaptist,patronsaintofthecity
and cousin of Our Lord, and so it was that during the last years of my life on earth, our chapel was
enfoldedwithrepresentationsofSt.Elizabeth,St.John,St.Anne,theBlessedMother,Zacharyandangels
galore,alldressed-aswasthewayofthetime-intheirFlorentinefinest.

Itwastothis"modern"painting,sounlikethestifferworkofGiottoorCimabue,thatmyelderlyuncles
andauntsobjected.Asforthevillagers,Idon'tthinktheyexactlyunderstooditalleither,excepttheywere
sooverawedinthemainbythechapelataweddingorbaptismthatitdidn'tmatter.

Imyselfofcoursewasterrificallyhappytoseethesepaintingsmade,andtospendtimewiththeartists,
whowereallgonebythetimethatmylifewasbroughttoahaltbydemonicslaughter.

I'd seen plenty of the greatest painting in Florence and had a weakness for drifting about, looking at
splendidvisionsofangelsandsaintsintherichdedicatedchapelsoftheCathedrals,andhadeven-on
oneofmytripstoFlorencewithmyfather-inCosimo'shouse,glimpsedthetempestuouspainterFilippo
Lippi,whowasatthattimeactuallyunderlockandkeytheretomakehimfinishapainting.

I was much taken with the plain yet compelling man, the way that he argued and schemed and did
everythingbutthrowatantrumtogetpermissiontoleavethepalazzowhilelean,solemnandlow-voiced
Cosimojustsmiledandtalkedhimdownmoreorlessoutofhishysteria,tellinghimtogetbacktowork
andthathewouldbehappywhenhewasfinished.

FilippoLippiwasamonk,buthewasmadforwomenandeverybodyknewit.Youcouldsaythathewas
afavoritebadguy.Itwasforwomenthathewantedoutofthepalazzo,anditwasevensuggestedlaterat
thesuppertableofourhostsinFlorenceonthatvisitthatCosimooughttolockafewwomenintheroom
withFilippo,andthatmaybethatwouldkeepFilippohappy.Idon'tthinkCosimodidanysuchthing.Ifhe
had,hisenemieswouldhavemadeitthegrandnewsofFlorence.

Let me make note, for it is very important. I never forgot that glimpse of the genius Filippo, for that is
whathewas-andis-tome.

"Sowhatdidyousolikeabouthim?"myfatheraskedme.

"He'sbadandgood,"Isaid,"notjustoneortheother.Iseeawargoingoninsideofhim!

And I saw some of his work once, work he did with Fra Giovanni"-this was the man later called Fra
Angelicobyalltheworld-"andItellyou,Ithinkheisbrilliant.WhyelsewouldCosimoputupwithsuch
ascene?Didyouhearhim!"

"AndFraGiovanniisasaint?"askedmyfather.

"Hmmmmm,yes.Andthat'sfine,youknow,butdidyouseethetormentinFraFilippo?Hmmm,Ilikedit."

Myfatherraisedhiseyebrows.

OnournextandverylasttriptoFlorence,hetookmetoseeallofFilippo'spaintings.Iwasamazedthat
hehadrememberedmyinterestinthisman.Wewentfromhousetohousetolookattheloveliestworks,
and then to Filippo's workshop. There an altarpiece commissioned by Fran-cesco Maringhi for a

Florentine church - The Coronation of the Virgin - was well under way, and when I saw this work, I
nearlyfainteddeadfromshockandloveofit.

Icouldn'tleaveitalone.Isighedandwept.

Ihadneverseenanythingasbeautifulasthispainting,withitsimmensecrowdofstillattentivefaces,its
splendidcollectionofangelsandsaints,itslitheandgracefulfelinewomenandwillowycelestialmen.I
wentcrazyforit.

Myfathertookmetoseetwomoreofhisworks,whichwerebothpaintingsoftheAnnunciation.

Now,Ihavementionedthatasachild,IhadplayedtheAngelGabrielcomingtotheVirgintoannounce
theConceptionofChristinherwomb,andthewayweplayed,hewassupposedtobeaprettybeguiling
andvirileangel,andJosephwouldcomeinand,lo,findthisoverwhelmingmalewithhispureward,the
BlessedMary.Wewereaworldlybunch,butyouknow,wegavetheplayalittlespice.Imeanwecooked
itupabit.Idon'tthinkitsaysanythinginscriptureaboutSt.Josephhappeningonatryst.

Butthathadbeenmyfavoriterole,andIhadparticularlyenjoyedpaintingsoftheAnnunciation.

Well, this last one I saw before I left Florence, done by Filippo sometime in the 14408, was beyond
anythingIhadbeheldbefore.

Theangelwastrulyunearthlyyetphysicallyperfect.Itswingsweremadeofpeacockfeathers.

Iwassickwithdevotionandcovetousness.Iwishedwecouldbuythisthingandtakeitbackhome.That
wasn't possible. No works of Filippo were on the market then. So my father finally dragged me away
fromthispainting,andoffwewenthomethenextdayorso.

OnlylaterdidIrealizehowquietlyhelistenedtowhatIsaidasIrantedonandonaboutFraFilippo:"It's
delicate,it'soriginal,andyetitiscommendableaccordingtoeverybody'srules,that'sthegeniusofit,to
change, but not so much, to be inimitable, yet not beyond the common grasp, and that's what he's done,
Father,Itellyou."Iwasunstoppable.

"ThisiswhatIthinkaboutthatman,"Isaid."Thecarnalityinhim,thepassionforwomen,thenearbeastly
refusaltokeephisvowsisatwaralwayswiththepriest,forlook,hewearshisrobes,heisFraFilippo.
Andoutofthatwar,therecomesintothefaceshepaintsalookofuttersurrender."

Myfatherlistened.

"That's it," I said. "Those characters reflect his own continued compromise with the forces he cannot
reconcile,andtheyaresad,andwise,andneverinnocent,andalwayssoft,reflectiveofmutetorment."

Onthewaybackhome,aswewereridingtogetherthroughtheforest,uparathersteeproad,verycasually
myfatheraskedmeifthepainterswhohaddoneourchapelweregood.

"Father,you'rejoking,"Isaid."Theywereexcellent."Hesmiled."Ididn'tknow,youknow?'hesaid."I
justhiredthebest."Heshrugged.Ismiled.

Then he laughed with good nature. I never asked him when and if I could leave home again to study. I

thinkIfiguredIcouldmakebothofushappy.Wemusthavemadetwenty-fivestopsonthatlastjourney
homefromFlorence.Wewerewinedanddinedatonecastleafteranother,andwanderedinandoutofthe
new villas, lavish and full of light, and given over to their abundant gardens. I clung to nothing in
particular because I thought it was my life, all those arbors covered with purple wisteria, and the
vineyardsonthegreenslopes,andthesweet-cheekedgirlsbeckoningtomeintheloggias.

Florence was actually at war the year we made this journey. She had sided with the great and famous
Francesco Sforza, to take over the city of Milan. The cities of Naples and Venice were on the side of
Milan.Itwasaterriblewar.Butitdidn'ttouchus.Itwasfoughtinotherplacesandbyhiredmen,andthe
rancorcausedbyitwasheardincitystreets,notonourmountain.

WhatIrecallfromitweretworemarkablecharactersinvolvedinthefray.ThefirstofthesewastheDuke
ofMilan,FilippoMariaVisconti,amanwhohadbeenourenemywhetherwelikeditornotbecausehe
wastheenemyofFlorence.Butlistentowhatthismanwaslike:hewashideouslyfat,itwassaid,and
verydirtybynature,andsometimeswouldtakeoffallhisclothesandrollaroundnakedinthedirtofhis
garden!Hewasterrifiedofthesightofaswordandwouldscreamifhesawitunsheathed,andhewas
terrifiedtootohavehisportraitpaintedbecausehethoughthewassougly,whichhewas.Butthatwas
notall.

Thisman'sweaklittlelegswouldn'tcarryhim,sohispageshadtohefthimabout.Yethehadasenseof
humor.Toscarepeople,hewouldsuddenlydrawasnakeoutofhissleeve!

Lovely,don'tyouthink?

YetheruledtheDuchyofMilanforthirty-fiveyearssomehow,thisman,anditwasagainstMilanthathis
own mercenary, Francesco Sforza, turned in this war. And that man I want to describe only briefly
becausehewascolorfulinanentirelydifferentway,beingthehandsomestrongbravesonofapeasant—a
peasantwho,kidnappedasachild,hadmanagedtobecomethecommanderofhisbandofkidnappers-
and this Francesco became commander of the troop only when the peasant hero drowned in a stream
tryingtosaveapageboy.Suchvalor.Suchpurity!Suchgifts.IneverlaideyesonFrancescoSforzauntilI
was already dead to the world and a prowling vampire, but he was true to his descriptions, a man of
heroicproportionsandstyle,andbelieveitornot,itwastothisbastardofapeasantandnaturalsoldier
that the weak-legged crazy Duke of Milan gave his own daughter in marriage, and this daughter, by the
way,wasnotbytheDuke'swife,poorthing,forshewaslockedup,butbyhismistress.

It was this marriage which led eventually to the war. First Francesco was fighting bravely for Duke
Filippo Maria, and then when the weird unpredictable little Duke finally croaked, naturally his son-in-
law, handsome Francesco, who had charmed everybody in Italy from the Pope to Cosimo, wanted to
becometheDukeofMilan!

It'salltrue.Don'tyouthinkit'sinteresting?Lookitup.IleftoutthattheDukeFilippoMariawasalsoso
scaredofthunderthathewassupposedtohavebuiltasoundproofroominhispalace.

Andthereismoretoitthanthat.SforzamoreorlesshadtosaveMilanfromotherpeoplewhowantedto
takeitover,andCosimohadtobackhim,orFrancewouldhavecomedownonus,orworse.

Itwasallratheramusing,andasIhavesaid,Iwaswellpreparedalreadyatayoungagetogointowaror
tocourtifitwaseverrequiredofme,butthesewarsandthesetwocharactersexistedformeindinner

tabletalk,andeverytimesomeonerailedaboutthecrazyDukeFilippoMaria,andoneofhisinsanetricks
with a snake out of his sleeve, my father would wink at me and whisper in my ear, "Nothing like pure
lordlyblood,myson."Andthenlaugh.

AsfortheromanticandbraveFrancescoSforza,myfatherhadwiselynothingtosayaslongastheman
wasfightingforourenemy,theDuke,butoncewehadallturnedtogetheragainstMilan,thenmyfather
commendedtheboldself-madeFrancescoandhiscourageouspeasantfather.

There had been another great lunatic running around Italy during earlier times, a freebooter and ruffian
namedSirJohnHawkwood,whowouldleadhismercenariesagainstanybody,includingtheFlorentines.

ButhehadendeduployaltoFlorence,evenbecameacitizen,andwhenhedepartedthisearth,theygave
himasplendidmonumentintheCathedral!Ah,suchanage!

Ithinkitwasareallygoodtimetobeasoldier,youknow,tosortofpickandchoosewhereyouwould
fight,andgetascarriedawaywithitallasyouwantedto.Butitwasalsoaverygoodtimeforreading
poetry,andforlookingatpaintingsandforlivinginuttercomfortandsecuritybehindancestralwalls,or
wanderingthethrivingstreetsofprosperouscities.Ifyouhadanyeducationatall,youcouldchoosewhat
you wanted to do. And it was also a time to be very careful. Lords such as my father did go down to
destruction in these wars. Mountainous regions that had been free and pretty much left alone could be
invadedanddestroyed.Ithappenednowandthenthatsomeonewhohadprettymuchstayedoutofthings
got himself worked up against Florence and in came the clattering and clanking mercenaries to level
everything.Bytheway,SforzawonthewarwithMilan,andpartofthereasonwasthatCosimolenthim
therequiredmoney.Whathappenedafterthatwasabsolutemayhem.Well,Icouldgoondescribingthis
wonderland of Tuscany forever. It is chilling and saddening for me to try to imagine what might have
becomeofmyfamilyhadevilnotbefallenus.Icannotseemyfatherold,orimaginemyselfstrugglingas
anelderlyman,orenvisionmysistermarried,asIhoped,toacityaristocratratherthanacountrybaron.

Itisahorrorandajoytomethattherearevillagesandhamletsintheseverymountainswhichhavefrom
thattimeneverdiedout–never-survivingthroughtheworstofevenmodernwar,tothrivestillwithtiny
cobbled market streets and pots of red geraniums in their windows. There are castles which survive
everywhere,enlivenedbygenerationaftergeneration.Herethereisdarkness.HereisVittoriowritingby
thelightofthestars.Bramblesandwildscratchingthingsinhabitthechapelbelow,wherethepaintings
arestillvisibletonooneandthesacredrelicsoftheconsecratedaltarstonearebeneathheapsofdust.
Ah,butthosethornsprotectwhatremainsofmyhome.Ihaveletthemgrow.Ihaveallowedtheroadsto
vanishintheforestorbrokenthemmyself.Imusthavesomethingofwhattherewas!Imust.ButIaccuse
myselfagainofgoingonandon,andIdo,thereisnodoubt.Thischapteroughttobeover.Butit'svery
like the little plays we used to do in my uncle's house, or those I saw before the Duomo in Cosimo's
Florence.Theremustbepaintedbackdrops,propsoffinedetail,wiresriggedforflightandcostumescut
outandsewnbeforeIcanputmyplayersontheboardsandtellthefableofmymaking.Ican'thelpit.Let
meclosemyessayonthegloriesofthe14008bysayingwhatthegreatalchemistFicinowouldsayofit
someyearslateron:Itwas"anageofgold."

Igonowtothetragicmoment.

ChapterThree

INWHICHTHEHORROR

DESCENDSUPONUS

Thebeginningoftheendcamethefollowingspring.Ihadpassedmysixteenthbirthday,whichhadfallen
thatIyearontheveryTuesdaybeforeLent,whenweandallthevillageswerecelebratingCarnival.It
hadcomeratherearlythatyear,soitwasabitcold,butitwasagaytime.

ItwasonthatnightbeforeAshWednesdaythatIhadtheterribledreaminwhichIsawmyselfholdingthe
severedheadsofmybrotherandmysister.Iwokeupinasweat,horrifiedbythisdream.Iwroteitdown
inmybookofdreams.AndthenactuallyIforgotaboutit.Thatwascommonwithme,onlyithadbeen
truly the most horrid nightmare Td ever had. But when I mentioned my occasional nightmares to my
motherorfatheroranyoneelse,theyalwayssaid:

"Vittorio, it's your own fault for reading the books you read. You bring it on yourself." To repeat, the
dreamwasforgotten.

ThecountrywasbyEasteringreatflower,andthefirstwarningsofhorrortocome,thoughIknewthem
nottobe,werethatthelowerhamletsonourmountainwerequitesuddenlyabandoned.

MyfatherandIandtwoofthehuntsmenandagamekeeperandasoldierrodedowntoseeforourselves
thatthepeasantsinthosepartshaddeparted,sometimebeforeinfact,andtakenthelivestockwiththem.

It was eerie to see those deserted towns, small as they were and as insignificant. We rode back up the
mountain as a warm embracing darkness surrounded us, yet we found all the other villages we passed
battened down with hardly a seam of light showing through the chinks of a shutter, or a tiny stem of
reddenedsmokerisingfromachimney.Ofcoursemyfather'soldclerkwentintoarantthatthevassals
shouldbefound,beaten,madetoworktheland.

My father, benevolent as always and completely calm, sat at his desk in the candlelight, leaning on his
elbow,andsaidthatthesehadallbeenfreemen;theywerenotboundtohim,iftheydidnotchoosetolive
onhismountain.Thiswasthewayofthemodernworld,onlyhewishedheknewwhatwasafootinour
land.

Quitesuddenly,hetooknoticeofmestandingandobservinghim,asifhehadn'tseenmebefore,andhe
brokeofftheconference,dismissingthewholeaffair.Ithoughtnothingmuchaboutit.

But in the days that followed, some of the villagers from the lower slopes came up to live within the
walls.Therewereconferencesinmyfather'schambers.Iheardargumentsbehindcloseddoors,andone
night, at supper, all sat entirely too somber for our family, and finally my father rose from his massive
chair,theLordinthecenterofthetableasalways,anddeclared,asifhe'dbeensilentlyaccused:

"Iwillnotpersecutesomeoldwomenbecausetheyhavestuckpinsinwaxdollsandburntincenseand
readfoolishincantationsthatmeannothing.Theseoldwitcheshavebeenonourmountainforever."

Mymotherlookedtrulyalarmed,andthengatheringusallup-Iwasmostunwilling-shetookusaway,
Bartola,Matteoandme,andtoldustogotobedearly.

"Don'tstayupreading,Vittorio”shesaid.

"ButwhatdidFathermean?"askedBartola.

"Oh,it'stheoldvillagewitches,"Isaid.IusedtheItalianwordstrega."Everynowandthen,onegoestoo
far,there'safight,butmostlyit'sjustcharmstocureafeverandsuch."Ithoughtmymotherwouldhushme
up,butshestoodinthenarrowstonestairsofthetowerlookingupatmewithmarkedreliefonherface,
andshesaid:

"Yes, yes, Vittorio, you are so right. In Florence, people laugh at those old women. You know Gattena
yourself;sheneverreallydidmorethenselllovepotionstothegirls."

"Surelywe'renottodragherbeforeacourt!"Isaid,veryhappythatshewaspayingattention.

BartolaandMatteowererapt.

"No,no,notGattena,certainlynot.Gattena'svanished.

Runoff."

"Gattena?"Iasked,andthenasmymotherturnedaway,refusing,itseemed,tosayanotherword,gesturing
formetoescortmysisterandbrothersafelytobed,Irealizedthegravityofthis.

Gattenawasthemostfearedandcomicaloftheoldwitches,andifshehadrunoff,ifshewasafraidof
something,well,thatwasnews,becauseshethoughtherselftheonetobefeared.

ThefollowingdayswerefreshandlovelyandundisturbedbyanythingformeandmyBartolaandMatteo,
butwhenIlookedbacklater,Irecalledtherewasmuchgoingon.Oneafternoon,Iwentuptothehighest
lookoutwindow of theold tower whereone guardsman, Tori, wecalled him, wasfalling asleep, and I
lookeddownoverallourlandforasfarasIcouldsee.

"Well,youwon'tfindit,"hesaid.

"What'sthat?"Iremarked.

"Smokefromasinglehearth.Thereisnomore."Heyawnedandleanedagainstthewall,heavilyweighed
downbyhisoldboiled-leatherjerkin,andsword."All'swell,"hesaid,andyawnedagain."Sotheylike
citylife,ortofightforFrancescoSforzaovertheDuchyofMilan,soletthemgo.Theydidn'tknowhow
goodtheyhadit."Iturnedawayfromhimandlookedoverthewoodsagain,anddownintothevalleys
thatIcouldsee,andbeyondtotheslightlymistybluesky.Itwastrue,thelittlehamletsseemedfrozenin
timedownthere,buthowcouldonebesosure?Itwasnotsuchaclearday.Andbesides,everythingwas
finewithinthehousehold.

Myfatherdrewoliveoil,vegetables,milk,butterandmanysuchgoodsfromthesevillages,buthedidn't
needthem.Ifitwastimeforthemtopassaway,sobeit.Twonightslater,however,itwasundeniably
obvious to me that everyone at supper was perpetually under a strain of sorts, which went entirely
unvoiced,andthatanagitationhadgrippedmymother,sothatshewasnolongerengaginginherendless
courtlychatter.Conversationwasnotimpossible,butithadchanged.

But for all the elders who seemed deeply and secretly conflicted, there were others who seemed
relativelyoblivioustosuchthings,andthepageswentaboutservinggaily,andalittlegroupofmusicians,
who'dcomeuptheprecedingday,gaveusalovelyseriesofsongswiththeviolandthelute.

Mymothercouldn'tbepersuadedtodoheroldslowdances,however.Itmusthavebeenverylatewhen
anunexpectedvisitorwasannounced.Noonehadleftthemainhall,exceptBartolaandMatteo,whohad
beentakenofftobedbymeearlierandleftinthecareofouroldnurse,Simonetta.

TheCaptainofmyfather'sGuardcameintothehall,clickedhisheelsandbowedtomyfatherandsaid:

"MyLord,itseemsthereisamanofgreatrankcometothehouse,andhewillnotbereceivedinthelight,
orsohesays,anddemandsthatyoucomeouttohim."Everyoneatthetablewasatoncealert,andmy
motherwentwhitewithangerandumbrage.

Nooneeverusedtheword"demand"tomyfather.

AlsoitwasplaintomethatourCaptainoftheGuard,aratherprepossessingoldsoldierwho'dseenmany
battleswiththewanderingmercenaries,washimselfovervigilantandalittleshaken.

Myfatherrosetohisfeet.Hedidnotspeakormove,however.

"Wouldyoudothat,myLord,orshouldIsendthisSignoreaway?"theCaptainasked.

"Tellhimthatheismostwelcometocomeintomyhouseasmyguest,"saidmyfather,

"thatweextendtohiminthenameofChristOurLordourfullhospitality."Hisveryvoiceseemedtohave
acalmingeffectonthewholetable,exceptperhapsformymother,whoseemednottoknowwhattodo.

TheCaptainlookedalmostslylyatmyfather,asiftoconveythesecretmessagethatthiswouldneverdo,
buthewentofftodelivertheinvitation.

My father did not sit down. He stood staring off, and then he cocked his head, as though listening. He
turnedandsnappedhisfingers,drawingtoattentionthetwoguardsslumberingattheendsofthehall.

"Gothroughthehouse,seetoeverything,"hesaidinasoftvoice."IthinkIhearbirdswhichhaveentered
thehouse.It'sthewarmair,andtherearemanyopenwindows."Thesetwowentoff,andimmediatelytwo
othersoldiersappearedtotaketheirplace.Thatinitselfwasnotusual,foritmeantthatthereweremany
menonduty.TheCaptaincamebackalone,andoncemorebowed.

"MyLord,hewillnotcomeintothelight,hesays,butthatyoumustcomeouttohim,andhehaslittletime
towaitonyou."

ThiswasthefirsttimeIhadeverseenmyfatherreallyangry.Evenwhenhewhippedmeorapeasantboy,
he was rather lazy about it. Now the fine lineaments of his face, so given to reassurance by their very
proportions,becameabsolutelywrathful.

"Howdarehe?"hewhispered.

Yethestrodearoundthetable,cameinfrontofitandmarchedoffwiththeCaptainoftheGuardhastening

behindhim.

Iwasoutofmychairatonceandafterhim.Iheardmymothercryoutsoftly,"Vittorio,comeback."

ButIstoledownthestairsaftermyfather,andintothecourtyard,andonlywhenhehimselfturnedaround
andpressedmychesthardwithhishanddidIhalt.

"Staythere,myson,"hesaidwithhisoldkindlywarmth.

"Ishallseetoit."

Ihadagoodvantagepoint,rightatthedoorofthetower,andthereacrossthecourtyard,atthegatesinthe
fulllightofthetorches,IsawthisstrangeSignorewhowouldnotcomeintothelightofthehall,forhedid
notseemtomindthisoutdoorillumination.Thehugegatesofthearchedentrancewerelockedandbolted
forthenight.Onlythesmallman-sizedgatewasopened,anditwastherethathestood,withtheblazing
cracklingfireoneithersideofhim,gloryinginit,itseemedtome,inhissplendidraimentofdark,wine-
redvelvet.

Fromheadtotoehewasdressedinthisrichcolor,hardlythecurrentstyle,buteverydetailofhim,from
his bejeweled doublet and blown-up sleeves of satin and velvet stripes, was this same hue, as though
carefullydyedinthebestfullersinFlorence.Eventhegemssewnintohiscollarandhangingabouthis
neckonaheavygoldenchainwerewinered-mostlikelyrubiesorevensapphires.

Hishairwasthickandblack,hangingsleeklyontohisshoulders,butIcouldn'tseehisface,no,notatall,
forthevelvethatheworeovershadowedit,andIcaughtbutaglimpseofverywhiteskin,thelineofhis
jawandabitofhisneck,fornothingelsewasvisible.Heworeabroadswordofimmensesize,withan
antiquescabbard,andcasuallyoveroneshoulderwasacloakofthesamewinedarkvelvettrimmedin
whatseemedtomydistanteyestobeornategiltsymbols.

Istrained,tryingtomakethemout,thisborderofsigns,andIthoughtIcouldseeastarandcrescentmoon
workedintohisfancyadornments,butIwasreallytoofaraway.Theman'sheightwasimpressive.

Myfatherstoppedquitefarshortofhim,yetwhenhespokehisvoicewassoftandIcouldn'thearit,and
out of the mysterious man, who still revealed nothing now of his face but his smiling mouth and white
teeth,therecameasilkyutterancethatseemedbothsurlyandcharming.

"Get away from my house in the name of God and Our Holy Redeemer!" my father cried out suddenly.
Andwithaquickgesture,hesteppedforwardandpowerfullythrustthissplendidfigurerightoutofthe
gate.

Iwasamazed.

But from the hollow mouth of darkness beyond the opening there came only a low satin laughter, a
mockinglaughter,andthisitseemedwasechoedbyothers,andIheardapowerfulthunderingofhooves,
asthoughseveralhorsemenhadcommencedatoncetorideoff.

Myfatherhimselfslammedthegate.AndturnedandmadetheSignoftheCross,andpressedhishands
togetherinprayer.

"DearLordGod,howdarethey!"hesaid,lookingup.

Itwasonlynow,ashestormedbacktowardsmeandtowardsthetoweritself,thatIrealizedtheCaptain
oftheGuardwasparalyzedwithseemingterror.Myfather'seyecaughtmineassoonashecameintothe
lightfromthestairs,andIgesturedtotheCaptain.Myfatherspunround.

"Battendownmyhouse,"myfathercalledout."Searchitfromtoptobottomandbattenitdownandcall
outthesoldieryandfillthenightwithtorches,doyouhear?Iwillhavemenineverytowerandonthe
walls.Doitatonce.Itwillgivepeaceandcalmtomypeople!"

We had not yet reached the supper room when an old priest living with us then, a learned Dominican
namedFraDiamonte,camedownwithhiswhitehairallmussed,andhiscassockhalfunbuttoned,andhis
prayerbookinhishand.

"Whatisit,myLord?"heasked."WhatinthenameofGodhashappened?"

"Father,trustinGodandcomeandpraywithmeinthechapel,"saidmyfathertohim.Hethenpointedto
another guard who was fast approaching. "Light up the chapel, all its candles, for I want to pray. Do it
now,andhavetheboyscomedownandplayformesomesacredmusic."

Hethentookmyhandandthatofthepriest."It'snothing,really,youmustbothofyouknowthat.It'sall
superstitiousfoolishness,butanyexcusewhichmakesaworldlymanlikemeturntohisGodisagood
one.Comeon,Vittorio,youandFraDiamonteandIwillpray,butforyourmotherputonagoodface."

I was much calmer, but the prospect of being up all night in the lighted chapel was both welcome and
alarming.

Iwentofftogetmyprayerbooks,myMassbooksandbooksofotherdevotions,finevellumbooksfrom
Florence,withgiltprintandbeautifullyedgedillustrations.IwasjustcomingoutofmyroomwhenIsaw
myfathertherewithmymother,sayingtoher,"Anddonotleavethechildrenaloneforamoment,andyou,
youinthisstate,Iwillnottoleratethisdistress."

Shetouchedherbelly.

I realized she was with child again. And I realized, too, that my father was really alarmed about
something.Whatcoulditmean,"Donotleavethechildrenaloneforamoment"?Whatcouldthismean?

Thechapelwascomfortableenough.Myfatherhadlongagoprovidedsomedecentwoodenandvelvet-
paddedpriedieux,thoughonfeastdayseveryonestood.Pewsdidn'texistinthosetimes.

Buthealsospentsomeofthenightshowingmethevaultbeneaththechurch,whichopenedbymeansofa
ringhandleonatrapdoor,facedinstone,theringitselffitteddownflatbeneathwhatappearedtobeonly
oneofmanymarbleinlaidornamentsinthefloortiles.

IknewofthesecryptsbuthadbeenwhippedforsneakingintothemwhenIwasachild,andmyfatherhad
toldmebackthenhowdisappointedinmehe'dbeenthatIcouldn'tkeepafamilysecret.

Thatadmonitionhadhurtfarmorethanthewhipping.

AndI'dneveraskedtogowithhimintothecrypts,whichIknewhehaddoneovertheyearsnowandthen.
I thought treasure was down there, and secrets of the pagans. Well, I saw now there was a cavernous
room,carvedhighanddeepoutoftheearth,andfacedwithstone,andthatitwasfullofvariedtreasure.
Therewereoldchestsandevenoldbooksinheaps.Andtwobolteddoorways.

"Thoseleadtooldburialplacesthatyoudon'tneedtogoto,"hesaid,“butyouneedtoknowofthisplace
now.Andrememberit."

Whenwecamebackupintothechapel,heputthetrapdoorright,laiddownthering,relaidthemarble
tile,andthewholewasquiteinvisible.

FraDiamontepretendednottohaveseen.Mymotherwasasleepandsowerethechildren.

Weallfellasleepbeforedawninthechapel.

Myfatherwalkedoutinthecourtyardatsunup,whenthecockswerecrowingalloverthevillagesinside
thewalls,andhestretchedandlookedupattheskyandthenshruggedhisshoulders.

Two of my uncles ran at him, demanding to know what Signore from where dared to propose a siege
againstusandwhenweweresupposedtohavethisbattle.

"No,no,no,you'vegotitallwrong,"myfathersaid.

"We'renotgoingtowar.Yougobacktobed."

But he had no sooner spoken these words than a ripping scream brought us all around, and through the
openingcourtyardgatestherecameoneofthevillagegirls,oneofournearanddeargirls,shriekingthe
terriblewords:

"He'sgone,thebaby'sgone,they'vetakenhim."

Therestofthedaywasarelentlesssearchforthismissingchild.Butnoonecouldfindhim.Anditwas
soon discovered that one other child had also vanished without a trace. He had been a half-wit, rather
belovedbecausehecausednoharm,butsoaddle-brainedhecouldn'tevenmuchwalk.Andeveryonewas
ashamedtosaythattheydidnotevenknowhowlongthathalf-withadbeenmissing.

Bydusk,IthoughtIwouldgomadifIdidn'tgettoseemyfatheralone,ifIcouldn'tpushmywayintothe
lockedchamberswherehesatwithhisunclesandthepriestsarguingandfighting.Finally,Ihammeredso
loudlyonthedoorandkickedsomuchthatheletmein.Themeetingwasabouttobreakupandhedrew
medownbyhimself,andhesaidwithwildeyes:

"Doyouseewhatthey'vedone?Theytooktheverytributetheydemandedofme.Theytookit!Irefusedit
andtheytookit."

"Butwhattribute?Youmeanthechildren?"

Hewaswild-eyed.Herubbedhisunshavenface,andhecrashedhisfistdownonhisdesk,andthenhe
pushedoverallhiswritingthings.

"WhodotheythinktheyarethattheycometomebynightanddemandthatItendertothemthoseinfants
unwantedbyanyone?"

"Father,whatisthis?Youmusttellme."

"Vittorio, you will tomorrow be off to Florence, at the first light, and with the letters I mean to write
tonight.Ineedmorethancountryprieststofightthis.Nowgetreadyforthejourney."

Helookedupquitesuddenly.Heappearedtolisten,andthentolookabout.Icouldseethelightwasgone
fromthewindows.Weourselveswerejustdimfigures,andhehadthrownthecandelabradown.Ipicked
itup.

IwatchedhimsidelongasItookoneofthecandlesandlighteditbythetorchatthedoorandbroughtit
back,andthenlightedtheothercandles.

He listened, still and alert, and then without making a sound he rose to his feet, his fists on the desk,
seeminglyuncaringofthelightthatthecandlesthrewonhisshockedandwaryface.

"Whatdoyouhear,myLord?"Isaid,usingtheformaladdressforhimwithoutsomuchasrealizingit.

"Evil," he whispered. "Malignant things such as God only suffers to live because of our sins. Arm
yourselfwell.Bringyourmother,yourbrotherandyoursistertothechapel,andhurry.Thesoldiershave
theirorders."

"ShallIhavesomesupperbroughtthereaswell,justbreadandbeer,perhaps?"Iasked.Henoddedas
thoughthatwerescarcelyaconcern.

Within less than an hour we were all gathered inside the chapel, the entire family, which included then
fiveunclesandfouraunts,andwithusweretwonursesandFraDiamonte.Thelittlealtarwasdeckedout
asifforMass,withthefinestembroideredaltarclothandthethickestgoldencandlestickswithblazing
candles. The Image of Our Crucified Christ shone in the light, an ancient colorless and thin wooden
carvingthathadhungonthewalltheresincethetimeofSt.Francis,whenthegreatsaintwassupposedto
havestoppedatourcastletwocenturiesago.

It was a naked Christ, common in those times, and a figure of tortured sacrifice, nothing as robust and
sensual as those crucifixes made these days, and it stood out powerfully in contrast to the parade of
freshlypaintedsaintsonthewallsintheirbrilliantscarletandgoldfinery.

We sat on plain brown benches brought in for us, nobody speaking a word, for Fra Diamonte had that
morningsaidMassandbestowedintotheTabernacletheBodyandBloodofOurLordintheformofthe
SacredHost,andthechapelwasnow,asitwere,puttoitsfullpurposeastheHouseofGod.

Wedideatthebread,anddrinkalittlebitofthebeernearthefrontdoors,butwekeptquiet.

Onlymyfatherrepeatedlywentout,walkingboldlyintothetorch-lightedcourtyardandcallinguptohis
soldiersinthetowersandonthewalls,andevensometimesbeinggonetoclimbupandseeforhimself
thatallwaswellunderhisprotection.Myuncleswereallarmed.Myauntssaidtheirrosariesfervently.
FraDiamontewasconfused,andmymotherseemedpaletodeathandsick,perhapsfromthebabyinher
womb,andsheclungtomysisterandbrother,whowerebythistimeprettyfranklyfrightened.

Itseemedwewouldpassthenightwithoutincident.

Itcouldn'thavebeentwohoursbeforedawnwhenIwasawakenedfromashallowslumberbyahorrid
scream.

Atoncemyfatherwasonhisfeet,andsoweremyuncles,drawingouttheirswordsasbesttheycould
withtheirknottedoldfingers.

Screams rose all around in the night, and there came the alarms from the soldiers and the loud riotous
clangingofoldbellsfromeverytower.

My father grabbed me by the arm. "Vittorio, come' he said, and at once, pulling up the handle of the
trapdoor,hethrewitbackandthrustintomyhandagreatcandlefromthealtar.

"Takeyourmother,youraunts,yoursisterandyourbrotherdown,now,anddonotcomeout,nomatter
whatyouhear!Donotcomeout.Lockthetrapdooraboveyouandstaythere!DoasItellyou!"

AtonceIobeyed,snatchingupMatteoandBartolaandforcingthemdownthestonestepsinfrontofme.

Myuncleshadrushedthroughthedoorsintothecourtyard,shoutingtheirancientwarcries,andmyaunts
stumbledandfaintedandclutchedtothealtarandwouldnotbemoved,andmymotherclungtomyfather.

Myfatherwasinaveryparoxysm.Ireachedoutformyeldestaunt,butshewasinadeadfaintbeforethe
altar,andmyfatherthunderedbacktome,forcedmeintothecryptandshutthedoor.

Ihadnochoicebuttolatchthetrapdoorashehadshownmehowtodo,andtoturnwiththeflickering
candleinmyhandandfacetheterrifiedBartolaandMatteo.

"Godownalltheway,"Icried,"alltheway."Theynearlyfell,tryingtomovebackwarddownthesteep
narrowstepsthatwerebynomeanseasytodescend,theirfacesturnedtowardsme.

"Whatisit,Vittorio,whydotheywanttohurtus?"

Bartolaasked.

"Iwanttofightthem,"Matteosaid,"Vittorio,givemeyourdagger.Youhaveasword.It'snotfair."

"Shhh,bequiet,doasourfathersaid.DoyouthinkitpleasesmethatIcan'tbeouttherewiththemen?
Quiet!"

Ichokedbackmytears.Mymotherwasupthere!Myaunts!

Theairwascoldanddamp,butitfeltgood.Ibrokeoutinasweat,andmyarmachedfromholdingthebig
goldencandlestick.Finallywesankdowninahuddle,thethreeofusatthefarendofthechamber,andit
feltsoothingtometotouchthecoldstone.ButintheintervalofourcollectivesilenceIcouldhearthrough
the heavy floor howls from above, terrible cries of fear and panic, and rushing feet, and even the high
chillingwhinniesofthehorses.Itsoundedasifhorseshadcomecrashingintothechapelitselfoverour
heads,whichwasnotatallimpossible.

Irosetomyfeetandrushedtothetwootherdoorsofthecrypt,thosewhichledtotheburialchambersor
whatevertheywere,Ididn'tcare!Imovedthelatchonone,andcouldseenothingbutalowpassage,not
eventallenoughforme,andbarelywideenoughformyshoulders.

Iturnedback,holdingtheonlylight,andsawthechildrenrigidwithfear,gazingupattheceilingasthe
murderouscriescontinued.

"Ismellfire,"Bartolawhisperedsuddenly,herfacewetatoncewithtears."Doyousmellit,Vittorio?I
hearit."

IdidhearitandIdidsmellit.

"BothofyoumaketheSignoftheCross;praynow,”Isaid,"andtrustinme.Wewillgetoutofhere."

Buttheclamorofthebattlewenton,thecriesdidnotdieout,andthensuddenly,sosuddenlyitwasas
wondrous and frightful as the noise itself, there fell a silence. A silence fell over all, and it was too
completetospellvictory.BartolaandMatteoclungtome,oneitherside.

Above, there was a clatter. The chapel doors were being thrown back, and then quite suddenly the
trapdoorwasyankedupandopen,andintheglimmeroffirelightbeyondIsawadarkslenderlong-haired
figure.

Inthegustmycandlewentout.

Exceptfortheinfernalflickeraboveandbeyond,wewerecommittedunmercifullytototaldarkness.

Once again distinctly, I saw the outline of this figure, a tall, stately female with great long locks and a
waistsmallenoughforbothmyhandsassheappearedtoflydownthestairssoundlesslytowardsme.

HowinthenameofHeavencouldthisbe,thiswoman?

Before I could think to pull my sword on a female assailant or make sense of anything at all, I felt her
tenderbreastsbrushedagainstmychest,andthecoolofherskinassheseemedtobethrowingherarms
aboutme.

There was a moment of inexplicable and strangely sensuous confusion when the perfume of her tresses
andhergownroseinmynostrils,andIfanciedIsawtheglisteningwhitesofhereyesasshelookedat
me.

IheardBartolascream,andthenMatteoalso.

Iwasknockedtothefloor.

Thefireblazedbrightabove.

Thefigurehadthemboth,bothstrugglingscreamingchildreninoneseeminglyfragilearm,andstopping,
apparentlytolookatme,araisedswordinherotherhand,sheracedupthestairwayintothefirelight.

I pulled my sword with both hands, rushed after her, up and out into the chapel, and saw that she had

somehow by the most evil power all but reached the door, an impossible feat, her charges wailing and
cryingoutforme,"Vittorio,Vittorio!"Alltheupperwindowsofthechapelswerefulloffire,andsowas
therosewindowabovethecrucifix.

IcouldnotbelievewhatIbeheld,thisyoungwoman,whowasstealingfrommemysisterandbrother.

"StopinthenameofGod!"Ishoutedather."Coward,thiefinthenight."Iranafterher,buttomyutter
astonishment she did stop, still, and turned to look at me again, and this time I saw her full in all her
refinedbeauty.Herfacewasaperfectovalwithgreatbenigngrayeyes,herskinlikethefinestChinese
whiteenamel.Shehadredlips,tooperfectevenforapaintertomakebychoice,andherlongashenblond
hairwasgraylikehereyesinthelightofthefire,sweepingdownherbackinapamperedswayingmass.
Hergown,thoughstaineddarkwithwhatmusthavebeenblood,wasthesamewine-redcolorIhadseen
in the apparel of the evil visitor of the night before. With the most curious and then poignant face, she
merelystaredatme.Herrighthandheldherswordupraised,butshedidn'tmove,andthenshereleased
fromthepowerfulgripofherleftarmmystrugglingbrotherandsister.

Bothtumbledsobbingtothefloor.

"Demon.Strega!"Iroared.Ileaptoverthemandadvancedonher,swingingthesword.Butshedodgedso
swiftly that I didn't even see it. I couldn't believe that she was so far from me, standing now with the
sworddown,staringatmestillandatthesobbingchildren.

Suddenlyherheadturned.Therewasawhistlingcry,andthenanotherandanother.Throughthedoorof
the chapel, seeming to leap from the fires of Hell itself, there came another red-clad figure, hooded in
velvetandwearinggoldtrimmedboots,andasIswungmyswordathim,hethrewmeasideand,inone
instant,cutofftheheadofBartolaandthenseveredtheheadofthescreamingMatteo.

Iwentmad.Ihowled.Heturnedonme.Butfromthefemaletherecameasuddenfirmnegation.

"Leavehimalone,"shecriedinavoicethatwasbothsweetandclear,andthenoffhewent,thismurderer,
thishoodedfiendinhisgold-trimmedboots,callingbacktoher.

"Comeon,now,haveyoulostyourwits?Lookatthesky.

Come,Ursula."

Shedidn'tmove.Shestaredatmeasbefore.

Isobbedandcursedand,grabbingmysword,ranatheragain,andthistimesawmybladedescendtocut
offherrightarm,rightbelowtheelbow.Thewhitelimb,smallandseeminglyfragilelikeallofherparts,
felltothepavedfloorwithherheavysword.Bloodspurtedfromher.

Shedidnomorethanlookatit.Andthenatmewiththesamepoignant,disconsolateandnearheartbroken
face.

Iliftedmyswordagain."Strega!"Icried,clenchingmyteeth,tryingtoseethroughmytears."Strega!"

Butinanotherfeatofevil,shehadmovedback,farawayfromme,asifpulledbyaninvisibleforce,and
in her left hand she now held her right, which still clutched her sword as if it were not severed. She

replacedthelimbIhadcutoff.Iwatchedher.Iwatchedherputthelimbinplaceandturnitandadjustit
untilitwasasitshouldbe,andthenbeforemyastonishedeyes,IsawthewoundIhadmadeutterlyseal
upinherwhiteskin.Thentheloosebellsleeveofherrichvelvetgownfelldownagainaroundherwrist.
In a twinkling she was outside the chapel, only a silhouette now against the distant fires burning in the
towerwindows.Iheardherwhisper:"Vittorio."Thenshevanished.

Iknewitwasvaintogoafterher!YetstillIranoutandswungmyswordaroundinagreatcircle,crying
outinrageandbitternessandmadmenaceatalltheworld,myeyesnowblindedwithtears,andmythroat
fulltochoking.

Everythingwasstill.Everyonewasdead.Dead.Iknewit.

Thecourtyardwasstrewnwithbodies.

I ran back into the chapel. I grabbed up the head of Bartola and the head of Matteo into my arms. I sat
downandheldtheminmylap,andIsobbed.

They seemed still alive, these severed heads, their eyes flashing, and their lips even moving with
hopelessattemptstospeak.Oh,God!Itwasbeyondallhumanendurance.Isobbed.

Icursed.

Ilaidthemsidebyside,thesetwoheadsinmylap,andIstrokedtheirhairandstrokedtheircheeksand
whisperedcomfortingwordstothem,thatGodwasclose,Godwaswithus,Godwouldtakecareofus
forever,thatwewereinHeaven.Oh,please,Ibegyou,God,Iprayedinmysoul,don'tletthemhavethe
feelingandtheconsciousnesswhichtheystillseemtopossess.Oh,no,notsuch.Ican'tbearit.Icannot.
No. Please. At dawn, finally, when the sun poured arrogantly through the door of the chapel, when the
fireshaddiedaway,whenthebirdssangasifnothinghadhappened,theinnocentlittleheadsofBar-tola
and Matteo were lifeless and still, and very obviously dead, and their immortal souls were gone from
them,iftheyhadnotflownatthemomentwhentheswordhadseveredtheseheadsfromthebodies.

Ifoundmymothermurderedinthecourtyard.Myfather,coveredwithwoundsonhishandsandarms,as
ifhehadgrabbedattheveryswordsthatstruckhim,laydeadonthestairsofthetower.

Theworkallaroundhadbeenswift.Throatscut,andonlyhereandtheretheevidence,aswithmyfather,
ofagreatstruggle.

Nothingwasstolen.Myaunts,twodeadinthefarcornerofthechapel,andtwoothersintheyard,wore
stillalltheirringsandneckletsandcircletsabouttheirhair.Notajeweledbuttonhadbeenrippedaway.

Itwasthesamethroughouttheentirecompound.

Thehorsesweregone,thecattlehadroamedintothewoods,thefowlflown.Iopenedthelittlehousefull
ofmyhuntingfalcons,tookofftheirhoodsandletthemallgointothetrees.

Therewasnoonetohelpmeburythedead.

Bynoon,Ihaddraggedmyfamily,onebyone,tothecryptandtumbledthemunceremoniouslydownthe
steps,andthenlaidthemallout,sidebysideintheroom,asbestIcould.

Ithadbeenabackbreakingtask.IwasneartofaintingasIcomposedthelimbsofeachperson,andlastof
allmyfather.

IknewthatIcouldnotdoitforeveryoneelsehereinourcompound.Itwassimplyimpossible.Besides,
whateverhadcomemightwellcomeagain,asIhadbeenleftalive,andtherewasahoodeddemonman
whohadwitnessedit,avicioushoodedassassinwhohadslaughteredtwochildrenpiteously

And whatever was the nature of this angel of death, this exquisite Ursula, with her barely tinted white
cheeksandherlongneckandslopingshoulders,Ididn'tknow.Sheherselfmightcomebacktoavengethe
insultIhaddoneher.

Ihadtoleavethemountain.

That these creatures were not anywhere around now I felt instinctively, both in my heart and from the
wholesomeness of the warm and loving sun, but also because I had witnessed their flight, heard their
whistles to one another and heard the ominous words of the demon man to the woman, Ursula, that she
musthurry.

No,thesewerethingsofthenight.

SoIhadtimetoclimbthehighesttowerandlookatthecountryround.Idid.Iconfirmedthattherewasno
onewhocouldhaveseenthesmokeofourfewburningwoodenfloorsandtorchedfurniture.Thenearest
castlewasaruin,asIhavesaid.Thelowerhamletswerelongabandoned.

Thenearestvillageofanysizewasafullday'swalk,andIhadtobeoffifImeanttogettoanykindof
hidingplacebynightfall.

Athousandthoughtstormentedme.Iknewtoomanythings.Iwasaboy;Icouldnotevenpassforaman!I
hadwealthintheFlorentinebanksbutitwasaweek'sridefromwhereIwas!Theseweredemons.Yet
theyhadcomeintoachurch.FraDiamontehadbeenstruckdead.

Onlyonethoughtfinallywaspossibleforme.

Vendetta.Iwasgoingtogetthem.Iwasgoingtofindthemandgetthem.Andiftheycouldn'tcomeoutby
the light of day, then it would be by that means that I would get them! I would do it. For Bartola, for
Matteo,formyfatherandmother,forthehumblestchildwhohadbeentakenfrommymountain.

Andtheyhadtakenthechildren.Yes,thattheyhaddone.

IconfirmeditbeforeIleft,foritwasslowtodawnonmewithallmyconcerns,buttheyhad.Therewas
notacorpseofachildontheplace,onlythoseboysofmyagehadbeenkilled,butanythingyoungerhad
beenstolenaway.Forwhat!Forwhathorrors!Iwasbesidemyself.

I might have stood in the tower window, with clenched fist, consumed with anger and the vow for
vendetta,ifawelcomesighthadn'tdistractedme.Downintheclosestvalley,Isawthreeofmyhorses
wanderingabout,aimlessly,asthoughwantingtobecalledhome.AtleastIshouldhaveoneofmyfinest
toride,butIhadtogetmoving.WithahorseImightjustreachatownbynightfall.Ididn'tknowtheland
tothenorth.Itwasmountaincountry,butIhadheardofafair-sizedtownnottoofaraway.Ihadtoget
there,forrefuge,tothinkandtoconsultwithapriestwhohadabraininhisheadandknewdemons.

Mylasttaskwasignominiousandrevoltingtome,butIdidit.IgatheredupallthewealthIcouldcarry.

ThismeantthatIretiredfirsttomyownroom,asifthiswereanordinaryday,dressedmyselfinmybest
darkhunter'sgreensilkandvelvet,putonmyhighbootsandtookupmygloves,andthentakingtheleather
bagswhichIcouldaffixtomyhorse'ssaddle,Iwentdownintothecryptandtookfrommyparentsandmy
auntsandunclestheirverymosttreasuredrings,necklacesandbrooches,thebucklesofgoldandsilver
whichhadcomefromtheHolyLand.Godhelpme.

ThenIfilledmypursewithallthegoldducatsandflorinsIcouldfindinmyfather'scoffers,asifIwerea
thief, a very thief of the dead it seemed to me, and hefting these heavy leather bags, I went to get my
mount, saddle him and bridle him and start off, a man of rank, with his weaponry, and his mink-edged
cape,andaFlorentinecapofgreenvelvet,offintotheforest.

ChapterFour

INWHICHICOMEUPONFURTHER

MYSTERIES,SUFFERSEDUCTION

ANDCONDEMNMYSOULTO

BITTERVALOR

Now, I was too full of rancor to be thinking straight, as I’ve already described, and surely you will
understandthis.Butitwasn'tsmartofmetogoridingthroughthewoodsofTuscanydressedsorichly,and
bymyself,becauseanywoodsinItalywasboundtohaveitsbandits.

Ontheotherhand,playingthepoorscholarwouldn'thavebeenthebestchoiceeither,itseemedtome.

Ican'tclaimtohavemadearealdecision.Thedesireforvengeanceuponthedemonsthathaddestroyed
uswastheonlycentralpassionIcouldabide.

SothereIwas,ridingsteadilybymid-afternoon,tryingtokeeptothevalleyroadsasIlostsightofour
towers, trying not to cry anymore like a child, but being drawn off into the mountainous land over and
overagain.

Myheadwasswimming.Andthelandscapegavemelittletimetothink.Nothingcouldhavebeenmore
forlorn.

Icamewithinsightoftwohugeruinedcastlesverysoonaftermydeparture,copingsandrampartslostin
thegreedyforest,whichmadememindfulthatthesehadbeentheholdingsofoldLordswhohadbeenfool
enough to resist the power of Milan or Florence. It was enough to make me doubt my sanity, enough to
makemethinkthatwehadnotbeenannihilatedbydemonsbutthatcommonenemieshadmadetheassault.
Itwasutterlygrimtoseetheirbrokenbattlementsloomingagainsttheotherwisecheerfulandbrilliantsky,
and to come upon the overgrown fragments of villages with their tumbledown hovels and forgotten
crossroadsshrinesinwhichstoneVirginsorsaintshadsunkintospiderwebsandshadows.

WhenIdidspyahighdistantwell-fortifiedtown,IknewwellitwasMilaneseandhadnointentionof
goingupthere.Iwaslost!

Asforthebandits,Ionlyranintoonelittleraggedband,whichItookonimmediatelywithadelugeof
chatter.

.Ifanything,thelittlepackofidiotsgavemesomedistraction.Mybloodranasfastasmytongue:

"I'mridinginadvanceofahundredmen,"Ideclared.

"WesearchforabandofoutlawsclaimingtobefightingforSforzawhenthey'renothingbutrapistsand
thieves;youseenanyofthem?Ihaveaflorinforeachofyouifyoucantellmeanything.

Wemeantocutthemdownonsight.I'mtired.I'msickofthis."Itossedthemsomecoins.

Theywereoffimmediately.

But not before they let slip in talk of the country round that the nearest Florentine town was Santa
Maddalana,whichwastwohoursupahead,andthatitwouldcloseitsgatesatnight,andnobodycould
talkhiswayintoit.

I pretended to know all about that and to be on the way to a famous monastery that I knew lay farther
north,whichIcouldn'tpossiblyhavereached,andthenthrewmoremoneyovermyshoulderasIraced
off,holleringoutthattheyoughttorideontomeetthebandcomingbehindwhowouldpaythemfortheir
service.

IknowtheyweredebatingallthetimewhethertokillmeandtakeeverythingIhadornot.Itwasamatter
of stares and bluffs and fast talking and standing one's ground, and they were just utter ruffians, and
somehowIgotoutofit.

IrodeoffasquicklyasIcould,leftthemainroadandcuttowardstheslopesfromwhichIcouldseein
thefardistancethevagueoutlineofSantaMaddalana.Abigtown.Icouldseefourmassivetowersall
gatheredneartheobviousfrontgates,andseveraldistinctchurchsteeples.

I had hoped for something before this Santa Maddalana, something small, less fortified. But I couldn't
remembernamesorwastoolostnowtogolookingfurther.Theafternoonsunshinewasbrilliantbutnow
ataslant.IhadtomakeforSantaMaddalana.

WhenIreachedthemountainproperonwhichthistownwasbuilt,Iwentupsharplyonthesmallpaths
usedbytheshepherds.

Thelightwasfadingfast.Theforestwastoothicktobesafesonearawalledtown.Icursedthemthat
they didn't keep the mountain cleared, but then I had the safety of cover. There were moments amid the
deepening darkness when it seemed virtually impossible to reach the summit; the stars now lighted a
glowing sapphirine sky, but that only made the venerable town in all its majesty seem ever more
unattainable.

Finally the heedless night did plunge down amongst the thick trunks of the trees, and I was picking my
way,countingontheinstinctsofmyhorsemorethanmyownfailingvision.Thepalehalf-moonseemedin

lovewiththeclouds.Theskyitselfwasnothingbutbitsandpiecesthankstothecanopyoffoliageabove
me.

Ifoundmyselfprayingtomyfather,asifheweresafelywithmyguardianangelsaboutme,andIthinkI
believedinhimandhispresencemoresurelythanIhadeverbelievedinangels,saying,"Please,Father,
helpmegetthere.Helpmegettosafety,lestthosedemonsrendermyvengeanceimpossible."

Igrippedmyswordhard.IremindedmyselfofthedaggersIworeinmyboots,inmysleeve,inmyjacket
andinmybelt.Istrainedtoseebythelightofthesky,andhadtotrustmyhorsetopickhiswaythrough
thethicktreetrunks.

AtmomentsIstoppedverystill.Iheardnounusualsound.Whoelsewouldbefoolenoughtobeoutinthe
night of this forest? At some point very near the end of the journey, I found the main road, the forest
thinnedandthengavewaytosmoothfieldsandmeadows,andItookthetwistsandturnsatagallop.

Atlastthetownroserightupinfrontofus,asithappenswhenyoureachthegatesbyafinalturn,you
seemtohavebeenthrownuponthegroundatthefootofamagicfortress

-andItookadeepbreathofthanks,nomatterthatthegiantgateswerefirmlyshutasifahostilearmy
werecampedbeneathit.

Thishadtobemyhaven.

OfcoursetheWatch,asleepysoldierholleringdownfromabove,wantedtoknowwhoIwas.

Once again the effort of making up something good distracted me from wayward, near uncontrollable,
imagesofthefiendUrsulaandherseveredarm,andthedecapitatedbodiesofmybrotherandsisterfallen
onthechapelfloorinmid-gesture.Icriedout,inahumbletonebutwithpretentiousvocabulary,thatIwas
a scholar in the employ of Cosimo de' Medici come on a search for books in Santa Maddalana, in
particular old prayer books pertaining to the saints and appearances of the Blessed Virgin Mary in this
district.

Whatnonsense.

Ihadcome,Ideclared,tovisitthechurchesandschoolsandwhateveroldteachersthetownmightshelter,
andtotakebackwhatIcouldpurchasewithgoodgoldFlorentinecointomymasterinFlorence.

"Yes,butyourname,yourname!"thesoldierinsistedasheopenedthesmalllowergateonlyacrack,his
lanternheldhightoinspectme.

IknewImadeagoodpictureonmyhorse.

"De' Bardi," I declared. "Antonio De' Bardi, kinsman of Cosimo," I said with fierce nerve, naming the
familyofCosimo'swifebecauseitwastheonlynamethatcameintomyhead."Look,kindlyman,take
thispaymentforme,haveagoodsupperwithyourwifeasmyguests,here,Iknowit'slate,I'msotired!"

The gate was opened. I had to dismount to lead my horse with lowered head through it and into the
echoingstonepiazzarightinside.

"WhatinthenameofGod,"askedtheWatchman,"wereyoudoinginthesewoodsafterdarkalone?Do
youknowthedangers?Andsoyoung?WhatistheBardithesedaysthattheylettheirsecretariesgoriding
alloverunescorted?"Hepocketedthemoney."Lookatyou,amerechild!

Somebodycouldmurderyouforyourbuttons.What'sthematterwithyou?"Thiswasanimmensepiazza,
andIcouldseemorethanonestreetleadingoff.Goodluck.Butwhatifthedemonswereheretoo?Ihad
noclueastowheresuchthingsmightroostorhide!ButIwentontalking.

"It'sallmyfault.Igotlost.Tellonmeandyou'llgetmeintrouble,"Isaid."ShowmetotheAlbergo.I'm
sotired.

Here,takethis,no,youmust."Igavehimmoremoney"Igotlost.Ididn'tlisten.I'mabouttofaint.Ineed
wineandsupperandabed.Here,goodman,no,no,no,takemore,Iinsist.TheBardiwouldnothaveit
otherwise."

He ran out of pockets for the money, but managed somehow to stuff it in his shirt and then led me by
torchlighttotheInn,bangingonthedoor,andasweet-facedoldwomancamedown,gratefulforthecoins
Ithrustintoherhandatonce,toshowmetoaroom.

"Highupandlookingoutoverthevalley,"Isaid,"ifyouplease,andsomesupper,itcanbestonecold,I
don'tcare."

"You're not going to find any books in this town," said the Watchman, standing about as I beat it up the
stairsafterthewoman.'Alltheyoungpeoplegooff;it'sapeaceableplace,justhappylittleshopkeepers.
Youngmentodayrunofftouniversities.Butthisisabeautifulplacetolive,simplybeautiful."

"Howmanychurchesdoyouhave?"Iaskedtheoldwomanwhenwe'dreachedtheroom.ItoldherthatI
mustkeepthelightedcandleforthenight.

"TwoDominican,oneCarmelite,"saidtheWatchman,slouchinginthelittledoor,"andthebeautifulold
Franciscanchurch,whichiswhereIgo.Nothingbadeverhappenshere."

Theoldwomanshookherheadandtoldhimtobequiet.

Shesetthecandledownandgesturedthatitcouldstay.

TheWatchmanwentonchatteringasIsatonthebed,staringatnothing,untilshe'dbroughtaplateofcold
muttonandbread,andapitcherofwine.

"Ourschoolsarestrict,"themanwenton.

Againtheoldwomantoldhimtohushup.

"Nobodydarestomaketroubleinthisplace”hesaid,andthenbothofthemweregone.Ifellonmyplate
likeananimal.AllIwantedwasstrength.InmygriefIcouldn'teventhinkofpleasure.Ilookedoutona
tinybitofhighstar-sprinkledskyforalittlewhile,prayingdesperatelytoeverysaintandangelwhose
nameIknewforhelp,andthenIlockedupthewindowtight.

Iboltedthedoor.

Andmakingsurethatthecandlewaswellshelteredinthecorner,andplentybigenoughtolastuntildawn,
I fell into the lumpy little bed, too exhausted to remove boots or sword or daggers or anything else. I
thoughtI'dfallintoadeepsleep,butIlayrigid,fullofhatred,andhurt,andswollenbrokensoul,staring
intothedark,mymouthfullofdeathasifI'deatenit.

I could hear distantly the sounds of my horse being tended to downstairs, and some lonely steps on the
deserted stone street. I was safe, at least that much was so. Finally sleep came. It came totally and
completelyandsweetly;thenetofnerveswhichhadheldmesuspendedandmaddenedsimplydissolved,
andIsankdownintoadreamlessdarkness.

Iwasconsciousofthatsweetpointwherenothingforthemomentmattersexcepttosleep,toreplenishand
tofearyetnodreams,andthennothing.Anoisebroughtmearound.Iwasimmediatelyawake.

Thecandlehadgoneout.Ihadmyhandonmyswordbeforemyeyesopened.Ilayonthenarrowbed,
back to the wall, facing the room and in a seemingly sourceless light. I could just make out the bolted
door,butIcouldn'tseethewindowabovemeunlessIturnedmyheadtolookup,andIknew,positively
knew,thatthiswindow,heavilybarred,hadbeenbrokenopen.Thelittlelightwhichfellonthewallcame
fromtheskyoutside.Itwasafragile,weaklight,slippingdownagainstthewallofthetownandgiving
mylittlechambertheattitudeofaprisoncell.

I felt the cool fresh air come down around my neck and felt it on my cheek. I clutched the sword tight,
listening,waiting.Thereweresmallcreakingsounds.Thebedhadmovedeversoslightly,asiffroma
pressure.

I couldn't focus my eyes. Darkness suddenly obscured everything, and out of this darkness there rose a
shapebeforeme,afigurebendingoverme,awomanlookingrightintomyfaceasherhairfelldownon
me.

ItwasUrsula.

Herfacewasnotaninchfrommine.Herhand,verycoolandsmooth,closedovermyown,onthehiltof
mysword,withadeadlyforce,andshelethereyelashesstrokemycheekandthenkissedmyforehead.

Iwasenvelopedinsweetness,nomatterhowhotmyrebellion.Asordidfloodofsensationpenetratedto
myveryentrails.

"Strega!"Icursedher.

"Ididn'tkillthem,Vittorio."Hervoicewasimploringbutwithdignityandacurioussonorousstrength,
thoughitwasonlyasmallvoice,veryyoungintoneandfeminineintimbre.

"You were taking them/' I said to her. I tried in a violent spasm to free myself. But her hand held me
powerfullyfast,andwhenItriedtofreemyleftarmfromunderme,shecaughtmywristandheldmethere
too,andthenshekissedme.

TherecamethatmagnificentperfumefromherwhichIhadbreathedinbefore,andthestrokingofherhair
onmyfaceandnecksentshamelesschillsthroughme.Itriedtoturnmyhead,andsheletherlipstouch
my cheek gently, almost respectfully. I felt the length of her body against me, the definite swell of her

breasts beneath costly fabric, and the smooth length of her thigh beside me in the bed, and her tongue
touchedmylips.Shelickedatmylips.

Iwasimmobilizedbythechillsthatwentthroughme,humiliatingmeandkindlingthepassioninsideme.

"Getaway,strega,"Iwhispered.

Filled with rage, I couldn't stop the slow smolder that had caught hold in my loins; I couldn't stop the
rapturoussensationsthatwerepassingovermyshouldersanddownmyback,andeventhroughmylegs.

Hereyesglowedaboveme,theflickerofherlidsmoreasensationthanaspectacleIcouldseewithmy
owneyes,andagainherlipsclosedovermine,suckingatmymouth,teasingit,andthenshedrewback
andpressedhercheekagainstme.Herskin,whichhadlookedsolikeporcelain,feltsofterthanadown
feather against me, ah, all of her seemed a soft doll, made of luscious and magical materials far more
yieldingthanfleshandbloodyetutterlyonfirewithboth,foraheatcameoutofherinarhythmicthrob,
emanatingrightfromthecoolnessofherfingersstrokingmywristsastheyheldthem,andthentheheatof
hertongueshotintomylips,againstmywill,withawet,deliciousandvehementforceagainstwhichI
coulddonothing.Thereformedinmycrazedmindsomerealizationthatshehadusedmyownhotdesire
to render me helpless, that carnal madness had made of me a body constructed about metal wires that
couldnothelpbutconductthefireshepouredintomymouth.Shedrewhertonguebackandsuckedwith
herlipsagain.

Myentirefacewastingling.Allmylimbswerestrugglingbothagainstherandtotouchher,yes,embrace
heryetfighther.

Shelayagainsttheveryevidenceofmydesire.Icouldn'thavehiddenit.Ihatedher.

"Why?Whatfor!"Isaid,tearingmymouthloose.Herhairdescendedonbothsidesassheliftedherhead.
Icouldscarcelybreathefortheunearthlypleasure.

"Getoffme/'Isaid,"andgobackintoHell.Whatisthismercytome!Whydothistome?"

"Idon'tknow,"sheansweredinherclever,tremulousvoice."Maybeit'sonlythatIdon'twantyoutodie,"
she said, breathing against my chest. Her words were rapid, like her heated pulse. "Maybe more," she
said,"Iwantyoutogoaway,gosouthtoFlorence,goawayandforgetallthat'shappened,asifitwere
nightmaresorwitches'spells,asifnoneofittookplace;leavethistown,go,youmust."

"Stopyourfoullies,"IsaidbeforeIcouldstopmyself.

"YouthinkI'lldothat?Youmurderedmyfamily,you,youandyours,whateveryouare!"Herheaddipped,
herhairensnaringme.Ifoughtvainlytogetloose.Itwasoutofthequestion.Icouldn'tbudgehergrip.

All was blackness, and indescribable softness. I felt a sudden tiny pain in my throat, no more than the
prickofpins,andmymindwassuddenlyfloodedwiththemosttranquilhappiness.

It seemed I'd stumbled into a blowing meadow of flowers, quite far away from this place and from all
woes,andshelaywithme,fallenagainstsilentlycrushedstemsanduncomplainingirises,Ursula,with
herundoneashenhair,andshesmiledwiththemostengaginganddemandingeyes,fervent,perhapseven
brilliant,asifourswereasuddenandtotalinfatuationofmindaswellasbody.Onmychestsheclimbed,

andthoughsherodeme,lookingdownatmewithexquisitesmilinglips,shepartedherlegsgentlyforme
toenterher.

Itseemedadeliriousblendingofelements,thewetcontractingsecretivepocketbetweenherlegsandthis
greatabundanceofsilenteloquencepouringfromhergazeasshelookedlovinglydownatme.

Abruptlyitstopped.Iwasdizzy.Herlipswereagainstmyneck.Itriedwithallmymighttothrowheroff.

"Iwilldestroyyou,"Isaid."Iwill.Ivowit.IfIhavetochaseyouintothemouthofHell,"Iwhispered.I
strainedagainsthergraspsohardthatmyownfleshburnedagainsthers.Butshewouldn'trelent.Itriedto
clearmymind.No,nodreamsofsweetness,no.

"Getawayfromme,witch."

"Hush,bequiet,"shesaidsorrowfully."Youaresoyoungandsostubborn,andsobrave.Iwasyounglike
you.Oh,yes,andsodeterminedandsuchafearlessparagon."

"Don'ttalkyourfilthtome,"Isaid.

"Hush," she said again. "You'll wake the house. What good will that do?" How painful, earnest and
enticingshesounded.Hervoiceitselfcouldhaveseducedmefrombehindacurtain."Icannotmakeyou
safeforever,"shesaid,"orevenforverylong.Vittorio,go."ShedrewbacksothatIcouldseehersincere
andlargeyieldingeyesallthebetter.Shewasamasterpiece.Andsuchbeauty,theperfectsimulacrumof
thefiendI'dseeninthefirelightofmychapel,needednopotionsorspellstoadvancehercause.Shewas
flawlessandintimatelymagnificent.

"Oh, yes," she confessed, her half-visible eyes searching my face, "and I do find such beauty in you it
pullsonmyheart”shesaid."Unfairly,unjustlyHowamItosufferthisaswellasallelse?"

Istruggled.Iwouldn'tanswer.Iwouldn'tfeedthisenigmaticandinfernalblaze.

"Vittorio,getoutofhere,"shesaid,loweringhervoiceevermoredelicatelyandominously."Youhavea
fewnights,maybenoteventhat.IfIcometoyouagain,Imayleadthemtoyou.Vittorio.Don'ttellanyone
inFlorence.

They'lllaughatyou."

Shewasgone.

Thebedcreakedandrocked.Iwasonmyback,andmywristsachedfromthepressureofherhands,and
abovemethewindowgapedonthegrayfeaturelesslight,thewallbesidetheInnrisinguptowardsaskyI
couldn'tquiteseefromthishelplessvantagepoint.Iwasaloneintheroom.Shewasnowhere.

All of a sudden, I willed my limbs to action, but before I could so much as move, she appeared again,
aboveinthewindow,visiblefromthewaisttothetopofherbowedhead,peeringdownatme,andwith
her hands she tore loose the low embroidered border of her gown and bared her naked white breasts
before me - tiny, rounded, very close together and with piquant nipples visible only in their darkness.
Withherrighthandshescratchedherleftbreast,justabovethelittlenipple,madeitbleed.

"Witch!"

I rose up to grab hold of her, to kill her, and instead felt her hand grasp my head, and there came the
pressure of her left breast into my very mouth, irresistibly frail yet firm. Once again, all that was real
melted and was swept away like so much idle smoke rising from a fire, and we were together in the
meadow which belonged only to us, only to our diligent and indissoluble embraces. I sucked the milk
from her, as if she was maiden and mother, virgin and queen, all the while I broke with my thrusts
whateverflowerremainedinsideofhertobetornopen.

Iwasletgo.Ifell.Helpless,unableeventoraiseahandtokeepherfromflying,Ifelldown,weakand
stupidontothebed,myfacewetandmylimbstrembling.Icouldn'tsitup.Icoulddonothing.Isawin
flashesourfieldoftenderwhiteirisesandredirises,theloveliestflowersofTuscany,thewildirisesof
ourland,blowinginthegreenestgrass,andIsawherrunningawayfromme.

Yetallthiswastransparent,half-tinted,andcouldnotmaskthetinycellofaroomasithaddonebefore,
onlylinger,likeaveildrawnacrossmyface,totormentmewithitsticklingweightlesssilkiness.

"Spells!"Iwhispered."MyGod,ifyouhaveevercommittedmetoguardianangels,willyouspurthemon
nowtocovermewiththeirwings!"Isighed."Ineedthem."Finally,shakilyandwithdimvision,Isatup.
Irubbedatmyneck.Chillsranupanddownmyspine,andthebacksofmyarms.Mybodywasstillfull
ofdesire.Isqueezedmyeyesshut,refusingtothinkofheryetwantinganything,anysourceofstimulation,
thatwouldsoothethisawfulneed.

Ilaybackagain,andwasverystilluntilthiscarnalmadnesshadleftme.Iwasamanagainthen,fornot
havingbeen,atrandom,aman.

Igotup,readyfortears,andItookmycandledowntothemainroomoftheInn,tryingnottomakeasound
on the crooked winding stone stairs, and I got a light from a candle there on a hook on the wall, at the
mouthofthepassage,andIwentbackup,clingingtothiscomfortinglittlelight,shieldingtheshuddering
flamewithmycuppedhandandprayingstill,andthenIsetdownthecandle.

IclimbedupandtriedtoseewhatIcouldfromthewindow.

Nothing, nothing but an impossible drop beneath me, a sloping wall up which a fleshand-blood maiden
couldneverhaveclimbed,andhigher,themute,passivesky,inwhichthefewstarshadbeencoveredby
fleecycloudsasifnottoacknowledgemyprayersormypredicament.

ItseemedabsolutelycertainIwasgoingtodie.

Iwasgoingtofallvictimtothesedemons.Shewasright.

HowcouldIpossiblyexacttherevengetheydeserved?

HowinHellcouldIdoit!YetIbelievedinmypurposeutterly.Ibelievedinmyrevengeascompletelyas
Ibelievedinher,thiswitchwhomIhadtouchedwithmyveryownfingers,whohaddaredtokindlea
wantonconflictinmysoul,whohadcomewithhercomradesofthenighttoslaughtermyfamilyIcouldn't
overmastertheimagesofthenightbefore,ofherstandingbewilderedinthechapeldoor.Icouldn'tgetthe
tasteof her off my lips. All Ihad to do was think of her breasts,and my body would weaken as if she

werefeedingmydesirefromhernipple.

Makethissubside,Iprayed.Youcannotrun.YoucannotgoofftoFlorence,youcannotliveforeverwith
nothingbutthememoryoftheslaughteryousaw,thatisimpossible,unthinkable.Youcannot.

IweptwhenIrealizedthatIwouldn'tbealivenowifithadnotbeenforher.Itwasshe,theashen-haired
oneIwascursingwitheverybreath,whohadstoppedherhoodedcompanionfromkillingme.Itwould
havebeenacompletevictory!

Acalmcameoverme.Well,ifIwasgoingtodie,therewasnochoice,really.Iwouldgetthemfirst.I
wouldsomehowdoit.

As soon as the sun was up, so was I, and walking around the town, my saddlebags over my shoulder
casually, as if they didn't contain a fortune, I sized up quite a portion of Santa Maddalana, with its
treeless, narrow-stoned streets, built centuries before, perhaps some of its buildings with their wild
patternlessmortaredstonesgoingbackeventoRomantimes.

Itwasamarvelouslypeacefulandprosperoustown.

Theforgeswerealreadyatwork,andsowerethecabinetmakersandalsothesaddlemakers;therewere
severalshoemakersdealinginsomefineslippersaswellastheworkadayboots,andquiteaclusterof
jewelersandmenwhoworkedinagreatvarietyofpreciousmetals,aswellastheusualswordmakers,
menwhomadekeysandthelikeandthosewhodealtinhidesandfurs.

I passed more fancy shops than I could count. One could buy fancy fabrics here, right from Florence, I
supposed,andlacefromnorthandsouthitseemed,andOrientalspices.Thebutcherswerehavingatime
ofitwiththeabundanceoffreshmeat.Andthereweremanywineshops,andIpassedatleastacoupleof
busynotaries,letterwritersandthelike,andseveraldoctorsor,rather,apothecaries.

Carts were rolling through the front gates, and there was even a little crush in the streets now and then
beforethesunwasevenhighenoughtocomefiercelydownovertheclosetiled

roofsandhitthebarestonesonwhichIploddeduphill.

The churches rang their bells for Mass, and I saw plenty of schoolchildren rushing past me, all rather
clean and neatly dressed, and then two little crews being paraded by monks into the churches, both of
whichwerequiteantiqueandhadnoornamentonthefrontatall,saveforstatuesdeepinniches—saints
who scarcely had any features left to them at all—the heavily patched stones of the facades obviously
havingweatheredthefrequentearthquakesofthisregion.

There were two rather ordinary bookshops that had almost nothing much, except the prayer books one
wouldexpecttofind,andtheseatveryhighprices.TwomerchantssoldreallyfinewaresfromtheEast.
Andtherewasaclusterofcarpetsellers,too,whodealtinanimpressivevarietyofcountry-madegoods
and intricate carpets from Byzantium. Lots of money was changing hands. There were well dressed
people showing off their fine clothes. It seemed a self-sufficient place, though there were travelers
coming uphill with the clop of horses' hooves echoing on the barren walls. And I think I spied one
neglectedandverymuchfortifiedconvent.

I passed at least two more inns, and as I crisscrossed through the barely passable alleyways here and
there, I ascertained that there were actually three basic streets to the town, all running parallel up and
downthehill.

AtthefardeependwerethegatesbywhichIhadentered,andthehugefarmers'marketsopenednowin
thepiazza.

At the high end was the ruined fortress or castle where once the Lord had lived - a great cumbersome
mass of old stones, of which only a part was visible from the street, and in the lower floors of this
complextherewerethetown'sgoverningoffices.Therewereseveralsmallgrottoesorpiazzas,andold
fountains almost crumbled away but still giving forth their gurgling water. Old women were busy,
shuffling along with their market baskets and their shawls in spite of the warmth; and I saw beautiful
younggirlsaboutgivingmetheeye,allofthemveryyoung.

Ididn'twantanypartofthem.

AssoonasMasswasoverandschoolhadbegun,IwenttotheDominicanchurch-thelargestandmost
impressive of the three I could readily see - and asked at the rectory for a priest. I had to go to
Confession.

There came out a young priest, very handsome with well formed limbs and a healthy look to his
complexionandatrulydevoutmannertohim,hisblackandwhiterobesveryclean-looking.Helookedat
myattire,andmysword,indeedhetookmeinveryrespectfullybutquitecomprehensively,andobviously
presumingmetobeapersonofimportance,invitedmeintoasmallroomfortheConfession.

He was gracious more than servile. He had no more than a crown of golden hair clipped very short
aroundthetopofhisbaldhead,andlargealmostshyeyes.Hesatdown,andIkneltclosetohimonthe
barefloor,andthenoutofmecamethewholeluridtale.

With bowed head, I went on and on with it, rushing from one thing to another, from the first hideous
happenings that had so stirred my curiosity and alarm, to my father's fragmented and mysterious words
andatlasttotheraiditselfandthedreadfulassassinationofeveryoneinourcompound.

BythetimeIcametothedeathofmybrotherandsister,Iwasgesticulatingmadly,andallbutshapingmy
brother'sheadwithmyhandsintheemptyair,andgaspingandunabletocatchmybreath.

OnlywhenIwasutterlyfinishedwitheverylastworddidIlookupandrealizethattheyoungpriestwas
staringdownatmeinperfectdistressandhorror.Ididn'tknowwhattomakeofhisexpression.Youcould
have seen the very same face on a man startled by an insect or an approaching battalion of bloody
murderers.WhathadIexpected,fortheloveofGod?

"Look, Father," I said. 'All you have to do is send someone up that mountain and see for yourself!" I
shrugged, and implored him with my open hands. "That's all! Send someone to look. Nothing's stolen,
Father,nothing'staken,butwhatItook!Golook!I'llwagernothinghasbeendisturbedexceptbyravens
andbuzzardsifsuchareliketogoupthere."Hesaidnothing.Thebloodwaspalpitatinginhisyoungface,
andhismouthwasopenandhiseyeshadadazed,miserablelook.

Oh,thiswastoomarvelous.Asilkyboyofapriest,probablyfreshoutoftheseminaryusedtohearing

nunstellofevilthoughts,andmenonceayearmutteringresentfullyaboutvicesofthefleshbecausetheir
wiveshaddraggedthemtotheirdutyIbecameincensed.

"YouareundertheSealoftheConfessional,”Isaid,tryingtobepatientwithhim,andnottoplaytheLord
toomuch,becauseIcoulddothatwithpriestsifIwasn'tcareful;theymademesomadwhentheywere
stupid."ButIwillgiveyoupermission,undertheSeal,tosendamessengerupthatmountaintoseewith
yourowneyes..."

"Butson,don'tyousee,"hesaid,speakingwithsurprisingresolveandfirmnessinhislowvoice."The
Medicithemselvesmayhavesentthisbandofassassins."

"No,no,no,Father,"Ipleaded,shakingmyhead."Isawherhandfall.Icutoffthecreature'shand,Itell
you.Isawherputitback.Theyweredemons.Listentome.Thesearewitches,thesearefromHell,these
beings, and there's too many of them for me to fight alone. I need help. There's no time for disbelief.
There'snotimeforrationalreservations.IneedtheDominicans!"

Heshookhishead.Hedidn'tevenhesitate.

"Youarelosingyourmind,son,"hesaid."Somethingdreadfulhashappenedtoyou,there'snodoubtof
that,andyoubelieveallthis,butitdidn'thappen.Youareimaginingthings.Look,thereareoldwomen
aroundwhoclaimtheymakecharms..."

"Iknowallthat,"Isaid."IknowanordinaryalchemistorwitchwhenIseeone.Thiswasnoside-street
magic, Father, no country bunch of curses. I'm telling you, these demons slaughtered everyone in the
castle,inthevillages.

Don'tyousee?"

I went into the lurid particulars again. I told how she had come into the window of my room, but then
whenIwashalfwaythroughit,IrealizedhowutterlyworseIwasmakingitbygoingonaboutUrsula.

Why,thismanthoughtI'dwokeninahotdream,imaginingadamnedsuccubus.Thiswasfutile,thisentire
enterprise.

Myheartwashurtingmeinmychest.Iwassweatingallover.Thiswasawasteoftime.

"Givemeabsolution,then”Isaid.

"Iwanttoasksomethingofyou,"hesaid.Hetouchedmyhand.Hewastrembling.Helookedmoredazed
andperplexedthanevenbefore,andveryconcerned,formystateofmind,Iassumed.

"What is that?" I said coldly. I wanted to get away. I had to find a monastery! Or a damned alchemist.
There were alchemists in this town. I could find someone, someone who had read the old works, the
worksofHermesTrismegistusorLactantiusorSt.Augustine,somebodywhoknewaboutdemons.

"HaveyoureadSt.ThomasAquinas?"Iasked,choosingthemostobviousdemonologistofwhomIcould
think.

"Father,hetalksallaboutdemons.Look,youthinkIwouldhavebelievedallthismyselflastyearatthis

time?Ithoughtallsorcerywasforbackdoorswindlers.Theseweredemons!"Icouldnotbedeterred.I
wentathim.

"Father,intheSummaTheologica,thefirstbook,St.Thomastalksofthefallenangels,thatsomeofthem
areallowedtobehereonearth,sothatallofthesefallenangelsdon'tjustfalloutofthenaturalschemeof
things.Theyarehere,allowedtobeuseful,totemptmen,andFather,theycarrythefireofHellaboutwith
them!It'sinSt.Thomas.Theyarehere.Theyhave...

have . . . bodies we can't understand. The Summa says so. It says that angels have bodies which are
beyond our understanding! That's what this woman possesses." I struggled to remember the actual
argument.IstruggledinLatin."Thisiswhatshedoes,thisbeing!

It'saform,it'salimitedform,butonethatIcan'tunderstand,butshewasthere,andIknowitonaccount
ofheractions."

Heputuphishandformypatience.

"Son,please,"hesaid.'AllowmetoconfidewhatyouhaveconfessedtometothePastor,"heaskedme.
"Youunderstand,ifIdothis,hetoowillbeboundbythesameSealofConfessionasIambound.Butlet
measkhimtocomeinandletmetellhimwhatyouhavesaid,andletmeaskthathespeaktoyou.You
understand,Icannotdoanyofthiswithoutyoursolemnpermission."

"Yes,Iknowallthat,"Isaid."Whatgoodwillthisdo?LetmeseethisPastor."

NowIwasbeingtoohaughtyentirely,tooimpertinent.Iwasexhausted.IwasdoingtheoldSignoretrick
of treating a country priest like he was a servant. This was a man of God, and I had to get a grip on
myself.MaybethePastorhadreadmore,understoodmore.Oh,butwhowouldunderstandwhohadnot
seen?

Therecamebacktomeafleetingyetvividandsearingmemoryofmyfather'sanxiousfaceonthenight
beforethedemonshadstruck.Thepainwasinexpressible.

"I'm sorry, Father," I said to the priest. I winced, trying to contain this memory, this awful drench of
miseryandhopelessness.Iwonderedwhyanyofuswerealive,ever,foranyreason!

Andthenthewordsofmyexquisitetormentorcameback,herowntorturedvoiceofthelastnightsaying
that she had been young too, and such a paragon. What had she meant, speaking of herself with such
sorrow?

MystudyofAquinascamebacktohauntme.Werenotdemonssupposedtoremainabsolutelyconfirmed
intheirhatredofus?Inthepridewhichhadmadethemsin?Thatwasnotthesinuouslusciouscreature
whohadcometome.Butthiswasfolly.Iwasfeelingforher,whichiswhatshehadwantedmetodo.I
hadonlysomanyhoursofdaylighttoplanherdestructionandmustbeonwithit.

"Please, yes, Father, as you wish," I said. "But bless me first." This drew him out of his troubled
ruminations.HelookedatmeasifI'dstartledhim.Atoncehegavehisblessingandhisabsolution.

"YoucandowhatyouwishwiththePastor,"Isaid."Yes,please,askthePastorifhewillseeme.And
here,forthechurch."Igavehimseveralducats.Hestaredatthemoney.Buthedidn'ttouchit.Hestaredat

thisgoldasifitwerehotcoals.

"Father,takeit.Thisisatidylittlefortune.Takeit."

"No,youwaithere-orItellyouwhat,youcomeoutintothegarden."Thegardenwaslovely,alittleold
grotto,fromwhichyoucouldseethetownsneakingupontherightallthewaytothecastle,andthenyou
couldseeoverthewallsfaroutoverthemountains.TherewasanantiquestatueofSt.Dominicthere,a
fountainandabench,andsomeoldwordscarvedintothestoneaboutamiracle.

1satdown onthebench. Ilookedup atthehealthy bluesky andthevirgin whiteclouds,and Itriedto
catchmybreathinsideofmyself.CouldIbemad?Iwondered.Thatwasridiculous.

ThePastorstartledme.Hecameplungingoutofthelowarcheddoorwayoftherectory,anelderlyman
with almost no hair at all, and a small bulging nose and ferocious large eyes. The younger priest was
runningtokeepupwithhim.

"Getoutofhere,"thePastorsaidtomeinawhisper."Getoutofourtown.Getclearawayfromit,and
don'ttellyourstoriestoanybodyinit,youhearme?"

"What?"Iasked."Whatsortofsolaceisthis!"Hewassteaming."I'mwarningyou."

"Warning me of what?" I demanded. I didn't bother to get up from the bench. He glowered over me.
"You'reundertheSealofConfession.WhatareyougoingtodoifIdon'tleave?"Iasked.

"Idon'thavetodoanything,that'sjustit!"hesaid."Goawayandtakeyourmiserywithyou."Hestopped,
clearly at a loss, embarrassed perhaps, as if he'd said something he regretted. He ground his teeth and
lookedoffandthenbackatme.

"Foryourownsake,leave/'hesaidinawhisper.Helookedattheotherpriest."Yougo,"hesaid,"andlet
metalktohim."

Theyoungpriestwasinatotalfright.Heleftimmediately.

IlookedupatthePastor.

"Leave,"hesaidtomeinhislow,meanvoice,hislowerlipdrawingbacktorevealhislowerteeth."Get
outofourtown.GetoutofSantaMaddalana."Ilookedathimwithcoldcontempt."Youknowaboutthem,
don'tyou?"Isaidinalowvoice.

"You're mad. Mad!" he said. "If you speak of demons to people here you'll end up burnt at the stake
yourselfforasorcerer.Youthinkitcan'thappen?"Itwashatredinhiseyes,shamelesshatred.

"Oh,poordamnedpriest,"Isaid,"you'reinleaguewiththeDevil."

"Getout!"hegrowled.

Igotupandlookeddownintohisswellingeyes,hispouting,overworkedmouth.

"Don'tyoudarebreaktheSealofmyConfession,Father,"Isaid."Ifyoudo,I'llkillyou."Hestoodstock-

still,staringatme.

Ismiledverycoldlyandwenttopassonthroughtherectoryandaway.Heranafterme,whisperinglikea
steamingkettle."Youmisunderstandeverything.You'recrazy,you'reimaginingthings.I'mtryingtosave
youfrompersecutionandvillainization."

Iturnedaroundatthedoortothechurchandglaredhimintouttersilence.

"You'vetippedyourhand,"Isaid."You'retoomerciless.RememberwhatIsaid.BreaktheSealandI'll
killyou”

Hewasasfrightenednowastheyoungpriesthadbeen.

Istoodlookingatthealtarforalongwhile,ignoringhim,forgettinghimutterly,mymindpretendingto
havethoughtsinit,tobeconstruingandplanningwhenallIcoulddowasendure.ThenImadetheSignof
theCrossandIleftthechurch.Iwasinutterdespair.

For a while I walked around. Once again, it was only the most pleasant town I had ever seen, with
everyone happily at work, with best-swept cobbled streets, and pretty flower boxes under all the
windows,andprettilydressedpeoplegoingabouttheiraffairs.ItwasthecleanestplaceI'deverseenin
mylife,andthemostcontented.Andthepeople,theywerealleagertosellmetheirwares,buttheydidn't
pressitterriblymuch.Butitwasanawfullydulltowninaway.Therewerenopeoplemyage,noneatall
thatIsaw.Infact,thereweren'tallthatmanychildren.

WhatshouldIdo?WhereshouldIgo?WhatwasIlookingfor?

I didn't quite know how to answer my own questions, but I was certainly on my guard for the slightest
evidencethatthistownsomehowharboredthedemons,thatUrsulahadnotfoundmehere,butthatIhad
foundher.

Themerethoughtofherovercamemewithacool,invitingshockofdesire.Isawherbreasts,feltthetaste
of her, saw in a blurred flash the flowered meadow. No! Think. Make some plan. As for this town, no
matterwhatthepriestknew,thesepeopleweretoowholesomeforharboringdemons.

ChapterFive

THEPRICEOFPEACEANDTHE

PRICEOFVENGEANCE

Astheheatofthedaystartedtoreallyrise,IwentintothearboroftheInnfortheheavynoonmealandsat
downIbymyselfunderthewisteria,whichwasbloomingmagnificentlyoverthelatticework.Thisplace
wasonthesamesideofthetownastheDominicanchurch,andittoohadalovelyviewofthetowntothe
leftandaviewoutoverthemountains.

Iclosedmyeyes,andputtingmyelbowsonthetable,IclaspedmyhandsandIprayed.

"God,tellmewhattodo.

Showmewhatistobedone."AndthenIwasquietinmyheart,waiting,thinking.Whatweremychoices?

TakethistaletoFlorence?Whowouldbelieveit?GotoCosimohimselfandtellhimthisstory?Muchas
IadmiredandtrustedtheMedici,Ihadtorealizesomething.Nobodyofmyfamilywaslivingbutme.I
alonecouldlayclaimtoourfortunesintheMedicibank.Ididn'tthinkCosimowoulddenymysignature
ormyface.He'dgiveovertomewhatwasmine,whetherIhadkinsmenornot,butastoryofdemons?I'd
winduplockedupsomewhereinFlorence!

Andtalkofthestake,ofbeingburntforasorcerer,thatwasentirelypossible.Notlikely.Butpossible.It
could happen very suddenly and spontaneously in a town like this, a mob gathering, denunciations by a
localpriest,peopleshoutingandrunningtoseewhatwasup.Thisdidnowandthenhappentopeople.

About this time, my meal was set out for me, a good meal with plenty of fresh fruit and well-cooked
muttonandgravy,andasIstartedtodipmybreadandeat,upcametwomenwhoaskedtositdownwith
meandbuyacupofwineforme.IrealizedoneofthemwasaFranciscan,averykindlylookingpriest,
poorer it seemed than the Dominicans, which was logical I suppose, and the other an elderly man with
littletwinklingeyesandlongstiffwhiteeyebrows,stickingupasifwithglue,asifhewerecostumedasa
cheerfulelftodelightchildren.

"WesawyougointotheDominicans,"saidtheFranciscanquietlyandpolitelyandsmilingatme."You
didn'tlooksohappywhenyoucameout."Hewinked.

"Whydon'tyoutryus?"Thenhelaughed.Itwasnomorethanagood-naturedjokeandIknewit,aboutthe
rivalryofthetwoorders."You'reafine-lookingyoungman;youcomefromFlorence?"heasked.

"Yes,Father,traveling,"Isaid,"thoughwhereexactly,Idon'tknow.I'mstoppedhereforawhile,Ithink."
Iwastalkingwithmymouthfull,butIwastoohungrytostop."Sitdown,please."Istartedtorise,but
theysatdown.

Iboughtanotherpitcherofredwineforthetable.

"Well,youcouldn'thavefoundafinerplace,"saidthelittleoldman,whoseemedtohavehiswitsabout
him,"thatiswhyIamsohappythatGodsentmyownson,backhere,toserveinourchurch,sothathe
couldliveouthisdaysbyhisfamily."

“Ah,soyouarefatherandson,"Isaid.

"Yes,andIneverthoughtI'dlivesolong,"saidthefather,"toseesuchprosperitycometothistownashas
come.It'smiraculous."

"Itis,itistheblessingofGod,"saidthepriestinnocentlyandsincerely."It'satruewonder."

"Oh,really,instructmeinthis,howso?"Iasked.Ipushedtheplateoffruittothem.Buttheysaidtheyhad
eaten.

"Well, in my time," said the father, "you know we had more than our share of woes, or that's how it
seemedtome.

Butnow?It'sutterbliss,thisplace.Nothingbadeverhappens."

"It'strue,"saidthepriest."Youknow,Iremembertheleperswehadintheolddays,wholivedoutsidethe
walls.

Theyareallgonenow.Andthentherewerealwaysafewreallybadyouths,youngmencausingtrouble,
youknow,thereallybadsort.Youhadthemineverytown.Butnow?Youcouldn'tfindonebadmaninall
of Santa Maddalana or in any of the villages around. It's as if people have returned to God with their
wholehearts."

"Yes,"saidtheoldelfinman,shakinghishead,"andGodhasbeenmercifulinsomanyotherways."

Ifeltchillsonmybackagain,asIhadwithUrsula,butitwasnotfrompleasure.

"Inwhatwayisthat,inparticular?"Iasked.

"Well,lookaround,"saidtheoldman."Haveyouseenanycripplesinourstreets?Doyouseeanyhalf-
wits?

WhenIwasachild,why,whenyou,myson,wereachild"-hesaidtothepriest-"therewerealwaysa
few unfortunate souls, born ill formed, or without good brains, you know, and one had to look out for
them.Icanrememberatimewhentherewerealwaysbeggarsatthegates.Wehavenobeggars,haven't
hadanyforyears."

'Amazing,"Isaid.

"Yes,true,"saidthepriestthoughtfully."Everyonehereisingoodhealth.That'swhythenunsleftsolong
ago.Didyouseetheoldhospitalshutup?Andtheconventoutoftown,longabandoned.Ithinkthereare
sheepintherenow.

Thefarmersuseitsoldrooms."

"Nooneevertakessick?"Iasked.

"Well,theydo,"saidthepriest,takingaslowdrinkofhiswine,asthoughhewereamoderatemaninthis
respect,"buttheydon'tsuffer,youknow.It'snotliketheolddays.Itseemsifapersonisliketogo,thenhe
goesquickly."

"Yes,true,thanksbetoGod,"saidtheelder.

'And the women," said the priest, "they are lucky here in birth. They are not burdened with so many
children.Oh,wehavemanywhomGodcallshometohimselfinthefirstfewweeks-youknow,it'sthe
curseofamother-butingeneral,ourfamiliesareblessedlysmall."

He looked to his father. "My poor mother," he said, "she had twenty babies all told. Well, that never
happensnow,doesit?"

Thelittleoldmanstuckouthischestandsmiledproudly.

'Aye, twenty children I reared myself; well, many have gone their way, and I don't even know what
becameof...butnevermind.No,familiesaresmallherenow."Thepriestlookedslightlytroubled."My

brothers,maybesomedayGodwillgrantmesomeknowledgeofwhatbecameofthem."

"Oh,forgetaboutthem,"saidtheoldman.

"Weretheyaspiritedbunch,mightIask?"Isaidundermybreath,peeringatbothofthemandtryingto
makeitseemquitenatural.

"Bad,"mutteredthepriest,shakinghishead."Butthat'sourblessing,see,badpeopleleaveus."

"Isthatso?"Iasked.

Thelittleoldmanscratchedhispinkscalp.Hiswhitehairwasthinandlong,stickinginalldirections,
ratherlikethehairofhiseyebrows.

"You know, I was trying to remember," he said, "what did happen to those poor cripple boys, you
remember,theonesbornwithsuchmiserablelegs,theywerebrothers..."

"Oh,TomassoandFelix,"saidthepriest.

"Yes."

"TheyweretakenofftoBolognatobecured.

SameasBettina'sboy,theonebornwithouthishands,remember,poorlittlechild."

"Yes,yes,ofcourse.Wehaveseveraldoctors."

"Doyou?"Isaid."Iwonderwhattheydo,"Imurmured.

"What about the town council, the gonfalonier?" I asked. Gonfalonier was the name for the governor in
Florence,themanwhonominally,atleast,ranthings.

"Wehaveaborsellino"saidthepriest,"andwepickanewsixoreightnamesoutofitnowandthen,but
nothingmucheverhappenshere.There'snoquarreling.Themerchantstakecareofthetaxes.Everything
runssmoothly."

Thelittleelfinmanwentintolaughter."Oh,wehavenotaxes!"hedeclared.Hisson,thepriest,lookedat
theoldfellowasthoughthiswasnotsomethingthatoughttobesaid,butthenhehimselfmerelylooked
puzzled."Well,no,Papa,"hesaid,"it'sonlythatthetaxesare...small."Heseemedperplexed.

"Well, then you are really blessed," I said agreeably, trying on the surface to make light of this utterly
implausiblepictureofthings.

'AndthatterribleOviso,rememberhim?"thepriestsuddenlysaidtohisfatherandthentome."Nowthat
wasadiseasedfellow.Henearlykilledhisson.Hewasoutofhismind,roaredlikeabull.Therewasa
travelingdoctorwhocamethrough,saidtheywouldcurehimatPadua.OrwasitAssisi?"

"I'mgladhenevercameback,"saidtheoldman."Heusedtodrivethetowncrazy."Istudiedthemboth.
Weretheyserious?Weretheytalkingdouble-talktome?Icouldseenothingcunningineitheroneofthem,

butamelancholywascomingoverthepriest.

"Goddoesworkinthestrangestways”hesaid."Oh,Iknowthat'snotquitetheproverb."

"Don'ttempttheAlmighty!"saidhisfather,downingthedregsofhiscup.Iquicklypouredoutthewinefor
bothofthem.

"Thelittlemutefellow,"saidavoice.

Ilookedup.Itwastheinnkeeper,withhishandsonhiships,hisapronstretchingoverhispotbelly,atray
inhishand."Thenunstookhimwiththem,didn'tthey?"

"Camebackforhim,Ithink,"saidthepriest.Hewasnowfullypreoccupied.Troubled,Iwouldsay.

Theinnkeepertookupmyemptyplate.

"The worst scare was the plague," he whispered in my ear. "Oh, it's gone now, believe you me, or I
wouldn'tuttertheword.There'snowordthatwillemptyatownanyfaster."

"No, all those families, gone, just like that," said the old man, "thanks to our doctors, and the visiting
monks.AlltakentothehospitalinFlorence."

"Plaguevictims?TakentoFlorence?"Iasked,inobviousdisbelief."Iwonderwhowasmindingthecity
gates, and which gate it was by which they were admitted." The Franciscan stared at me fixedly for a
moment,asifsomethinghaddisturbedhimviolentlyanddeeply.

The innkeeper gave the priest's shoulder a squeeze. "These are happy times," he said. "I miss the
processionstothemonastery-it'sgonetoo,ofcourse-butwehaveneverbeenbetter."

Iletmyeyesshiftquitedeliberatelyfromtheinnkeepertothepriestandfoundthatthepriestwasgazing
directlyatme.Thereseemedatremortotheedgeofhismouth.Hewassloppilyshavenandhadaloose
jaw,andhisdeeplycreasedfacelookedsadsuddenly.Theveryoldmanchimedinthattherehadbeena
wholefamilydownwiththeplagueoutinthecountrynotverylongago,buttheyhadbeentakentoLucca.

"Itwasthegenerosityof...whowasit,myson,Idon't..."

"Oh,whatdoesitmatter?"saidtheinnkeeper."Signore,"hesaidtome,"somemorewine."

"Formyguests,"Igestured."Ihavetobeoff.Restlesslimbs,"Isaid."Imustseewhatbooksareforsale."

"Thisisafineplaceforyoutostay,"saidthepriestwithsuddenconviction,hisvoicesoftashecontinued
togazeatme,hiseyebrowsknitted.'Afineplaceindeed,andwecoulduseanotherscholar.But-."

"Well,I'mratheryoungmyself,"Isaid.Imadereadytorise,puttingonelegoverthebench."Thereareno
youngmenhereofmyage?"

"Well,theygooff,yousee,"saidtheelfinone."Thereareafew,buttheyarebusyatthetradesoftheir
fathers.No,therapscallionsdon'thangaroundhere.No,youngman,theydonot!"

Theprieststudiedmeasifhedidn'thearhisfather'svoice.

"Yes,andyou'realearnedyoungman,"saidthepriest,buthewasclearlytroubled."Icanseethat,and
hearitinyourvoice,andallaboutyouisthoughtfulandclever-."Hebrokeoff."Well,Iguessyou'llbe
onyourwayverysoon,won'tyou?"

"YouthinkIshould?"Iasked."Orstay,whichisit?"Imademymannermild,notunkind.

Hegavemeahalf-smile."Idon'tknow,"hesaid.Thenhelookeddouragainandalmosttragic."Godbe
withyou,"hewhispered.

I leant towards him. The innkeeper, seeing this confidential manner, turned away and busied himself
somewhereelse.Theoldelfinonewastalkingtohiscup.

"Whatisit,Father?"Iaskedinawhisper."Isthetowntoowell-off,isthatit?"

"Goonyourway,son,"hesaidalmostwistfully."IwishIcould.ButI'mboundbymyvowofobedience
andbythefactthatthisismyhome,andheresitsmyfather,andalltheothershavevanishedintothewide
world." He became suddenly hard. "Or so it seems," he said. And then, "If I were you, I wouldn't stay
here."Inodded.

"Youlookstrange,son,"hesaidtomeinthesamewhisper.Ourheadswererighttogether."Youstandout
toomuch.You'reprettyandencasedinvelvet,andit'syourage;you'renotreallyachild,youknow."

"Yes,Isee,notverymanyyoungmeninthetownatall,notthesortwhoquestionthings.Justtheoldand
the complacent and those who accept and who don't see the tapestry for the one small monkey
embroideredinthecorner."

Hedidn'tanswerthisoverzealousstreakofrhetoric,andIwassorryI'dsaidit.Inthatlittlelapseperhaps
myangerandmypainhadflashedthrough.Disgusting!Iwasangrywithmyself.

Hebithislip,anxiousforme,orforhimself,orforbothofus.

"Whydidyoucomehere?"heaskedsincerely,almostprotectively."Bywhichwaydidyoucome?They
saidyoucameinthenight.Don'tleavebynight."HisvoicehadbecomesuchawhisperIcouldscarcely
hearhim.

"You don't need to worry about me, Father," I said. "Pray for me," I said. "That's all." I saw in him a
speciesoffearasrealasthatwhichIhadseenintheyoungpriest,butitwasevenmoreinnocent,forall
hisage,andallhiswrinkles,andthewetnessofhislipswiththewine.Helookedfatiguedbythatwhich
hecouldn'tcomprehend.Isteppedfreeofthebenchandwasonmywaywhenhegraspedmyhand.Ibent
myeartohislips.

"Myboy,"hesaid,"there'ssomething...something..."

"Iknow,Father,"Isaid.Ipattedhishand.

"No,youdon't.Listen.Whenyouleave,takethemainroadsouth,evenifit'soutofyourway.Don'tgo
north;

don'ttakethenarrowroadnorth."

"Whynot?"Idemanded.

Doubting,silent,utterlystricken,heletgoofme.

"Whynot?"Isaidinhisear.

Hewasnolongerfacingme."Bandits,"hesaid."Tollbanditswhocontroltheroad;they'llmakeyoupay
togothrough.Gosouth."Heturnedsharplyawayfrommeandbegantospeaktohisfatherinasoftgentle
scoldingmannerasifIwasalreadyonmyway.

Heft.

I was stunned as I set foot in the hollow street. "Toll bandits?" Many shops were shut now, as was
definitelythecustomaftertheheavymeal,butotherswerenot.

Myswordweighedatononmyhip,andIfeltfeverishfromthewineanddizzyfromallthesepeoplehad
revealedtome.

So, I thought, my face burning, we have a town here with no young men, no cripples, no half-wits, no
diseasedpeopleandnounwantedchildren!Andontheroadnorthwehavedangerousbandits.

Imoveddownhill,walkingfasterandfaster,andwentoutthewide-opengatesandintotheopencountry.
Thebreezewasatoncemagnificentandwelcome.Allaroundmelayrich,well-tendedfields,vineyards,
patchesoforchardandfarmhouses

- lush and fertile vistas which I couldn't see when I had come in by darkness. As for the road north, I
could see nothing of it due to the immense size of the town, whose uppermost fortifications were
northward.

Icouldsee,belowonaridge,whatmusthavebeentheruinsoftheconventand,waydownthemountain
andfarofftothewest,whatmighthavebeenthemonastery.Imademywaytotwofarmswithinthehour,
havingacupofcoolwaterwithbothfarmers.

Itwasallthesame,talkofaparadisehere,freeofmiscreantsandthehorrorofexecutions,absolutelythe
mostpeacefulplaceintheworld,andonlywell-formedchildreneverywhere.

Ithadbeenyearssinceanybanditshaddaredtolingerinthewoods.Ofcourseyouneverknewwhomight
passthrough,butthetownwasstrongandkeptthepeace.

"Oh,notevenonthenorthroad?"Iasked.

Neitherfarmerknewanythingaboutanynorthroad.

WhenIaskedwhatbecameoftheunhealthy,thelame,theinjured,itwasthesame.Somedoctororother,
or priest, or order of friars or nuns, had taken them off to a university or city. The farmers sincerely
couldn'tremember.

Icamebackintothetownwellbeforetwilight.Iwentpokingaround,inandoutofeveryshop,inanear
systematicmanner,eyeingeveryoneascloselyasImightwithoutattractingundueattention.

OfcourseIcouldn'thopetocoverevenonestreetoftheplace,butIwasdeterminedtodiscoverwhatI
could.

Inthebooksellers,IwentthroughtheoldArsGrammaticaandArsMinor,andthebigbeautifulBiblesthat
wereforsale,whichIcouldonlyseebyaskingthattheybetakenoutofthecabinets.

"How do I go north from here?" I asked the bored man who leaned on his elbow and looked at me
sleepily.

"North, nobody goes north/' he said, and yawned in my face. He wore fine clothes without a sign of
mending,andgoodnewshoesofwell-workedleather."Look,Ihavemuchfinerbooksthanthat,"hesaid.

Ipretendedinterest,thenexplainedpolitelythatallweremoreorlesswhatIhadanddidnotneed,but
thankyou.

Iwentintoatavernwheremenwerebusyatdiceandshoutingoverthegame,lustily,asthoughtheyhad
nothingbettertodo.Andthenthroughthebakers'district,wherethebreadsmelledwondrouslydelicious,
eventome.

Ihadneverfeltsoutterlyaloneinmylife,asIwalkedamongthesepeoplelisteningtotheirpleasanttalk
and hearing the same tale of safety and blessings over and over again. It froze my blood to think of
nightfall. And what was this mystery of the road north? Nobody, nobody but the priest, even raised an
eyebrowatthementionofthatpointofthecompass.

Aboutanhourbeforedark,Ihappenedintooneshopwheretheproprietor,adealerinsilksandlacefrom
VeniceandFlorence,wasnotsopatientwithmyidlepresence,asothershadbeen,inspiteofthefactthat
Iobviouslyhadmoney.

"Whyareyouaskingsomanyquestions?"shesaidtome.Sheseemedtiredandwornout."Youthinkit's
easytotakecareofasickchild?Lookinthere."

Istaredatherasifshe'dlosthermind.Butthenitdawnedonme,clearandcold.Iknewexactlywhatshe
meant.Ipokedmyheadthroughacurtaineddoorwayandsawachild,feverishandsick,slumberingina
dirtynarrowbed.

"Youthinkit'seasy?Yearafteryearshedoesn'tgetbetter,"saidthewoman.

"I'msorry,"Isaid."Butwhat'stobedone?"Thewomantoreoutherstitchesandputdownherneedle.

Sheseemedpastallpatience."What'stobedone?Youmeantotellmeyoudon'tknow!"shewhispered.
"You,aclevermanlikeyou!"Shebitintoherlip."Butmyhusbandsays,No,notyet,andsowegoon
withit."

She went back to her work, muttering to herself, and I, horrified and struggling to keep a straight face,
made my way on. I went into a couple more shops. Nothing special happened. Then in the third on my
way,Ifoundanoldmanveryoutofhiswitsandhistwodaughtersbothtryingtokeephimfromtearinghis

clothesoff.

"Here,letmehelpyou,"Isaidatonce.

Wegothimdowninthechair,gothisshirtoverhishead,andfinallyhestoppedmakingincoherentnoises.
Hewasverywizenedanddrooling.

"Oh,thankGod,thiswon'tgoonlong,"saidoneofthedaughters,wipingherbrow."It'samercy."

"Whywon'titgoonlong?"Iasked.

Sheglancedupatme,andaway,andthenbackagain.

"Oh,you'reastrangerhere,Signore,forgiveme,youaresoyoung.IonlysawaboywhenIlookedatyou.
ImeanGodwillbemerciful.He'sveryold”"Hmmm,Isee,"Isaid.Shelookedatmewithcoldcunning
eyes,asiftheyweremadeofmetal.Ibowedandwentout.Theoldmanhadstartedtotakeoffhisshirt
again,andtheothersister,whohadbeensilentallthetime,slappedhim.

I winced at it, and kept walking. I meant to see as much as I could right now. Passing through rather
peacefullittletailors'shopsIcameatlasttothedistrictoftheporcelaindealers,wheretwomenwere
havinganargumentaboutafancybirthingtray.Now,birthingtrays,onceusedinpracticalitytoreceive
theinfantasitcamefromthewomb,hadbecomebymytimefancygiftsgivenafterthechildwasborn.
Theywerelargeplatterspaintedwithlovelydomesticdesigns,andthisshophadanimpressivedisplayof
them.

IheardtheargumentbeforeIwasseen.

Onemansaidtobuythedamnedtray,whiletheothersaidtheinfantwouldn'tevenliveandthegiftwas
premature,andathirdmansaidthewomanwouldwelcomethebeautifulgorgeouslypaintedbirthingtray
anyway.

TheystoppedwhenIenteredtheshoppropertolookatalltheimportedwares,butthenwhenIturnedmy
back,oneofthemenutteredunderhisbreath,"Ifshehasabraininherhead,she'lldoit."

Iwasstruckbythewords,sostruckthatIturnedatoncetosnatchahandsomeplatefromtheshelfand
pretendtobemuchimpressedwithit.“Solovely”Isaid,asifIhadn'theardthem.

The merchant got up and started to extoll the contents on display. The others melted into the gathering
eveningoutside.Istaredattheman.

"Isthechildsick?"IaskedinthesmallestmostchildishvoicethatImyselfcouldmuster.

"Oh,no,well,Idon'tthinkso,butyouknowhowitis,"saidtheman."Thechild'ssmallish."

"Weak,"Ivolunteered.

In a very clumsy way, he said, "Yes, weak." His smile was artificial, but he thought himself quite
successful.

Thenbothofusturnedtofussingoverthewares.Iboughtatinyporcelaincup,verybeautifullypainted,
whichheclaimedtohaveboughtfromaVenetian.IknewdamnedgoodandwellIshouldleavewithouta
word,butIcouldn'tstopmyselffromaskinghimasIpaid,"Doyouthinkthepoorsmallishweakchild
will live?" He laughed a rather deep coarse laugh as he took my money. "No," he said, and then he
glanced at me as though he'd been in his thoughts. "Don't worry about it, Signore," he said with a little
smile."Haveyoucometolivehere?"

"No,Sir,onlypassingthrough,goingnorth,"Isaid.

"North?"heasked,alittlestartledbutsarcastic.Heshutupthecashboxandturnedthekey.Thenshaking
hisheadasheputtheboxintothecabinetandclosedthedoors,hesaid,"North,eh?Well,goodluckto
you, my boy/' He gave a sour chuckle. "That's an ancient road. You better ride as fast as you can from
sunup."

"Thankyou,Sir”Isaid.

Nightwascomingon.

Ihurriedintoanalleywayandstoodthere,againstthewall,catchingmybreathasthoughsomeonewere
chasingme.Iletthelittlecupfallanditshatteredloudly,thenoiseechoingupthetoweringbuildings.

Iwashalfoutofmywits.

Butinstantlyandfullyawareofmysituation,andconvincedofthehorrorsIhaddiscovered,Imadean
inflexibledecision.

Iwasn'tsafeintheInn,sowhatdidthismatter?Iwasgoingtodoitmywayandseeformyself.

ThisiswhatIdid.

WithoutgoingbacktotheInn,withouteverofficiallyleavingmyroomintheInn,Iturneduphillwhenthe
shadowswerethickenoughtocoverme,andIclimbedthenarrowingstreettowardstheoldruinedcastle.

NowalldayIhadbeenlookingatthisimposingcollectionofrockanddecay,andcouldseethatitwas
indeedutterlyruinedandemptyofallsavethebirdsoftheair,except,asIhavesaid,forthelowerfloors,
whichsupposedlyheldoffices.Butthecastlehadtwostandingtowersremainingtoit,onethatfacedover
thetown,andanother,muchfallenaway,beyondandremoteontheedgeofacliff,asIhadseenfromthe
lowerfarmland.

Well,Imadeforthetowerthatoverlookedthetown.

Thegovernmentofficeswereshutupofcoursealready,andthecurfewsoldierswouldsoonbeout,and
therewasnoisefromonlyacoupleoftavernsthatobviouslystayedopennomatterwhatthelawwas.

Thepiazzabeforethecastlewasempty,andbecausethethreestreetsofthetowntookmanyacurvein
theirwaydownhill,Icouldseealmostnothingnowbutafewdimtorches.

Thesky,however,waswondrouslybright,clearofallbutthemostroundedanddiscreetlyshapedclouds,
veryvisibleagainstthedeeperblueofthenight,andthestarsseemedexquisitelynumerous.

Ifoundoldwindingstairs,toonarrowalmostforahumanbeing,thatcurvedaroundtheusefulpartofthe
oldcitadelandleduptothefirstplatformofstone,beforeanentrancetothetower.

Ofcoursethisarchitecturewasnostrangertomewhatsoever.Thestoneswereofaroughertexturethan
thoseofmyoldhome,andsomewhatdarker,butthetowerwasbroadandsquareandtimelesslysolid.

IknewthattheplacewasancientenoughthatIwouldfindstonestairwaysleadingquitehigh,andIdid,
andsooncametotheendofmytrekinahighroomwhichgavemeaviewoftheentiretownstretchedout
beforeme.

Therewerehigherchambers,buttheyhadbeenaccessibleincenturiespastbywoodenladdersthatcould
bepulledup,todefeatanenemyandisolatehimbelow,andIcouldn'tgettothem.Icouldhearthebirds
upthere,disturbedbymypresence.AndIcouldhearthebreezemovingfaintly.

However,thiswasfine,thisheight.

Ihadaviewallaroundfromthefournarrowwindowsofthisplace,lookinginalldirections.

Andmostespecially,andimportanttome,Icouldseethetownitself,directlybelowme,shapedlikea
great eye - an oval with tapered ends - with random torches burning here and there, and an occasional
dimlylightedwindow,andIcouldseealanternmovingslowlyassomeonewalkedinaleisurelypace
downoneofthethoroughfares.NosoonerhadIseenthismovinglanternthanitwentout.

Itseemedthestreetswereutterlydeserted.

Thenthewindowstoowentdark,andveryshortlytherewerenotfourtorchesthatIcouldseeanywhere.

Thisdarknesshadacalmingeffectonme.Theopencountrysankintoadeepdarktingeofbluebeneath
the pearly heavens, and I could see the forests encroaching on the tilled land, creeping higher here and
there,asthehillsfoldedoveroneanotherorsanksteeplyintovalleysofpureblackness.

Icouldhearthetotalemptinessofthetower.

Nothingstirrednow,noteventhebirds.Iwasquitealone.

Icouldhaveheardtheslightestfootfallonthestairsdownbelow.NooneknewIwashere.Allslept.

Iwassafehere.AndIcouldkeepavigil.

Iwastoofullofmiserytobefrightened,andfranklyIwaspreparedtotakemystandagainstUrsulainthis
spot,preferredit,infact,totheconfinesoftheInn,andIfearednothingasIsaidmyprayersandlaidmy
handonmyswordasusual.WhatdidIexpecttoseeinthissleepingtown?Anythingthathappenedinit.
Now,whatdidIthinkthatwastobe?Icouldn'thavetoldanyone.ButasIcircledtheroom,asIglanced
againandagaindownatthefewscatteredlightsbelowandthehulkofthedescendingrampartsbeneath
theglowingsummersky,theplaceseemedloathsome,fullofdeceit,fullofwitchcraft,fullofpaymentto
theDevil.

"YouthinkIdon'tknowwhereyourunwantedbabiesaretaken?"Imutteredinarage.

"Youthinkthatpeoplewhoaredownwiththeplaguearewelcomedrightthroughtheopengatesofyour
neighboringcities?"

Iwasstartledbytheechoesofmyownmur-muringsoffthecoldwalls.

"Butwhatdoyoudowiththem,Ursula?Whatwouldyouhavedonewithmybrotherandsister?"

Myruminationsweremadnessperhaps,ormighthaveseemedsotosome.ButIlearntthis.Revengetakes
one'smindfromthepain.Revengeisalure,amightymoltenlure,evenifitishopeless.

OneblowfromthisswordandIcanstrikeoffherhead,Ithought,andheaveitoutthatwindow,andthen
whatwillshebebutademonstrippedofallworldlypower?NowandthenIhalf-drewmysword,then
put it back. I took out my longest dagger and slapped the palm of my left hand with its blade. I never
stoppedwalking.Suddenly,asImadeoneofmyboringcircumlocutions,Ihappenedtospyfaraway,ona
distantmountain,inwhichdirectionIreallydidn'tknow—butnotthedirectionbywhichIhadcome—a
greatquantityoflightplayingbehindthemeshofthesylvandarkness.AtfirstIthoughtthismightbeafire,
therewassomuchlight,butasInarrowedmyeyesandfocusedmymind,Isawthatthiswasoutofthe
question.

Therewasnoriotousglareonthefewvisiblecloudsabove,andtheillumination,forallthebreadthofit,
wascontainedasifitemanatedfromavastcongregationgatheredtogetherwithafantasticalquantityof
candles.

Howsteadyyetpulsingwasthisorgyoffiercelight!

IfeltachillinmybonesasIlookedatit.Itwasadwelling!Ileantoverthewindowedge.Icouldseeits
complex and sprawling outline! It stood out from all the land, this one luxuriantly lighted castle, all by
itself,andobviouslyvisiblefromoneentiresideofthistown,thisspectacleofforest-shroudedhousein
which some celebration appeared to require that every torch and taper be lighted, that every window,
battlementandcopingbehungwithlanterns.

North,yes,north,forthetowndroppedstraightoffbehindme,andthiscastlelaynorth,anditwasthat
directionofwhichI'dbeenwarned,andwhointhistowncouldnothaveknownofthisplace,yetthere
hadnotbeenonesinglesolitarymentionsaveforthewhisperoftheterrifiedFranciscanintheInnatmy
table.

ButwhatwasIlookingat?WhatcouldIsee?Thickwoods,yes;itwasveryhighbutsurroundedbyclose
and concealing woods, through which its light again and again palpitated like a great menace, but what
wasthatcomingfromit,whatwasthatwild,half-visiblemovementinthedarkness,overtheslopesthat
fellawayfromthemysteriouspromontory?

Were there things moving in the night? Moving from that very distant castle right towards this village?
Amorphousblackthings,asiftheyweregreatsoftshapelessbirdsfollowingthealignmentofthelandbut
freeofitsgravity.

Weretheycomingtowardsme?HadIbeencharmed?

No,Isawthis.OrdidI?

Thereweredozensofthem!

Theywerecomingcloserandcloser.

Theyweretinyshapes,notlargeatall,thelargenesshavingbeenadelusioncausedbythefactthatthey
traveledinpacks,thesethings,andnow,astheycameneartothetown,thepacksbrokeapartandIsaw
themspringinguptotheverywallsbeyondmeoneithersidelikesomanygiantmoths.

Iturnedaroundandrantothewindow.

Theyhaddescendedinaswarmuponthetown!Icouldseethemdipdownandvanishintheblackness.
Below me on the piazza, there appeared two black shapes, men in streaming capes, who ran or rather
leaptintothemouthsofthestreets,issuingfromtheirlipsanaudibleandaudaciouslaughter.

Iheardcryinginthenight,Iheardsobs.

Iheardathinwail,andamuffledgroan.

Nolightsappearedinthetown.

Thenoutofthedarkness,theseevilthingsappearedagain,onthetopsofthewalls,runningrightonthe
edgeandthenleapingfree.

"God,Iseeyou!Curseyou!"Iwhispered.

Therewasasuddenloudnoiseinmyears,agreatbrushofsoftclothagainstme,andthenthefigureofa
manrearedupbeforemyface.

"Doyouseeus,myboy?"Itwasayoungman'svoice,hearty,fullofmerriment."Myverycuriouslittle
boy?"

Hewastoocloseformysword.Icouldseenothingbutrisinggarments.Withmyelbowandshoulderand
allmystrength,Iwentforhisgroin.Hislaughterfilledthetower.

'Ah,butthatdoesnothurtme,child,andifyou'resocurious,wellthen,we'lltakeyoutoowithustocome
andseewhatyoulongtosee."

Hecaughtmeinasuffocatingswaddleoffabric.AndsuddenlyIfeltmyselfliftedoffthefloor,encasedin
asack,andIknewwehadleftthetower!

Iwasheaddown,sicktonausea.Itseemedheflew,carryingmeonhisback,andhislaughterwasnow
halfblownawaybythewind,andIcouldnotfreemyarms.Icouldfeelmysword,butcouldn'treachthe
handle.

DesperatelyIfeltformydagger,nottheonewhichImusthavedroppedwhenIhadbeencaughtbyhim,
but the other in my boot, and then having that, I twisted and turned towards the rough back on which I
rode,bouncingandgrowling,andplungedthedaggerthroughtheclothoverandoveragain.

Hegaveawildscream.Istabbedhimagain.

Mywholebody,insidethesack,waswhippedupintotheair,awayfromhim.

"You little monster," he cried. "You wretched impudent child." We descended sharply, and then I felt
myselfhittheground,therockygrassyground,andIrolledover,tearingatthefabricoftheblindingsack
withmyknife.

"Youlittlebastard,"hecursed.

'Areyoubleeding,youfilthydevil?"Icalledout.“Areyou?"Irippedatthesack,lostinit,rollingover
andover,thenfeelingthewetgrasswithmynakedhand.Isawthestars.

Thentheclothwastornfreeofmystrugglinglimbs.

Ilayathisfeet,butonlyforamoment.

ChapterSix

THECOURTOFTHERUBYGRAIL

Nothingcouldhavewrenchedthedaggerfrommyhand.

Icutdeepintohislegs,bringingforthanotherriotofIscreamsfromhim.Hepickedmeup,indeedhurled
mehighintheair,andIfell,stunned,ontothedewyground.Thisgavememyfirstblurredbutimperative
glimpseofhim.Agreatrushofredlightilluminatedhim,ahoodedandcloakedfiguredressedasaknight,
inlongoldfashionedtunicandsleevesofshiningmail.Hetwistedhistorso,hisgoldenhairtanglingover
hisface,obviouslyinpainfromthewoundsinflictedonhisback,andnowstompedhiswoundedleg.

I rolled over twice, holding tight to the dagger, as I freed my sword sufficiently to draw it out of the
scabbard. I was on my feet before he even so much as moved, and swung the sword with one hand,
clumsily,butwithallmyforce,hearingitsmashintohissidewithasickeningmoistsloshofasound.The
gushofbloodinthebrightlightwashorrificandmonstrous.

Therecamehisworstcry.Hefelltohisknees.

"Help me, you imbeciles; he's a devil!" he screamed. His hood fell back. I scanned the immense
fortificationsrisingtomyright,thehighcrenelatedtowerswiththeirflutteringflagsintheunsteadyglow
ofcountlesslights,justasI'dglimpsedfromthedistanceofthetown.Itwasafantasticalcastleofpointed
roofs, sharply broken arched windows, and high battlements crowded with dark figures moving in
silhouetteastheylookeddownonourstruggle.

There came rushing down the wet grass the figure of Ursula in a red gown, cloakless, her hair in long
braidswithredribbon,rushingtowardsme.

"Don'thurthim,Ichargeyou,"shescreamed."Don'ttouchhim."Agroupofmalefigures,allgotupinthe
sameoldfashionedknightlytunics,downtotheirknees,withsomberpointedsteelhelmets,followedher.
Theyhadbeardedfacesall,andghastlywhiteskin.

Myadversarypitchedforwardonthegrass,sproutingbloodasifhewereahideousfountain.

"Lookwhathe'sdonetome,look!"heshouted.

Istuckmydaggerinmybelt,grabbedtheswordwithtwohandsandwentathisneck,lettingaroarescape
myteethasIdid,andsawtheheadrolloverandoveranddownthehill."Ah,nowyou'redead,you're
bloodydead!"Icriedout."Youmurderousfiend,you'redead.Gogetyourhead.

Putthatbackon!"

Ursula flung her arms around me, her breasts sealed against my back. Her hand imprisoned mine once
moreandforcedmetobowthetipoftheswordtotheground.

"Don'ttouchhim,"shescreamedagain,withathreatinhervoice."Don'tcomenear,Ichargeyou."

Oneoftheothershadrecoveredtheshaggyblondheadofmyfoeandhelditupastheotherswatchedthe
bodytwitchandwrithe.

"Oh,no,it'stoolate,"saidoneofthemen.

"No,putitback,putitonhisneck,"criedanother.

"Letmego,Ursula,"Isaid."Letmediewithhonor,willyoudomethatcourtesy!"Istruggled."Letme
free,todieinmyownway,willyoudothatmuch?"

"No,"shesaidhotlyintomyear."Iwillnot."Iwasabsolutelypowerlessagainstherstrength,nomatter
howsoftthecushionofherbreastsorhowcoolandsoftherfingers.Shehadcompletemasteryofme.

"GotoGodric,"criedoneofthemen.

Theothertwohadpickedupthewrithing,kicking,headlessman."TakehimtoGodric,"saidtheonewho
carriedthehead."OnlyGodriccanpronounceonthis."Ursulaletoutaloudwail."Godric!"Itwaslike
thehowlofthewindorabeast,itwassoshrill,soimmense,echoingoffthewalls.

Highup,againstthewidegapingarcheddoorwayofthecitadel,hisbacktothelight,therestoodaslender
elderlyfigure,limbsbentwithage.

"Bringthemboth,”hecalledout."Ursula,quietyourself,lestyoufrighteneveryone."Imadeaswiftbid
forfreedom.Shetightenedhergrip.

There came the pinprick of her teeth in my neck. "Oh, no, Ursula, let me see what's to happen!" I
whispered.ButIcouldfeelthemurkycloudsrisingaboutme,asthoughtheairitselfhadthickenedand
wasenfoldingmewithscentandsoundandthesensuousforce.

Oh,loveyou,wantyou,yes,Ididandcan'tdenyit.Ifeltmyselfholdingherinthehighmoistgrassesof
thefield,andshelaybeneathme,buttheseweredreamsandtherewerenowildredflowers,andIwas
beingtakensomewhere,andshehadbutweakenedme,pulledonmyheartwiththeforceofherown.

Itriedtocurseher.Allarounduslaytheflowersandthegrasses,andshesaid,"Run,"butthiswasquite
impossiblebecauseitwasnotmadeoftruth,butoffantasyandthesuckingofhermouthonmeandher
limbsentwiningmeasifshewereaserpent.AFrenchcastle.ItwasasthoughIhadbeentransportedto

thenorth.Ihadopenedmyeyes.

AlltheaccoutrementsofaFrenchcourt.

Even the dim sedate music which I could hear made me think of old-fashioned French songs sung at
suppersinlong-agochildhood.

Iawoke,sittingcross-leggedonacarpet,slumpedover,andcametomyselfrubbingmyneckandfeeling
about desperately for weapons which had all been taken from me. I nearly lost my balance and fell
backward.

Themusicwasrepetitiveanddullandpoundingasitroseupfromsomefarawayplacebelow,withtoo
manymuffleddrumsandthethinnasalwhineofhorns.Ithadnomelody.Ilookedup.French,yes,thehigh
narrowpointedarchwaythatledtoalongbalconyoutside,belowwhichsomegreatcelebrationwasin
noisyprogress.FancyFrench,thetapestriesoftheladieswiththeirtallconeshapedhats,andtheirsnow-
whiteunicorns.Quaintantique,liketheillustrationsinprayerbooksofcourtsinwhichpoetssatreading
aloud the boring and tedious Roman de la Rose, or the fables of Reynard the Fox. The window was
draped in blue satin covered in the fleurs-de-lys. There was old filigree crumbling about the high
doorwayandwhatIcouldseeofthewindowframe.AndcabinetsweregildedandpaintedintheFrench
style,decayedandstiff.Iturnedaround.

Therestoodthetwomen,theirlongtunicsstreakedwithblood,andtheirmailsleevescoarseandthick.
Theyhadtakenofftheirpointedhelmets,andtheystaredatmewithicypaleeyes,eachasolemnbearded
figure.Thelightpositivelyglintedontheirhardwhiteskin.

And there stood Ursula, a silver-framed jewel upon the shadows, gazing down at me, her gown high-
waistedandsoft-fallingandold-fashionedastheirclothes,asthoughshetoohadcomefromsomelong-
agokingdomoftheFrench,hersnow-whitebreastsbarealmosttohernipples,beneatharichfulllittle
bodiceoffloweredred-and-goldvelvet.Atadesk,onanX-shapedchair,theresattheElderlyone,his
agequitetruetothepostureIhadglimpsedsilhouettedagainstthecastlelight,andhewaspaleasthey,of
thesamedeadlywhitecomplexion,bothbeautifulyetawfulandmonstrous.Turkishlampshungonchains
abouttheroom,flamesglitteringdeepinsidethem,givingoffahurtfullightagainstmydazedeyes,and
alsoafragranceasofrosesandsummerfields,somethingalientoheatandburntthings.

TheElderlyonehadabaldhead,asuglyastheunearthedbulbofaniris,upendedandshavedofallroot,
and implanted with two gleaming gray eyes, and a long narrow solemn uncomplaining and unjudging
mouth.

'Ah, so," he said to me in a soft voice, lifting one eyebrow, which was scarcely visible except for the
sharp arching wrinkle of his perfect white flesh. He had thick slanting lines for cheeks. "You realize
you’vekilledoneofus,don'tyou?"

"Ihopeso,"Isaid.Iclimbedtomyfeet.Inearlylostmybalance.Ursulareachedout,thensteppedback,
asthoughshehadcaughtherselfinabreachofdecorum.Irightedmyself,glaringatherquiteferociously
andthenatthebaldElderlyone,wholookedupatmewithunbrokencalm.

"Doyoucaretoseewhatyou’vedone?"heaskedofme.

"WhyshouldI?"Iasked.ButIdidsee.

Onagreattrestle-boardtabletomyleftlaythedeadblondthiefwhohadheftedmebodyandsoulintohis
bigclothsack.Ah,thedebtwaspaidinfull.Helaystill,shrunkenhorridly,asifhislimbshadcollapsed
upon themselves, and his bloodless white head, lids open on dark clotted eyes, lay against his roughly
tornneck.Whatadelight.Istaredatoneskeletalhandofthebeing,whichhungovertheedgeofthetable,
whiteandlikesomeshrivelingcreatureoftheseabeneathamercilesssunonsandbytheoceanside.

'Ah,excellent,"Isaid."Thismanwhodaredtoabductmeandbringmeherebyforce,quitedead,thank
youforthesightofit."IlookedattheElderlyone."Honordemandsnothingless.Wedon'tevenhaveto
talkofcommonsense,dowe?Andwhatothersdidyoutakefromthevillage?Thewildoldmanwhotore
athisshirt?Theinfantbornsmall?Theweak,theinfirm,thesick,whateverthey'dgiveyou,andwhatdo
yougivetheminexchange?"

"Oh, do be quiet, young one," said the Elderly solemn male. "You are courageous beyond honor or
commonsense,that'splainenough."

"No,itisn't.YoursinsagainstmedemandIfightyouwithmylastbreath,you,allofyou."Ipivotedand
staredattheopendoor.Theploddingmusicinitselfsickenedmeandthreatenedtomakemedizzyfrom
alltheblowsandfallsI'dsuffered."Suchnoisefrombelow.Whatareyou,abloodycourt?"

Allthreemenbrokeintolaughter.

"Well,you’veverynearlygotitright,"saidoneofthebeardedsoldiersinadeepbassofavoice."Weare
theCourtoftheRubyGrail,that'sourveryname,onlywepreferthatyousayitproperlyinLatinorin
French,aswesayit."

"TheCourtoftheRubyGrail!"Isaid."Leeches,parasites,blooddrinkers,that'swhatyouallare.Whatis
theRubyGrail?Blood?"

Istruggledtoremembertheprickofherteethagainstmythroatwithoutthespellwhichhadalwayscome
withthem,butthereitwas,threateningtoswallowme,thedrifting,fragrantmemoryofmeadowsandher
tenderbreasts.Ishookmyselfallover."Blooddrinkers.RubyGrail!Isthatwhatyoudowithallofthem,
theonesyoutake?Drinktheirblood?"

TheElderlyonelookedpointedlyatUrsula."Whatisityou'reaskingofme,Ursula?"heputthequestion
toher.

"HowcanImakesuchachoice?"

"Oh,butGodric,he'sbraveandfineandstrong,"saidUrsula."Godric,ifyoubutsayyes,noonewillgo
againstit.Noonewillquestionit.Please,Ibegyou,Godric.WhenhaveIeverasked-."

'Askedforwhat?"Idemanded,lookingfromhersolicitousandheartbrokenfacetotheElderlyman."For
mylife?Isthatwhatyouask?You'dbetterkillme."Theoldmanknewthat.Ididn'thavetotellhim.There
was no way I could be given mercy at this juncture. I would merely fling myself against them again,
seekingtobringdownanotheroranother.

Suddenly,asifquiteangryandimpatient,theElderlyfigurerosewithsurprisingagilityandgrabbedme

bythecollarashesweptpastmeinagreatgracefulrustleofredrobes,anddraggedmewithhim,asifI
weighednothing,outthroughthearchwayandtotheedgeofthestonerailing.

"LookdownontheCourt”hesaid.

Thehallwasimmense.Theoverhangonwhichwestoodranallaround,andbelowtherewasscarcelya
footofbarestone,sorichwerethehangingsofgoldandburgundy.Thelongtablebelowhostedastringof
LordsandLadies,allintherequisiteburgundy-redcloth,thecolorofblood,notwine,asIhadbelieved,
andbeforethemglaredthebarewood,withnotaplateoffoodnoracupofwine,butallwerecontentand
watchingwithcheerfuleyes,astheychattered,thedancerswhocoveredthegreatfloor,dancingdeftlyon
thick carpets as though they liked this padding beneath their slippered feet. There were so many
interlocking circles of figures moving to the throb and beat of the music that they made a series of
arabesques. The costumes embraced a great nationality of styles, from the very French to the modern
Florentine,andeverywherethereweregaycirclesofreddyedsilkortheredfieldcoveredwithflowers
or some other design which looked very like stars or crescent moons, I could not quite see it. It was a
somberyettantalizingpicture,alloftheminthissamerichcolorwhichheldswaysomewherebetween
theputridghastlinessofbloodandthestunningsplendorofscarlet.

I noted the sconces, candlesticks, torches galore. How easy it would be to set their tapestries afire. I
wonderediftheycouldburn,theythemselves,likeotherwitchesandheretics.

I heard Ursula let out a little gasp. "Vittorio, be wise," she whispered. At her whisper, the man at the
centerofthetablebelow-hewhoheldthatveryhighbacked

chairofhonor,whichmyfatherwouldhaveheldathome-lookedupatme.Hewasblond-haired,blond
astheshaggyoneI'dslain,buthislonglockswerepamperedandsilkyonhisbroadshoulders.

Hisfacewasyouthful,farmoresothanmyfather'syetplentyolderthanmyown,andasinhumanlypaleas
alltherest,hissearingblueeyesfixinguponme.Hereturnedatoncetohisstudyofthedance.

Thewholespectacleseemedtoshiverwiththehotsmokingquaveroftheflames,andasmyeyeswatered,
Irealizedwithastartthatthefiguresworkedintothetapestrywerenotthequietladiesandunicornsofthe
small studious chamber from which we'd come, but devils dancing in Hell. Indeed, there were quite
hideousgargoylesinthemostviolentandcruelstyle,carvedbeneaththeporchallaround,onwhichwe
stood,andIcouldseeatthecapitalsofthebranchingcolumnsthathelduptheceilingaboveusmoreof
thedemonicandwingedcreaturescarvedintothestone.

Grimacesofevilwereemblazonedonthewallsbehindme,acrossfromme.Inonetapestrybelow,the
circlesofDante'sHellclimbedoneuponanothereverhigherandhigher.

Istaredattheshiningbaretable.Iwasdizzy.Iwasgoingtobesick,loseconsciousness.

"MakeyouamemberoftheCourt,thatiswhatsheasks,"saidtheElder,pushingmehardagainsttherail,
not letting me free, not letting me turn away His voice was unhurried and low and without the slightest
opiniononthematter.

"She wants us to bring you into our Court as a reward for the fact that you slew one of us, that is her
logic."

Hisglancetomewasthoughtful,cool.Hishandonmycollarwasneithercruelnorrough,merelysimple.

Iwasatempestofhalf-utteredwordsandcurses,whensuddenlyIrealizedIwasfalling.IntheElderly
one's grasp, I had fallen over the rail, and in a second descended to the thick layers of carpet below,
whereIwasyankedtomyfeet,asthedancersmadewayforusoneitherside.

We stood before the Lord in the high-backed chair, and I saw that the wood figures of his regal throne
were,ofcourse,animalian,felineanddiabolical.Allwasblackwood,polishedsothatonecouldsmell
theoil,anditmingledsweetlywiththeperfumeofallthelamps,andtherecameasoftcracklingfromthe
torches.Themusicianshadstopped.Icouldn'tevenseethem.

AndthenwhenIdid,sawthelittlebandquitehighupintheirownlittlebalconyorloft,Iperceivedthat
they too had the porcelain-white skin and the lethal cats' eyes, as they gazed down at me, all of them
slendermales,modestlyclothed,andseeminglyapprehensive.

IstaredattheLord.Hehadnotmovedorspoken.Hewasafine,imperialfigureofaman,histhickbulky
blondishhaircombedbackfromhisfaceandfalling,asIhadseenbefore,incarefullycombedlockson
hisshoulders.

Hisclothestoowereoftheoldfashion,agreatloosetunicofvelvet,notasoldier'stunic,butalmosta
robeuntoitself,trimmedindarklydyedfurtomatchitsluridcolor,andbeneathitheworebigbeautiful
full sleeves ballooning out loosely over his elbows and then tapering around his long narrow forearms
andwrists.Ahugechainofmedallionshungabouthisneck,eachheavilyworkedcircleofgoldsetwitha
cabochonstone,aruby,redashisclothing.

He held one slender naked hand curled on the table, simply. The other I could not see. He gazed at me
with blue eyes. There was something puritanical and scholarly about his bare hand, and the refinement
andcleanlinessofit.

Across the thick overlapping carpets, Ursula came with a quick step, holding her skirts in two dainty
hands.

"Florian,"shesaid,makingadeepbowtotheLordbehindthetable."Florian,Iambeggingyouforthis
one,onaccountofcharacterandstrength,thatyoubringhimintotheCourtformysake,formyheart.It's
assimpleasthat."

Hervoicewastremulousbutreasoning.

"IntotheCourt?IntothisCourt?"Idemanded.Ifelttheheatriseinmyface.Ilookedfromrighttoleft.I
stared at their white cheeks, their dark mouths, which were all too often the color of fresh wounds. I
stared at the blanched and colorless expressions with which they regarded me. Were their eyes full of
demonicfire,orwasitonlythateveryotherbitofhumanityhadbeentakenfromtheircountenances?

IsawmyownhandsasIlookeddown,myownclenchingfists,veryruddyandhuman,andquitesuddenly,
asifIweremeanttosmellit,Icaughtmyownscent,thescentofmysweatandthedustfromtheroad
clingingtomeandminglingwithwhateverinmewassimplyhuman.

"Yes,youarequitethemorseltous/'saidtheLordhimself,speakingfromthetable.

"Youareindeed,andthehallisfilledwithyourscent.Anditistooearlyforustofeast.Wefeastwhen
thebellringstwelvetimes,thatisourinfalliblecustom”

Itwasabeautifulvoice,avoiceofringingclarityandcharm,tingedwiththeaccentoftheFrench,which
caninitselfbesobeguiling.ItwaswithaFrenchrestraintandregalitythatheexpressedhimself.

Hesmiledatme,andhissmilewasgentle,aswasUrsula'ssmile,butnotpitying,andnotatallcruelor
sarcastic.

Ihadnoeyesnowfortheotherfacestotheleftandtherightofhim.Iknewonlythatthereweremany,and
some were men and some women, and the women wore the stately French headdresses of olden times,
andsomewhereinthecornerofmyeye,IthoughtIsawamangotuplikeajester.

"Ursula, such a thing as this," the Lord said, "requires long consideration” "Does it!" I cried out. "You
meantomakemeoneofyourCourt?Thattakesnoconsideration."

"Oh,comenow,myboy,"theLordsaidinhissoft,calmingvoice."Wearenotsubjecttodeathordecay
or disease here. You squirm on the end of a hook, you're a doomed catch from the sea, and you do not
evenknowthatyouarenolongerinthelife-sustainingwater."

"MyLord,IdonotwishtobepartofyourCourt,"Isaid.

"Spareyourselfyourkindnessesandyouradvice."Ilookedabout."Don'ttalktomeofyourFeast."

Thesecreatureshadadoptedanabominablestillness,afrozenregardwhichwasinitselfutterlyunnatural
and menacing. A wave of revulsion came over me. Or was it panic, panic which I would not allow to
forminsideofme,nomatterhowcompletelyandhopelesslyIwassurroundedbythem,andhowaloneI
stood.

Thefiguresatthetablemighthavebeenmadeofchina,sofixedtheywere.Indeeditseemedthatthevery
actofposingtoperfectionwasinherentlypartoftheirattentiveness.

"Oh,ifIhadbutacrucifix,"Isaidinasoftvoice,noteventhinkingaboutwhatIwassaying.

"Thatwouldmeannothingtous,"saidtheLordmatter-of-factly.

"Oh,howwellIknow;yourladyherecameintomyverychapeltotakemybrotherandsisterprisoner!

No,crossesmeannothingtoyou.ButitwouldmeansomethingtomejustnowTellme,doIhaveangels
about me that protect me? Are you always visible? Or do you, now and then, melt with the night and
vanish?Andwhenthatisso,canyouseetheangelsthatdefendme?"

TheLordsmiled.

The Elderly one, who had let go of my collar, for which I was very thankful, laughed softly under his
breath.Buttherecamenoeasymirthfromanyoneelse.IglancedatUrsula.Howlovinganddesperateshe
looked,howboldandsteadfastassheglancedfrommetothisLord,whomshehadcalledFlorian.But
she was no more human than any of them; she was the deathly semblance of a young woman, past all
descriptioningiftsandgracesbutlongoutoflife,astheywere.SomegrailwasthisRubyGrail.

"Hear his words, Sir, in spite of what he actually says” she begged. "It's been so very long since there
wasanewvoicewithinthesewalls,onethatwouldremainwithus,beoneofus."

"Yes, and he almost believes in his angels, and you think him wondrously clever," said the Lord
understandingly.

"Young Vittorio, let me assure you, there are no guardian angels that I can see about you. And we are
alwaysvisible,asyouknow,foryouhaveseenusatourbestandatourworst.No,notreallytrulyatour
best,notatourfinest."

"Oh," I said, "and for that I can't wait, my Lord, for I am so in love with you all, and your style of
slaughtering, and there is of course the matter of what your corruption has done to the town below and
howyou’vestolenthesoulsoftheveryprieststhemselves."

"Hush,youworkyourselfintoamortalfever,"hesaid.

"Yourscentfillsmynostrilsasifthepotisboilingover.Imightdevouryou,child,cutyouupandgive
your pulsing parts up and down the table to be suckled while the blood is still very hot, and your eyes
blink-."

OnthosewordsIthoughtIwouldgomad.Ithoughtofmydeadsisterandbrother.Ithoughtofthehideous
andhopelesstenderexpressionsoftheirseveredheads.Icouldn'tbearthis.Ishutmyeyestight.Isought
foranyimagetobanishthesehorrors.IraisedfrommemorythespectacleofFraFilippoLippi'sAngel
GabrielonhiskneesbeforetheVirgin,yes,angels,angels,foldyourwingsaboutme,now,oh,God,send
meyourangels!

"IcurseyourdamnedCourt,yousweet-tongueddevil!"Icriedout."Howdidyougetyourfootintothis
land! How did it happen?" I opened my eyes, but I saw only Fra Filippo's angels in a great tumbling,
fallingspectacleofrememberedworks,radiantbeingsfilledwiththewarmcarnalbreathofearthmingled
withHeaven."DidhegotoHell?"Icriedoutlouder."Theonewho'sheadIcutoff?Isheburning?"If
silencecanswellandfallbackuponitself,thensodidthesilenceofthisgreathallorsolar,andIheard
nothingbutmyownanxiousbreath.

ButstilltheLordremainedunperturbed.

"Ursula,"hesaid."Thiscanbeconsidered”

"No!" I cried out. "Never! Join you? Become one of you?" The Elder's hand held me powerless with
clampedfingersonmyneck.IwouldonlymakemyselffoolishifIstruggled.Werehetotightenhisgrip,I
wouldbedead.Andmaybethatwasbest.OnlyIhadmoretosay:

"Iwillnever,Iwon't.What?Howdareyouthinkmysoulsocheapyoucanhaveitfortheasking!"

"Your soul?" asked the Lord. "What is your soul that it does not want to travel centuries under the
inscrutablestars,ratherthanafewshortyears?Whatisyoursoulthatitwillnotseekfortruthforever,
ratherthanforonepaltrycommonlifetime?"Veryslowly,withthemutedrustleofgarments,herosetohis
feet,displayingforthefirsttimealongfullmantleofredwhichfelldown,makingagreatpatchofblood-
coloredshadowbehindhim.Hebenthisheadeversoslightly,andlampsgavehishairarichgildedlook,

andhisblueeyessoftened.

"Wewereherebeforeyouandyourkindred,"hesaid.Hisvoiceneverbrokedecorum.Heremainedcivil,
elegant.

"Wewereherecenturiesbeforeyoucametoyourmountain.Wewereherewhenallthesemountainsround
wereours.Itisyouwhoaretheinvader."Hepausedanddrewhimselfup."Itisyourspeciesthatdraws
evercloserwithfarmandvillageandfortressandcastle,andencroachesuponus,upontheforestswhich
areours,sothatwemustbecunningwherewewouldbeswift,andvisiblewherewewouldbeasthe
Gospel'thiefinthenight""Whydidyoukillmyfatherandmyfamily!"Idemanded.Icouldkeepsilentno
longer,Ididn'tcarehowbeguilinghiseloquence,hissoftpurringwords,hischarmedface.

"Yourfatherandhisfather,"hesaid,"andtheLordbeforehim-theycutdownthetreesthatcrowdedyour
castle.AndsoImustkeepbacktheforestofhumansfrommine.AndnowandthenImustrangewidewith
myax,andsoIhave,andsoitwasdone.Yourfathercouldhavegiventributeandremainedashewas.
Yourfathercouldhaveswornasecretoaththatrequiredallbutnothingofhim."

"You can't believe he would have surrendered to you our babes, for what, do you drink their blood or
sacrificethemtoSatanonsomealtar?"

"Youshallseebyandby,"hesaid,"forIthinkyoumustbesacrificed."

"No,Florian,"Ursulagasped."Ibegyou."

"Letmeputaquestiontoyou,graciousLord,"Isaid,"sincejusticeandhistoryweighsoheavilywithyou.
IfthisisaCourt,atrueCourt,whyhaveInobenefitofhumandefense?Orhumanpeers?Oranyhumans
todefendme?"

Heseemedtroubledbythequestion.Thenhespoke.

"WearetheCourt,myson,"hesaid."Youarenothing,andyouknowit.Wewouldhaveletyourfather
live,asweletthestagliveintheforestsothatitmaybreedwiththedoe.It'snomorethanthat."

'Arethereanyhumanshere?"

"Nonethatcanhelpyou,"hesaidsimply"Nohumanguardsbyday?"Iasked.

"Noguardsbyday,"hesaid,andforthefirsttimehesmiledalittleproudly."Youthinkwerequirethem?
Youthinkoursmallpigeoncoopisnotcontentbyday?Youthinkweneedhumanguardshere?"

"I certainly do. And you're a fool if you think I’d ever join your Court! No human guards, when right
below is an entire village which knows what you are and who you are and that you come by night and
cannotbyday?"

Hesmiledpatiently."Theyarevermin,"hesaidquietly"Youwastemytimewiththosewhoarebeneath
contempt."

"Hmm,youdoyourselfwrongwithsuchaharshjudgment.Ithinkyouhavemoreloveofthem,insome
wayoranother,myLord,thanthat!"

TheElderlaughed."Oftheirbloodperhaps,"hesaidunderhisbreath.Therewasabitofuneasylaughter
fromsomewhereelseinthehall,butitfellaway,likeafragmentofsomethingbroken.

TheLordspokeagain:

"Ursula,IwillconsiderbutIdonot-."

"No,forIwillnot!"Isaid."EvenifIweredamned,Iwouldn'tjoinyou."

"Holdyourtongue,"cautionedtheLordcalmly.

"Youarefoolsifyoudonotthinkthetownspeoplebelowwillriseupandtakethiscitadelbythelightof
thedayandopenyourhidingplaces!"

Therewasarustlingandnoisethroughoutthegreathall,butnowords,noneatleastthatIcouldhear,but
itwasasifthesepale-facedmonsterswerecommuningwitheachotherbythoughtormerelyexchanging
glanceswhichmadetheirponderousandbeautifulgarmentsshiftandmove.

"Youarenumbwithstupidity!"Ideclared."Youmakeyourselvesknowntothewholedaylightworld,and
youthinkthisCourtoftheRubyGrailcanendureforever?"

"Youinsultme,"saidtheLord.Abitofrosycolorcamedivinelyandbeautifullyintohischeeks."Iask
youwithcourtesytobequiet."

"DoIinsultyou?MyLord,allowmetoadviseyou.Youarehelplessbyday;Iknowyouare.Youstrike
by night and only by night. All signs and words point to it. I remember your hordes fleeing my father's
house.Irememberthewarning,'Lookatthesky!MyLord,youhavelivedtoolonginyourcountryforest.
Youshouldhavefollowedmyfather'sexampleandsentoffafewpupilstothephilosophersandpriestsof
thecityofFlorence."

"Don'tmockmeanymore,"hesaidimploringlywiththesamewell-bredrestraint."Youarecausinganger
inme,Vittorio,andIhavenoroomforit."

"Yourtimeisshort,oldDemon,"Isaid."Somakemerryinyourantiquatedcastlewhileyoucan."

Ursulacriedoutunderherbreath,butIwouldn'tbestopped.

"Youmayhaveboughtofftheoldgenerationofidiotswhorunthetownrightnow,"Isaid,"butifyoudon't
thinktheworldsofFlorenceandVeniceandMilanarenotmovinginonyoumorefiercelythanyoucan
everprevent,youaredreaming.It'snotmensuchasmyfatherwhoareathreattoyou,myLord.It'sthe
scholar with his books; it's the university astrologers and alchemists who'll move in on you; it's the
modernageofwhichyouknownothing,andtheywillhuntyoudown,likesomeoldbeastoflegend,and
dragyououtofthislairintheheatofthesunandcutoffyourheads,allofyou-."

"Killhim!"Therecameafemalevoicefromthosewhowatched.

"Destroyhimnow,"saidaman.

"Heisn'tfitforthecoop!"screamedanother.

"He'sunworthytobekeptinthecoopforamoment,oreventobesacrificed."Thenawholechoruslet
loosewithdemandsformydeath.

"No,"criedUrsula,throwingoutherarmstotheLord.

"Florian,Ibegyou!"

"Torture,torture,torture,"theybegantochant,firsttwoandthreeandthenfour.

"MyLord,"saidtheElder,butIcouldscarcehearhisvoice,"he'sonlyaboy.Letusputhiminthecoop
withtherestoftheflock.Inanightortwohewon'trememberhisname.He'llbeastameandplumpasthe
others."

"Killhimnow/'screamedonevoiceoverall.And:"Bedonewithhim,"criedothers,theirdemandsrising
everlouderinvolume.

Therecameapiercingshoutsecondedatonce:"Tearhimlimbfromlimb.Now.Doit."

"Yes,yes,yes!"Itwaslikethebeatofbattledrums.ChapterSeven

THECOOP

Godric,theElder,shoutedloudlyforsilence,rightatthemomentthatnumerousratherglacialhandshadI
tightenedonmyarms.

Now,onceinFlorenceIhadseenamantornapartbyamob.I'dbeenfartoocloseformyowndesireto
thespectacle,andhadbeennearlytrampledintheeffortsofthosewho,likeme,wantedtogetaway.

Soitwasnofantasytomethatsuchcouldhappen.IwasasresignedtoitasIwastoanyotherformof
death,believing,Ithink,aspowerfullyinmyangerandmyrectitudeasIdidindeath.

ButGodricorderedtheblooddrinkersback,andtheentirepallid-facedcompanywithdrewwithacourtly
grace that bordered upon the coy and the cloying, heads bowed or turned to one side, as if a moment
beforetheyhadnotbeenpartytoarabble.IkeptmyeyesfixedontheLord,whosefacenowshowedsuch
aheatthatitappearednearhuman,thebloodpulsatinginhisthincheeks,andhismouthasdarkasadried
bloodscar,forallitspleasingshape.Hisdarkgoldenhairseemedalmostbrown,andhisblueeyeswere
filledwithponderingandconcern.

"Isaythathebeputinwiththeothers,"saidGodric,thebaldElder.Atonce,Ursula'ssobsbrokeforth,as
though she could not restrain herself any longer. I looked over to see her, her head bowed, her hands
struggling to completely shield her face, and, through the creases of her long fingers, droplets of blood
fallingasthoughhertearsweremadeofit.

"Don't cry," I said, not even thinking about the wisdom of it. "Ursula, you have done all you can. I am
impossible."

Godricturnedandlookedatmewithonethicklycreasedraisedeyebrow.ThistimeIwascloseenoughto
see that his bald white head did have such hairs to it, scant eyebrows of gray as thick and ugly as old

splinters.

Ursulabroughtuparose-colorednapkinfromthefoldofherlonghigh-waistedFrenchgown,apalepink
tissue of a thing stitched on the edges with green leaves and pink flowers, and on this she wiped her
lovelyredtearsandlookedatme,asifshewerecrushedwithlonging.

"Mypredicamentisimpossible,"Isaidtoher."You’vedoneallyoucantosaveme.IfIcould,Iwould
putmyarmsaroundyoutoprotectyoufromthispain.Butthisbeasthereisholdingmehostage."

There were outraged gasps and murmurs from the still dark-garbed company, and in a blur I allowed
myself to see the thin, gaunt, bone-white faces that lined the long board on either side of the Lord, to
glanceatsomeoftheLadieswhoweresoFrenchifiedintheiroldheaddressesandwimplesofrosered
thattheyhadnotasinglehairvisible.ThereseemedbothaPrankishabsurdityanddelicacytothem,and
ofcoursetheywerealldemons.

ThebaldElder,Godric,onlychuckled.

"Demons,"Isaid,"suchacollection."

"Thecoop,myLord,"saidGodric,thebaldone."Withtheothers,andthenImaymakemysuggestionsto
youinprivate,andwithUrsulaweshalltalk.Shegrievesunduly."

"Ido!"shecried."Please,Florian,ifonlybecauseIhaveneveraskedanythingofthissort,andyouknow
it."

"Yes, Ursula," said the Lord, in the softest voice which had issued from his lips yet. "I know that, my
loveliest flower. But this boy is recalcitrant, and his family, when from time to time they had the
advantageoverthoseofuswhowanderedfromheretohunt,destroyedthoseunfortunatemembersofour
tribe.Ithappenedmorethanonce."

"Marvelous!"Icriedout."Howbrave,howwondrous,whatagiftyougiveme."TheLordwasastonished
andannoyed.

ButUrsulahurriedforward,inaflurryofdarkshadowyvelvetskirts,andleanedoverthepolishedtable
tobeclosetohim.Icouldseeonlyherhairinitslongthickbraids,twinedexquisitelywithredvelvet
ribbons,andtheshapeofhergorgeousarms,soperfectlynarrowandplumpatthesametime,enchanted
meagainstmyownwill.

"Tothecoop,please,myLord,"shebegged,"andletmehavehimatleastforsomanynightsasIneedto
reconcilemyhearttothis.LethimbeadmittedtonightfortheMidnightMass,andlethimwonder."

Imadenoanswertothis.Imerelymemorizedit.

Twoofthecompany,clean-shavenmenincourtdress,suddenlyappearedatmyside,toassistGodric,it
seemed,inhavingmetakenoff.

BeforeIknewwhatwastobefallme,asoftbindingofclothwasputovermyeyes.Iwassightless.

"No,letmesee!"Icriedout.

"Thecoopthen,itis,verywell,"cametheLord'svoice,andIfeltmyselfbeingtakenawayfromtheroom,
fast,asifthefeetofthosewhoescortedmescarcelyneededtotouchthefloor.

Themusicroseagain,inaneeriethrob,butIwasmercifullybeingescortedawayfromit.OnlyUrsula's
voiceaccompaniedmeasIwascarriedupstaircases,myfeetnowandthenbruisedcoarselyonthesteps,
andthefingersthatheldmecarelesslyhurtingme.

"Bequiet,please,Vittorio,don'tstruggle,bemybraveonenowinsilence."

'Andwhy,mylove?"Iasked."Whysetyourheartonme?Canyoukissmewithoutyourstingingteeth?"

"Yes,andyes,andyes,"shesaidinmyear.

I was being dragged along a passage. I could hear a loud mingled chorus of voices, common ordinary
speech,andthewindoftheoutdoorsandawhollydifferentkindofmusic.

"Whatisthis?Wheredowego?"Iasked.

Behindme,Ihearddoorsshut,andthentheblindfoldwasrippedfrommyeyes.

"Thisisthecoop,Vittorio,"shesaid,pressingherarmagainstmineandtryingtowhisperinmyear."This
iswherevictimsarekeptuntilneeded”

Westoodonahighbarrenstonelanding,thestairsleadingdownandatacurveintothehugecourtyard,
whichcontainedsomuchactivityandofsuchbizarresortsthatIcouldnotpossiblycomprehendallofit
immediately.

Wewerehighwithinthewallsofthecastle,thatIknew.

Andthecourtyarditselfwasenclosedonallfoursides,andIcouldseeasIlookedupthatthewallswere
facedinwhitemarbleandtherewereeverywherethenarrowpointedtwinarchedwindowsoftheFrench
style.Andabove,theheavenshadabrightpulsingglow,fednodoubtbycountlessflutteringtorcheson
theroofsandabutmentsofthecastle.Thiswasallnothingmuchtomyeyes,exceptthatitmeantescape
wasimpossible,forthenearestwindowswerefartoohigh,andthemarbletoosmoothtobescaledinany
physicalway.

There were many tiny balconies overhanging above, and they too were impossibly high. I saw the pale
red-clotheddemonsonthosebalconieslookingdownatme,asthoughmyintroductionwereaspectacle.
Thereweresomeverylargeporches,andthesetoohadtheiridlegloatingandmercilessoccupants.

Damnthemall,Ithought.

What stunned me and fascinated me was the great jumble of human beings and dwellings which I saw
crowdingthecourtyardbeforeme.

Firstofall,itwasfarmorefiercelyilluminatedthantheghastlyCourt,whereIhadjuststoodtrial,ifit
couldbecalledsuch,anditwasanentireworlduntoitself–arectangularcourtplantedwithdozensof
olivetreesandotherfloweringtrees,orangetrees,lemontrees,andallofthesestrungwithlanterns.

Itwasanentirelittleworldfullofwhatseemedtobedrunkenandconfusedpersons.Bodies,somehalf-
naked, others fully and even richly clothed, shuffled, stumbled or lay about with no purpose. Everyone
was filthy, disheveled, degraded. There were hovels all over, like old-fashioned peasant huts of mere
straw,andopenwoodenshacks,andlittlestoneenclaves,andtrellisedgardensandcountlesscircuitous
pathways.

It was a drunken labyrinth of a garden gone wild under the naked night. The fruit trees grew thick in
clusters and then broke open to reveal grassy places where people merely lay staring at the stars, as if
theyweredozing,thoughtheireyeswereopen.

Myriad flowering vines covered wire enclosures that seemed to have no purpose but to create some
alcove of privacy, and there were giant cages full of fat birds, aye, birds, and cooking fires scattered
about-andbigkettlessimmeringonbedsofcoals,fromwhichadeeplyspicedfragrancearose.

Kettles!Yes,fullofbroth.

Isawthatafoursomeofdemonsroamedabout-theremayhavebeenmore-scrawnylimbed

and bleached as their Lords, and forced to the same blood-red dress, only they were in shapeless
garmentsnobetterthanrags-peasantgarb.

Twotendedapotofthesimmeringbrothorsouporwhateveritwas,whilstanothersweptwithabigold
broom,andyetanothercarriedonhishipindifferentlyasmallmewlinghumantoddler,whoseheadrolled
painfullyonhisweakneck.ItwasmoregrotesqueanddisturbingthanthehideousCourtbelow,withits
statelycadaverousmockaristocrats.

"It's stinging my eyes” I said. "I can feel the smoke rising from the kettles." It was a pungent delicious
minglingoffragrances.Icouldidentifymanyoftherichcookingspices,andthesmellofmuttonandbeef,
buttherewereothermoreexoticflavorsintermingledwithit.

Everywherehumanbeingswereinthishopelessdaze.

Children,oldwomen,thefamedcrippleswhoneverappearedinthetownbelow,hunchbacks,andlittle
twistedbodieswhichhadnevergrowntofullsize,andbighulkingmenaswell,beardedandswart,and
boysmyageorolder-allofthemshufflingaboutorlyingabout,butdazed,andcrazy,andlookingupat
us,andblinkingandpausingasthoughourpresenceshouldmeansomethingthoughtheycouldnotmake
outwhat.Iswayedonthelanding,andUrsulaheldmyarm.Ifeltravenousastheheavyfumesfilledmy
nostrils. Hunger, hunger such as I'd never known. No, it was a pure thirst for the soup, as though there
werenofoodthatwasnotliquid.

Suddenlythetwogauntandaloofmenwhohadnotleftus-theywhohadblindfoldedmeanddraggedme
here-turnedandwentdownthesteps,lettingtheirheelsmakeasharpmarchingsoundonthestones.

A few eager cries came up from the great mottled and scattered assemblage. Heads turned. Sluggish
bodiestriedtorousethemselvesfromthevaporoustorpor.ThetwoLords,withtheirlongtrailingsleeves
and stiff backs, marched together as if they were kinsmen as they approached the first of the visible
cauldrons. I watched as drunken mortals gathered themselves up and stumbled towards the red-clad
Lords.Asforthered-cladLords,theyseemedtogloryinmystifyingall.

"What are they doing? What will they do?" I was sick. I was going to fall. Yet how sweet this soup
smelled,andhowmuchIwantedit."Ursula,"Isaid.ButIdidn'tknowwhatwordstomaketofollowthis
prayerofhername.

"I'm holding you, my love, this is the coop. Look, do you see?" Through a haze, I saw the Lords pass
beneaththejaggedthornybranchesofthebloomingorangetrees,wherefruithungstill,asthoughnoneof
theseswollen,lethargicsoulsneededsuchafreshandbrightthingasanorange.

TheLordstookupastanceoneithersideofthisfirstkettle,andeach,extendingarighthand,slashedhis
rightwristwithaknifewhichheheldinhislefthand,andletthebloodflowcopiouslyintothebrew.

Aweakhappycryrosefromthosehumansgatheringmeeklyaroundthem.

"Oh,damnable,it'stheblood,ofcourse,"Iwhispered.IwouldhavefallenifUrsulahadnottakenholdof
me."Thebrewisspicedwithblood."OneoftheLordsturnedaway,asthoughthesmokeandthefumes
disgusted him, yet he allowed himself to bleed into the mix. Then turning swiftly, almost crossly, he
reachedouttosnatchbythearmoneofthethin,weaklookingwhitedemonsinpeasantgarb.Hecaught
thepoorfellowanddraggedhimtothekettle.

Thethinpaltrydemonbeggedandwhinedtobeallowedtobefree,buthiswristswerebothslashed,and
now,thoughheturnedhisbonyfaceaway,hewasbledfuriouslyintothesoup.

'Ah,youarebetterthanDantewithyourcirclesofHell,aren'tyou?"Isaid.ButithurtmethatIhadtaken
suchatonewithher.

Shesupportedmeutterly.

"Theyarepeasants,yes,theydreamofbeingLords,andiftheyobey,theymight."Irecallednowthatthe
demonsoldierswhohadbroughtmebacktothecastlehadbeenrudehuntsmen.

Howwellitwasallthoughtout,butthis,mynarrowshoulderedlove,withhersoftyieldingarmsandher
shiningtear-stainedface,wasapureLady,wasshenot?

"Vittorio,Iwantsobadlyforyounottodie."

"Doyou,dearest?"Isaid.Ihadmyarmsaroundher.Icouldnolongerstandwithoutthissupport.

Myvisionwasfading.

Yetwithmyheadagainsthershoulder,myeyesdirectedtothecrowdbelow,Icouldseethehumanbeings
surroundingthekettlesanddippingtheircupsintothebrew,dippingtheircupsrightwherethebloodhad
fallen,andthenblowingonthehotliquidtocoolitbeforetheydrank.

Asoft,horridlaughterechoedupthewalls.Ithinkitcamefromthosespectatorsaboveonthebalconies.

Therewasasuddenswirlofredcolor,asifagiantunfurlingflaghadfallen.ButitwasaLadydropping
downfromtheremoteheightsabove,tolandamidtheworshipfulhordesofthecoop.

They bowed and saluted her, and backed away from her, and gave forth loud gasps of awe as she too

approachedthekettleand,withaloudrebelliouslaugh,cutherwristandfedherbloodintoit.

"Yes,mydarlings,mylittlechicks,"shedeclared.Shelookedupatus.

"Comedown,Ursula,havepityonourhungrylittleworld;begeneroustonight.Soitisnotyournightto
give;giveinhonorofournewacquisition."Ursulaseemedshamedbyallofthis,andheldmegentlywith
herlongfingers.Ilookedintohereyes.

"I'mdrunk,drunkmerelyfromthefragrance."

"Mybloodisonlyforyounow,"shewhispered.

"Giveittomethen,Ihungerforit,I'mweaktodying,"Isaid."Oh,God,you'vebroughtmetothis.No,no,
Ididitmyself."

"Sshhh,mylover,mysweet,"shesaid.

Herarmcoiledaboutmywaist,andtherecamejustundermyearhertenderlipssuckingontheflesh,asif
shemeanttomakeapuckerthereonmyneck,warmitwithhertongue,andthentheprickofherteeth.

Ifeltravaged,andwithbothhandsinafantasyIreachedoutforherfigureaswerantogetherthroughthe
meadowwhichbelongedonlytousandtowhichtheseotherscouldneverbeadmitted.

"Oh,innocentlove,"shesaidevenasshedrankfromme,"oh,innocentinnocentlove."Thenasuddenicy
hotfireenteredthewoundinmyneck,andIfeltitasifitwereadelicateparasiteoflongtendrilsthat
onceinsidemybodycouldfindthemostremotereachesofme.

Themeadowspreadoutaroundus,vastandcool,andutterlygivenovertotheblowinglilies.Wasshe
withme?

Besideme?ItseemedinoneradiantinstantIstoodaloneandheardhercryoutasifshewerebehindme.

Imeant,withinthisecstaticdream,thisflutteringcoolingdreamofblueskiesandtenderbreakingstems,
to turn and go to her. But out of the corner of my eyes, I beheld something of such splendor and
magnificencethatmysoulleapt.

"Look,yes,yousee!"

Myheadfellback.Thedreamwasgone.Thehighwhitemarblewallsoftheprisoncastleroseabovemy
hurtinggaze.Sheheldmeandstareddownatme,bewildered,herlipsbloody.

Shehoistedmeinherarms.Iwasashelplessasachild.

She carried me down the stairs, and there was nothing I could do to rouse my limbs. It seemed all the
worldabovewastinyfiguresrangingonbalconiesandbattlementsandlaughingandpointingwiththeir
tinyoutstretchedhands,sodarkagainstthetorchesallaroundthem.

Bloodred,smellit.

"Butwhatwasit;didyouseeitinthefield?"Iaskedher.

"No!"shecried.Shelookedsofrightened.

Ilayonaheapofhay,amakeshiftbed,andthepoorunderfeddemonpeasantboysstaredstupidlydownat
mewithbloodshoteyes,andshe,shewept,herhandsagaintoherface.

"Icannotleavehimhere,"shesaid.

She was far, far away. I heard people crying. Was there a revolt among the drugged and the damned? I
heardpeopleweeping.

"Butyouwill,andcometothekettlefirstandgiveyourblood."Whospokethosewords?

Ididn'tknow.

"...timefortheMass.”

"Youwon'ttakehimtonight."

"Why are they crying?" I asked. "Listen, Ursula, they’ve all started crying." One of the scrawny boys
staredrightintomyeyes.Hehadahandonthebackofmyneckandawarmcupofbrewtomymouth.I
didn'twantittoslopdownmychin.Idrankanddrank.Itfilledmymouth.

"Not tonight," came Ursula's voice. Kisses on my forehead, on my neck. Someone snatched her away. I
feltherhandholdtighttomine,thenIfeltherpulledaway.

"Comenow,Ursula,leavehim."

"Sleep, my darling," she cried in my ear. I felt her skirts brushing me. "Vittorio, sleep." The cup was
thrownaside.Stupidly,inutterintoxicationIwatchedthecontentsspillandsinkdarklyintothemounded
hay.Shekneltbeforeme,hermouthopenandtenderandlusciousandred.

Shetookrnyfaceinhercoolhands.Thebloodpouredoutofhermouthandintomine.

"Oh,love,"Isaid.Iwantedtoseethefield.Itdidn'tcome."Letmeseethefield!Letmeseeit!"

Buttherewasnomeadow,onlytheshockingsightofherfaceagain,andthenadimminglight,agathering
embrace of darkness and sound. I could no longer fight. I could no longer speak. I could no longer
remember . . . But someone had said that very thing. And the crying. It was so sad. Such crying, such
doleful,helplessweeping.WhennextIopenedmyeyes,itwasmorning.Thesunhurtme,andmyhead
achedunbearably.

Amanwasontopofme,tryingtogetmyclothesoffme.

Drunkenfool.Iturnedover,dizzyandsick,sicktovomiting,andthrewhimoff,andwithasoundblow
knockedhimsenseless.

ItriedtogetupbutIcouldn't.Thenauseawasintolerable.Allaroundmeothersslept.Thesunhurtmy

eyes.Itscaldedmyskin.Isnuggledintothehay.Theheatbeatdownonmyhead,andwhenIranmyown
fingersthroughmyhair,myhairfelthot.Thepaininmyheadthrobbedinmyears.

"Come into the shelter," a voice said. It was an old crone, and she beckoned to me from beneath a
thatchedroof.

"Comein,whereit'scool."

"Curseyouall,"Isaid.Islept.Idrifted.

SometimeduringthelateafternoonIcametomysenses.

Ifoundmyselfonmykneesnearoneofthekettles.Iwasdrinkinginaslovenlywretchedmannerfroma
bowlofbrew.Theoldwomanhadgivenittome.

"Thedemons,"Isaid."Theyareasleep.Wecan...wecan..."butthenthefutilityofitovercameme.I
wantedtothrowawaythecup,butIdrankthehotbrew.

"It'snotjustblood,it'swine,it'sgoodwine,"saidtheoldwoman."Drinkit,myboy,andfeelnopain.
They'llkillyousoonenough.It'snotsoterrible."Whenitwasdarkagain,Iknewit.

Irolledover.

Icouldfullyopenmyeyes,andtheydidnothurtastheyhadinthedayIknewthatIhadlostthewholearc
of the sun in this drugged and stupid and disastrous languor. I had fallen into their plans. I had been
helplesswhenIshouldhavebeentryingtorousetheseuselessonesaroundmetomutiny.

GoodGod,howcouldIhaveletithappen!Oh,thesadness,thedimdistantsadness...Andthesweetness
ofslumber.

"Wake,boy'

Ademonvoice.

"Theywantyoutonight."

"Oh,andwhowantsmeforwhat?"Iasked.Ilookedup.Thetorcheswerealight.Allwastwinklingand
glowing, and there came the soft rustle of green leaves overhead - the sharp sweet smell of the orange
trees.Theworldwaswovenofdancingflamesaboveandtheentrancingpatternsoftheblackleaves.The
worldwashungerandthirst.

Thebrewsimmered,andthatscentblottedoutallelse.Iopenedmymouthforit,thoughtherewasnoneof
itnearme.

“I’ll give it to you," said the demon voice. "But sit up. I must clean you up. You must look good for
tonight."

"Forwhat?"Isaid."Allofthemaredead."

"Who?"

"Myfamily."

"There is no family here. This is the Court of the Ruby Grail. You are the property of the Lord of the
Court.Now,come,Ihavetoprepareyou."

"Forwhatdoyouprepareme?"

"FortheMass,you'retogo,getup,"saidthedemon,whostoodwearilyoverme,leaningonhisbroom,
hisshininghairanelfinmessaroundhisface."Getup,boy.They'llwantyou.It'salmostmidnight."

"No,no,notalmostmidnight,no!"Icriedout."No!"

"Don'tbeafraid,"hesaid,coldly,wearily."It'suseless."

"Butyoudon'tunderstand,it'sthelossoftime,thelossofreason,thelossofhoursduringwhichmyheart
beatandmybrainslept!I'mnotafraid,youmiserabledemon!"Heheldmeflattothehay.Hewashedmy
face.

"There,there,youareahandsomefineone.Theyalwayssacrificethosesuchasyourightaway.You're
toostrong,toofineoflimbandface.Lookatyou,andtheLadyUrsuladreamingofyouandweepingfor
you.Theytookheraway."

'Ah,butIwasdreamingtoo..."Isaid.WasItalkingtothismonstrousattendantasthoughheandIwere
friends?

Wherewasthegreatmagnificentwebofmydreams,theimmenseandluminousmajesty?

"You can talk to me, why not?" he said. "You will die in rapture, my pretty young Lord," he said. 'And
you'llseethechurchallalight,andtheMass;you'llbethesacrifice."

"No, I dreamed of the meadow," I said. "I saw something in the meadow. No, it wasn't Ursula." I was
talkingtomyself,tomyownsickbedeviledmind,talkingtomywitstomakethemlisten."Isawsomeone
inthemeadow,someoneso...Ican't..."

"Youmakethingssopainfulforyourself,"saidthedemonsoothingly."Here,Ihaveallyourbuttonsand
bucklesright.WhatafineLordyoumusthavebeen."Musthavebeen,musthavebeen,musthavebeen...

"Youhearthat?"heasked.

"Ihearnothing."

"It'stheclock,strikingthethirdquarterofthehour.It'salmosttimefortheMass.Don'tpayattentiontothe
noise.

It'stheotherswho'llbesacrificed.Don'tletitunnerveyou.Justsomuchcommonweeping."

ChapterEight

REQUIEM,ORTHEHOLY

SACRIFICEOFTHEMASSASI

HADNEVERSEENIT

Hadeverachapelbeenmorebeautiful?Hadeverwhitemarblebeenusedtosuchanadvantage,andfrom
which I fount of eternal gold had come these glorious curlicues and serpentine adornments, these high-
pointedwindows,illuminatedfromwithoutbyfiercefiresthatbroughtintotheperfectionofjewelstheir
tinythickfacetsoftintedglasstoformtheirsolemnnarrowandseeminglysacredpictures?

Buttheywerenotsacredpictures.

Istoodinthechoirloft,highabovethevestibule,lookingdownoverthegreatnaveandatthealtaratthe
farend.

OnceagainIwasflankedbyominousandregalLords,whoseemednowtobeabsolutelyferventintheir
dutyastheyheldmefirmandstandingbythearms.Mymindhadcleared,butonlysomewhat.Thewet
clothwasonceagainpressedtomyeyesandforehead.Thewaterwasasiffromamountainstreamof
flowingmeltedsnow.Inmysickness,inmyfever,Isaweverything.

I saw the demons fashioned in the glittering windows, as artfully put together of red and gold and blue
glass as any angels or saints. I saw their leering faces as they peered down, these monsters with their
webbedwingsandclawlikehands,uponthecongregation.Below,allowingabroadcentralaisle,was
gatheredinitsrubydarkfinerythegreatCourtoneitherside,standingtofacethelongheavilycarvedand
broadCommunionRailandthehighaltarbehindit.

Paintingscoveredthecovebehindthealtar.DemonsdancinginHell,gracefulamongtheflamesasthough
they bathed in a welcome radiance, and strung above them on loose and unfurling banners the golden
lettersfromSt.Augustine'swords,sofamiliartomystudy,thattheseflameswerenottheflamesofreal
fire but only the absence from God, but the word "absence" had been replaced by the Latin word for
"freedom."

"Freedom"wasthewordinLatinworkedintothehighwhitemarblewalls,inafriezethatranbeneaththe
balconies on either side of the church, on the same level as this, my place, in which more of the Court
beheldthespectacle.

Lightrosetofloodthehigh-groinedarchesoftheroof.

Andwhatwasthisspectacle?

Thehighaltarwasdrapedincrimsontrimmedingiltfringe,itsabundantclothsshortenoughtorevealthe
tableauinwhitecarvingoffiguresprancinginHell,thoughfromthisgreatdistancemyeyesmighthave
deceived me as to their levity. What I did see with perfection were the thick candlesticks before not a
crucifixbutahugecarvedstonereplicaofLucifer,thefallenangel,longlocksaflame,andgarmentstooa
torrent of rising fire, frozen in marble, and in his upraised hands the symbols of death - in the right the
scythe of the grim reaper - and in the other the sword of the executioner. I gasped when I beheld the

image!Monstrous,itwaspositionedpreciselywhereIwantedsotoseemyCrucifiedChrist,andyetina
momentofdeliriumandagitation,Ifeltmylipscurlinasmile,andIheardmyownmindtellmecunningly
thattherewasnothinglessgrotesqueabouttheCrucifiedGodifHeHimselfhadbeenthere.Myguards
heldmefirm.HadItottered?

From the assemblage around me and behind me, from those whom I had not even regarded, there came
suddenly the muted roll of drums, ominous and slow, mournful and beautiful in their own muffled
simplicity.

At once there followed a deep-throated chorus of horns, in lovely weaving song and effortless sweet
intermingling, playing not the repetitious chord music of the night before, but a strong plaintive and
imploring polyphony of melodies so sad that they flooded my heart with sadness, stroked my heart and
made the tears nearly spring to my eyes. Oh, what is this? What is this blended and rich music,
surroundingmeandpouringforthintothenavetoechooffthesatinymarbleandreboundgentlyandwith
perfectmodulationtotheplacewhereIstood,staring,raptatthedistantfigureofLucifer?Athisfeet,all
flowerslaidoutinvesselsofsilverandgoldwerered,theredofrosesandcarnations,theredoftheiris,
the red of wildflowers I could not name, an altar alive and decked and crawling with all those things
whichwerehighcolor,hisglorioustint,theonecolorlefttohimthatmightrisefromhisinevitableand
unredeemabledarkness.Iheardthedusty,sonoroussongsofthereedshawm,thesmalloboeandthereed
dulcian,andothersmallreedorgansplayedbymouth,andthenthemoreringingtoneofthebrasssackbut
horn,andperhapseventhelightsingingofthehammersstrikingthetautstringsofthedulcimer.

Thismusicalonemighthaveengagedme,filledmysoul,itsthreadsofmelodyinterweaving,overlapping,
harmonizingandthendriftingapart.Itleftmenobreathtospeakoreyesforotherthings.YetIbeheldthe
statuesofthedemonswhoranfromrighttoleft-soliketheLordsandLadiesoftheCourtlytableoflast
night-fromtheimposingfigureoftheirDevil.

Were they blood drinkers all, these terrible gaunt saints of Hell, carved from hardwood with its own
reddish mahogany glint, in their stark stylized garments, cleaving to thin bodies, their eyes half-lidded,
theirmouthsopen,andagainsteachlowerliptwowhitefangs,asifmadefromtinybitsofsnow-white
ivorytomarkthepurposeofeachindividualmonster.

Oh,Cathedralofhorrors.Itriedtoturnmyhead,toclosemyeyes,andyetthemonstrosityofitenthralled
me.

Patheticunformedthoughtsneverreachedmylips.

The horns died around me, and the reedy woodland instruments died away. Oh, don't go, sweet music.
Don'tleavemehere.

But what came was a chorus of the sweetest softest tenor voices; they called out the Latin words that I
couldnotfollow,ananthemforthedead,ananthemonthemutabilityofallthings,andatoncecameafull
lustrous harmonizing chorus of sopranos male and female, of basses and baritones, singing heartily in
splendidpolyphonyinanswertotheselonetenors:

"IgonowtotheLord,forHehasallowedtheseCreaturesofDarknesstoanswermysupplications..."

Whatnightmarishwordswerethese?

Onceagaintherecametherichthickchorusofmanyvoicestounderscorethetenors:

"Theinstrumentsofdeathawaitmeintheirwarmanddevoutkiss,andintotheirbodies,bythewillof
God,theyshalltakemylife'sblood,myrapture,mysoul'sascentthroughtheirown,soasbettertoknow
bothHeavenandHellintheirDarkService."Thereedorganplayeditssolemnsong.

Into the Sanctuary of the church, there proceeded now, to the fullest most lustrous strength of the
polyphonyyet,astreamofpriestlyfigures.

I saw the Lord Florian in a rich red chasuble as if he were the bishop of Florence himself, only this
garment bore the Cross of Christ impudently upside down in honor of the Damned One, and on his
untonsuredheadofdarkblondhairheworeagildedjeweledcrownasifhewerebothPrankishmonarch
and servant of the Dark Lord. The strong piercing notes of the horns dominated the song. A march had
begun.Thedrumsrumbledbeneath,hushedandsteady

Florianhadtakenhisplacebeforethealtarwithhisfacetothecongregation,andononesideofhimstood
the fragile Ursula, her hair full and loose and down on her shoulders, though shrouded like a Mary
Magdaleneinascarletveilwhichhungtotheveryedgeofthehemofhertaperinggown.

Her upturned face was directed to me, and I could see even from this great airy span that her hands,
shapedasasteeple,withfingerspressedtogether,trembled.OntheothersideofthishighpriestFlorian
stoodhisbaldElder,inhisownchasubleandthickembroideredlacesleeves,anotherpriestlyassistant.

Acolytes came from either side, tallish young demons with faces of the usual chiseled ivory, and the
simple surplices of those who attend the Mass. They took their positions ranked down the long marble
CommunionRail.

Onceagain,thererosethemagnificentchorusofvoicesaroundme,falsettosminglingwithtruesopranos
andthethrobbingbassesofthemales,asredolentofthewoodlandsasthewoodenhorns,andbeneathit
alltheheavydrivingbrassdeclaration.Whatdidtheymeantodo?Whatwasthishymnwhichnowthe
tenors sang, and what was the answer that came from all the voices so close to me, the words in Latin
unstrungandonlyincoherentlyenvelopingme:

"Lord, I am come into the Valley of Death; Lord, I am come to the end of my Sorrow; Lord, in thy
deliveranceIgivelifetothosewhowouldbeidleinHellwereitnotforthydivineplan."

Mysoulrebelled.Iloathedit,andyetIcouldnotlookawayfromthespectaclebelow.Myeyessweptthe
church.

I saw for the first time the gaunt, demonic fanged demons on their pedestals rising between the narrow
windows,andeverywheretheglintofracksuponracksoftinycandles.

Themusicbrokeagainforthesolemndeclarationofthetenors:

"Letthefountbebroughtforward,thatthosewhoareoursacrificesshouldbewashedclean."

Anditwasdone.

Ranks of young demons in their guise as Altar Boys came forward, carrying with them in their

preternaturally strong hands a magnificent baptismal fount of deep-pink Carrara marble. This they set
sometenfeetbeforetheCommunionRail.

"Oh,abominations,tomakeitsobeautiful,"Iwhispered.

"Quietnow,myyoungone,"saidtheregalguardbesideme."Watch,forwhatyouseehereyouwillnever
seebetweenHeavenandEarthagain,andasyouwillgounconfessedtoGod,youwillburnindarkness
forever."

Hesoundedasifhebelievedit.

"Youhavenopowertodamnmysoul,"Iwhispered,tryinginvaintoclearmyeyes,nottosolovethe
weaknessthatstillcausedmetodependupontheirclampinghands.

"Ursula, farewell," I whispered, making of my lips a kiss. But in this miraculous and private little
moment, seemingly unnoticed by the whole congregation, I saw her head shake in a small secretive
negation. No one saw because all eyes were now on another spectacle, far more tragic than any of the
controlledandmodulatedritualwehadbeheld.

Uptheaisle,drivenbyacolytedemonsintunicsofredandlacesleevestrimmedinredandgold,there
cameapoorwretchedsamplingofthelostonesofthecoop,shufflingoldwomen,drunkenmenandlittle
boys,merechildren,clingingtotheverydemonswhoescortedthemtotheirdeaths,likepiteousvictims
of some horrid old trial where the offspring of the condemned are led to execution with their parents.
Horror.

"Icurseyouall.Idamnyou.God,bringdownyourjusticeonthis,"Iwhispered."God,bringdownyour
tears.

Weepforus,Christ,thatthisishappening."

My eyes turned up in my head. It seemed I dreamed, and once again came the bright green limitless
meadowtomyeyes,andonceagain,asUrsularanfromme,asherspiritedyoungformrushedacrossthe
highbreakingfieldofgrassandlilies,thereroseanotherfigure,anotherfamiliarfigure-.

"Yes,Iseeyou!"Icriedouttothisvisioninmyhalfrescueddream.ButnosoonerhadIrecognizedit,
lockedtoit,thanitvanished;itwasgone,andwithitwasgoneallcomprehensionofit,allmemoryofits
exquisitefaceandformanditsmeaning,itspureandpowerfulmeaning.

Wordsfledfromme.

FrombelowIsawtheLordFlorianlookup,angered,silent.Thehandsbesidemedugintomyflesh.

"Silence," said the guards next to me, their commands overlapping one another. The lovely music rose
higherandhigher,asthoughtheclimbingsopranovoicesandthethrobbing,windinghornswouldhushme
now and pay tribute only to the unholy baptism. The baptism had begun. The first victim, an ancient
womanofbentandbonyback,hadbeenstrippedofherpoorgarmentsandwashedwithhandfulsofwater
inthefount,andnowwasledtotheCommunionRail,oh,sofrail,sounprotectedbyherkithandkinand
herguardianangels!

Oh,andnowtoseethechildrenstripped,toseetheirtinylittlelegsandbuttocksbare,toseetheirbony
shoulders,thosetinypartswhereitseemedthewingletsofbabyangelsoncesproutedfromtheirbacks,to
seethemwashedandthendeliveredtostandtremblingalongthestretchofmarblebalustrade.Ithappened
veryfast.

"Cursedanimals,forthatiswhatyouare,notairydemons,no!"Imuttered,strugglinginthegraspofthe
twoloathsomeminions."Yes,cowardlyminions,bothofyou,tobeapartytothisevil."

The music drowned out my prayers. "Dear God, send my angels to me," I said to my heart, my secret
heart,"sendmywrathfulangels,sendthemwithyourfierysword.God,thiscannotbeborne."

TheCommunionRailnowhaditsfullcomplementofvictims,nakedandtremblingall,andblazingwith
carnalhumancoloragainsttheluminousmarbleandthecolorlesspriests.

ThecandlesflickeredonthegiantLucifer,withitsgreatwebbedwings,whopresidedoverall.

TheLordFloriannowsteppeddowntotakethefirstCommunicantinhishands,andloweredhislipsto
drink.

Thedrumsbeatfierceandsweet,andthevoicestwinedandreachedtoHeaven.ButtherewasnoHeaven
herebeneaththesebranchingwhitecolumns,thesegroinedarches.Therewasnothingbutdeath.

AlltheCourthadbeguntomaketwostreamsalongthesidesofthechapelmarchingsilentlyuptocome
behind the Communion Rail, where each might take a victim from those who stood helpless and ready,
andnowLordandLadychosewhichtheywanted,andsomeshared,andonevictimwaspassedfromone
toanother,andsoonitwent,thismockery,thislurid,predatoryCommunion.

OnlyUrsuladidnotmove.

TheCommunicantsweredying.Somewerealreadydead.

None struck the floor. Their pliant dried-up limbs were captured silently and deftly by the attendant
demons,andbodieswerewhiskedaway.

Morevictimswerestillbeingbathed.OthersweretakentotheRail.Onitwent.TheLordFloriandrank
againandagain,onechildafteranotherputbeforehim,hisslenderfingerscapturingthesmallneckand
holdingitashebenthislips.IwonderwhatLatinwordshedaredtospeak.

SlowlythemembersoftheCourtslippedoutoftheSanctuary,movingdownthesideaislesagaintopivot
and take their old stance. They had had their fill. All through the room the color of blood infused once
pallidfaces,anditseemedtomymistedvision,tomyheadsofullofthelovelinessofsong,thattheyall
werehumannow,humanforthislittlewhile.

"Yes," said Florian, his voice arching out soft and sure to my ears over the length of the nave. "Human
nowforthisoneinstant,withthebloodoftheliving,incarnatedagain,weare,youngprince.Youhave
understoodit."

'Ah,butLord,"Isaid,inmyexhaustedwhisper,"Idonotforgiveit."Anintervalofsilencefell.Thenthe
tenorsdeclared:

"Itistime,andthemidnighthourisnotfinished."

ThesureandtighthandsinwhichIwasheldfocusedmenowtotheside.Iwasspiritedoutofthechoir
loftanddownthewindingscrewstairsofwhitemarble.AsIcametomyself,stillsupported,staringup
thecenteraisle,Isawthatonlythebaptistryfountremained.Allvictimsweregone.

Butagreatcrosshadbeenbroughtintothehall.Ithadbeenpositionedupsidedown,toonesideofthe
altar,andforward,attheCommunionRail.

TheLordFlorianheldupformetoseefivehugeironnailsinhishand,andbeckonedformetocome.

Thecrosswasanchoredintoplace,asthoughithadoftenbeenbroughttothisspot.Itwasmadeofrich
hardwood, thick, heavy and polished smooth, though it bore the marks of other nails, and no doubt the
stainsofotherblood.

TheverybottomofitfittedrightattheRailingitselfagainstthemarblebanister,sothathewhowastobe
crucifiedwouldbethreefeetabovethefloorandvisibletoalltheworshippers.

"Theworshippers,youfilthylot!"Ilaughed.ThankGodandallhisangelsthattheeyesofmyfatherand
motherwerefilledwithcelestiallightandcouldseenothingofthiscrudedegradation.

TheElderrevealedtomeinhisoutstretchedhandstwogoldengoblets.Iknewthemeaning.Withthese,to
catchmybloodasitgushedfromthewoundsmadebythenails.

Hebowedhishead.

I was forced up the aisle. The statue of Lucifer grew immense behind the glittering pontifical figure of
Florian.

Myfeetdidnottouchthemarble.AllaroundmethemembersoftheCourtturnedtoattendmyprogress,
but never so much that their eyes were not upon their Lord. Before the baptismal fount my face was
washed.

Itossedmyhead,twistingmyneck,throwingthewaterimpudentlyonthosewhotriedtobatheme.The
acolyteswereinfearofme.Theyapproachedandreachedhesitantlyformybuckles.

"Striphim,"saidtheLord,andonceagainheheldupthenailsformetosee.

"Iseewellenough,mycowardlyLord,"Isaid."Itisnothingtocrucifyaboysuchasme.Saveyoursoul,
Lord,dothat!AndallyourCourtwillwonder."Themusicswelledfromtheloftabove.Thechoruscame
again,answeringandunderscoringtheanthemofthetenors.

There were no words for me now; there was only candlelight and the knowledge that my clothes were
about to be taken from me, and that this horror would take place, this evil inverted crucifixion, never
sanctifiedbySt.Peterhimself,fortheinvertedcrossnotnowtobeasymboloftheEvilOne.

Suddenlythetremblinghandsoftheacolyteswithdrew.

Above,thehornsplayedtheirmostbeautifulpoignantmelody.

Thetenorshurledouttheirquestion,inflawlessvoices,fromtheloftabove:

"Canthisonenotbesaved?Canthisonenotbedelivered?"Thechorusrose,inunison:

"CanthisonenotbereleasedfromthepowerofSatan?"Ursulasteppedforwardanddrewfromherhead
theimmenselongredveilthathungtoherfeet,andthrewitoutsothatitdescendedlikeacloudofred
aroundher.Besideher,anacolyteappearedwithmyveryswordinhishand,andmydaggers.Onceagain
thetenorvoicesimplored:

"Onesoulreleasedtogoforthintotheworld,mad,andbearingwitnessonlytothemostpatientearstothe
powerofSatan."

The chorus sang, a riot of melody erupting from them, and it seemed a swift affirmation had overtaken
theirsong.

"What,nottodie!"Isaid.IstrainedtoseethefaceoftheLordinwhosehandsallofthisrested.Buthe
wasblockedfrommyview.

GodrictheElderhadcomebetween.OpeningthegateofthemarbleCommunionRailwithhisknee,he
moveddowntheaisletowardsme.Hethrustoneofhisgoldencupstomylips.

"Drinkandforget,Vittorio,elseweloseherheartandhersoul."

"Oh,butthenyoumustloseit!"

"No!"shescreamed."No."Overhisshoulder,IcouldseehersnatchthreeofthenailsfromFlorian'sleft
handandflingthemoutonthemarble.Thesingingrosehighandrichunderthearches.Icouldn'thearthe
nailsstrikethestone.

Thesoundofthechoirwasjubilant,celebratory.Themournfultonesofrequiemweregone.

"No,God,ifyouwouldsavehersoul,thentakemetothecross,takeme!"Butthegoldencupwasforced
to my lips. My jaws were opened by Ursula's hand, and the liquid poured down my throat. I saw my
swordliftedbeforemyclosingeyesasifitwereacross,thelonghilt,thehandles.

Softmockinglaughterroseandblendedwiththemagicalandindescribablebeautyofthechoir.

Herredveilswirledaboutme.Isawtheredfabricriseupinfrontofme.Ifeltitcomedownaroundme
likeaspellbindingshower,fullofherperfume,softwithhertenderness.

"Ursula,comewithme..."Iwhispered.

Thoseweremylastwords.

"Castout,"criedtheswellingvoicesabove."Castout..."criedthehugechoir,anditseemedtheCourt
sangwiththechorus,"Castout,"andmyeyesclosedastheredfabriccoveredmyface,asitcamedown
likeawitch'swebovermystrugglingfingersandsealeditselfovermyopenmouth.

Thehornsblaredforththetruth."Forgiven!Castout!"sangthevoices.

"Cast out to madness," whispered Godric in my ear. "To madness all of your days, and you, you might
havebeenoneofus."

"Yes,oneofus,"cameFlorian'ssmoothunperturbedwhisper.

"Foolthatyouwere,"saidGodric."Youmighthavebeenimmortal."

"Oneofusforever,immortal,imperishable,toreignhereinglory,"saidFlorian.

"Immortality or death," said Godric, "and these were choices royal, but you shall wander witless and
scornedthroughtheworld."

"Yes,witlessandscorned,"cameachildishvoiceatmyear.Andthenanother,"Witlessandscorned."

"Witlessandscorned,"saidFlorian.

But the choir sang on, obliterating all sting from their words, its delirious hymn growing ever more
tremendousinmyhalf-slumber.

(Afooltowandertheworldincontempt,"saidGodric.

Blinded, sealed in the softness of the veil, intoxicated by the drink, I could not answer them. I think I
smiled.Theirwordsweretoosenselesslymingledwiththesumptuoussoothingvoicesofthechoir.And
foolsthattheywere,theyhadneverknownthatwhattheysaidsimplyhadnotmattered.

'And you could have been our young prince." Was it Florian at my side? Cool, dauntless Florian. "We
couldhavelovedyouasshelovesyou."

"Ayoungprince,"saidGodric,"toruleherewithusforever."

"Becomethejesterofalchemistsandoldwives,"saidFloriansadly,solemnly.

"Yes,"saidachildishvoice,"fooltoleaveus."Howwondrousweretheanthemsthatmadetheirwords
mere sweet and contrapuntal syllables. I think I felt her kiss through the silk. I think I felt it. I think. It
seemed in the tiniest of feminine whispers, she said simply, without ceremony: "My love." It had her
triumphandherfarewellwithinit.Down,down,downintotherichest,kindestsleepthatGodcangive,I
sank. The music gave a shape to my limbs, gave air to my lungs, when all other senses had been
abandoned.

ChapterNine

ANGELSWEHAVEHEARDONHIGH

Itwaspouringdownrain.No,therainhadstopped.Theystillcouldn'tIunderstandme.Iwassurrounded
bythesemen.WewererightnearFraFilippo'sworkshop.Iknewthisstreet.I'djustbeenherewithmy
fatherayearago.

"Speakmoreslowly.Corrr...blub,itdoesn'tmakesense!"

"Look,"saidtheotherone."Wewanttohelpyou.Tellmeyourfather'sname.Speakitslowly."

They shook their heads. I thought I was making perfect sense, I could hear it, Lorenzo di Raniari, why
couldn'ttheyhearit,andIwashisson,VittoriodiRaniari.ButIcouldfeelmylips,howswollenthey
were.IknewIwasfilthyfromtherain.

"Look, take me to Fra Filippo's shop. I know them there," I said. My great painter, my passionate and
tormentedpainter,hisapprenticeswouldknowme.Hewouldnot,butthehelperswhohadseenmeweep
thatdayathiswork.Andthen,then,thesemenwouldtakemetothehouseofCosimointheViadelLargo.

"Fee,fee?"theysaid.Theyrepeatedmyclumsyattemptsatspeech.Ihadfailedagain.Istartedtowards
the workshop. I staggered and almost fell. These were honest men. I had the heavy bags over my right
shoulder,andmyswordwasclankingagainstme,practicallythrowingmeoffbalance.Thehighwallsof
Florencewereclosinginonme.Ialmosthitthestones.

"Cosimo!"Ishoutedatthetopofmyvoice.

"Wecan'ttakeyoutoCosimolikethis!Cosimowon'tseeyou."

"Ah,youunderstand;youheardme."

Butthemannowcockedhisear.Anhonestmerchant,drenchedtotheskininhissombergreenrobes,and
allbecauseofmenodoubt.Iwouldn'tcomeinoutoftherain.Nosense.They'dfoundmelyingintherain
rightinthemiddleofthePiazzadellaSignoria.

"It'scomingback,it'scomingclear."

IsawtheentrancetoFraFilippo'sworkshopupahead.

Theshutterswerebeingtakendown.Theywereopeningitupnowthatthethunderousstormhadceased,
andthewaterwasdryinguponthestonestreets.Peoplewerecomingout.

"Thosemeninthere,"Ishouted.

"What,whatareyousaying?"

Shrugsallaround,buttheyaidedme.Anoldmanheldmyelbow.

"WeshouldtakehimtoSanMarco,letthemonkscareforhim."

"No,no,no,IneedtotalktoCosimo!"Ishouted.

Again,theyshruggedandshooktheirheads.

SuddenlyIstopped.Irockedandsteadiedmyselfbyrudelygrabbingholdoftheyoungerman'sshoulder.

Istaredatthedistantworkshop.

Thestreetwasnomorethananalleywayhere,barelysufficientforhorsestopassandforthepedestrians

not to be injured, and the stone facades all but closed out the slate-gray sky above. Windows were
opened,anditseemedthatawomancouldreachacrossupstairsandtouchthehouseoppositeher.

Butlookwhatwasthere,rightbeforetheshop.

Isawthem.Isawthetwoofthem!"Look/'Isaidagain.

"Doyouseethem?"

Themencouldn'tsee.Lord,thetwofiguresbeforetheshopwerebrightasifilluminatedfromwithintheir
flushedskinandlooselygirdledrobes.

Iheldtheshoulderbagsovermyleftshoulderandputmyhandonmysword.Icouldstand,butmyeyes
must have been wide as plates staring blindly at what I beheld. The two angels were arguing. The two
angels,withtheirwingsmovingeversoslightlyintimewiththeirwordsandtheirgestures,werearguing
witheachotherwheretheystood,rightbeforetheshop.

They stood oblivious to all humans who passed them and couldn't see them, and they argued one with
another,bothangelsblond,bothangelsIknew,Iknewtheseangels,IknewthemfromthepaintingsofFra
Filippo,andIcouldheartheirvoices.Iknewtherolledcurlsoftheone,whoseheadwascrownedwitha
wreathofsmallperfectlymatchedflowerlets,hisloosemantlecrimson,hisundergarmentabrightclear
skybluetrimmedingold.

Andtheother,Iknewhimaswell,knewhisbareheadandsoftshorterhair,andhisgoldencollar,andthe
insigniaonhismantle,andthethickbandsofornamentonhiswrists.

ButaboveallIknewtheirfaces,theirinnocentpinktingedfaces,theirserenefullyetnarroweyes.

Thelightmelteddown,somberandstormystill,thoughthesunwasburninguptherebehindthegraysky.
Myeyesbegantowater.

"Lookattheirwings,"Iwhispered.

Themencouldn'tsee.

"I know the wings. I know them both, look, the angel with the blond hair, the ringlets in rows coming
downhishead,it'sfromtheAnnunciation,andthewings,hiswingsaremadelikethepeacock,brilliantly
blue,andtheother,hisfeathersaretippedinthepurestdustofgold."

Theangelwiththecrownofflowersgesturedexcitedlytotheother;fromamortalman,thegestures,the
posture,wouldhaveevincedanger,butitwasnothingsoheatedasthat.Theangelwasonlyseekingtobe
understood.

Imovedslowly,pullinglooseofmyhelpfulcompanions,whocouldn'tseewhatIsaw!

WhatdidtheythinkIstaredat?Thegapingshop,theapprenticesinthedeepshadowswithin,themeager
halftintedflashesofcanvasesandpanels,theyawningmouthbeyondwhichtheworkwascarriedout.

Theotherangelshookhisheadsomberly."Idon'tgoalongwithit,"hesaidinthemostsereneandlilting

voice.

"Wecan'tgothatfar.Doyouthinkthisdoesn'tmakemeweep?"

"What?" I cried out. "What makes you weep?" Both angels turned. They stared at me. In unison, they
collected their dark, multicolored and spectacled wings close to themselves, as though they meant to
shrinktherebyintoinvisibility,buttheywerenolessvisibletome,shining,bothsofair,sorecognizable.
Theireyeswerefullofwonderastheygazedatme.Wonderatthesightofme?

"Gabriel!"Icriedout.Ipointed,"Iknowyou,IknowyoufromtheAnnunciation.YouarebothGabriel,I
knowthepaintings,Ihaveseenyou,GabrielandGabriel,howcanitbe?"

"Hecanseeus,"saidtheangelwhohadbeengesturingsopointedlyHisvoicewassubduedbutseemedto
reachmyearseffortlesslyandgently."Hecanhearus,"hesaid,andthewonderinhisfaceincreased,and
helookedaboveallinnocentandpatient,andeversogentlyconcerned.

"WhatinthenameofGodareyousaying,boy?"askedtheoldmanbesideme."Now,collectyourwits.
You'recarryingafortuneinyourbags.Yourhandsarecoveredinrings.Nowspeaksensibly.I'lltakeyou
toyourfamily,ifyou'llonlytellmewhotheyare."

Ismiled.Inodded,butIkeptmyeyesfixedonthetwostartledandamazedangels.Theirclothesappeared
light,neartranslucent,asthoughthefabricwerenotofanaturalweaveanymorethantheirincandescent
skinwasnatural.Alloftheirmakeupwasmorerarefied,andfine-wovenwithlight.

Beingsofair,ofpurpose,madeupofpresenceandofwhattheydo-werethesethewordsofAquinas
comingbacktome,theSummaTheologicaonwhichIhadlearntmyLatin?

Oh,howmiraculouslybeautifultheywere,andsosafelyapartfromallaroundthem,standingtransfixedin
thestreetintheirquietwide-eyedsimplicity,ponderingastheygazedwithcompassionandinterestatme.

Oneofthem,theonecrownedwithflowers,theonewhoworethesky-bluesleeves,theonewhohadso
caughtmyheartwhenIhadseenhimintheAnnunciationwithmyfather,theonewithwhomIhadfallenin
love, moved towards me. He became larger as he drew closer, taller, slightly larger all over than an
ordinarybeing,andsofullofloveinthesoundlessshuffleofhislooseandgracefullyspillingclothesthat
heseemedmoreimmaterialandmonumentallysolid,moreperhapstheveryexpressionofGod'screation,
thananythingoffleshandbloodmightbe.

Heshookhisheadandsmiled."No,foryouareyourselftheveryfinestofGod'screation,"hesaidina
low voice that stole its way through the chatter that surrounded me. He walked as if he were a mortal
being,withcleannakedfeetoverthewetdirtystonesoftheFlorentinestreet,oblivioustothemenwho
couldnotseehimashestoodnowsoclosetome,lettinghiswingsspreadoutandthenfoldingthemagain
tight, so that I only saw the high feathered bones of them above his shoulders, which were sloped like
thoseofayoungboyHisfacewasbrilliantlycleanandflushedwithalltheradiantcolorFraFilippohad
painted. When he smiled, I felt my entire body tremble violently with unadulterated joy "Is this my
madness,Archangel?"Iasked."Isthistheircursecometrue,thatIshallseethisasIgibberandincurthe
scornoflearnedmen?"Ilaughedoutloud.

Istartledthegentlemenwhohadbeentryingsomuchtohelpme.Theywerethoroughlyflustered."What?

Speakagain?"

Butinashimmeringinstant,amemorydescendeduponme,illuminatingmyheartandsoulandmindallin
onestroke,asthoughthesunitselfhadfloodedadarkandhopelesscell.

"ItwasyouIsawinthemeadow,youIsawwhenshedrankmyblood."Intomyeyeshelooked,thiscool
collectedangel,withtherowsandrowsofimmaculateblondcurlsandthesmoothplacidcheeks.

"Gabriel,theArchangel,"Isaidinreverence.Thetearsfloodedtomyeyes,anditfeltlikesingingtocry.

"Myboy,mypoorwretchedboy,"saidtheoldmerchant.

"Thereisnoangelstandinginfrontofyou.Payattention,now,please."

"Theycan'tseeus,"saidtheangeltomesimply.Againcamehissmootheasysmile.Hiseyescaughtthe
lightfallingfromthebrighteningskyashepeeredintome,asifhewouldseedeeperwitheverymoment
ofhisstudy"Iknow'Ianswered."Theydon'tknow!"

"ButIamnotGabriel,youmustnotcallmethat,"hesaidverycourteouslyandsoothingly."Myyoungone,
IamveryfarfrombeingtheArchangelGabriel.IamSetheus,andI'maguardianangelonly."Hewasso
patientwithme,sopatientwithmycryingandwiththecollectionofblindandconcernedmortalsaround
us.Hestoodcloseenoughformetotouch,butIdidn'tdare.

"Myguardianangel?"Iasked."Isittrue?"

"No,"saidtheangel."Iamnotyourguardianangel.Thoseyoumustsomehowfindforyourself.You've
seentheguardianangelsofanother,thoughwhyandhowIdon'tknow."

"Don't pray now," said the old man crankily. "Tell us who you are, boy. You said a name before, your
father,tellus."

The other angel, who stood as if too shocked to move, suddenly broke his reserve and he too came
forwardinthesamesilentbarefootedstyle,asthoughtheroughenedstonesandthewetanddirtcouldnot
marhimorharmhim.

"Can this be good, Setheus?" he asked. But his pale iridescent eyes were focused on me with the same
lovingattention,thesameraptandforgivinginterest.

'Andyou,youareintheotherpainting,Iknowyoutoo,Iloveyouwithmywholeheart,"Isaid.

"Son, to whom are you speaking?" demanded the younger man. "Whom do you love with your whole
heart?"

"Ah,youcanhearme?"Iturnedtotheman."Youcanunderstandme."

"Yes,nowtellmeyourname."

"VittoriodiRaniari,"Isaid,"friendandallyoftheMedici,sonofLorenzodiRaniari,CastelloRaniariin
thenorthofTuscany,andmyfatherisdead,andallmykinsmen.But

-."

Thetwoangelsstoodrightbeforeme,together,oneheadinclinedtowardstheotherastheyregardedme,
and it seemed that the mortals, for all their blindness, could not block the path of the angels' vision or
comebetweenmeandthem.IfonlyIhadthecourage.Isowantedtotouchthem.

Thewingsoftheonewho'dspokenfirstwererising,anditseemedasoftshimmerofgolddustfellfrom
the awakening feathers, the quivering, sparkling feathers, but nothing rivaled the angel's meditative and
wonderingface.

"LetthemtakeyoutoSanMarco,"saidthisangel,theonenamedSetheus,"letthemtakeyou.Thesemen
meanwell,andyouwillbeputinacellandcaredforbythemonks.Youcannotbeinafinerplace,for
thisisahouseunderCosimo'spatronage,andyouknowthatFraGiovannihasdecoratedtheverycellin
whichyou'llstay."

"Setheus,heknowsthesethings,"saidtheotherangel.

"Yes, but I am reassuring him," said the first angel with the simplest shrug, looking wonderingly at his
companion.Nothingcharacterizedtheirfacessomuchassubduedwonder.

"But you," I said, "Setheus, may I call you by name, you'll let them take me away from you? You can't.
Pleasedon'tleaveme.Ibegyou.Don'tleaveme."

"We have to leave you," said the other angel. "We are not your guardians. Why can't you see your own
angels?"

"Wait,Iknowyourname.Icanhearit."

"No,"saidthismoredisapprovingangel,wavinghisfingeratmeasifcorrectingachild.ButIwouldnot
bestopped."Iknowyourname.Ihearditwhenyouwerearguing,andIhearitnowwhenIlookatyour
face.Ramiel,that'syourname.AndbothofyouareFraFilippo'sguardians."

"Thisisadisaster,"whisperedRamiel,withthemosttouchinglookofdistress."Howdidthisoccur?"

Setheus merely shook his head, and smiled again generously. "It has to be for the good, it must be. We
havetogowithhim.Ofcoursewedo."

"Now? Leave now?" demanded Ramiel, and again, for all the urgency, there was no anger. It was as
thoughthethoughtswerepurifiedofallloweremotions,andofcourseitwasso,itwasperfectlyso.

Setheusleanedclosetotheoldman,whocouldn'tofcourseeitherseehimorhearhim,andhesaidinthe
oldman'sear:

"TaketheboytoSanMarco;havehimputinagoodlycell,forwhichhehasplentyofmoney,andhave
himnursedtohealth."

Thenhelookedatme."We'llgowithyou."

"We can't do that," said Ramiel. "We can't leave our charge; how can we do such a thing without

permission?"

"It's meant to be. This is permission. I know that it is," said Setheus. "Don't you see what's happened?
He's seen us and he's heard us and he's caught your name, and he would have caught mine if I hadn't
revealed it. Poor Vittorio, we are with you." I nodded, almost ready to weep at the sound of myself
addressed.Thewholestreethadgonedrabandhushedandindistinctaroundtheirlarge,quietandflushed
figures,thefinespunlightoftheirgarmentsstirringaboutthemasifthecelestialfabricweresubjecttothe
invisiblecurrentsoftheairwhichmencannotfeel.

"Thosearenotourrealnames!"saidRamielscoldinglytome,butgently,asonewouldscoldaninfant.

Setheussmiled."Theyaregoodenoughnamesbywhichtocallus,Vittorio,"hesaid.

"Yes,takehimtoSanMarco,"saidthemanbesideme.

"Let'sgo.Letthemonkshandleallthis."

Themenrushedmetowardsthemouthofthestreet.

"You'llbeverywellcaredforatSanMarco,"saidRamiel,asthoughhewerebiddingmefarewell,but
thetwoangelsweremovingbesideus,andonlyfallingalittlebehind.

"Don'tyouleaveme,eitherofyou,youcan't!"Isaidtotheangels.Theyseemedperplexed,theirlovely
foldedgossamerrobesunstainedbyrain,thehemscleanandshiningasiftheyhadnottouchedthestreet,
andtheirbarefeetlookingsoexquisitelytenderastheyfollowedatourpace.

'Allright'saidSetheus."Don'tworryso,Vittorio.We'recoming."

"Wecan'tsimplyleaveourchargelikethisforanotherman,wecan'tdoit,"Ramielcontinuedtoprotest.

"It'sGod'swill;howcanitbeotherwise?"

'AndMastema?Wedon'thavetoaskMastema?"askedRamiel.

"WhyshouldweaskMastema?WhybringcaretoMastema?Mastemamustknow."Andtheretheywere,
arguingagain,behindus,asIwashurriedthroughthestreet.Thesteelskygleamed,thengrewpaleand
gavewayabovetoblueaswecametoanopenpiazza.Thesunshockedme,andmademesicken,yethow
Iwantedit,howIlongedforit,andyetitrebukedmeandseemedtoscourgemeasifitwereawhip.We
wereonlyalittlewaysfromSanMarco.Mylegswouldsoongiveout.Ikeptlookingovermyshoulder.

Thetwolustrous,gildedfigurescameon,silently,withSetheusgesturingformetogoalong.

"We'rehere,we'rewithyou,"saidSetheus.

"Idon'tknowaboutthis,Idon'tknow!"saidRamiel.

"Filippohasneverbeeninsuchtrouble,hehasneverbeensubjectedtosuchtemptation,suchindignity-."

"Whichiswhywehavebeendrawnoffnow,sothatwedonotinterferewithwhatmusttakeplacewith

Filippo. We know we were on the very verge of getting into trouble on account of Filippo and what
Filippohasdonenow.Oh,Filippo,Iseethis,Iseethegranddesign."

"Whataretheytalkingabout?"Idemandedofthemen.

"They'resayingsomethingaboutFraFilippo."

'Andwhowouldthatbe,whoistalking,mayIask?"saidtheoldman,shakinghisheadasheescortedme
along,theyoungmadmaninhischargewiththeclankingsword.

"My boy, be quiet now," said the other man, who took the larger burden of supporting me. "We can
understandyouonlytoowellnow,andyouaremakinglesssensethanever,talkingtopeoplethatnoone
canseeandhear."

"FraFilippo,thepainter,what'shappeningwithhim?"Idemanded."There'ssometrouble."

"Oh,itisunbearable,"saidtheangelRamielbehindme.

"Itisunthinkablethatthisshouldhappen.Andifyouaskme,whichnoonehasandnoonewill,Ibelieve
thatifFlorencewerenotatwarwithVenice,Cosimode'Mediciwouldprotecthispainterfromthis."

"Butprotecthimfromwhat?"Idemanded.Ilookedintotheeyesoftheoldman.

"Son,obeyme,"saidtheoldman."Walkstraight,andstopbangingmewiththatsword.Youareagreat
Signore,Icanseethis,andthenameoftheRaniariringsloudinmyearsfromthedistantmountainsof
Tuscany,andthegoldonyourrighthandaloneweighsmorethanthedowryofbothofmydaughtersput
together,nottomentionthegems,butdon'tshoutinmyface."

I’msorry.Ididn'tmeanto.It'sonly,theangelswon'tsayprecisely."Theothermanwholedmesokindly,
who helped me honestly with the saddlebags in which was my fortune, and did not even seek to steal
anythingfromme,begantospeak:

"Ifyou'reaskingaboutFraFilippo,he'sdeepintotroubleagain.He'sbeingputtothetorture.He'sonthe
rack."

"No,thatcan'thappen,nottoFilippoLippi!"Istoppeddeadandshouted."Whowoulddosuchathingto
thegreatpainter?"

Iturned,andthetwoangelssuddenlycoveredtheirfaces,astenderlyaseverUrsulahadcoveredhers,
andtheystartedweeping.Onlytheirtearsweremarvellouslycrystallineandclear.Theymerelylookedat
me.Oh,Ursula,Ithoughtwithexcruciatingpainsuddenly,howbeautifularethesecreatures,andinwhat
gravedoyousleepbeneaththeCourtoftheRubyGrailthatyoucannotseethem,cannotseetheirsilent
secretprogressthroughthecitystreets?

"It'strue,"saidRamiel."It'salltooterriblytrue.Whathavewebeen,whatsortofguardians,thatFilippo
has gotten himself into this trouble, that he is so contentious and deceiving, and why have we been so
helpless?"

"Weareonlyangels,"saidSetheus."Ramiel,wedonothavetoaccuseFilippo.Wearenotaccusers,we

areguardians,andforthesakeoftheboywholoveshim,don'tsaysuchthings."

"Theycan'ttortureFraFilippoLippi,"Icriedout."Whodidhedeceive?"

"He did it to himself," said the old man. "He's into fraud this time. He sold off a commission, and
everybodyknowsthatoneofhisapprenticespaintedtoomuchofthework.

He'sbeenputontherack,buthedidn'treallygethurt."

"Didn'treallyhurthim!He'sonlymagnificent!"Isaid.

"You tell me they tortured him. Why was he tortured, how can anyone justify such a stupidity, such an
insult,it'saninsulttotheMedici."

"Silence,child;heconfessed,"saidtheyoungerofthetwomortalmen."It'salmostover.Somemonkif
youaskme,FraFilippoLippi;ifheisn'tchasingwomen,he'sinabrawl."WehadcometoSanMarco.
We stood in the Piazza San Marco right before the doors of the monastery, which were flush with the
street, as was the case with all such buildings in Florence, as if the Arno never overflowed its banks,
whichitdid.AndIwasglad,oh,sogladtoseethishaven.

Butmymindwasrampant.Allmemoriesofdemonsandhorridmurderhadbeensweptcleanfrommein
aninstantbythehorrorthattheartistwhomIcherishedmostinalltheworldhadbeenputontheracklike
acommoncriminal.

"Hesometimes...well,"saidRamiel,"behaveslikeacommon...criminal."

"He'llgetoutofit,he'llpayafine,"saidtheoldman.Herangthebellforthemonks.Hepattedmewitha
long, tired, dry hand. "Now stop crying, child, stop. Filippo is a nuisance, everybody knows it. If only
therewerealittleofthesaintlinessofFraGiovanniinhim,onlyalittle!"

FraGiovanni.Ofcourse,bythisman,FraGiovanni,theymeantthegreatFraAngelico,thepainterwhoin
centuries to come would bring the awestruck to all but kneel before his paintings, and it was in this
monasterythatFraGiovanniworkedandlived,itwasherethat,forCosimo,hepaintedtheverycellsof
themonks.

WhatcouldIsay?"Yes,yes,FraGiovanni,butIdon't...Idon't...lovehim."OfcourseIlovedhim;I
honoredhimandhiswondrouswork,butitwasnotlikemyloveforFilippo,thepainterIhadglimpsed
only once - . How explain these strange things? A surge of nausea caused me to bend double. I backed
awayfrommykindlyhelpers.Iheavedupthecontentsofmystomachintothestreet,abloodystreamof
filthfromthedemonswhohadfedme.Isawitdripandflowintothestreet.Ismelledtheputridstenchof
it,andIsawitspillfrommeintothecracksbetweenthecobblestones,thismessofhalf-digestedwine
andblood.

The whole horror of the Court of the Ruby Grail seemed manifest in this moment. Hopelessness seized
me,andIheardthewhisperofdemonsinmyear,witlessandscorned,andIdoubtedallthatTdseen,all
that I was, all that had transpired only moments before. In a dreamy woodland, my father and I rode
togetherandwetalkedofFilippo'spaintings,andIwasastudentandayounglordandhadalltheworld
beforeme,andthestronggoodsmellofthehorsesfilledmynostrilswiththesmellofthewoods.Witless

andscorned.Madwhenyoumighthavebeenimmortal.

As I rose up again, I leant back against the wall of the monastery. The light of the blue sky was bright
enoughtoshutmyeyes,butIbathedinitswarmth.Slowly,asmystomachsettled,Itriedtogazesteadily
beforeme,tofightthepainofthelightandloveitandtrustinit.

MyvisionwasfilledwiththefaceoftheangelSetheusrightinfrontofme,onlyafootfromme,peeringat
mewiththedeepestconcern.

"DearGod,youarehere,"Iwhispered.

"Yes,"hesaid."Ipromisedyou."

"Youaren'tleavingme,areyou?"Iasked.

"No,"hesaid.

Overhisshoulder,Ramielpeeredatmeclosely,asifstudyingmeatleisureandwithcommitmentforthe
firsttime.Hisshorterlooserhairmadehimseemyounger,thoughsuchdistinctionsmadenodifference.

"No,noneatall,"hewhispered,andforthefirsttime,hetoosmiled.

"Doasthesegentlepeopletellyou,"saidRamiel."Letthemtakeyouinside,andthenyoumustsleepa
naturalsleep,andwhenyouwakewe'llbewithyou."

"Oh,butit'sahorror,astoryofhorrors,"Iwhispered.

"Filipponeverpaintedsuchhorrors."

"Wearenotpaintedthings,"saidSetheus."WhatGodhasinstoreforuswewilldiscovertogether,you
andRamielandI.Nowyoumustgoinside.Themonksarehere.Intotheircarewegiveyou,andwhen
youwakewewillbeatyourside'

"Liketheprayer,"Iwhispered.

"Oh,yes,truly,"Ramielsaid.Heraisedhishand.Isawtheshadowofhisfivefingersandthenfeltthe
silkentouchofhisfingersasheclosedmyeyes.ChapterTen

INWHICHICONVERSEWITH

THEINNOCENTANDPOWERFUL

SONSOFGOD

Wouldsleepanddeeply,yes,butnotuntilmuchlater.

Whatcamewasahazy,dreamlikewonderlandofprotectiveimages.Iwascarriedbyaburlymonkand

hisassistantsintothemonasteryofSanMarco.

TherecouldbenoplacebetterformeinallofFlorence-otherthanCosimo'sownhouseperhaps-than
theDominicanMonasteryofSanMarco.

Now,inallofFlorence,Iknowofmanyexquisitebuildingsandsomuchmagnificencethateventhen,asa
boy,Icouldnotcatalogueinmymindalltherichesthatlaybeforeme.

Butnowhereisthereanycloistermoreserene,Ithink,thanthatofSanMarco,whichhadonlyrecently
beenrenovatedbythemosthumbleanddecentMichelozzoatthebehestofCosimotheElder.Ithadalong
andvenerablehistoryinFlorence,butonlyinrecenttimeshaditbeengivenovertotheDominicans,and
itwasendowedincertainsublimewaysinwhichnoothermonasterywas.

AsallFlorenceknew,CosimohadlavishedafortuneonSanMarco,maybetomakeupforallthemoney
hemadebyusury,forasabankerhewasatakerofinterestandthereforeausurer,butthensowerewe
who had put money in his bank. Whatever the case, Cosimo, our capo, our true leader, had loved this
place and given to it many many treasures, but most of all perhaps its marvelously proportioned new
buildings.

Hisdetractors,thewhiners,theoneswhodonothinggreat,andsuspectallthatisn'tinastateofperpetual
disintegration,theysaidofhim,"Heevenputshiscoatofarmsinthepriviesofthemonks”.

Hiscoatofarms,bytheway,isashieldwithfiveprotuberantballsonit,themeaningofwhichhasbeen
variouslyexplained,butwhattheseenemiesactuallysaidwas:Cosimohadhunghisballsoverthemonks'
privies.

Eh! That his enemies would be so lucky to have such privies, or such balls. How much more clever it
might have been for those men to point out that Cosimo often spent days at this monastery himself in
meditation and prayer, and that the former Prior here, who was Cosimo's great friend and advisor, Fra
Antonino,wasnowtheArchbishopofFlorence.

Ah,somuchfortheignorant,whostilltothedayfivehundredyearsfromthentellliesaboutCosimo.

AsIpassedunderthedoor,Ithought,WhatinthenameofGodshallIsaytothesepeopleinthisHouseof
God?

Nosoonerhadthatthoughtpoppedoutofmysleepyheadand,Ifear,mydruggedandsleepymouth,thanI
heardRamiel'slaughinmyear.

Itriedtoseeifhewasatmyside.ButIwasblubberingandsickagain,anddizzy,andcouldmakeout
onlythatwehadenteredthemosttranquilandpleasingcloister.ThesunsoburntmyeyesthatIcouldn't
thankGodyetforthebeautyofthesquaregreengardeninthecenterofthisplace,butIcouldseevery
starklyandsweetlythelowroundedarchescreatedbyMichelozzo,archeswhichcreatedgentlecolorless
andhumblevaultsovermyhead.

Andthetranquillityachievedbythepurecolumns,withtheirsmallrolledIoniccapitals,allofthisadded
to my sense of safety and peace. Proportions were always the gift of Michelozzo. He opened up things
whenhebuiltthem.

Andthesewidespaciousloggiaswerehisstamp.

Nothingwoulderasethememoryformeofthesoaringdagger-tippedGothicarchesoftheFrenchcastlein
theNorth,ofthefiligreedstonepeakseverywheretherethatseemedtopointinanimosityattheAlmighty.
AndthoughIknewImisjudgedthisarchitectureanditsintent-forsurely,beforeFlorianandhisCourtof
theRubyGrailhadtakenholdofit,ithadbeenbornfromthedevotionsoftheFrenchandtheGermans-I
stillcouldnotgetthehatedvisionofitoutofmyhead.

Trying desperately not to heave up my guts again, I relaxed all my limbs as I saw this Florentine
enclosure.

Downaroundthecloister,downaroundtheburninghotgarden,thelargemonk,abearofaman,beaming
downatmeinhabitualandinveteratekindness,carriedmeinhisburlyarms,whiletherecameothersin
their flowing black and white robes, with thin radiant faces seeming to encircle us even in our rapid
progress. I couldn't see my angels. But these men were the nearest to angels that the world provides. I
soon realized—due to my former visits to this great place - that I was not being taken to the hospice,
wheredrugsweredispensedtothesickofFlorence,ortothepilgrims'

refuge,whichwasalwaysswarmingwiththosewhocometoofferandpray,butupthestairsintothevery
hallofthemonks'cells.

In a glaze of sickness in which beauty brought a catch in my throat, I saw at the head of the stairway,
spread out on the wall, the fresco of Fra Giovanni's Annunciation. My painting, the Annunciation! My
chosenfavorite,thepaintingwhichmeantmoretomethananyotherreligiousmotif.

Andno,itwasn'tthegeniusofmyturbulentFilippoLippi,no,butitwasmypainting,andsurelythiswas
anomenthatnodemoncandamnasoulthroughthepoisonofforcedblood.

WasUrsula'sbloodforcedonyoutoo?Horridthought.Trynottorememberhersoftfingersbeingpulled
loosefromyou,youfool,youdrunkenfool,trynottorememberherlipsandthelongthickkissletofblood
slippingintoyourownopenmouth.

"Lookatit!"Icriedout.Ipointedonefloppingarmtowardsthepainting.

"Yes,yes,wehavesomany/'saidthebigsmilingbearofamonk.FraGiovanniwasofcoursethepainter.
Whocouldhavenotseenitinoneglance?Besides,Iknewit.AndFraGiovanni—letmeremindyouone
moretimethatthisisFraAngelicooftheages—hadmadeasevere,soothing,tenderbututterlysimple
Angel and Virgin, steeped in humility and devoid of embellishments, the visitation itself taking place
betweenlowroundedarchessuchasmadeuptheverycloisterfromwhichwehadjustcome.

Asthebigmonkswungmearoundtotakemedownthebroadcorridor-andbroaditwas,andsopolished
andaustereandbeautifultome-ItriedtoformwordsasIcarriedtheimageoftheangelinmymind.

IwantedtotellRamielandSetheus,iftheywerestillwithme,thatlook,Gabriel'swingshadonlysimple
stripes of color, and look, how his gown fell in symmetrical and disciplined folds. All of this I
understood,asIunderstoodtherampantgrandeurofRamielandSetheus,butIwasblubberingnonsense
again.

"Thehalos,"Isaid."Youtwo,whereareyou?Yourhaloshoveroveryourheads.Isawthem.Isawthem
inthestreetandinthepaintings.ButyouseeinthepaintingbyFraGiovanni,thehaloisflatandsurrounds
thepaintedface,adiskhardandgoldenrightonthefieldofthepaintingthemonkslaughed."Towhomare
youspeaking,youngSignoreVittoriodiRaniari?"oneofthemaskedme.

"Bequiet,child,"saidthebigmonk,hisboomingbassvoicepushingagainstmethroughhisbarrelofa
chest.

"You're in our tender care. And you must hush now, see, there, that's the library, you see our monks at
work?"

They were proud of it, weren't they? Even in our progress when I might have vomited all over the
immaculatefloor,themonkturnedtoletmeseethroughtheopendoorthelongroomcrowdedwithbooks
andmonksatwork,butwhatIsawtoowasMichelozzo'svaultedceiling,again,notsoaringtoleaveus,
butbendinggentlyovertheheadsofthemonksandlettingavolumeoflightandairriseabovethem.

ItseemedIsawvisions.Isawmultipleandtriplefigureswherethereshouldonlybeone,andevenina
flash a misty confusion of angelic wings, and oval faces turned, peering at me through the veil of
supernaturalsecrecy.

"Do you see?" was all I could say. I had to get to that library, I had to find texts in it that defined the
demons.

Yes,Ihadnotgivenup!Oh,no,Iwasnobabblingidiot.IhadGod'sveryownangelsatmyassistance.I'd
takeRamielandSetheusinthereandshowthemthetexts.Weknow,Vittorio,wipethepicturesfromyour
mind,forweseethem.

"Whereareyou?"Icriedout.

"Quiet,"saidthemonks.

"Butwillyouhelpmegobackthereandkillthem?"

"You'rebabbling,"saidthemonks.

Cosimowastheguardianpatronofthatlibrary.WhenoldNiccolode'Niccolidied,amarvelouscollector
ofbookswithwhomIhadmanytimesspokenatVaspasiano'sbookshop,allofhisreligiousbooks,and
maybemore,hadbeendonatedbyCosimotothismonastery.

Iwouldfindtheminthere,inthatlibrary,andfindproofinSt.AugustineorAquinasofthedevilswith
whichI'dfought.

No.Iwasnotmad.Ihadnotgivenup.Iwasnogibberingidiot.Ifonlythesuncominginthehighlittle
windowsofthisairyplacewouldstopbakingmyeyeballsandburningmyhands.

"Quiet, quiet," said the big monk, smiling still. "You are making noises like an infant. Hhhhh. Burgle,
gurgle.Hear?

Now,look,thelibrary'sbusy.It'sopentothepublictoday.

Everybodyisbusytoday."

He turned only a few steps past the library to take me into a cell. "Down there . . ." he went on, as if
cajoling an unruly baby. "Only a few steps away is the Prior's cell, and guess who is there this very
minute?It'stheArchbishop."

"Antonino,"Iwhispered.

"Yes,yes,yousaiditright.OnceourownAntonino.

Well,he'shere,andguesswhy?"

I was too groggy to respond. The other monks surrounded me. They wiped me with cool cloths. They
smoothedbackmyhair.

Thiswasacleanlargecell.Oh,ifthesunwouldonlystop.Whathadthosedemonsdonetome,mademe
intoahalf-demon?DareIaskforamirror?

Setdownonathicksoftbed,inthiswarm,cleanplace,Ilostallcontrolofmylimbs.Iwassickagain.

Themonksattendedmewithasilverbasin.Thesunlightpiercedbrilliantlyuponafresco,butIcouldn't
bear to look at the gleaming figures, not in this hurtful illumination. It seemed the cell was filled with
otherfigures.Weretheyangels?Isawtransparentbeings,drifting,stirring,butIcouldcatchholdofno
clearoutline.Onlythefrescoburnedintothewallinitscolorsseemedsolid,valid,true.

"Havetheydonethistomyeyesforever?"Iasked.IthoughtIcaughtaglimpseofanangelicforminthe
doorway of the cell, but it was not the figure of either Setheus or Ramiel. Did it have webbed wings?
Demonwings?Istartedinterror.Butitwasgone.Rustling,whispering.Weknow.

"Wherearemyangels?"Iasked.Icried.Itoldoutthenamesofmyfatherandhisfather,andofallthedi
RaniariwhomIcouldremember.

"Shhhhh," said the young monk. "Cosimo has been told that you are here. But this is a terrible day. We
rememberyourfather.Nowletusremovethesefilthyclothes."Myheadswam.Theroomwasgone.

Soddensleep, a glimpseof her, mysavior Ursula. She ranthrough the blowingmeadow. Who was this
pursuingher,drivingheroutofthenodding,weavingflowers?Purpleirisessurroundedher,werecrushed
underherfeet.Sheturned.Don't,Ursula!Don'tturn.Don'tyouseetheflamingsword?

Iwokeinawarmbath.Wasitthecursedbaptismalfount?No.Isawthefresco,theholyfigures,dimly,
and more immediately the real live monks who surrounded me on their knees on the stone, their big
sleevesrolledbackastheywashedmeinthewarm,sweetscented

water.

"Ah, that Francesco Sforza . . ." they spoke in Latin to one another. "To charge into Milan and take
possessionoftheDukedom!AsifCosimodidnothaveenoughtrouble,withoutSforzahavingdonesucha
thing”

"Hedidit?HehastakenMilan?"Iasked.

"Whatdidyousay?Yes,son,hehas.Hebrokethepeace.

And your family, all your poor family murdered by the freebooters; don't think they'll go unpunished,
rampagingthroughthatcountry,thosedamnedVenetians..."

"No, you mustn't, you must tell Cosimo. It was not an act of war, what happened to my family, not by
humanbeings..."

"Hush,child."

Chastehandsspongedthewaterovermyshoulders.Isatslumpedagainstthewarmmetalbackofthetub.

"...diRaniari,alwaysloyal,"saidoneofthemtome.

'Andyourbrotherwastocometostudywithus,yoursweetbrother,Matteo..."IletoutaterriblecryA
softhandsealedmylips.

"Sforzahimselfwillpunishthem.He'llcleanoutthatcountry."Icriedandcried.Noonecouldunderstand
me.Theywouldn'tlistentome.Themonksliftedmetomyfeet.Iwasdressedinalongcomfortablesoft
linenrobe.ItcametomethatIwasbeingdressedforexecution,butthehourofsuchdangerhadpassed.

"Iamnotmad!"Isaidclearly

"No,notatall,onlygrief-stricken."

"Youunderstandme!"

"Youaretired."

"Thebedissoftforyou,broughtspeciallyforyou,hush,don'traveanymore."

"Demonsdidit,"Iwhispered."Theyweren'tsoldiers."

"Iknow,son,Iknow.Waristerrible.WaristheDevil'swork."No,butitwasn'twar.Willyoulistento
me?

Hush,thisisRamielatyourear;didn'tItellyoutosleep?

Willyoulistentous?Wehaveheardyourthoughtsaswellasyourwords!

Ilaydownonthebedflatonmychest.Themonksbrushedanddriedmyhair.Myhairwassolongnow.

Unkempt,countryLordhair.Butthiswasanimmensecomforttobebathedandgentlemanlyclean.

"Thosearecandles?"Iasked."Thesunhasgonedown?"

"Yes,"saidthemonkbesideme."Youhaveslept."

"MayIhavemorecandles?"

"Yes,I’llbringthemtoyou."

Ilayinthedarkness.IblinkedandtriedtoshapethewordsoftheAve.Manylightsappearedinthedoor,
some six or seven in a cluster, each a sweet small perfectly shaped flame. Then they fluttered as the
monk'sfeetcamesoftlytowardsme.Isawhimclearlyasheknelttoplacethecandelabrabesidemybed.
Hewasthinandtall,asaplinginhollowwillowyrobes.

Hishandsweresoclean."Youareinaspecialcell.Cosimohassentmentoburyyourdead."

"ThanksbetoGod,"Isaid.

"Yes."

SonowIcouldspeak!

"Theyarestilltalkingdownthere,andit'slate,"saidthemonk."Cosimoistroubled.He'llstaythenight
here.ThewholecityisfilledwithVenetianagitatorsstirringupthepopulaceagainstCosimo."

"Nowhush,"saidanothermonkwhoappearedsuddenly.

Hebentdownandliftedmyheadtoplaceanotherthickpillowbeneathit.Whatblissthiswas.Ithoughtof
thedamnedonesimprisonedinthecoop."Oh,horrors!

It'snight,andthey'rewaitingforthehorribleCommunion."

"Who,child?WhatCommunion?"

Onceagain,Iglimpsedfiguresmoving,drifting,asitwere,intheshadows.Buttheyweretoosoongone.

Ihadtovomit.Ineededthebasin.Theyheldmyhairforme.Didtheyseethebloodinthecandlelight?
Thepurestreakofblood?Itsmelledsorotten.

"Howcanonesurvivesuchpoison?"onemonkwhisperedtotheotherinLatin."Dowedarepurgehim?"

"You'llfrightenhim.Bequiet.Hehasnofever."

"Well,you'redamnedwrongifyouthinkyoutookmywits,"Ideclaredsuddenly.IshoutedittoFlorian
andtoGodricandtoallofthem.

Themonkslookedatmeinurgentastonishment.

Ilaughed."Ionlywastalkingtothosewhotriedtohurtme,"Isaid,againlettingeachwordhaveaclear
distinctshape.

The thin monk with the remarkably scrubbed hands knelt by me. He smoothed my forehead. 'And the
beautifulsister,thesisterwhowastobemarried,isshetoo...?"

"Bartola!Shewastobemarried?Ididn'tknow.Well,hecanhaveherheadforamaidenhead."Iwept.
"Thewormsareatworkinthedark.Andthedemonsdanceonthehill,andthetowndoesnothing."

"Whattown?"

"You'reravingagain,"saidamonkwhostoodbeyondthecandles.Howdistincthelooked,thoughhewas
beyond the light, a round-shouldered individual with a hooked nose and thick somber heavy eyelids.
"Don'traveanymore,poorchild."Iwantedtoprotest,butIsawsuddenlyagiantsoftwing,eachfeather
tingedwithgold,comedownoverme,enfoldingme.Iwastickledalloverbythesoftnessofthefeathers.
Ramielsaid:

Whatmustwedotomakeyoushutup?Filipponeedsusnow;willyougiveussomepeaceandquietfor
Filippo, whom God sent us to guard? Don't answer me. Obey me. The wing crushed out all vision, all
woe.

Shadowypaledarkness.Evenandcomplete.Thecandleswerebehindme,setuphigh.Iwoke.Iroseup
onmyelbows.Myheadwasclear.Alovelyevenilluminationgavejustthesmallesttrembleasitfilled
thecell.Fromthehighwindowcamethemoon.Theshaftofthemoonstruckthefrescoonthewall,the
fresco obviously painted by Fra Giovanni. My eyes could see it with amazing clarity. Was this my
demonic blood? A strange thought came to me. It rung in my consciousness with the clarity of a golden
bell.Imyselfpossessednoguardianangels!Myangelshadleftme;theyhaddeparted,becausemysoul
wasdamned.

I had no angels. I had seen Filippo's because of the power the demons had given me, and because of
somethingelse.

Filippo'sangelsarguedsomuchwitheachother!That'showIhadseenthem.Somewordscametome.

TheycamebacktomefromAquinas,orwasitAugustine?I'dreadsomuchofbothtolearnmyLatin,and
theirendlessexcursuseshadsodelightedme.Thedemonsarefullofpassion.Butangelsarenot.

Butthosetwoangelshadsuchspirit.That'swhythey'dcutthroughtheveil.Ipushedbackthecoversand
setmybarefeetonthestonefloor.Itwascool,andpleasing,becausetheroom,havingreceivedthesun
allday,wasstillwarm.Nodraftssweptthepolishedandimmaculatefloor.

I stood before the wall painting. I wasn't dizzy or sick, or like to fall. I was myself again. What an
innocentanduntroubledsoulFraGiovannimusthavebeen.Allhisfiguresweredevoidofmalice.Icould
seethefigureofChristseatedbeforeamountain,roundgoldhalodecoratedwiththeredarmsandtopof
across.Besidehimstoodministeringangels.Oneheldbreadforhim,andtheother,whosefigurewascut
offbythedoorthatwascutintothewall,thisotherangel,whosewingtipswerebarelyvisible,carried
wine and meat. Above, on the mountain, I saw Christ also. It was a painting of different incidents, in
sequence,andabove,ChristwasstandinginHissamesmoothandmultiwrinkledpinkrobes,buthereHe
was agitated, as agitated as Fra Giovanni could make Him, and Christ had lifted His left hand, as if in
wrath.

ThefigurewhofledfromHimwastheDevil!ItwasahorridcreaturewiththewebbedwingsIthoughtI’d
glimpsedearlier,andithadhideouswebbedfeet.Ithaddewclawsonitswebbedfeet.Sour-facedandin
adirtygrayrobe,itfledfromChrist,whostoodfirmintheDesert,refusingtobetempted,and,onlyafter

thisconfrontation,thenhadtheministeringangelscome,andhadChristtakenHisplacewithHishands
clasped.IsuckedinmybreathinterrorasIbeheldthisimageofthedemon.Butagreatrushofcomfort
passed through me, causing my hair to tingle at its roots, causing my feet to tingle against the polished
floor.Ihadroutedthedemons,Ihadrefusedtheirgiftofimmortality.Ihadrefusedit.Evenfacedwiththe
cross!

Iretched.ThepaincaughtmeasifI'dbeenkickedinthestomach.Iturned.Thebasinwasthere,cleanand
polished,sittingonthefloor.Idroppedtomykneesandheavedupmoreoftheirsyrupyfilth.Wasthereno
water?

Ilookedaround.Therestoodthepitcherandthecup.ThecupwasfullandIspiltsomeofitasIputitto
mylips,butittastedthinandrancidandawful.Ithrewdownthecup.

"You’vepoisonedmefornaturalthings,youmonsters.

Youwillnotwin!"

My hands trembling, I picked up the cup, filled it once more and tried again to drink. But it tasted
unnatural.TowhatcanIcompareit?Itwasnotfoullikeurine;itwaslikewaterthatisfullofminerals
andmetalandwillleaveachalkonyouandchokeyou.Itwasbad!

Iputitaside.Verywellthen.Timetostudy.Timetotakeupthecandles,whichInowdid.

Iwentoutofthecell.Thehallwasemptyandglowinginthepalelightthatcamefromtinywindowsover
thelow-ceilingedcells.

I turned to my right and approached the doors of the library. They were unlocked. I entered with my
candelabra. Once again, the tranquillity of Michelozzo's design brought a warmth to me, a faith in all
things,atrust.TworowsofarchesandIoniccolumnsmoveddownthecenteroftheroomtomakeabroad
aisle to the far distant door, and on either side were the study tables, and all along the far walls were
racksandracksofcodicesandscrolls.

Across the herringbone stones of the floor I walked barefoot, lifting the candle higher so that the light
wouldfillupthevaultedceiling,sohappytobeherealone.Windowsoneithersideletinshaftsofpale
illumination through the overwhelming clutter of shelves, but how divine and restful were the high
ceilings.Howboldlyhehaddoneit,madeabasilicaofalibrary.

How could I have known, child that I was then, that this style would be imitated all over my beloved
Italy?Oh,thereweresomanywondrousthingsthenforthelivingandforalltime.

AndI?WhatamI?DoIlive?OramIwalkingalwaysindeath,foreverinlovewithtime?

Istoodstillwithmycandles.Howmyeyeslovedthemoonlightedsplendor.HowIcravedtostandhere
forever, dreaming, near to things of the mind, and things of the soul, and far away in memory from the
wretched enchained town on its cursed mountain and the castle nearby, which at this very moment
probablygaveforthitsghastly,uglylight.CouldIdiscerntheorderofthiswealthofbooks?

Theverycatalogerofthislibrary,theverymonkwhohaddonetheworkhere,theveryscholar,wasnow
thePopeofallChristendom,NicholasVImovedalongtheshelvestomyright,holdinghighmycandles.

Woulditbealphabetical?IthoughtofAquinas,forIknewhimmorefreely,butitwasSt.Augustinewhom
I found. And I had always loved Augustine, loved his colorful style and his eccentricities, and the
dramaticmannerinwhichhewrote.

"Oh,youwrotemoreaboutdemons,youarebetter!"Isaid.TheCityofGod!Isawit,copyaftercopy.
Therewereascoreofcodicesofthisverymasterpiece,nottomentionalloftheotherworkofthisgreat
saint, his Confessions, which had gripped me as much as a Roman drama, and so much more. Some of
thesebookswereancient,madeofbigsloppyparchment,otherswereextravagantlybound,somealmost
simpleandverynew.

Incharityandconsideration,Imusttakethemoststurdyofthese,eventhoughtheremightbeerrors,and
God only knew how hard monks worked to avoid errors. I knew which volume I wanted. I knew the
volumeon demons, becauseI had thoughtit so very fascinatingand funny andso much poppycock. Oh,
whatafoolI’dbeen.Itookdowntheheftyfatvolume,numbernineofthetext,slippingitintothecrookof
myarm,movedtothefirstdeskandthencarefullyplacedthecandelabrainfrontofme,whereitwould
lightmebutthrownoshadowsundermyfingers,andIopenedthebook.

"It'sallhere!"Iwhispered."Tellme,St.Augustine,whatweretheysothatImayconvinceRamieland
Setheus that they must help me, or give me the means to convince these modern Florentines, who care
about nothing right now but making war with paid soldiers on the Serene Republic of Venice up north.
Helpme,Saint.I'mtellingyou."Ah,ChapterTen,ofVolumeNine,Iknewthis...

AugustinewasquotingPlotinus,orexplaininghim:

...thattheveryfactofman'scorporalmortalityisduetothecompassionofGod,whowouldnothaveus
kept for ever in the misery of this life. The wickedness of demons was not judged worthy of this
compassion, and in the misery of their condition, with a soul subject to passions, they have not been
grantedthemortalbody,whichmanhadreceived,butaneternalbody.

'Ah,yes!"Isaid.'AndthisiswhatFlorianofferedme,braggingthattheydidnotageordecayandwere
notsubjecttodisease,thatIcouldhavelivedtherewiththemforever.Evil,evil.Well,thisisproof,andI
haveithere,andIcanshowittothemonks!"Ireadon,skimmingtofindthekernelsthatwouldmakemy
casegrow.DowntoChapterEleven:

Apuleiussaysalsothatthesoulsofmenaredemons.Onleavinghumanbodiestheybecomelaresifthey
haveshownthemselvesgood,ifevil,lemuresorlarvae.

"Yes,lemures.Iknowthisword.Lemuresorlarvae,andUrsula,shesaidtomethatshehadbeenyoung,
youngasme;theywereallhumanandnowtheyarelemures'

AccordingtoApuleius,larvaearemalignantdemonscreatedoutofmen.Iwasovercomewithexcitement.
Ineededparchmentandpens.Ihadtonotetheplace.IhadtomarkdownwhatIhaddiscoveredandgo
on.ForthenextpointwasobviouslytoconvinceRamielandSetheusthattheyhadgottenintothebiggest-
.Mythoughtswerebroughttoanabrupthalt.

Behindme,apersonagehadcomeintothelibrary.Iheardaheavyfootfall,buttherewasamuffledquality
to it, and a great darkening occurred behind me, as though all the slim, sly beams of the moon that fell
throughthepassagebeyondhadbeencutoff.Iturnedslowlyandlookedovermyshoulder.

'Andwhydoyouchoosetheleft?"askedthispersonage.

Heroseupbeforeme,immenseandwinged,peeringdownatme,hisfaceluminousintheflickerofthe
candles,hiseyebrowsgentlyraisedbutstraightsothattherewasnoarchtothemtomakethemanything
butsevere.HehadtheriotousgoldenhairofFraFilippo'sbrush,curlingbeneathahugeredbattlehelmet,
andbehindhimhiswingswereheavilysheathedingold.

He wore a suit of armor, with the breastplates decorated and the shoulders covered with immense
buckles,andaroundhiswaistwasabluesashofsilk.Hisswordwassheathed,andononelaxarmhe
worehisshield,withitsredcross.

Ihadneverseenhislike.

"Ineedyou!"Ideclared.Istoodup,knockingthebenchback.Ireachedoutsothatitwouldnotclatterto
thefloor.Ifacedhim.

"Youneedme!"hesaidinmutedoutrage."Youdo!YouwhowouldleadoffRamielandSetheusfromFra
FilippoLippi.Youneedme?DoyouknowwhoIam?"Itwasagorgeousvoice,rich,silken,violentand
piercingthoughdeep.

"Youhaveasword,"Isaid.

"Oh,andforwhat?"

"Killingthem,allofthem!"Isaid."Goingtherewithmebydaytotheircastle.DoyouknowwhatIam
speakingof?"

Henodded."IknowwhatyoudreamtandwhatyoubabbledandwhatRamielandSetheushavegleaned
fromyourfeverishmind.OfcourseIknow.Youneedme,yousay,andFraFilippoLippiliesinbedwith
awhorewholickshisachingjoints,andoneinparticularthatachesforher!"

"Suchtalkfromanangel,"Isaid.

"Don't mock me, I'll slap you," he said. His wings rose and fell as if he were sighing with them, or
gaspingrather,atmeinumbrage.

"Sodoit!"Isaid.Myeyeswerefeastingfiendishlyonhisglisteringbeauty,ontheredsilkcloakthatwas
claspedjustbelowthebitoftunicthatshowedabovehisarmor,atthesolemnsmoothnessofhischeeks.
"Butcomewithmetothemountainsandkillthem,"Iimploredhim.

"Whydon'tyougoyourselfanddoit?"

"DoyouthinkIcan?"Idemanded.

His face went serene. His lower lip gave the smallest most thoughtful pout. His jaw and neck were
powerful,morepowerfulbyfarthantheanatomyofRamielorSetheus,whoseemedmoreyouths,andthis
theirsplendidelderbrother.

"YouarenottheFallenOne,areyou?"Iasked.

"Howdareyou!"hewhispered,wakingfromhisslumber.Aterriblefrownbrokeoverhim.

"Mastema,then,that'swhoyouare.Theysaidyourname.

Mastema."

Henoddedandsneered."Theywould,ofcourse,saymyname."

"Whichmeanswhat,greatangel?ThatIcancallonyou,thatIhavethepowertocommandyou?"Iturned
andreachedforthebookofSt.Augustine.

"Putdownthatbook!"hesaidimpatientlyyetcoolly.

"Thereisanangelstandingbeforeyou,boy;lookatmewhenIspeaktoyou!"(Ah,youspeaklikeFlorian,
thedemoninthatfarcastle.

Youhavethesamecontrol,thesamemodulation.Whatdoyouwantofme,angel?Whydidyoucome?"

Hewassilent,asifhecouldn'tproduceananswer.Then,quietly,heputaquestiontome.

"Whydoyouthink?"

"BecauseIprayed?"

"Yes,"hesaidcoldly."Yes!Andbecausetheyhavecometomeonyouraccount."Myeyeswidened.Ifelt
lightfillthemup.Butthelightdidn'thurtthem.Asoftclusterofsweetnoisesfilledmyears.

OneithersideofhimthereappearedRamielandSetheus,theirmilder,gentlerfacesfocusedonme.

Mastemaraisedhiseyebrowsagainashelookeddownatme.

"FraFilippoLippiisdrunk,"hesaid."Whenhewakesup,he'llgetdrunkagainuntilthepainstops."

"Foolstorackagreatpainter,"Isaid,"butthenyouknowmythoughtsonthat."

'Ah, and the thoughts of all the women in Florence," said Mastema. 'And the thoughts of the great ones
whopayforhispaintings,iftheirmindswerenotonwar."

"Yes,"saidRamiel,glancingimploringlytoMastema.

Theywereofthesameheight,butMastemadidn'tturn,andRamielcameforwardsome,asiftocatchhis
eye."Iftheyweren'tallsocarriedawaywithwar."

"Waristheworld,"saidMastema."Iaskedyoubefore,VittoriodiRaniari,doyouknowwhoIam?"

Iwasshaken,notbythequestion,butthatthethreehadnowcometogether,andthatIstoodbeforethem,
theonlymortalbeing,andallthemortalworldaroundusseemedtosleep.

Whyhadnomonkcomedownthepassagetoseewhowhisperedinthelibrary?WhyhadnoWatchmanof
thenightcometoseewhythecandlesfloatedalongthepassage?Whytheboymurmuredandraved?

WasImad?

ItseemedtomequitesuddenlyandludicrouslythatifIansweredMastemacorrectly,Iwouldnotbemad.

This thought brought from him a small laugh, neither harsh nor sweet. Setheus stared at me with his
obvioussympathy.RamielsaidnothingbutlookedagaintoMastema.

"You are the angel," I said, "whom the Lord gives permission to wield that sword." There came no
responsefromhim.Iwenton."YouaretheangelwhoslewthefirstbornofEgypt,"Isaid.Noresponse.
"Youaretheangel,theangelwhocanavenge."Henodded,butonlyreallywithhiseyes.Theyclosedand
thenopened.Setheusdrewclosetohim,lipstohisears.

"Helphim,Mastema,letusallgohelphim.Filippocannotuseourcounselnow'

'Andwhy?"demandedMastemaoftheangelbesidehim.

Helookedatme.

"Godhasgivenmenoleavetopunishthesedemonsofyours.NeverhasGodsaidtome,

'Mastema,slaythevampires,thelemures,thelarvae,theblooddrinkers!NeverhasGodspokentomeand
said,'Liftyourmightyswordtocleansetheworldofthese"

"Ibegyou,"Isaid."I,amortalboy,begyou.Killthese,wipeoutthisnestwithyoursword."

"Ican'tdoit."

"Mastema,youcan!"declaredSetheus.

Ramielspokeup."Ifhesayshecannot,hecannot!Whydoyouneverlistentohim?"

"BecauseIknowthathecanbemoved,"saidSetheuswithouthesitationtohiscompatriot."Iknowthathe
can,asGodcanbemoved."SetheussteppedboldlyinfrontofMastema.

"Pickupthebook,Vittorio,"hesaid.Hesteppedforward.Atoncethelargevellumpages,heavyasthey
were,begantoflutter.Heputitinmyhand,andmarkedtheplacewithhispalefinger,barelytouchingthe
thickblackcrowdedwriting.

Ireadaloud:

AndthereforeGodwhomadethevisiblemarvelsofHeavenandEarthdoesnotdisdaintoworkvisible
miraclesinHeavenandEarth,bywhichhearousesthesoul,hithertopreoccupied,withvisiblethings,to
theworshipofHimself.

Hisfingermoved,andmyeyesmovedwithit.IreadofGod:

ToHim,thereisnodifferencebetweenseeingusabouttoprayandlisteningtoourprayers,forevenwhen
Hisangelslisten,itisHeHimselfwholistensinthem.Istopped,myeyesfulloftears.Hetookthebook
frommetoguarditfrommytears.Anoisehadpenetratedoursmallcircle.Monkshadcome.Iheardthem

whisperinginthecorridor,andthenthedoorswungopen.Intothelibrarytheycame.Icried,andwhenI
lookedupIsawthemstaringatme,twomonkswhomIdidn'tknowordidn'tremember,hadneverknown.

"Whatisit,youngman?Whyareyouherealonecrying?"thefirstspoke.

"Here,letustakeyoubacktobed.We'llbringyousomethingtoeat”

"No,Ican'teatit,"Isaid.

"No,hecan'teatit,"saidthefirstmonktotheother."Itstillmakeshimsick.Buthecanrest."Helookedat
me.

Iturned.Thethreeradiantangelsstoodsilentlystaringatthemonkswhocouldnotseethem,whohadno
cluethattheangelswerethere!

"DearGodinHeaven,pleasetellme,"Isaid.

"HaveIgonemad?Havethedemonswonout,havetheysopollutedmewiththeirbloodandtheirpotions
thatIseethingswhicharedelusions,oramIcomelikeMarytothetombtoseeanangelthere?"

"Cometobed,"saidthemonks.

"No,"saidMastema,quietlyaddressingthemonkwhodidn'tevenseehimorhearhim.

"Lethimstay.Lethimreadtoquiethismind.Heisaboyofeducation."

"No,no,"saidthemonk,shakinghishead.Heglancedtotheother."Weshouldlethimstay.He'saboyof
education.

Hecanreadquietly.Cosimosaidthathemusthaveanythinghedesired."

"Goon,leavehimnow,"saidSetheussoftly.

"Hush,"saidRamiel."LetMastematellthem."Iwastoofloodedwithsorrowandhappinesstorespond.I
coveredmyface,andwhenIdidsoIthoughtofmypoorUrsula,foreverwithherdemonCourt,andhow
shehadweptforme."Howcouldthatbe?"Iwhisperedintomyownfingers.

"Becauseshewashumanonce,andhasahumanheart,"saidMastematomeinthesilence.

Thetwomonkswerehurryingout.Foronemomentthecollectionofangelswasassheeraslight,andI
sawthroughthemtothetworetreatingfiguresofthemonkswhoclosedupthedoorsastheyleft.

Mastemalookedatmewithhisstill,powerfulgaze.

"Onecouldreadanythingintoyourface,"Isaid.

"Soitiswithalmostallangelsallofthetime,"heanswered.

"Ibegyou,"Isaid."Comewithme.Helpme.Guideme.Dowhatyoujustdidwiththosemonks!Thatyou

cando,can'tyou?"Henodded.

"Butwecan'tdomorethanthat,yousee,"saidSetheus.

"LetMastemasay,"saidRamiel.

"GobacktoHeaven!"saidSetheus.

"Please,thebothofyou,bequiet,"saidMastema.

"Vittorio,Icannotslaythem.Ihavenoleave.Thatyoucando,andwithyourownsword."

"Butyou'llcome."

"I'lltakeyou,"hesaid."Whenthesunrises,whentheysleepundertheirstones.Butyoumustslaythem,
youmustopenthemtothelight,andyoumustsetfreethoseawfulwretchedprisoners,andyoumuststand
beforethetownsmen,orletloosethatcrippledflockandflee."

"Iunderstand."

"Wecanmovethestonesawayfromtheirsleepingplaces,can'twe?"askedSetheus.Heputuphishandto
hushRamielbeforeRamielcouldprotest."We'llhavetodoit."

"Wecandothat,"saidMastema."AswecanstopabeamfromfallingonFilippo'shead.Wecandothat.
Butwecannotslaythem.Andyou,Vittorio,wecannotmakeyougothroughwithit,either,ifyournerve
oryourwillfails."

"Youdon'tthinkthemiracleofmyhavingseenyouwillupholdme?"

"Willit?"Mastemaasked.

"Youspeakofher,don'tyou?"

"DoI?"heasked.

"Iwillgothroughwithit,butyoumusttellme..."

"WhatmustItellyou?"Mastemaasked.

"Hersoul,willitgotoHell?"

"ThatIcannottellyou,"saidMastema.

"Youhaveto."

"No, I have to do nothing but what the Lord God has created me to do, and that I do, but to solve the
mysteriesoverwhichAugustineponderedforalifetime,no,thatisnotwhatIhavetodoorshoulddoor
willdo."

Mastemapickedupthebook.

Onceagainthepagesmovedwithhiswill.Ifeltthebreezerisingfromthem.Heread:

ThereissomethingtobegainedfromtheinspireddiscoursesofScripture.

"Don'treadthosewordstome;theydon'thelpme!"Isaid."Canshebesaved?Canshesavehersoul?
Doesshepossessitstill?Issheaspowerfulasyouare?CanyouFall?CantheDevilcomebacktoGod?"

Heputdownthebookwithaswift,airymovementthatIcouldscarcelyfollow.

'Areyoureadyforthisbattle?"heasked.

"They'llliehelplessinthelightofday,"saidSetheustome."Includingher.Shetoowillliehelpless.You
must open the stones that cover them, and you know what you must do." Mastema shook his head. He
turnedandgesturedforthemtogetoutofhisway.

"No,please,Ibegyou!"saidRamiel."Doitforhim.Doit,please.Filippoisbeyondourhelpfordays."

"Youknownosuchthing,"saidMastema.

"Canmyangelsgotohim?"Iasked."HaveInonethatcanbesent?"Ihadnosoonerspokenthesewords
thanIrealizedthattwomoreentitieshadtakenformdirectlybesideme,oneoneitherside,andwhenI
lookedfromlefttorightIsawthem,onlytheywerepaleandremotefromme,andtheyhadn'ttheflameof
Filippo'sguardians,onlyaquietandquasi-visibleandundeniablepresenceandwill.Ilookedatonefora
longtimeandthentheother,andcoulddrawnodescriptivewordsfrommymindfromthem.

Theirfacesseemedblankandpatientandquiet.Theywerewingedbeings,tall,yes,Icansaythatmuch,
but what more could I say, because I couldn't endow them with color or splendor or individuality, and
theyhadnogarmentsormotiontothemoranythingthatIcouldlove.

"Whatisit?Whywon'ttheyspeaktome?Whydotheylookatmethatway?"

"Theyknowyou,"saidRamiel.

"You'refullofvengeance,anddesire,"saidSetheus.

"Theyknowit;theyhavebeenatyourside.Theyhavemeasuredyourpainandyouranger."

"GoodGod,thesedemonskilledmyfamily!"Ideclared.

"Doyouknowthefutureofmysoul,anyofyou?"

"Of course not," said Mastema. "Why would we be here if we did? Why would any of us be here if it
wereordained?"

"Don'ttheyknowthatIfaceddeathratherthantakethedemonblood?Wouldnotavendettahaverequired
ofmethatIdrinkitandthendestroymyenemieswhenIhadpowerssuchastheirs?"

Myangelsdrewclosertome.

"Oh,wherewereyouwhenIwasabouttodie!"Ideclared.

"Don'ttauntthem.Youhaveneverreallybelievedinthem."ItwasRamiel’svoice."Youloveduswhen
yousawourimages,andwhenthedemonbloodwasfullinsideyou,yousawwhatyoucouldlove.Thatis
thedangernow.Canyoukillwhatyoulove?"

"I will destroy all of them," I said. "One way or another, I swear it on my soul." I looked at my pale
unyieldingyetunjudgingguardians,andthentotheotherswhoburntsobrightlyagainsttheshadowsofthe
vastlibrary,againstthedarkcolorsoftheshelvesandthecrowdedbooks.

"I will destroy them all," I vowed. I closed my eyes. I imagined her, lying helpless by day, and I saw
myselfbendandkisshercoldwhiteforehead.Mysobsweremuffledandmybodyshook.Inoddedagain
andagainthatIwoulddoit,yes,Iwoulddoit,Iwoulddoit.

'At dawn," said Mastema, "the monks will have fresh clothes laid out for you, a suit of red velvet, and
yourweaponsfreshlypolished,andyourbootscleaned.Allwillbefinishedbythen.Don'ttrytoeat.It's
toosoon,andthedemonbloodisstillchurninginyou.Prepareyourself,andwewilltakeyounorthtodo
whathastobedoneinthelightofday."

ChapterEleven

Andthelightshinethindarkness,

andthedarknessdidnotcomprehendit.

—THEGOSPELACCORDINGTOST.JOHN1.5

Monasterieswakeearly,iftheyeverIsleepatall.

Myeyesopenedquitesuddenly,Iandonlythen,asIsawthemorninglightcoverthefresco,asiftheveil
ofdarknesshadbeendrawnfromit,onlythendidIknowhowdeeplyIhadslept.

Monksmovedinmycell.Theyhadbroughtintheredvelvettunic,theclothesasMastemadescribed,and
werejustlayingthemout.Ihadfineredwoolhosetowearwiththem,andashirtofgoldsilk,andtogo
overthat,anotherofwhitesilk,andthenathicknewbeltforthetunic.Myweaponswerepolished,asI
hadbeentoldtheywouldbe—

myheavyjeweledswordgleamingasthoughmyfatherhimselfhadbeentoyingwithitallofapeaceful
eveninglongbythefire.Mydaggerswereready.Iclimbedoutofthebedanddroppeddowntomyknees
inprayer.ImadetheSignoftheCross.

”God,givemethestrengthtosendinyourhandsthosewhofeedondeath."ItwasawhisperinLatin.

Oneofthemonkstouchedmeontheshoulderandsmiled.HadtheGreatSilencenotyetended?Ihadno
idea.

Hepointedtoatablewheretherewasfoodlaidoutforme—breadandmilk.Themilkhadfoamonthe
topofit.

Inoddedandsmiledathim,andthenheandhiscompanionmademealittlebowandwentout.

Iturnedaroundandaround.

'All of you are here, I know it," I said, but I gave no more time to it. If they didn't come, then I had
recoveredmywits,butnosuchthingwastrue,anymorethanitwastruethatmyfatherwasalive.

Onthetable,notfarfromthefood,andheldinplacebeneaththeweightofthecandelabra,wasaseriesof
documents,freshlywrittenandsignedinornatescript.Ireadthemhastily.

Theywerereceiptsforallmymoneyandjewels,thosethingswhichhadbeenwithmeinmysaddlebags
whenIcamein.AllthesedocumentsborethesealoftheMedici.Therewasapurseofmoneythere,tobe
tiedtomybelt.

All my rings were there, cleaned and polished, so that the cabochon rubies were brilliant and the
emeraldshadaflawlessdepth.Thegoldgleamedasithadnotinmonthsperhaps,formyownnegligence.

Ibrushedoutmyhair,annoyedatitsthicknessandlength,buthavingnotimetoaskforabarbertocutit
shorterthanmyshoulders.Atleastitwaslongenough,andhadbeenforawhile,tostaybackovermy
shouldersandoffmyforehead.Itwasluxurioustohaveitsoclean.

Idressedquickly.Mybootswerealittlesnugbecausetheyhadbeendriedbyafireaftertherain.Butthey
feltgoodoverthethinhose.Imaderightallmyfasteningsandpositionedmysword.

Theredvelvettunicwasplaitedalongtheedgeswithgoldandsilverthread,andthefrontofitwasrichly
decoratedwiththesilverfleurs-de-lys,whichisthemostancientsymbolofFlorence.Oncemybeltwas
tightlyfastened,thetunicdidn'tcometohalfwaydownmythigh.

Thatwasforhandsomelegs.

Thewholeraimentwasmorethanfancyforbattle,butwhatbattlewasthis?Itwasamassacre.Iputon
theshortflaringcloaktheyhadgivenme,fasteningitsgoldbuckles,thoughitwouldbewarmforthecity.
Itwaslinedinsoftthindark-brownsquirrelfur.Iignoredthehat.Itiedonthepurse.Iputonmyringsone
byoneuntilmyhandswereweaponsonaccountoftheirweight.Iputonthesoftfur-linedgloves.Ifound
adarkamber-beadedrosarythatIhadnotnoticedbefore.Ithadagoldcrucifix,whichIkissed,andthisI
putinmypocketundermytunic.

IrealizedthatIwasstaringatthefloor,andthatIwassurroundedbypairsofbarefeet.SlowlyIliftedmy
gaze.

Myangelsstoodbeforeme,myveryownguardians,inlongflowingrobesofdarkblue,whichappeared
tobemadeofsomethinglighteryetmoreopaquethansilk.Theirfaceswereivorywhiteandshimmering
faintly,andtheireyeswerelargeandlikeopals.Theyhaddarkhair,orhairthatseemedtoshiftasifit
weremadeofshadows.Theystoodfacingme,theirheadstogether,sothattheirheadstouched.Itwasas
thoughtheywerecommuningsilentlywithoneanother.

Theyoverwhelmedme.ItseemedaterrifyingintimacythatIshouldseethemsovividlyandsocloseto
me,andknowthemasthetwowhohadbeenwithmealways,orsoIwastobelieve.Theywereslightly
largerthanhumanbeings,asweretheotherangelsIhadseen,andtheywerenottemperedbythesweet

facesIhadseenontheothers,buthadaltogethersmootherandbroadercountenancesandlargerthough
exquisitelyshapedmouths.

'Andyoudon'tbelieveinusnow?"oneofthemaskedinawhisper.

"Willyoutellmeyournames?"Iasked.

Bothshooktheirheadsinasimplenegationatonce.

"Doyouloveme?"Iasked.

"Where is it written that we should?" answered the one who had not yet spoken. His voice was as
tonelessandsoftasawhisper,butmoredistinct.Itmighthavebeenthesamevoiceastheotherangel.

"Doyouloveus?"askedtheother.

"Whydoyouguardme?"Iasked.

"Becausewearesenttodoit,andwillbewithyouuntilyoudie."

"Lovelessly?"Iasked.

Theyshooktheirheadsagaininnegation.

Graduallythelightbrightenedintheroom.Iturnedsharplytolookupatthewindow.Ithoughtitwasthe
sun.

Thesuncouldn'thurtme,Ithought.

Butitwasn't.ItwasMastema,whohadrisenupbehindmeasifhewereacloudofgold,andoneither
sideofhimweremyarguers,myadvancersofthecause,mychampions,RamielandSetheus.

Theroomshimmeredandseemedtovibratewithoutasound.Myangelsappearedtoglisten,andtogrow
brilliantlywhiteanddeepblueintheirrobes.AlllookedtothehelmetedfigureofMastema.

Animmenseandmusicalrustlingfilledtheair,asingingsound,asifagreatflockoftinygolden-throated
birdshadawakenedandrushedupwardsfromthebranchesoftheirsunfilled

trees.

Imusthaveclosedmyeyes.Ilostmybalance,andtheairbecamecooler,anditseemedmyvisionwas
cloudedwithdust.

Ishookmyhead.Ilookedaroundme.

Westoodwithinthecastleitself.

Theplacewasdampandverydark.Lightcreptinaroundtheseamsoftheimmensedrawbridge,which
wasofcoursepulledupandlockedintoplace.Oneithersidewererusticstonewalls,hunghereandthere

with great rusted hooks and chains that had not been used in many a year I turned and entered a dim
courtyard,mybreathsuddenlytakenfrommebytheheightofthewallsthatsurroundedme,climbingtothe
distinctcubeofthebrightbluesky.

Surelythiswasonlyonecourtyard,theoneattheentrance,forbeforeusthereloomedanotherimmense
pairofgates,quitelargeenoughtoadmitthegreatesthaywagonsimaginableorsomenewfangledengine
ofwar.

The ground was soiled. High above on all sides were windows, rows upon rows of the double-arched
windows,andallwerecoveredoverwithbars.

"Ineedyounow,Mastema,"Isaid.ImadetheSignoftheCrossagain.Itookouttherosaryandkissedthe
crucifix,lookingdownforamomentatthetinytwistedbodyofOurTorturedChrist.

The huge doors before me broke open. There was a loud creaking sound, then the crumpling of metal
bolts, and the gates groaned back on their hinges, revealing a distant and sun-filled inner court of far
greatersize.

Thewallsthroughwhichwewalkedweresomethirtytofortyfeetindepth.Thereweredoorsoneither
sideofus,heavilyarchedinworkedstoneandshowingthefirstsignsofcarethatIhadglimpsedsincewe
entered.

"Thesecreaturesdonotgoandcomeasothersdo,"Isaid.Ihurriedmypacesoastoreachthefullsunof
thecourtyard.Themountainairwastoocoolandtoodampinthefoulthicknessofthepassage.

Here,asIstoodup,IsawwindowssuchasIremembered,hungwithrichbannersandstrungwithlanterns
that would be lighted by night. Here I saw tapestries carelessly thrown over window ledges as if rain
werenothing.AndveryhighupIsawthejaggedbattlementsandfinerwhitemarblecopings.

Buteventhiswasnotthegreatcourtyardthatlaybeyond.

These walls too were rustic. The stones were soiled and untrodden in many a year. Water was pooled
hereandthere.Rankweedssprangfromcrevices,but,ah,thereweresweetwildflowers,andIlookedat
themtenderlyandreachedouttotouchthem,andmarveledatthem,existinghere.

Moregatesawaitedus,thesetwo—huge,wooden,bandedinironandseverelypointedatthetopintheir
deepmarblearchway—gavewayandsprangbacktoletuspassthroughyetanotherwall.

Oh,suchagardengreetedus!

Aswemadeourwaythroughanotherfortyfeetofdarkness,Isawthegreatgrovesoforangetreesahead
ofus,andheardthecryofthebirds.Iwonderediftheywerenotcaughtdownhere,prisoners,orcould
theysoarallthewayuptothetopandescape?Yes,theycould.Itwasagreatenoughspace.Andherewas
thefinewhitemarblefacingIremembered,allthewaytothesummit,sohighabove.

AsImademywayintothegarden,asIwalkedonthefirstmarblepaththattraversedthebedsofviolets
androses,Isawthebirdscomingandgoing,circlingbroadlyinthiswideplace,sothattheycouldclear
thetowersthatrosesodistantlyandmajesticallyagainstthesky.

Everywherethescentofflowersovercameme.Liliesandirisesweremingledinpatches,andtheoranges
wereripeandalmostredastheyhungfromthetrees.Thelemonswerehardstillandtouchedwithgreen.

Shrubberyandvineshuggedthewalls.

Theangelsgatheredaroundme.IrealizedthatallalongitwasIwhohadledtheway,Iwhohadinitiated
anymovement,anditwasIwhoheldusallstillnow,withinthegarden,andthattheywaitedasIbowed
myhead.

"Iamlisteningfortheprisoners,"Isaid."ButIcan'thearthem'

Ilookedupatmoreoftheluxuriouslydecoratedbalconiesandwindows,thetwinarches,andhereand
therealongloggia,butmadeoftheirstyleoffiligree,notours.Isawflagsfluttering,andallwereinthat
dark blood-red color, stained with death. I looked down for the first time at my own brilliant crimson
clothes.

"Likefreshblood?"Iwhispered.

"Tendtowhatyoumustdofirst,"Mastemasaid.

"Twilightcancoveryouwhenyougototheprisoners,butyoumusttakeyourquarrynow."

"Wherearethey?Willyoutellme?"

"Indeliberatesacrilege,andinold-fashionedrigor,theyliebeneaththestonesofthechurch."

Therewasaloud,searingnoise.Hehadpulledouthissword.Hepointedwithit,hisheadturned,hisred
helmetonfirewiththeglintofthesunreflectedoffthemarblefacedwalls.

"Thedoorthere,andthestairsbeyondit.Thechurchliesonthethirdfloor,uptoourleft'

Imadeforthedoorwithoutfurtherdelay.Irushedupthesteps,takingturnafterturn,mybootsclattering
onthestone,notevenlookingtoseeiftheyfollowedme,notwonderinghowtheydidit,knowingonly
thattheywerewithme,feelingtheirpresenceasifIcouldfeeltheirbreathonmewhennobreathcame.

Atlastweenteredthecorridor,broadandopenonourrighttothecourtyardbelow.Therewasanendless
stripofrichcarpetbeforeus,fullofPersianflowersdeeplyembeddedwithinafieldofmidnightblue.
Unfaded,untrammeled.Onandonitwentuntilitturned,aheadofus.

And at the end of the corridor was the perfectly framed sky and the jagged speck of green mountain
beyond.

"Whyhaveyoustopped?"Mastemaasked.

Theyhadmaterializedaroundme,intheirsettlinggarmentsandtheirnever-stillwings.

"Thisisthedoortothechurchhere,youknowit."

"Onlylookingatthesky,Mastema,"Isaid."Onlylookingatthebluesky."

'And thinking of what?" asked one of my guardians in his toneless, clear whisper. He clung to me
suddenly, and I saw his parchment-colored fingers, weightless, settled on my shoulder. "Thinking of a
meadowthatneverexistedandayoungwomanwhoisdead?"

'Areyoumerciless?"Iaskedhim.Ipressedclosetohim,somyforeheadtouchedhim,andImarveledto
feelitagainstmeandseehisopalescenteyessodistinct.

"No,notmerciless.Onlyonewhoreminds,andreminds,andreminds."Iturnedtothedoorsofthechapel.
I pulled on both giant hooks until I heard the clasp give, and then I opened wide one side and then the
other,thoughwhyImadesuchavastandbroadescapeformyselfIdonotknow.Maybeitwasapassage
formymightybandofhelpers.

Thegreatemptynavelaybeforeme,whichlastnightnodoubthadbeencrowdedwiththegaudyblood-
drenchedCourt,andabovemyheadwastheirchoirloftfromwhichthemostetherealdirgehadcome.

Sunviolentlypiercedthedemonicwindows.

I gasped in shock to see the webbed spirits emblazoned so immensely in the fractured and welded
fragments of glittering glass. How thick was this glass, how heavily faceted, and how ominous the
expressionsofthosewebbed-wingedmonsterswholeeredatusasiftheywouldcomealiveintheblazing
lightofdayandstopourprogress.Therewasnothingtobedonebuttoripmyeyesoffthem,tolookdown
andawayandalongthegreatsprawlingmarblefloor.Isawthehook,Isawitasithadbeeninthefloorof
myfather'schapel,lyingflatinacirclecutinthestone,ahookofgold,polishedandsmoothedsoitdid
notriseabovethefloorandwouldnotcatchatoeoraheel.Ithadnocover.

Itmerelymarkeddecisivelythepositionoftheonelongmainentrancetothecrypt.Onenarrowmarble
rectangle cut into the center of the church floor. I strode forward, heels echoing throughout the whole
emptychurch,andwenttopullthehook.

Whatstoppedme?Isawthealtar.AtthatveryinstantthesunhadstruckthefigureofLucifer,thegiantred
angelabovehismassesandmassesofredflowers,whichwerefreshastheyhadbeenthenightwhenI
hadbeenbroughttothisplace.Isawhimandsawhisfierceburningyelloweyes,finegemssetintothe
red marble, and saw the white ivory fangs that hung from his snarling upper lip. I saw all the fanged
demonswholinedthewallstotherightandtheleftofhim,andalltheirjeweledeyesseemedgreedyand
gloryinginthelight.

"Thecrypt,"saidMastema.

Ipulledwithallmymight.Icouldn'tbudgethemarbleslab.Nohumancouldhavedoneit.Itwouldhave
takenteamsofhorsestodoit.Ilockedbothhandsmoretightlyaroundthehook,yankingitharder,andstill
Icouldn'tbudgeit.Itwasliketryingtomovethewallsthemselves.

"Doitforhim!"Ramielpleaded."Letusdoit."

"It'snothing,Mastema;it'sonlylikeopeningthegates."Mastemareachedoutandpushedmegentlyaside,
sothatIwascaughtonmyownfeetforamomentandthenrightedmyself.Thelongnarrowtrapdoorof
marblewasraisedslowlyIwasastonishedatitsweight.Itwasmorethantwofeetinthickness.Onlyits
facingwasmarble,therestbeingaheavierdarker,denserstone.No,nohumancouldhaveliftedit.

Andnow,fromthemouthbelow,therecameaspearasiffromahiddenspring.Ileaptback,thoughIhad
neverbeennearenoughtobeindanger.Mastemaletthetrapdoorfallonitsback.Thehingeswerebroken
atoncebyitsownweight.Thelightfilledthespacebelow.Morespearsawaitedme,glintinginthesun,
pointed at an angle, as if affixed in parallel to the angle of the stairs. Mastema moved to the top of the
stairs.

"Trytomovethem,Vittorio,"hesaid.

"Hecan't.Andifhetripsandfalls,hefallsdownintoapitofthem,"saidRamiel.

"Mastema,movethem."

"Letmemovethem,"saidSetheus.

Idrewmysword.Ihackedatthefirstofthespearsandknockedoffitsmetalpoint,butthejaggedwooden
shaftremained.

I stepped down into the crypt, at once feeling a coldness rise and touch my legs. I hacked again at the
wood,andbrokeoffmoreofit.ThenIsteppedbesideit,onlytofindwithmylefthandthatIfeltapairof
spearsawaitingmeintheunevenlight.AgainIliftedmysword,theweightofitmakingmyarmache.

But I broke these two with swift blows until their metal heads had gone clattering from their wooden
stemsaswell.

Isteppeddown,holdingtightwithmyrighthandsoasnottosliponthesteps,andsuddenly,withaloud
cry,Iswungoutandofftheedgeofnothing,forthestairwaybrokethereandwasnomore.

WithmyrighthandIgrabbedattheshaftofthebrokenspear,whichIalreadyheldinmyleft.Mysword
wentclatteringdownbelowme.

"Enough, Mastema," said Setheus. "No human can do it." I was hanging, both hands locked around this
splinterywood,staringupatthemastheyrimmedthemouthofthecrypt.IfIfell,Iwouldnodoubtdie,
forthefallwasthatfar.IfIdidnotdie,Iwouldnevergetouttolive.

I waited, and I said nothing, though my arms ached excruciatingly. Suddenly, they descended, as
soundlesslyastheydidallthings,inarushofsilkandwings,slippingintothecryptatonce,allofthem,
andsurroundingme,embracingmeandcarryingmedowninasoftplummettothefloorofthechamber.I
wasatonceletgo.AndIscrambledaroundinthedimnessuntilIfoundmysword.Ihaditnow.

I stood up, panting, holding it firmly, and then I looked up at the sharp distinct rectangle of brightness
above.Ishutmyeyes,andbowedmyhead,andopenedmyeyesslowlysoastobecomeaccustomedto
thisdeepdampdusk.

Herethecastlehadnodoubtletthemountainriseupunderit,forthechamber,thoughvast,seemedmade
ofonlytheearth.AtleastthisiswhatIsawbeforeme,intherudewall,andthenturningaroundIsawmy
quarry,asMastemahadcalledthem.Thevampires,thelarvae-theylaysleeping,coffinless,cryptless,
openinlongrows,eachexquisitelydressedbodycoveredinathinshroudofspungold.Theyringedthree
wallsofthecrypt.Atthefarendhungthebrokenstairsovernothingness.Iblinkedandnarrowedmyeyes,
and the light seemed to filter more fully upon them. I drew near to the first figure until I could see the

dark-burgundyslippers,andthedeeprussethoseandallofthisbeneaththewebbingasifeachnightfine
silkworms wove this shroud for the being, so thick and perfect and fine was it. Alas, it was no such
magic;itwasonlythefinestofwhatGod'screaturescanmake.Andithadbeenspunoftheloomsofmen
andwomen,andithadafine-stitchedhem.

Irippedofftheveil.

I drew near the creature's folded arms, and then saw to my sudden horror that his sleeping face was
quickened. His eyes opened, and one arm moved violently towards me. I was yanked back out of the
clutchofhisfingersonlyjustintime.IturnedtoseeRamielholdingme,andthenheclosedhiseyesand
bowedhisforeheadintomyshoulder.

"Nowyouknowtheirtricks.Watchit.Yousee.

Itfoldsitsarmbacknow.Itthinksit'ssafe.Itclosesitseyes."

"WhatdoIdo!Ah,I'llkillit!"Isaid.

Snatchinguptheveilinmylefthand,Iraisedmyswordinmyright.Iadvancedonthesleepingmonster,
andthistime,whenthehandrose,Isnareditwiththeveil,swirlingthefabricaroundit,while,withmy
sword, I came down like the executioner on the block. At once the head rolled off onto the floor. A
wretchedsoundcame,morefromtheneckperhapsthanfromthethroat.Thearmflopped.Bylightofday,
itcouldnotstruggleasitmighthaveinthedarkofnightinmyearlybattle,whenIhaddecapitatedmyfirst
assailant.Ah,Ihadwon.

Isnatchedupthehead,watchingthebloodspilloutofthemouth.Theeyes,iftheyhadeveropened,were
nowshut.Ihurledtheheadintothemiddleofthefloorbeneaththelight.Atoncethelightbegantoburn
theflesh.

"Lookatit,thehead'sburning!"Isaid.ButImyselfdidn'tstop.Iwenttothenext,snatchingthetransparent
silkenshroudfromawomanwithgreatlongbraids,takentothiseeriedeathintheprimeofherlife,and
snaringherrisingarm,severedherheadwiththesamefuryandcaughtitupbyonebraidandhurleditto
landbyitsmate.

The other head was shriveling and turning black in the light that poured down from the high opening
above.

"Lucifer,youseethat?"Icalledout.Theechocamebacktotauntme,"Seethat?Seethat?Seethat?"

Irushedtothenext."Florian!"Icriedout,asIgrabbedtheveil.Terribleerror.

Whenheheardhisname,hiseyessnappedopenevenbeforeIhaddrawnabreastofhim,andlikeapuppet
yankedonachainhewouldhaverisenifIhadnotstruckhimhardwithmyswordandgashedopenhis
chest.

Expressionless, he fell back. I brought the sword down on his tender gentlemanly neck. His blond hair
wascakedwithblood,andhiseyeswenthalf-mastandemptyanddiedbeforemysight.

Isnatchedhimupbyhislonghair,thisbodilessone,thisleaderofthemall,thissilvertonguedfiend,and

Ihurledhisheadintothesmoking,stinkingpile.OnandonIwent,downthelinetotheleft,whytotheleft
Idonotknow,exceptitwasmypath,andeachtimeIpulledbacktheveil,Ileaptforwardwithferocious
speed,snaringthearmifitshouldrise,butsometimesgainingsuchmomentumonitthatithadnotimeto
rise, and chopping off the head so fast that I became sloppy and my blows ugly, and I smashed the
jawbonesofmyfoes,andeventheirshoulderbones,butIkilledthem.

Ikilledthem.

Irippedofftheirheadsandfedthemtothemountain,whichhadgainedsuchsmokenowthatitseemeda
simmeringfireofautumnleaves.Ashesrosefromit,tinythinashes,butinthemain,theheadslanguished,
greasyandblackening,andthemassthickenedandtheasheswereonlyafew.

Did they suffer? Did they know? Where had their souls fled on invisible feet in this harsh and terrible
momentwhentheirCourtwasdissolved,whenIroaredinmyworkandstompedmyfeetandthrewback
myheadandcriedandcrieduntilIcouldn'tseethroughmytears.

Ihaddonewithsometwentyofthem,twenty,andmyswordwassothickwithbloodandgorethatIhadto
wipeitclean.Ontheirbodies,makingmywaybacktogodowntheothersideofthecrypt,Iwipedit,on
onedoubletafteranother,marvelingathowtheirwhitehandshadshrivelledanddriedupontheirchests,
athowtheblackbloodflowedsosluggishlybydayfromtheirtornnecks.

"Dead,youarealldead,andyetwheredidyougo,wheredidthelivingsoulinyougo!"Thelightwas
dimming.Istoodbreathingheavily.IlookedupatMastema.

"The sun is high overhead," he said gently. He was untouched, though he stood so near to them, the
charredandreekingheads.

It seemed the smoke issued more truly from their eyes than anywhere else, as if the jelly melted into
smokemoresurely.

"Thechurchisdimnow,butitisonlymidday.Bequick.

Youhavetwentymorethisside,andyouknowit.Work."

The other angels stood stock-still, clustered together, the magnificent Ramiel and Setheus in their rich
robes,andthetwosimpler,plainer,moresombersouls-allofthemlookingatmeinuttersuspense.Isaw
Setheuslookatthepileofsmolderingheads,andthenagainatme.

"Goon,poorVittorio,"hewhispered."Hurryon."

"Couldyoudoit?"Iasked.

"Icannot."

"No, I know that you are not permitted," I said, my chest aching from the exertion and now the talk I
forcedfrommyself."Imeancouldyoudoit?Couldyoubringyourselftodoit!"

"Iamnotacreatureoffleshandblood,Vittorio,"Setheusansweredhelplessly."ButIcoulddowhatGod
toldmetodo."

Iwentonpastthem.Ilookedbackatthemintheirgloriousradiance,theclusterofthem,andthemasterly
one,Mastema,hisarmorgleaminginthefallinglight,andhisswordsobrilliantagainsthisflank.

Hesaidnothing.

Iturned.Irippedoffthefirstveil.ItwasUrsula.

"No."Istoodback.

Ilettheveildrop.Iwasfarenoughawayfromherthatshedidn'tappeartowake;shedidn'tmove.Her
lovelyarmslayfoldedstillinthesameposeofgracefuldeathwhichallofthemhadborne,onlywithher
itwassweet,asifinhermostinnocentgirlhoodagentlebanehadtakenher,notmussingsomuchasa
singlehairoflongripplingunbraidedlocks.Theymadeanestofgoldforherheadandhershoulders,her
swan neck. I could hear my heaving breaths. I let the edge of my sword drag, singing on the stones. I
licked at my parched lips. I didn't dare to look at them, though I knew they were collected only a few
yards from me, staring at me. And in the thick stillness, I heard the crisping and sizzling of the burning
headsofthedamned.

Ithrustmyhandinsidemypocket,andIdrewouttherosaryofamberbeads.Myhandshookshamefullyas
I held it, and then I lifted it, letting the crucifix dangle, and I hurled it at her, so that it struck her, just
abovehersmallhands,rightonthewhiteswellofherhalf-baredbreasts.Itlaythere,thecrucifixnestled
inthecurveofherpaleskin,andshedidn'tsomuchasstir.

Thelightclungtohereyelashesasifitweredust.

Without excuse or explanation, I turned to the next one, ripping off the veil and assaulting him or her, I
knew not which, with a loud raucous cry. I grabbed up the severed head by its thick brown locks and
threwitcrashingpasttheangelsintothemassofslopthatlayattheirfeet.

Thentothenext.Godric.Oh,God,thiswillbesweet.

I saw his bald head before I ever touched the veil, and now, tearing the veil loose, hearing it rip on
accountofmycarelessness,Iwaitedforhimtoopenhiseyes,waitedforhimtoriseuphalfwayfromthe
slabandglareatme.

"Know me, monster? Know me?" I roared. The sword sliced through his neck. The white head hit the
floor,andwithmyswordIspeareditthroughitsdrippingstumpofaneck.

"Knowme,monster?"Icriedagaintotheflutteringeyes,thegaping,droolingredmouth.

"Knowme?"

Iwalkedwithhimtothepileoftheotherheadsandlaidhimlikeatrophyontopofit.

"Knowme?"Iwailedagain.

AndtheninafuryIwentbacktomywork.

Two more, then three, then five, then seven and then nine, and then some six more, and the Court was

finished,andallitsdancersandLordsandLadiesweredead.Andthen,reelingtotheotherside,Imade
swift work of those poor peasant servants, who had no veils to cover their simple bodies, and whose
feeblehalf-starvedwhitelimbscouldscarceriseindefense.

"Thehuntsmen,wherearethey?"

"Atthefarend.Itisalmostdarkinhere.Takegreatcare."

"Iseethem,"Isaid.Idrewmyselfupandcaughtmybreath.Theylayinarowofsix,headstothewall
likealltheothers,buttheywereperilouslyclosetogether.Itwouldbeahardapproach.

Ilaughedsuddenlyatthesimplicityofit.Ilaughed.Isnatchedoffthefirstveilandchoppedatthefeet.
Thecorpseroseandthenmybladecouldeasilyseetheplacetostrike,whilethebloodhadalreadybegun
togush.

The second, I cut to stumps at once and then sliced across the middle, and only descended on the head
before his hand had caught my blade. I ripped back my sword and chopped the hand off him. "Die,
bastard,youwhostolemewithyourfellow;Irememberyou."AndatlastIcametothefinaloneandhad
hisbeardedheadhangingfrommyhand.SlowlyIwalkedbackwiththisone,kickingothersbeforeme,
othersIhadnothadthestrengthtohurlveryfar,andIkickedthemlikesomuchrefuseuntilthelightfell
onallofthem.

Itwasbrightnow.Theafternoonsunwascominginthewestsideofthechurch.Andtheopeningabove
gaveforthaterrificandfatalheat.

SlowlyIwipedmyfacewiththebackofmylefthand.Ilaiddownmysword,andIfeltforthenapkinsthe
monkshadputinmypockets,andItooktheseandcleanedmyfaceandcleanedmyhands.

Then I picked up my sword, and I went to the foot of her bier again. She lay as before. The light was
nowherenearher.Itcouldnothavetouchedanyofthemwheretheylay.Shewassafeonherbedofstone,
herhandsasstillasbefore,fingersbeautifullyfolded,therighthandovertheleft,andonhermoundof
whitebreastthererestedtheCrucifiedChristingold.Herhairwasstirringinafaintdraftthatseemedto
comefromthenarrowopeningabove.

But this was a mere halo of tendrils about her otherwise lifeless face. Her hair, in its loose ripples,
withoutitsribbonsorpearls,hadfallenalittleovertheedgesofthebier,sonarrowwasit,andsohad
thefoldsofherlonggold-embroidereddress.

Itwasnotthesamethatshe'dwornwhenI'dseenher.Onlythedeeprichbloodredwasthesame,butall
therestwassplendidandornateandnew,asifshewerearegalprincess,alwayspreparedforthekissof
herprince.

"CouldHellreceivethis?"Iwhispered.IdrewascloseasIdared.Icouldnotbearthethoughtofherarm
risinginthatmechanicalfashion,thesuddenclutchofherfingersontheemptyairorhereyesopening.I
couldn'tbearit.

Thepointsofherslippersweresmallbeneathherhem.

Howdaintilyshemusthavelaindowntoherrestatsunrise.

Whohadpulledclosedthetrapdoor,whosechainshadfallen?Whohadsetthetrapofthespears,whose
enginesIhadneverinspectedorcompassedwithmythoughts?Forthefirsttimeinthedimness,Isawa
tinygoldencircletonherhead,lyingjustaroundthecrownandfixedbythetiniestpinsintothewavesso
thatitssinglepearlrestedonherforehead.Suchasmallthing.

Washersoulsosmall?WouldHelltakeit,likethefirewouldtakeanytenderpartofheranatomy,likethe
sunwould burn tohorror her immaculateface? In some mother'swomb she hadonce slept and dreamt,
andintosomefather'sarmsbeenplaced.

What had been her tragedy to bring her to this foul and reeking grave, where the heads of her slain
companionslayburningslowlyinthesun'severpatient,everindifferentlight?Iturnedonthem.Iheldmy
sworddownatmyside.

"One,letoneonlylive.One!"Ideclared.

Ramielcoveredhisfaceandturnedhisbackonme.

Setheuscontinuedtostarebutshookhishead.Myguardiansonlygazedatmewiththeirlevelcoldness,as
theyalwayshad.Mastemastaredatme,soundlessly,concealingwhateverthoughthepossessedbehindhis
serenemaskofaface.

"No,Vittorio,"hesaid."DoyouthinkabevyofGod'sangelshashelpedyoupastthesebarrierstoleave
onesuchasthesetolive?"

"Mastema,shelovedme.AndIloveher.Mastema,shegavememylife.Mastema,Iaskinthenameof
love.Ibeginthenameoflove.Allelseherehasbeenjustice.ButwhatcanIsaytoGodifIslaythisone,
who has loved and whom I love?" Nothing in his countenance changed. He only regarded me with his
eternalcalm.Iheardaterriblesound.ItwastheweepingofRamielandSetheus.Myguardiansturnedto
look at them, as though surprised, but only mildly so, and then their dreamy soft eyes fixed again,
unchanging,onme.

"Mercilessangels,"Isaid."Oh,butsuchisnotfair,andIknowit.Ilie.Ilie.Forgiveme."

"Weforgiveyou,"saidMastema."Butyoumustdowhatyouhavepromisedmeyouwoulddo."

"Mastema,canshebesaved?Ifsheherselfrenounces...canshe...ishersoulstillhuman?"

Noanswercamefromhim.Noanswer.

"Mastema,please,tellme.Don'tyousee?Ifshecanbesaved,Icanstayherewithher,Icanwringitout
ofher,IknowIcanbecauseherheartisgood.It'syoungandgood.Mastema,tellme.Cansuchacreature
assheisbesaved?"Noanswer.RamielhadlainhisheadagainstSetheus'sshoulder.

"Oh,please,Setheus,"Isaid."Tellme.Canshebesaved?Mustshediebymyhand?WhatifIstayhere
withher,andwringitoutofher,herconfession,herfinaldisavowalofallthatshehaseverdone?Isthere
nopriestwhocangiveherabsolution?Oh,God..."

"Vittorio," came the whisper from Ramiel. 'Are your ears stopped with wax? Can you hear those

prisonersstarving,crying?Youhavenotevensetthemfreeyet.Willyoudoitbynight?"

"Icandoit.Icanyetdoit.ButcanInotstayherewithher,andwhenshefindssheisallalone,thatallthe
othershaveperished,thatallthepromisesofGodricandFlorianweretyranny,istherenowaythatshe
can render her soul to God?" Mastema, without ever a change in his soft cold eyes, slowly turned his
back.

"No! Don't do it, don't turn away!" I shouted. I caught hold of his powerful silk-clad arm. I felt his
unsurmountablestrengthbeneaththefabric,thestrange,unnaturalfabric.Hegazeddownatme.

"Whycan'tyoutellme!"

"FortheloveofGod,Vittorio!"heroaredsuddenly,hisvoicefillingtheentirecrypt.

"Don'tyourealize?Wedon'tknow!"

Heshookmeloose,thebettertoglaredownatme,hisbrowsfurrowed,hishandclosingonthehiltofhis
sword.

"Wedon'tcomefromaspeciesthathaseverknownforgiveness!"heshouted."Wearenotfleshandblood,
andinourrealmthingsareLightortheyaretheDarkness,andthatisallweknow!"

Inafury,heturnedandmarchedtowardsher.Irushedafterhim,pullingathim,butunabletodeterhima
fractionfromhispurpose.

Heplungedhishanddown,pasthergropinghands,andclutchedhertinyneck.Hereyesstaredupathim
inthatterrible,terribleblindness.

"Shehasahumansoulinher,"hesaidinawhisper.Andthenhedrewbackasifhedidnotwanttotouch
her,couldn'tbeartotouchher,andhebackedawayfromher,shovingmeaway,forcingmebackashedid.

Ibrokeintoweeping.Thesunshifted,andtheshadowsbegantothickeninthecrypt.Iturnedfinally.The
patchoflightabovewasnowpale.Itwasarichradiantgold,butitwaspale.

Myangelsstoodthere,allgathered,watchingmeandwaiting.

"I'mstayingwithherhere,"Isaid."She'llwakesoon.AndI'llputittoher,thatsheprayforGod'sgrace."

IknewitonlyasIsaidit.IunderstooditonlyasImadeitplain.

"I'll stay with her. If she renounces all her sins for the love of God, then she can remain with me, and
deathwillcome,andwewillnotliftahandtohastenit,andGodwillacceptusboth."

"Youthinkyouhavethestrengthtodothat?"Mastemaasked.'Andyouthinkitofher?"

"Ioweherthis,"Isaid."Iambound.Ineverliedtoyou,nottoanyofyou.Ineverliedtomyself.She
slewmybrotherandsister.Isawher.Nodoubtshekilledmanyofthem,myown.Butshesavedme.She
savedmetwice.Andtokillissimple,buttosaveisnot!"

"Ah,"saidMastemaasthoughI'dstruckhim."That'strue."

"SoI’llstay.Iexpectnothingfromyounow.IknowIcannotgetoutofhere.Perhapsevenshecannot."

"Ofcourseshecan,"saidMastema.

"Don'tleavehim,"saidSetheus."Takehimagainsthiswill."

"Noneofuscandothat,andyouknowit,"saidMastema.

"Onlyoutofthecrypt,"pleadedRamiel,"asiffromacanyonintowhichhe'sfallen."

"Butitisnotsuchathing,andIcannot."

"Thenletusstaywithhim,"saidRamiel.

"Yes,letusstay,"saidmytwoguardians,moreorlessatthesametimeandinsimilarmutedexpressions.

"Letherseeus."

"How do we know that she can?" asked Mastema. "How do we know that she will? How many times
doesithappenthatahumanbeingcanseeus?"

ForthefirsttimeIsawangerinhim.Helookedatme.

"Godhasplayedsuchagamewithyou,Vitto-rio!"hesaid."Givenyousuchenemiesandsuchallies!"

"Yes,Iknowthis,andIwillbegHimwithallmystrengthandtheweightofallmysufferingforhersoul."

Ididn'tmeantoclosemyeyes.

IknowthatIdidnot.

Buttheentirescenewasalteredutterly.Thepileofheadslayasbefore,andsomeatrandom,shriveling,
dryingup,theacridsmokestillrisingfromthem,andthelightabovehaddarkened,yetitwasstillgolden,
goldenbeyondthebrokenstair,andthejaggedbrokenspears,goldenwiththelastburntdregsofthelate
afternoon.Andmyangelshadgone.

ChapterTwelve

DELIVERMENOTINTOTEMPTATION

Forallmyyouth,mybodycouldtakenomore.YethowcouldIremaininthiscrypt,waitingforherto
awake,Iwithoutattemptingsomeformofexit?Igavenothoughttothedismissalbymyangels.Ideserved
it, but I was convinced of the rectitude of the chance I meant to give her, that she throw herself on the
mercyofGod,andthatweleavethiscryptand,ifnecessary,findthepriestwhocouldabsolveherhuman
soulofallhersins.ForifshecouldnotmakeaperfectconfessionfortheloveofGodalone,well,then,
theabsolutionwouldsurelysaveher.

Ipokedaroundthecrypt,steppingamongthedrying-upcorpses.Whatlighttherewasgleamedondried
fountsofbloodthatrandownthesidesofthestonebiers.AtlastIfoundwhatIhadhopedtofind,agreat
ladderthatcouldbeliftedandthrownuptotheceilingabove.

Only,howcouldIwieldsuchathing?

Idraggedittowardsthecenterofthecrypt,kickingoutofmypaththeheadswhichwerenowdamaged
beyondreprieve,andIlaiddowntheladder,andsteppedatmidpoint,betweentwooftherungs,andtried
fromtheretoliftit.

Impossible.Isimplydidnotpossesstheleverage.Itweighedtoomuch,slightasitwas,becauseitwasso
long.

Threeorfourstrongmenmighthavehoisteditsufficientlytomakeitstopmostrungscatchonthebroken
spears,butIalonecouldnotdoit.

Alas,therewasanotherpossibility.Achain,orarope,thatcouldbetossedtothespearsabove.Inthe
gloam,Imadeasearchforsuchbutfoundnone.

Nochainsanywherehere?Nocoilofrope?

Hadeventheyounglarvaebeenabletoleapthegapbetweenthefloorandthebrokenstairway?

AtlastImovedalongthewalls,searchingforanybumporhookorexcrescencewhichmightindicatea
storeroomor,Godforbid,anothercryptofthesefiends.ButIcouldfindnothing.

Finally,Istaggeredtowardsthecenteroftheroomagain.

Igatheredalltheheads,eventheloathsomebaldheadofGodric,whichwasnowblacklikeleatherwith
itsyellowedslitsofeyes,andIpiledtheseheadswherethelightcouldnotfailtocontinueitsworkon
them.

Then,stumblingovertheladder,IfellonmykneesatthefootofUrsula'sbier.Isankdown.Iwouldsleep
thislittlewhile.No,notsleep,rest.Notwillingit,indeed,fearingitandregrettingit,Ifeltmylimbsgo
limpandIlayonthestonefloor,andmyeyesclosedinablessedrestorativesleep.Howcuriousitwas.

I had thought her scream would awaken me, that like a frightened child she would have risen up in the
darknessonthebier,findingherselfalonewithsomanydeadones.Ihadthoughtthesightoftheheadsin
thepilewouldhaveterrifiedher.Butnosuchhadhappened.

Twilightfilledthespaceabove,violet-colored,liketheflowersofthemeadow,andshestoodoverme.
She had put the rosary around her neck, which is not common, and she wore it as a beautiful ornament
withthegoldcrucifixturningandtwistinginthelight,aglintingspeckofgoldthatmatchedthespecksof
lightinhereyes.Shewassmiling.

"Mybraveone,myhero,come,let'sescapethisplaceofdeath.You’vedoneit,youhaveavengedthem."

"Didyoumoveyourlips?"

"NeedIdothatwithyou?"

Ifeltathrillpassthroughmeassheliftedmetomyfeet.

Shestoodlookingupintomyface,herhandsfirmlyonmyshoulders.

"Blessed Vittorio," she said. Then clasping me about the waist, she rose upwards and we passed the
brokenspears,withoutsomuchastouchingtheirsplinteredtips,andfoundourselvesinthechapelinthe
dusk,thewindowsdarkenedandtheshadowsplayinggracefullybutmercifullyaroundthedistantaltar.

"Oh,mydarling,mydarling/'Isaid."Doyouknowwhattheangelsdid?Doyouknowwhattheysaid?"

"Come,let'sfreetheprisonersasyouwish,"shetoldme.Ifeltsorefreshed,sofullofvigor.Itwasasif
I'd suffered no exhausting labor at all, as if war hadn't worn down my limbs and broken me, as though
battleandstrugglehadn’tbeenmyportionfordays.

I rushed with her through the castle. We threw open the doors, one pair after another, on the miserable
occupantsofthecoop.Itwasshewhoscurriedonherlight,felinefeetthroughthepathwaysbeneaththe
orangetreesandthebirdaviaries,overturningthekettlesofsoup,cryingouttothepoorandthelameand
thehopelessthattheywerefree,thatnooneimprisonedthemnow.

Inatwinklingwestoodonahighbalcony.Isawfarbelowtheirmiserableprocessioninthehalf-light,the
longwindinglineofthemprogressingdownthemountainunderthepurpleskyandtherisingeveningstar.
Theweakhelpedthestrong;theoldcarriedtheyoung.

"Wherewilltheygo,backtothateviltown?Backtothemonsterswhogavethemupinsacrifice?"Iwas
inafurysuddenly."Punished,that'swhattheymustbe."

"In time, Vittorio; there is time. Your poor sad victims are free now. This is our time, yours and mine,
come."

Herskirtswentoutinagreatdarkcircleasdownweflew,downanddown,downpastthewindows,and
downpastthewalls,untilmyfeetwereallowedtotouchthesoftground.

"Oh,LordGod,it'sthemeadow,look,themeadow,"Isaid."Icanseeitasclearlyundertherisingmoon
aseverIsawitinmydreams."

Asuddensoftnessfilledmecompletely.Itwinedherinmyarms,myfingersdiggingdeepintoherrippling
hair.

All the world seemed to sway about me, and yet I was anchored in dance with her, and the soft airy
movementofthetreessangtousaswewereboundtogether.

"Nothingcaneverpartus,Vittorio,"shesaid.Shetoreloose.Sheranaheadofme.

"No,wait,Ursula,wait!"Icried.Iranafterher,butthegrassandtheirisesweretallandthick.Itwasn't
solikethedream,butthenagainitwas,becausethesethingswerealiveandfulloftheverdantsmellof
thewild,andthesylvanwoodsweregentlyheavingtheirlimbsonthescentedwind.

I fell down exhausted and let the flowers climb up on either side of me. I let the red irises peer down
uponmyupturnedface.

Shekneltaboveme."Hewillforgiveme,Vittorio,"shesaid."Hewillforgiveallinhisinfinitemercy."

"Oh, yes, my love, my blessed, beautiful love, my savior, He will." The tiny crucifix dangled down
againstmyneck.

"Butyoumustdothisforme,youwholetmelivebelow,youwhosparedmeandfellasleepinmytrustat
thefeetofmygrave,youmustdothis..."

"What,blessedone?"Iasked."TellmeandI'lldoit."

"Prayfirstforstrength,andthenintoyourhumanbody,intoyourwholesomeandbaptizedbody,youmust
takeallthedemonbloodoutofmewhichyoucan,youmustdrawitfromme,andtherebyfreemysoul
from its spell; it will be vomited forth out of you like the potions we gave you, which cannot hurt you.
Willyoudoitforme?Willyoutakethepoisonoutofme?"

Ithoughtofthesickness,ofthevomitthathadstreamedfrommymouthinthemonastery.Ithoughtofitall,
theterriblegibberingandmadness.

"Dothisforme,"shesaid.

ShelayagainstmeandIfeltherhearttrappedinherchest,andIfeltmyown,anditseemedIhadnever
known such dreamy languor. I could feel my fingers curl. For an instant it seemed they rested on hard
rocksinthismeadow,asifthebacksofmyhandshadfoundharshpebbles,butonceagainIfeltthebroken
stems,thebedofpurpleandredandwhiteirises.

Sheraisedherhead.

"IntheNameofGod,"Isaid,"foryoursalvation,IwilltakewhateverpoisonImustfromyou;Iwilldraw
offthebloodasiffromacankerouswound,asifitwerethecorruptionofaleper.Giveittome,giveme
theblood."

Herfacewasmotionlessabovemine,sosmall,sodainty,sowhite.

"Bebrave,mylove,bebrave,forImustmakeroomforitfirst."Shenestledinagainstmyneck,andinto
myfleshtherecameherteeth."Bebrave,onlyalittlemoretomakeroom."

'Alittlemore?"Iwhispered.'Alittlemore.Ah,Ursula,lookup,lookupatHeavenandHellinthesky,for
thestarsareballsoffiresuspendedtherebytheangels."Butthelanguagewasstretchedandmeaningless
andbecameanechoinmyears.Adarknessshroudedme,andwhenIliftedmyhanditseemedagolden
netcovereditandIcouldseefar,faraway,myfingersshroudedinthenet.

Themeadowwassuddenlyfloodedwithsunlight.Iwantedtobreakaway,tositup,totellher,Look,the
sunhascome,andyou'renothurt,mypreciousgirl.Butonandontherecamethesewavesofdivineand
luscious pleasure passing through me, pulled from me, pulled up from my loins, this coaxing and
magnificentpleasure.Whenherteethslippedfrommyflesh,itwasasifshehadtightenedthegripofher
soulonmyorgans,onallpartsofmethatweremanandbabeonce,andhumannow.

"Oh,mylove,mydarling,don'tstop."Thesunmadeabewilderingdanceinthebranchesofthechestnut
trees.

Sheopenedhermouth,andfromhercamethestreamofblood,thedeepdarkkissofblood."Takeitfrom
me,Vittorio."

'Allyoursinsintome,mydivinechild,"Isaid."Oh,Godhelpme.Godhavemercyonme.Mastema-."

Butthewordwasbroken.Mymouthwasfilledwiththeblood,anditwasnorankpotionmixedofparts,
butthatsearingthrillingsweetnessthatshehadfirstgivenmeinhermostsecretiveandperplexingkisses.
Onlythistimeitcameinanoverwhelminggush.Herarmsweretuckedbeneathme.Theyliftedme.The
bloodseemedtoknownoveinswithinbuttofillmylimbsthemselves,tofillmyshouldersandmychest,
todrownandinvigoratemyveryheart.Istaredupatthetwinklingplayingsun,Ifeltherblindingandsoft
hairacrossmyeyesbutpeeredthroughitsgoldenstrands.Mybreathcameingasps.Thebloodflowed
down into my legs and filled them to my very toes. My body surged with strength. My organ pumped
against her, and once more I felt her subtle feline weight, her sinuous limbs hugging me, holding me,
bindingme,herarmscrossedbeneathme,herlipssealedtomine.

Myeyesstruggled,grewwide.Thesunlightfilledthem,andthencontracted.Itcontracted,andmysighs
seemedtogrowimmense,andthebeatingofmyhearttoecho,asthoughwewerenotinawildmeadow,
andthesoundsthatcamefrommyempoweredbody,mytransformedbody,mybodysofullofherblood,
echoedoffstonewalls!

Themeadowwasgoneorneverwas.Thetwilightwasarectanglehighabove.Ilayinthecrypt.

Iroseup,throwingheroff,backawayfrommeasshescreamedinpain.Isprangtomyfeetandstaredat
mywhitehandsoutstretchedbeforeme.

Ahorridhungerrearedupinme,afiercestrength,ahowl!

Istaredupatthedark-purplelightaboveandscreamed.

"You’vedoneittome!You’vemademeoneofyou!"

Shesobbed.Iturnedonher.Shebackedup,bentover,herhandoverhermouth,cryingandfleeingfrom
me.Iranafterher.Likearatsheran,roundandroundthecrypt,screaming.

"Vittorio,no,Vittorio,no,Vittorio,no,don'thurtme.

Vittorio, I did this for us; Vittorio, we are free. Ah, God help me!" And then upwards she flew, just
missingmyoutstretchedarms.Shehadfledtothechapelabove.

"Witchlet,monster,larva,youtrickedmewithyourillusions,withyourvisions,youmademeoneofyou,
youdidit tome!"My roarsechoedone upontheother asI scrambledaboutin thedarktill Ifoundmy
sword,andthendancingbacktogainmymomentum,Itoomadetheleapandclearedthespearsandfound
myself high up on the floor of the church, and she hovering with glittering tears before the altar. She
backedupintothebankofredflowersthatbarelyshowedinthestarlightthatpassedthroughthedarkened
windows.

"No, Vittorio, don't kill me, don't do it. Don't," she sobbed and wailed. "I am a child, like you, please,
don't."

Itoreather,andshescrambledtotheendofthesanctuary.Inarage,IswungatthestatueofLuciferwith
mysword.Ittotteredandthencrasheddown,breakingonthemarblefloorofthecursedsanctuary.

Shehoveredatthefarend.Shedroppeddownonherkneesandthrewoutherhands.Sheshookherhead,
herhairflyingwildlyfromsidetoside.

"Don'tkillme,don'tkillme,don'tkillme.YousendmetoHellifyoudo;don'tdoit."

"Wretch!" I moaned. "Wretch!" My tears fell as freely as hers. "I thirst, you wretch. I thirst, and I can
smellthem,theslavesinthecoop.Icansmellthem,theirblood,damnyou!"

Itoohadgonedownonmyknees.Ilaydownonthemarble,andkickedasidethebrokenfragmentsofthe
hideousstatue.WithmyswordIsnaggedthelaceofthealtarclothandbroughtitdownwithallitsmany
redflowerstumblingonme,sothatIcouldrolloverintothemandcrushmyfaceintotheirsoftness.

Asilencefell,aterriblesilencefullofmyownwailing.Icouldfeelmystrength,feeliteveninthetimbre
of my voice, and the arm that held the sword without exhaustion or restraint, and feel it in the painless
calmwithwhichIlayonwhatshouldhavebeencoldandwasnotcold,oronlygoodlycold.

Oh,shehadmadememighty.

Ascentovercameme.Ilookedup.Shestoodjustaboveme,tender,lovingthingthatshewas,withher
eyessofullofthestarlightnow,soglintingandquietandunjudging.Inherarmssheheldayounghuman,a
feeble-mindedone,whodidnotknowhisdanger.Howpinkandsucculenthewas,howliketheroasted
pigreadyformylips,howfullofnaturallycookingandbubblingmortalbloodandreadyforme.Sheset
himdownbeforeme.

Hewasnaked,thinbuttocksonhisheels,histremblingchestverypinkandhishairblackandlongand
softaroundhisguilelessface.Heappearedtobedreamingorsearchingthedarkness,perhapsforangels?

"Drink, my darling, drink from him," she said, "and then you'll have the strength to take us both to the
GoodFatherforConfession."

Ismiled.Thedesireforthefeeble-mindedboybeforemewasalmostmorethanIcouldendure.Butitwas
awholenewbooknow,wasitnot,whatImightendure,andItookmytime,risinguponmyelbowasI
lookedather.

"TotheGoodFather?Youthinkthat'swherewe'llgo?

Rightaway,justlikethat,thetwoofus?"

Shebegantocryagain."Notrightaway,no,notrightaway,"shecried.Sheshookherhead.Beaten.

Itookhim.IbrokehisneckwhenIdrainedhimdry.Hemadenotasound.Therewasnotimeforfearor
painorcrying.

Doweeverforgetthefirstkill?Doweever?

ThroughthecoopIwentallthatnight,devouring,feasting,gorgingontheirthroats,takingwhatIwanted
fromeach,sendingeachtoGodortoHell,howcouldIeverknow,boundnowtothisearthwithher,and
shefeastingwithmeinherdaintyway,everwatchingformyhowlsandwails,andevercatchingholdof
metokissmeandplymewithhersobswhenIshookwithrage.

"Comeoutofhere,"Isaid.

Itwasjustbeforesunrise.ItoldherIwouldspendnodaybeneaththesepointedtowers,inthishouseof
horrors,inthisplaceofevilandfilthybirth.

"Iknowofacave/'shesaid."Fardownthemountains,pastthefarmlands'

"Yes,somewhereontheedgeofatruemeadow?"

"Therearemeadowsinthisfairlandwithoutcount,mylove,"shesaid.'Andunderthemoontheirflowers
shineasprettilyforourmagicaleyesasevertheydoforhumansbythelightofGod'ssun.RememberHis
moonisours.

'Andtomorrownight...beforeyouthinkofthepriest...youmusttakeyourtimetothinkofthepriest-."

"Don'tmakemelaughagain.Showmehowtofly.Wrapyourarmaroundmywaistandshowmehowto
drop from the high walls to safety in a descent that would shatter a man's limbs. Don't talk of priests
anymore.Don'tmockme!"

". . . before you think of the priest, of Confession," she went on, undeterred in her dainty sweet small
voice,hereyesbrimmingwithtearsoflove,"we'llgobacktothetownofSantaMaddalanawhileit'sfast
asleep,

andwe'llburnitalldownaroundthem."

ChapterThirteen

CHILDBRIDE

Wedidn'tputthetorchtoSantaMaddalana.ItwastoomuchofapleasureItohuntthetown.

Bythethirdnight,Ihadstoppedweepingatsunrise,whenweretiredtogether,lockedineachother'sarms
insideourconcealedandunreachablecave.

Andbythethirdnight,thetownspeopleknewwhathadbefallenthem-howtheircleverbargainwiththe
Devilhadreboundeduponthem-andtheywereinapanic,anditwasagreatgametooutsmartthem,to
hideinthemultitudeofshadowsthatmadeuptheirtwistedstreets,andtotearopentheirmostextravagant
andcleverlocks.Intheearlyhours,whennoonedaredtostir,andthegoodFranciscanpriestkneltawake
inhiscell,sayinghisrosary,andbeggingGodforunderstandingofwhatwashappening-thispriest,you
remember,whohadbefriendedmeattheinn,whohaddinedwithmeandwarnedme,notinangerlikehis
Dominicanbrother,butinkindness-whilethispriestprayed,IcreptintotheFranciscanchurchandItoo

prayed.

But each night I told myself what a man says to himself under his breath when he couches with his
adulterouswhore:"Onemorenight,God,andthenI'llgotoConfession.Onemorenightofbliss,Lord,
andthenI'llgohometomywife."Thetownspeoplehadnochanceagainstus.

WhatskillsIdidnotacquirenaturallyandthroughexperimentation,mybelovedUrsulataughttomewith
patience and grace. I could scan a mind, find a sin and eat it with a flick of my tongue as I sucked the
bloodfromalazy,lyingmerchantwhohadputouthisowntenderchildrenonceforthemysteriousLord
Florian,whohadkeptthepeace.Onenightwefoundthatthetownsmenhadbeenbydaytotheabandoned
castle. There was evidence of hasty entry, with little stolen or disturbed. How it must have frightened
them,thehorridsaintsstillflankingthepedestaloftheFallenLuciferinthechurch.Theyhadnottakenthe
goldencandlesticksortheoldtabernacleinwhichIdiscovered,withmygropinghand,ashriveledhuman
heart.

OnourlastvisittotheCourtoftheRubyGrail,Itooktheburnedleatheryheadsofthevampiresfromthe
deep cellar and I hurled them like so many stones through the stainedglass windows. The last of the
brilliantartofthecastlewasgone.Together,UrsulaandIroamedthebedchambersofthecastle,whichI
hadneverglimpsedorevenimagined,andsheshowedmethoseroomsinwhichthemembersoftheCourt
hadgatheredfordiceorchessortolistentosmallensemblesofmusic.Hereandtherewesawevidence
ofsomethingstolen-acoverletrippedfromabedandapillowfallentothefloor.

Butobviouslythetownspeopleweremoreafraidthangreedy.Theytooklittlefromthecastle.

Andaswecontinuedtopreyuponthem,artfullydefeatingthem,theybegantodesertSantaMaddalana.

Shopslayopenwhenwecameintotheemptystreetsatmidnight;windowswereunbolted,cradlesempty.
The Dominican church had been deconsecrated and abandoned, its altar stone removed. The cowardly
priests,whomIhadnotgrantedthemercyofaquickdeath,hadabandonedtheirflock.

The game became ever more invigorating to me. For now, those who remained were quarrelsome and
avariciousandrefusingtogiveupwithoutafight.Itwassimpletosorttheinnocent,whobelievedinthe
faithofthevigillightorthesaintstoprotectthem,fromthosewhohadplayedwiththeDevilandnow
keptanuneasywatchinthedarkwithswordinhand.

Ilikedtotalktothem,sparwiththemverbally,asIkilledthem."Didyouthinkyourgamewouldgoon
forever?Didyouthinkthethingyoufedwouldneverfeedonyou?"AsformyUrsula,shehadnostomach
forsuchsport.Shecouldnotendurethespectacleofsuffering.TheoldCommunionofBloodinthecastle
hadforherbeentolerableonlybecauseofthemusic,theincenseandthesupremeauthorityofFlorianand
Godric,whohadledherinitwitheverystep.

Nightafternight,asthetownwasslowlyemptied,asthefarmsweredeserted,asSantaMaddalana,my
schooltown,becameevermoreruined,Ursulatooktoplayingwithorphanedchildren.Shesatsometimes
onthechurchstepscradlingahumaninfantandcooingto'it,andtellingitstoriesinFrench.

ShesangoldsongsinLatinfromthecourtsofhertime,whichhadbeentwohundredyearsago,shetold
me,andshetalkedofbattlesinFranceandinGermanywhosenamesmeantnothingtome.

"Don't play with the children," I said. "They'll remember it. They'll remember us." A fortnight went by
beforethecommunitywasirreparablydestroyed.Onlytheorphansremainedandafewoftheveryold,
andtheFranciscanfather,andhisfather,theelfinlittlemanwhosatinhislightedroomatnight,playinga
gameofcardswithhimself,asifhedidnotevennowguesswhatwasgoingon.

On the fifteenth night, it must have been, when we arrived in the town, we knew at once that only two
persons were left. We could hear the little old man singing to himself in the empty Inn with the doors
open.Hewasverydrunk,andhiswetpinkheadgleamedinthelightofthecandle.Heslappedthecards
downonthetableinacircle,playingagameofsolitairecalled"clock."

TheFranciscanpriestsatbesidehim.Helookedupatus,fearlesslyandcalmly,aswecameintotheInn.

Iwasovercomewithhunger,raveninghunger,forthebloodinthemboth.

"Inevertoldyoumyname,didI?"heaskedme.

"No,youneverdid,Father,"Isaid.

"Joshua,"hesaid."That'smyname,FraJoshua.AlltherestofthecommunityhasgonebacktoAssisi,and
theytookwiththemthelastofthechildren.It’salongjourneysouth."

"I know, Father," I said. "I've been to Assisi, I’ve prayed at the shrine of St. Francis. Tell me, Father,
whenyoulookatme,doyouseeangelsaroundme?"

"WhywouldIseeangels?"heaskedquietly.HelookedfrommetoUrsula."Iseebeauty,Iseeyouthfixed
inpolishedivory.ButIdon'tseeangels.Ineverhave."

"Isawthemonce,"Isaid."MayIsitdown?"

"Doasyoulike,"hesaidtome.Hewatchedus,drawinghimselfupinhishardsimplewoodenchair,asI
seatedmyselfoppositehim,muchasIhadbeenonthatdayinthevillage,onlynowwewerenotinthe
fragrantarborunderthesunbutinside,intheInnitself,wherethecandlelightgavemorevolumeandmore
warmth.Ursulalookedatmeinconfusion.Shedidn'tknowwhatwasinmymind.Ihadneverwitnessed
herspeakingtoanyhumanbeingexceptformemyselfandforthechildrenwithwhomshe'dplayed-in
otherwords,onlywiththoseforwhomherhearthadquickenedandwhomshedidnotmeantodestroy.

Whatshethoughtofthelittlemanandhisson,theFranciscanpriest,Icouldn'tguess.Theoldmanwas
winningthecardgame."There,yousee,Itoldyou.Ourluck!"hesaid.Hegathereduphisgreasyloose
cardstoshufflethemandtoplayagain.Thepriestlookedathimwithglazedeyes,asthoughhecouldnot
gatherhisownwitseventofoolorreassurehisoldfather,andthenhelookedatme.

"IsawtheseangelsinFlorence,"Isaid,"andIdisappointedthem,brokemyvowtothem,lostmysoul."

Heturnedfromhisfathertomesharply.

"Whydoyouprolongthis?"heasked.

"Iwillnothurtyou.Neitherwillmycompanion,"Isaid.Isighed.Itwouldhavebeenthatmomentina
conversationwhenIwouldhavereachedforthecuporthetankardandtakenadrink.Myhungerhurtme.I

wonderedifthethirsthurtUrsula.Istaredatthepriest'swine,whichwasnothingtomenow,nothing,and
Ilookedathisface,sweatinginthelightofthecandle,andIwenton:

"IwantyoutoknowthatIsawthem,thatItalkedtothem,theseangels.Theytriedtohelpmetodestroy
those monsters who held sway over this town, and over the souls of those here. I want you to know,
Father."

"Why,son,whytellme?"

"Because they were beautiful, and they were as real as we are, and you have seen us. You have seen
hellishthings;

youhaveseenslothandtreachery,cowardiceanddeceit.Youseedevilsnow,vampires.Well,Iwantyou
to know that with my own eyes I saw angels, true angels, magnificent angels, and that they were more
gloriousthanIcanevertellyouinwords'

Heregardedmethoughtfullyforalongtime,andthenhelookedatUrsula,whosattroubledandlooking
upatme,ratherafraidthatIwouldundulysuffer,andthenhesaid:

"Whydidyoufailthem?Whydidtheycomewithyouinthefirstplace,andifyouhadtheaidofangels,
whydidyoufail?"

Ishruggedmyshoulders.Ismiled."Forlove."

Hedidn'tanswer.

Ursulaleanedherheadagainstmyarm.Ifeltherfreehairbrushingmybackassheletmefeelherweight.

"Forlove!"thepriestrepeated.

"Yes,andforhonoraswell."

"Honor."

"Noonewilleverunderstandit.Godwillnotacceptit,butit'strue,andnow,whatisthere,Father,that
dividesus,youandI,andthewomanwhositswithme?Whatisbetweenus-thetwoparties-thehonest
priestandthetwodemons?"Thelittlemanchuckledsuddenly.Hehadslappeddownamarvelousrunof
cards."Lookatthat!"hesaid.Helookedupatmewithhiscleverlittleeyes."Oh,yourquestion,forgive
me.Iknowtheanswer."

"Youdo?"askedthepriest,turningtothelittleoldman.

"Youknowtheanswer?"

"Of course, I do," said his father. He dealt out another card. "What separates them now from a good
Confession is weakness and the fear of Hell if they must give up their lives." The priest stared at his
fatherinamazement.

SodidI.

Ursulasaidnothing.Thenshekissedmeonthecheek.

"Let's leave them now," she whispered. "There is no more Santa Maddalana. Let's go." I looked up,
around the darkened room of the Inn. I looked at the old barrels. I looked in haunted perplexity and
appalling sorrow at all things that humans used and touched. I looked at the heavy hands of the priest,
foldedonthetablebeforeme.Ilookedatthehaironhishands,andthenupathisthicklipsandhislarge
wateringandsorrowfuleyes.

"Willyouacceptthisfromme?"Iwhispered."Thissecret,ofangels?ThatIsawthem!I!

Andyou,youseewhatIam,andyouknowthereforethatIknowwhereofIspeak.Isawtheirwings,Isaw
theirhalos,Isawtheirwhitefaces,andIsawtheswordofMastemathepowerful,anditwastheywho
helpedmesackthecastleandlaywastetoallthedemonssaveforthisone,thischildbride,whoismine."

"Childbride,"shewhispered.Itfilledherwithdelight.Shelookedatme,musingly,andhummedasoft,
oldfashionedair,oneofthosethreadsofsongsfromhertimes.

Shespoketomeinanurgentpersuasivewhisper,squeezingmyarmasshedid:

"Come,Vittorio,leavethesemeninpeace,andcomewithme,andI'lltellyouhowindeedIwasachild
bride." She looked at the priest with renewed animation. "I was, you know. They came to my father's
castle and purchased me as such, they said that I must be a virgin, and the midwives came and brought
theirbasinofwarmwater,andtheyexaminedmeandtheysaidIwasavirgin,andonlythendidFlorian
takeme.Iwashisbride."

The priest stared fixedly at her, as if he could not move if he wanted to move, and the old man merely
glancedupagainandagain,cheerfully,noddingashelistenedtoher,andwentonplayingwithhiscards.

"Canyouimaginemyhorror?"sheaskedthem.Shelookedatme,tossingherhairbackoverhershoulder.
Itwasinitsripplesagainfromtheplaitsinwhichshe'dhaditboundearlier."CanyouimaginewhenI
climbedontothecouchandIsawwhowasmybridegroom,thiswhitething,thisdeadthing,suchaswe
looktoyou?"Thepriestmadenoanswer.Hiseyesfilledslowlywithtears.Tears!

Itseemedalovelyhumanspectacle,bloodless,crystalline,andsuchanadornmentforhisoldsoftface,
withitsjowlsandfleshymouth.

'Andthentobetakentoaruinedchapel,"shesaid,"aruinedplace,fullofspidersandvermin,andthere
beforeadesecratedaltar,tobestrippedandlaiddownandtakenbyhimandmadehisbride."

Sheletgoofmyarm,herarmsformingalooseembracinggesture."Oh,Ihadaveil,agreatlongbeautiful
veil, and a dress of such fine flowered silk, and all this he tore from me, and took me first with his
lifeless,seedlessstone-hardorganandthenwithhisfangteeth,liketheseveryteethwhichIhavenow.
Oh,suchawedding,andmyfatherhadgivenmeoverforthis."

Thetearscourseddownthepriest'scheeks.

Istaredather,transfixedwithsorrowandrage,rageagainstademonIhadalreadyslaughtered,arage
that I hoped could reach down through the smoldering coals of Hell and find him with fingers like hot
tongs.

Isaidnothing.

Sheraisedhereyebrow;shecockedherhead.

"Hetiredofme/'shesaid."Butheneverstoppedlovingme.HewasnewtotheCourtoftheRubyGrail,a
youngLordandseekingateveryturntoincreasehismightandhisromance!Andlater,whenIaskedfor
Vittorio's life, he couldn't refuse me on account of our vows exchanged on that stone altar so long ago.
AfterheletVittorioleaveus,afterhehadhimcastdowninFlorence,certainofVittorio'smadnessand
ruin, Florian sang songs to me, songs for a bride. He sang the old poems as though our love could be
revived."Icoveredmybrowwithmyrighthand.Icouldn'tbeartoweepthebloodtearsthatflowfrom
us.Icouldn'tbeartoseebeforeme,asifpaintedbyFraFilippo,theveryromanceshedescribed.

Itwasthepriestwhospoke.

"Youarechildren,"hesaid.Hisliptrembled."Merechildren."

"Yes," she said in her exquisite voice, with certainty and a small accepting smile. She clasped my left
handinhersandrubbedithardandtenderly."Childrenforever.Buthewasonlyayoungman,Florian,
justayoungmanhimself."

"Isawhimonce,"saidthepriest,hisvoicethickwithhiscryingbutsoft."Onlyonce."

'Andyouknew?"Iasked.

"I knew I was powerless and my faith was desperate, and that around me were bonds that I could not
looseorbreak."

"Let'sgonow,Vittorio,don'tmakehimcryanymore,"saidUrsula."Comeon,Vittorio.Let'sleavehere.
Weneednobloodtonightandcannotthinkofharmingthem,cannoteven..."

"No,beloved,never,"Isaidtoher."Buttakemygift,Father,please,theonlycleanthingwhichIcangive,
mytestimonythatIsawtheangels,andthattheyupheldmewhenIwasweak."

"And won't you take absolution from me, Vittorio!" he said. His voice rose, and his chest seemed to
increaseinsize."VittorioandUrsula,takemyabsolution."

"No,Father,"Isaid."Wecannottakeit.Wedon'twantit."

"Butwhy?"

"Because, Father," said Ursula kindly, "we plan to sin again as soon as we possibly can." Chapter
Fourteen

THROUGHAGLASSDARKLY

Shedidn'tlie.

WejourneyedthatnighttomyIfather'shouse.ItwasnothingforustoImakethatjourney,butitwasmany
milesforamortal,andwordhadnotreachedthatforlornfarmlandthatthethreatofthenightdemons,the
vampiresofFlorian,wasgone.Indeed,itismostlikelythatmyfarmswerestilldesertedbecauseghastly
tales were given out by those who had fled Santa Maddalana, traveling over hill and valley, mouth to
mouth.Itdidn'ttakemelongtorealize,however,thatthegreatcastleofmyfamilywasoccupied.Ahorde
ofsoldiersandclerkshadbeenhardatwork.Aswecreptoverthegiantwallaftermidnight,wefound
thatallthedeadofmyfamilyhadbeenproperlyburied,orplacedintheirproperstonecoffinsbeneaththe
chapel,andthatthegoodsofthehousehold,allofitsabundantwealth,hadbeentakenaway.Onlyafew
wagonsremainedofthosewhichmusthavealreadystartedtheirprogresssouth.

Thefewwhosleptintheofficesofmyfather'sstewardwerekeepersoftheaccountsoftheMedicibank,
andontiptoe,inthedimlightofastar-studdedsky,Iinspectedthefewpaperstheyhadleftouttodry.

AlloftheinheritanceofVittoriodiRaniarihadbeencollectedandcatalogued,andwasbeingtakenonto
Florenceforhim,tobeplacedinsafetywithCosimountilsuchtimeasVittoriodiRaniariwastwenty-
fouryearsofageandcouldtherebyassumeresponsibilityforhimselfasaman.

Onlyafewsoldierssleptinthebarracks.Onlyafewhorseswerequarteredinthestables.Onlyafew
squiresandattendantssleptinproximitytotheirLords.Obviouslythegreatcastle,beingofnostrategic
use to Milanese or German or French or Papal authority, or to Florence, was not being restored or
repaired, merely shut down. Well before dawn, we left my home, but before going, I took leave of my
father'sgrave.IknewthatIwouldcomeback.Iknewthatsoonthetreeswouldclimbthemountaintothe
walls.Iknewthatthegrasswouldgrowhighthroughthecrevicesandcracksofthecobblestones.Iknew
that things human would lose all love of this place, as they had lost their love of so many ruins in the
countryround.

Iwouldreturnthen.Iwouldcomeback.

That night, Ursula and I hunted the vicinity for the few brigands we could find in the woods, laughing
gailywhenwecaughtthemanddraggedthemfromtheirhorses.Itwasariotousoldfeast.

'Andwherenow,myLord?"mybrideaskedmetowardsmorning.Wehadagainfoundacaveforshelter,
adeepandhiddenplace,fullofthornyvinesthatbarelyscratchedourresilientskin,behindaveilofwild
blueberriesthatwouldhideusfromalleyes,includingthatofthegreatrisingsun.

"ToFlorence,mylove.Ihavetogothere.Andinitsstreets,we'llneversufferhunger,ordiscovery,and
therearethingswhichImustseewithmyowneyes'

"Butwhatarethosethings,Vittorio?"sheasked.

"Paintings,mylove,paintings.Ihavetoseetheangelsinthepaintings.Ihaveto...facethem,asitwere."

Shewascontent.ShehadneverseenthegreatcityofFlorence.Shehad,allherwretchedeternityofritual
andcourtlydiscipline,beencontainedinthemountains,andshelaydownbesidemetodreamoffreedom,
ofbrilliantcolorsofblueandgreenandgold,socontrarytothedarkredthatshestillwore.Shelaydown
besideme,trustingme,and,asforme,Itrustednothing.

I only licked the human blood on my lips and wondered how long I might have on this earth before

someonestruckoffmyheadwithaswiftandcertainsword.ChapterFifteen

THEIMMACULATECONCEPTION

ThecityofFlorencewasinanuproar."Why?"Iasked.Itwaswellpastcurfew,towhichInoonewas
payingmuchattention,andtherewasahugecrowdofstudentscongregatedinSantaMariaMaggiori-the
Duomo-listeningtoalecturebyahumanistwhopleadedthatFraFilippoLippiwasnotsuchapig.No
onetookmuchnoteofus.Wehadfedearly,inthecountryside,andworeheavymantles,andwhatcould
theyseeofusbutalittlepaleflesh?Iwentintothechurch.Thecrowdcameoutalmosttothedoors.

"What'sthematter?What'shappenedtothegreatpainter?"

"Oh,he'sdoneitnow,"saidthemanwhoansweredme,notevenbotheringtolookatmeorattheslender
figureofUrsulaclingingtome.

Themanwastoointentonlookingatthelecturer,whostoodupahead,hisvoiceechoingsharplyinthe
overwhelminglargenave.

"Donewhat?"

Gettingnoanswer,Ipushedmywayalittledeeperintothethick,odiferoushumancrowd,pullingUrsula
withme.

Shewasstillshyofsuchanimmensecity,andshehadnotseenaCathedralonthisscaleinthemorethan
twohundredyearsofherlife.

OnceagainIputmyquestiontotwoyoungstudents,whoturnedatoncetoanswerme,fashionableboys
both,abouteighteen,orwhattheycalledtheninFlorencegiovani,beingthemostdifficultofyouths,too
oldtobeachild,suchasIwas,andtooyoungtobeaman.

"Well,heaskedforthefairestofthenunstoposeforthealtarpiecethathewaspaintingoftheblessed
Virgin,that'swhathedid,"saidthefirststudent,black-hairedanddeepeyed,staringatmewithacunning
smile. "He asked for her as a model, asked that the convent choose her for him, so that the Virgin he
paintedwouldbemostperfect,andthen..."

Theotherstudenttookitup.

"...heranoffwithher!Stolethenunrightoutoftheconvent,ranoffwithherandhersister,mindyou,her
blood-kindredsister,andhassetuphishouseholdrightoverhisshop,heandhisnunandhersister,the
threeofthem,themonkandthetwonuns...andlivesinsinwithher,LucreziaButi,andpaintstheVirgin
onthealtarpieceanddoesnotgiveadamnwhatanyonethinks."

Therewasjostlingandpushinginthecrowdaboutus.

Mentoldustobequiet.Thestudentswerechokingontheirlaughter.

"If he didn't have Cosimo," said the first student, lowering his voice in an obedient but mischievous
whisper, "they'd string him up, I mean her family, the Buti, would at least, if not the priests of the

CarmeliteOrder,ifnotthewholedamnedtown."Theotherstudentshookhisheadandcoveredhismouth
nottolaughoutloud.Thespeaker,farahead,advisedalltoremaincalmandletthisscandalandoutrage
be handled by the proper authorities, for everyone knew that nowhere in all of Florence was there a
painteranygreaterthanFraFilippo,andthatCosimowouldtendtothisinhisowntime.

"He'salwaysbeentormented,"saidthestudentbesideme.

"Tormented," I whispered. "Tormented." His face came back to me, the monk glimpsed years ago in
Cosimo'shouseintheViaLarga,themanarguingsofiercelytobefree,onlytobewithawomanfora
little while. I felt the strangest conflict within, the strangest darkest fear. "Oh, that they don't hurt him
again."

"Onemightwonder,"cameasoftvoiceinmyear.Iturned,butIsawnoonewhocouldhavespokento
me.

Ursulalookedabout.

"Whatisit,Vittorio?"

But I knew the whisper, and it came again, bodiless and intimate, "One might wonder, where were his
guardian angels on the day that Fra Filippo did such a mad thing?" I turned in a mad frantic circle,
searchingfortheoriginofthevoice.Menbackedawayfrommeandmadelittlegesturesofannoyance.I
snatchedupUrsula'shandandmadeforthedoors.

Only when I was outside in the piazza did my heart stop pounding. I had not known that with this new
bloodIcouldfeelsuchanxietyandmiseryandfear.

"Oh,runoffwithanuntopainttheVirgin!"Icriedoutundermybreath.

"Don'tcry,Vittorio,"shesaid.

"Don't speak to me as if I were your little brother!" I said to her, and then was full of shame. She was
strickenbymywords,asifI'dslappedher.Itookherfingersandkissedthem."I'msorry,Ursula,Iam
sorry."

Ipulledheralongbesideme.

"Butwherearewegoing?"

"TothehouseofFraFilippo,tohisworkshop.Don'tquestionmenow."Withinmomentswehadfoundour
way,echoingandclatteringdownthenarrowstreet,andwestoodbeforethedoorsthatwereshutupandI
couldseenolight,saveinthethirdstory

windows,asthoughhehadhadtofleetothatheightwithhisbride.Nomobwasgatheredhere.

Butoutofthedarknesstherecamesuddenlyahandfuloffilthheavedatthebolteddoors,andthenanother
andthenavolleyofstones.Isteppedback,shieldingUrsula,andwatchedasonepasserbyafteranother
slunkforwardandhurledhisinsultsattheshop.Finally,Ilayagainstthewallopposite,staringdullyin
thedarkness,andIheardthedeep-throatedbellofthechurchringthehourofeleven,whichmeantsurely

thatallmenmustvacatethestreets.

Ursulaonlywaitedonmeandsaidnothing,andshenoteditquietlywhenIlookedupandsawthelastof
FraFilippo'slightsgoout.

"It'smydoing,"Isaid."Itookhisangelsfromhim,andhefellintothisfolly,andforwhatdidIdoit,for
what,thatImightpossessyouassurelynowashepossesseshisnun?"

"I don't know your meaning, Vittorio," she said. "What are nuns and priests to me? I have never said a
wordtowoundyou,never,butIsaysuchwordsnow.Don'tstandhereweepingoverthesemortalsyou
loved.Weareweddednow,andnoconventvoworpriestlyanointmentdividesus.

Let'sgoawayfromhere,andwhenbylightoflampsyouwanttoshowmethewondersofthispainter,
thenbringme,bringmetoseetheangelsofwhichyouspokerenderedinpigmentandoil."

Iwaschastenedbyherfirmness.Ikissedherhandagain.

ItoldherIwassorry.Iheldhertomyheart.

HowlongImighthavestoodwithherthere,Idon'tknow.Momentspassed.Iheardthesoundofrunning
water and distant footsteps, but nothing of consequence, nothing which mattered in the thick night of
crowdedFlorence,withitsfour-andfive-storypalaces,withitsoldhalfbrokentowers,anditschurches,
anditsthousandsuponthousandsofsleepingsouls.

Alightstartledme.Itfelldownuponmeinbrightyellowseams.Isawthefirst,athinlineofbrilliance.

It cut across her figure, and then there came another, illuminating the alley-like street beyond us, and I
realizedthatthelampshadbeenlightedwithinFraFilippo'sshop.Iturnedjustastheboltsinsidewere
madetoslidebackwithalow,gratingnoise.Thenoiseechoedupthedarkwalls.Nolightshoneabove,
behind the barred windows. Suddenly the doors were opened and slapped back softly, soundlessly
almost, against the wall, and I saw the deep rectangle of the interior, a wide shallow room filled with
brilliantcanvasesallblazingabovecandlesenoughtolightaBishop'sMass.Mybreathleftme.Iclutched
hertightly,myhandonthebackofherheadasIpointed.

"Theretheyare,bothofthem,theAnnuncia-tions!"Iwhispered."Doyouseetheangels,theangelswho
kneel,there,andthere,theangelswhokneelbeforetheVirgins!'

"I see them," she said reverently. 'Ah, they are more lovely even than I supposed." She shook my arm.
"Don'tcry,Vittorio,unlessit'sforbeauty'ssake,onlyforthat."

"Isthatacommand,Ursula?"Iasked.MyeyesweresocloudedIcouldscarceseethepoisedflatkneeling
figuresofRamielandSetheus.

But as I tried to clear my vision, as I tried to gather my wits and swallow the ache in my throat, the
miracleIfearedmorethananythinginthisworld,yetcraved,yethungeredfor

-thatmiraclecommenced.

Outoftheveryfabricofthecanvas,theyappearedsimultaneously,mysilk-cladblondhaired

angels,myhaloedangels,tounravelfromthetightweaveitself.Theyturned,gazingatmefirstandthen
movingsothattheywerenolongerflatprofilesbutfullrobustfigures,andthentheysteppedoutandonto
the stones of the shop. I knew by Ursula's gasp that she had seen the same vivid series of miraculous
gestures.Herhandwenttoherlips.

Theirfacesborenowrath,nosadness.Theymerelylookedatme,andintheirsweetsoftlookswasallthe
condemnationIhaveeverunderstood.

"Punishme,"Iwhispered."PunishmebytakingawaymyeyesthatIcanneverseeyourbeautyagain."

Very slowly, Ramiel shook his head to answer no. And Setheus followed with the same negation. They
stood side by side in their bare feet, as always, their abundant garments too light for movement on the
heavyair,astheymerelycontinuedtogaze.

"Whatthen?"Isaid."WhatdoIdeservefromyou?HowisitthatIcanseeyouandseeyourgloryeven
still?"Iwasawreckofchildishtearsagain,nomatterhowUrsulastaredatme,nomatterhowshetried
withhersilentreproachtomakethemanofme.Icouldn'tstopmyself.

"Whatthen?HowcanIseeyoustill?"

"You'llalwaysseeus,"Ramielsaidsoftly,tonelessly.

"Every time you ever look at one of his paintings, you will see us," said Setheus, "or you will see our
like."

Therewasnojudgmentinit.Therewasmerelythesamelovelyserenityandkindnessthattheyhadalways
bestowedonme.

Butitwasnotfinished.Isawbehindthem,takingdarkshape,myownguardians,thatsolemnivorypair,
drapedintheirrobesofshadowyblue.

How hard were their eyes, how knowing, how disdainful yet without the edge which men lend to such
passions.Howglacialandremote.

Mylipsparted.Acrywasthere.Aterriblecry.ButIdarednotrousethenightaroundme,theinfinitenight
thatmovedoutoverthethousandsofslantedred-tilerooftops,outoverthehillsandthecountry,outunder
thenumberlessstars.

Suddenly the entire building began to move. It trembled, and the canvases, brilliant and shimmering in
theirbathofburninglight,wereglitteringasifshakenbyatremoroftheveryearthitself.

Mastemaappearedsuddenlybeforeme,andtheroomwassweptbackward,broadened,deepened,andall
thoselesserangelsweresweptbackfromhimasifbyasoundlesswindthatcannotbedefied.

The flood of light ignited his immense gold wings as they spread out, crowding the very corners of the
vastnessandpushingiteventogreaterbreadth,andtheredofhishelmetglaredasifitweremolten,and
outofhissheath,hedrewhissword.Ibackedup.IforcedUrsulabehindme.Ipushedherbackagainstthe
dampcoldwallandimprisonedherthere,behindme,assafeasIcouldmakeheronthefaceoftheearth,
withmyarmsstretchedbacktoholdhersothatshecouldnot,mustnot,betakenaway.

"Ah," said Mastema, nodding, smiling. The sword was uplifted. "So even now you would go into Hell
ratherthanseeherdie!"

"Iwould!"Icried."Ihavenochoice."

"Oh,yes,youhaveachoice."

"No,nother,don'tkillher.Killme,andsendmethere,yes,butgiveheronemorechance..."

Ursulacriedagainstmyshoulders,herhandsclingingtomyhair,catchingholdofit,asifbymeansofit
she'dbesafe.

"Sendmenow,"Isaid."Goahead,strikeoffmyheadandsendmetomyjudgmentbeforetheLordthatI
may beg for her! Please, Mastema, do it, but do not strike her. She does not know how to ask to be
forgiven.Notyet!"

Holdingtheswordaloft,hereachedoutandgrabbedmycollarandjerkedmetowardshim.Ifeltherfly
againstme.

Heheldmebeneathhisface,andglowereddownatmewithhisbeamingeyes.

"Andwhenwillshelearn,andwhenwillyou?"

WhatcouldIsay?WhatcouldIdo?

"Iwillteachyou,Vittorio,"saidMastemainalow,seethingwhisper."Iwillteachyousothatyouknow
howtobegforgivenesseverynightofyourlife.Iwillteachyou."Ifeltmyselflifted,Ifeltmygarments
blownbythewind,Ifelthertinyhandsclingingtome,andtheweightofherheadonmyback.

Throughthestreetswewerebeingdragged,andsuddenlythereappearedbeforeusagreatcrowdofidle
mortalsissuingfromawineshop,drunkenandlaughing,agreatjumbleofswollen,naturalfacesanddark
breeze-tossedclothes.

"Doyouseethem,Vittorio?Doyouseethoseuponwhomyoufeed?"Mastemademanded.

"Iseethem,Mastema!"Isaid.Igropedforherhand,tryingtofindher,holdher,shieldher."Idoseethem,
Ido."

"In each and every one of them, Vittorio, there is what I see in you, and in her—a human soul. Do you
knowwhatthatis,Vittorio?Canyouimagine?"Ididn'tdaretoanswer.

Thecrowdspreadoutoverthemoonlightedpiazza,anddrewclosertous,evenasitloosened.

"A spark of the power that made all of us is within each of them," cried Mastema, "a spark of the
invisible,ofthesubtle,ofthesacred,ofthemystery-asparkofthatwhichcreatedallthings."

'Ah,God!"Icriedout."Lookatthem,Ursula,look!"Foreachandeveryoneofthem,man,woman,itdid
notmatteroldoryoung,hadtakenonapowerfulhazygoldenglow.Alightemanatedfromandsurrounded
andembracedeachfigure,asubtlebodyoflightshapedtotheveryformofthehumanbeingwhowalked

init,unheedingofit,andtheentiresquarewasfullofsuchgoldenlight.Ilookeddownatmyownhands,
andtheytooweresurroundedbythissubtle,ethericbody,thislovelygleamingandnuminouspresence,
this precious and unquenchable fire. I pivoted, my garments snagging around me, and I saw this flame
envelopUrsula.Isawherlivingandbreathingwithinit,and,turningbacktothecrowd,Isawagainthat
eachandeveryoneofthemlivedandbreathedinit,andIknewsuddenly,understoodperfectly

-Iwouldalwaysseeit.Iwouldneverseelivinghumanbeings,betheymonstrousorrighteous,without
thisexpanding,blinding,fireofthesoul.

"Yes,"Mastemawhisperedinmyear."Yes.Forever,andeverytimeyoufeed,everytimeyouraiseoneof
theirtenderthroatstoyourcursedfangs,everytimeyoudrinkfromthemtheluridbloodyouwouldhave,
liketheworstofGod'sbeasts,youwillseethatlightflickerandstruggle,andwhentheheartstopsatthe
willofyourhunger,youwillseethatlightgoout!"

Ibrokeawayfromhim.Heletmego.

With her hand only, I ran. I ran and ran towards the Arno, towards the bridge, towards the taverns that
mightstillbeopen,butlongbeforeIsawtheblazingflamesofthesoulsthere,Isawtheglowofthesouls
fromhundredsofwindows,Isawtheglowofsoulsfrombeneaththebottomsofbolteddoors.

Isawit,andIknewthathespokethetruth.Iwouldalwaysseeit.IwouldseethesparkoftheCreatorin
everyhumanlifeIeverencountered,andineveryhumanlifeItook.Reachingtheriver,Ileantoverthe
stonerailing.

Icriedoutandcriedoutandletmycriesechooverthewaterandupthewallsoneitherside.Iwasmad
withgrief,andthenthroughthedarknesstherecameatoddlingchildtowardsme,abeggar,alreadyversed
in words to speak for bread or coins or any bit of charity that any man would vouchsafe him, and he
glowedandsputteredandglitteredanddancedwithbrilliantandpricelesslight.

ChapterSixteen

ANDTHEDARKNESSGRASPEDITNOT

Overtheyears,everytimeIsawoneofFraFilippo'smagnificentcreations,theangelscamealiveforme.
ItwasIonlyforaninstant,onlyenoughtopricktheheartanddrawtheblood,asifwithaneedle,tothe
core.

MastemahimselfdidnotappearinFraFilippo'sworkuntilsomeyearslater,whenFraFilippo,struggling
andarguingasalways,wasworkingforPiero,thesonofCosimo,whohadgonetohisgrave.

FraFilipponeverdidgiveuphispreciousnun,LucreziaButi,anditwassaidofFilippothateveryVirgin
heeverpainted-andthereweremany-boreLucrezia'sbeautifulface.LucreziagaveFraFilippoason,
andthatpaintertookthenameFilippino,andhisworktoowasrichinmagnificenceandrichinangels,
and those angels too have always for one instant met my eyes when I came to worship before those
canvases,sadandbrokenheartedandfullofloveandafraid.

In1469,FilippodiedinthetownofSpoleto,andthereendedthelifeofoneofthegreatestpaintersthe

worldhaseverknown.Thiswasthemanwhowasputontherackforfraud,andwhohaddebaucheda
convent;thiswasamanwhopaintedMaryasthefrightenedVirgin,astheMadonnaofChristmasNight,
astheQueenofHeaven,astheQueenofAllSaints.

AndI,fivehundredyearsafter,haveneverstrayedtoofarfromthatcitywhichgavebirthtoFilippoand
tothattimewecalltheAgeofGold.

Gold.ThatiswhatIseewhenIlookatyou.

ThatiswhatIseewhenIlookatanyman,woman,child.

IseetheflamingcelestialgoldthatMastemarevealedtome.Iseeitsurroundingyou,andholdingyou,
encasingyouanddancingwithyou,thoughyouyourselfmaynotbeholdit,orevencare.

FromthistowertonightinTuscanyIlookoutovertheland,andfaraway,deepinthevalleys,Iseethe
goldofhumanbeings,Iseetheglowingvitalityofbeatingsouls.Soyouhavemystory.

Whatdoyouthink?

Doyounotseeastrangeconflicthere?Doyouseeadilemma?

Letmeputittoyouthisway.

ThinkbacktowhenItoldyouabouthowmyfatherandIrodethroughthewoodstogetherandwespokeof
FraFilippo,andmyfatheraskedmewhatitwasthatdrewmetothismonk.Isaidthatitwasstruggleand
adividednatureinFilippowhichsoattractedmetohim,andthatfromthisdividednature,thisconflict,
therecameatormenttothefaceswhichFilipporenderedinpaint.

Filippowasastormuntohimself.SoamI.

Myfather,amanofcalmspiritsandsimplerthoughts,smiledatthis.Butwhatdoesitmeaninrelationship
tothistale?

Yes,Iamavampire,asItoldyou;Iamathingthatfeedsonmortallife.Iexistquietly,contentedlyinmy
homeland, in the dark shadows of my home castle, and Ursula is with me as always, and five hundred
yearsisnotsolongforaloveasstrongasours.Wearedemons.Wearedamned.Buthavewenotseen
and understood things, have I not written things here that are of value to you? Have I not rendered a
conflict so full of torment that something looms here which is full of brilliance and color, not unlike
Filippo'swork?HaveInotembroidered,interwovenandgilded,haveInotbled?Lookatmystoryand
tellmethatitgivesyounothing.Idon'tbelieveyouifyousaythat.AndwhenIthinkbackonFilippo,and
hisrapeofLucrezia,andallhisothertempestuoussins,howcanIseparatethemfromthemagnificenceof
his paintings? How can I separate the violation of his vows, and his deceits and his quarrels, from the
splendorwhichFilippogavetotheworld?

IamnotsayingIamagreatpainter.Iamnotsuchafool.

ButIsaythatoutofmypain,outofmyfolly,outofmypassiontherecomesavision-avisionwhichI
carrywithmeeternallyandwhichIoffertoyou.Itisavisionofeveryhumanbeing,burstingwithfireand
with mystery, a vision I cannot deny, nor blot out, nor ever turn away from, nor ever belittle nor ever

escape.Otherswriteofdoubtanddarkness.

Otherswriteofmeaninglessnessandquiet.

Iwriteofindefinableandcelestialgoldthatwillforeverburnbright.Iwriteofbloodthirstthatisnever
satisfied.Iwriteofknowledgeanditsprice.Behold,Itellyou,thelightisthereinyou.Iseeit.Iseeitin
eachandeveryoneofus,andwillalways.IseeitwhenIhunger,whenIstruggle,whenIslaughter.Isee
itsputteranddieinmyarmswhenIdrink.

Canyouimaginewhatitwouldbelikeformetokillyou?

Prayitnevertakesaslaughterorarapeforyoutoseethislightinthosearoundyou.Godforbiditthatit
shoulddemandsuchaprice.Letmepaythepriceforyouinstead.

THEEND

SelectedAndAnnotatedBibliography

IwenttoFlorencetoreceivethismanuscriptdirectlyfromVittoriodiRaniari.Itwasmyfourthvisittothe
city,anditwaswithVittoriothatIdecidedtolisthereafewbooksforthoseofyouwhomightwantto
knowmoreabouttheAgeofGoldinFlorenceandaboutFlorenceitself.

Let me recommend first and foremost, and above all others, the brilliant Public Life in Renaissance
FlorencebyRichardC.Trexler,publishedtodaybyCornellUniversityPress.

ProfessorTrexlerhasalsowrittenotherwonderfulbooksonItaly,butthisbookisaparticularlyrichand
inspiring one, especially for me, because Professor Trexler's analyses and insights regarding Florence
have helped me to understand my own city of New Orleans, Louisiana, better than anything directly
writtenbyanyoneaboutNewOrleansitself.

New Orleans, like Florence, is a city of public spectacles, rituals and feast days, of demonstrations of
communal celebration and belief. It is almost impossible to realistically explain New Orleans, and its
Mardi Gras, its St. Patrick's Day and its annual Jazz Fest, to those who have not been here. Professor
Trexler'sbrilliantscholarshipgavemetoolstogatherthoughtsaboutandobservationspertainingtothose
things I most love. Other works by Professor Trexler include his Journey of the Magi: Meanings in
HistoryofaChristianStory,aworkonlyrecentlydiscoveredbyme.Readersfamiliarwithmyprevious
novels might remember the intense and blasphemously fervent relationship between my character the
vampireArmandandtheFlorentinepaintingTheProcessionoftheMagi,createdforPierode'Mediciby
BenozzoGozzoli,whichcanbeseeninallitsgloryinFlorencetoday.

OnthesubjectofthegreatpainterFraFilippoLippi,letmefirstrecommendhisbiographybythepainter
Vasariforitsrichthoughunauthenticateddetails.Also,thereisthebrightandshinybookFilippoLippi,
publishedbyScala,textbyGloriaFossi,whichisforsaleinnumeroustranslationsinFlorenceandother
placesinItalyaswell.TheonlyotherbookofwhichIknowthatisexclusivelydevotedtoFilippoisthe
immense Fra Filippo Lippi by Jeffrey Ruda, subtitled Life and Work, with a Complete Catalogue. It is
publishedbyPhaidonPressinEnglandanddistributedinAmericabyHarryN.Abrams.

The most enjoyable books for the general reader that I have read on Florence and on the Medici have

beenbyChristopherHibbert,includinghisFlorence:TheBiographyofaCity,publishedbyNorton,and
TheHouseofMedici:ItsRiseandFall,publishedbyMorrow.

There is also The Medici of Florence: A Family Portrait, by Emma Micheletti, published by Becocci
Editore.TheMedicibyJamesCleugh,publishedoriginallyin1975,isavailablenowthroughBarnes&
Noble.

PopularbooksonFlorenceandTuscany—travelers'observations,lovingmemoirsandtributes—abound.

Primarysourcesintranslation-thatis,lettersanddiariesandhistorieswrittenduringtheRenaissancein
Florence - are everywhere on library and bookstore shelves. In trying to render correctly Vittorio's
quotations from Aquinas, I used the translation of the Summa Theologica by Fathers of the English
DominicanProvince.IndealingwithSt.Augustine,IhaveusedHenryBettenson'stranslationofTheCity
ofGod,publishedbyPenguinBooks.

I caution readers to avoid abridged versions of Augustine's works. Augustine lived in a pagan world
wherethemosttheologicallyscrupulousChristiansstillbelievedinthedemonicexistenceoffallenpagan
gods.TounderstandFlorenceandherfifteenth-centuryromancewiththejoysandfreedomsofaclassical
heritage,onemustreadAugustineandAquinasintheirfullcontext.

ForthosewhowouldreadmoreaboutthemarvellousmuseumofSanMarco,therearecountlessworks
onFraAngelico,themonastery'smostfamouspainter,whichincludedescriptionsanddetailsregarding
thebuilding,andtherearemanybooksavailableonthearchitectureofFlorenceentire.Ioweadebtof
gratitudenotonlytothemuseumofSanMarcoforhavingsobeautifullypreservedthearchitecturalwork
of Michelozzo, so praised in this novel, but for the publications readily available in the shop there on
monastery'sarchitectureandart.

Inclosing,letmeaddthis:ifVittoriowereaskedtonamearecordingofRenaissancemusicwhichbest
capturesthemoodoftheHighMassandCommunionwhichhewitnessedattheCourtoftheRubyGrail,it
would inevitably be the All Souls' Vespers, requiem music from Cordoba Cathedral, performed by the
OrchestraoftheRenaissanceledbyRichardCheetham-thoughImustconfess,thismusicisdescribedas
circa 1570 - some years after Vittorio's fearful ordeal. The recording is available on the Veritas label,
throughVirginClassicsLondonandNewYork.

In closing these notes, allow me one final quote from St. Augustine's The City of God. For God would
neverhavecreatedaman,letaloneanangel,intheforeknowledgeofhisfutureevilstate,ifhehadnot
knownatthesametimehowhewouldputsuchcreaturestogooduse,andthusenrichthecourseofthe
worldhistorybythekindofantithesiswhichgivesbeautytoapoem.

IpersonallydonotknowwhetherornotAugustineisright.

ButIdobelievethis:itisworthwhiletotrytomakeapainting,oranovel...orapoem.

DocumentOutline

VittorioTheVampire
ChapterOne

ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
Bibliography