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Authors: Laura Rahme
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account can be verified. While Rolandino remains our primary suspect and has admitted to stabbing Giacomo, we cannot, a priori , rule out Lorenzo’s involvement in the murders.
Above all, Antonio, keep your mind clear of superstitious thoughts of any sort.
We will see what your encounter with Rolandino brings us. Rolandino’s mind is much clouded. Invite him to believe you are his friend and do not burden him with complicated questions. Either he will hang for murder, or he will hang for his accomplice role. Rolandino is marked for execution either way. Use him as you must to determine if Lorenzo is guilty.
Yours in God,
Almoro Donato
In the Prisons
Journal of Antonio da Parma
22 December 1422
My hand shakes as I write this entry in memory of my encounter with Rolandino. The task of an inquisitor is laid out before him and he must not wither at the austere walls of the darkest prisons.
It is said that it is better to be buried alive than to dwell in the damp Wells beneath the palace’s Southern wing. But of the prisons on the upper floors, those where the accused were detained before judgment, one could only say that they reeked of fear. Without the familiar’s torch and the guiding moans and echoes resounding in the darkness, it was impossible to know where I was headed. Where the immense Sala di Maggior Consiglio, in the adjacent Southern wing, would eventually measure dozens of feet in height and more in width, here, the cramped confines and the absence of light, belied that one was at all in the Palazzo Ducale.
After passing rows and rows of bolted wooden doors, including one female ward where miscreant women, previously held in monasteries were now incarcerated, we came upon Rolandino’s cell.
It was colder here than outside the palace, yet the shiver I sensed, as the masked familiar unlocked the prison door, seemed to have come from deep within me. I heard a distant moan, like a chant, as though someone inside were fervently at prayer.
The ever silent familiar hung a flambeau to the wall and left me. In the near darkness, his footfalls pounded on the wooden floorboards, until he was faraway and I could hear nothing, save for Rolandino’s curious chanting.
Slowly, I advanced. The stench of nearby latrines assailed me but I had quickly adjusted to the dimness. I saw Rolandino. Rather, I glimpsed the figure I believed to be Rolandino, cowering in the corner of his windowless cell. In this place, with nothing but a stool and a wooden box where the prisoner may retch and use as he sees fit, no rays shine and one is left with no choice but to smell all and hear all. And if one is predisposed to hear voices in one’s head, it is worse. Was Rolandino chanting to calm his spirits?
Rolandino’s doublet had been removed. He shivered in a torn camicia stained by blood. It hung loose over his dirty hose.
I took a step forth and he turned instantly.
At the sight of him, my heart thumped in my chest. The merchant’s face was wracked with fear. Even in the cold, sweat glistened on his temples as he stared. The chanting had ceased and the light of desperation shone in his eyes.
“Rolandino Vitturi,” I pronounced in a sonorous voice. “I am here today, as your inquisitor and I will demand of you, that you tell me all that came to pass on the night of Giacomo’s murder.”
“Antonio?”
“It is I.”
“Antonio da Parma?”
“ Si , we have met once, Signore.”
“ Avogadore , I am pleased to see you.”
His voice came at me in the dark. I hardly recognized it. What had befallen the haughty merchant I had met in Santa Croce? A plaintive quaver escaped from his lips as he spoke of how grateful he was of my visit.
He had crawled forth a little. He evinced a weak smile, staring wondrously at me.
“Rolandi—”
I could not continue. A disturbing sight had caught my eye. I raised my torch.
The frightened man had etched crosses upon the wall. Even now, I discerned the
Above all, Antonio, keep your mind clear of superstitious thoughts of any sort.
We will see what your encounter with Rolandino brings us. Rolandino’s mind is much clouded. Invite him to believe you are his friend and do not burden him with complicated questions. Either he will hang for murder, or he will hang for his accomplice role. Rolandino is marked for execution either way. Use him as you must to determine if Lorenzo is guilty.
Yours in God,
Almoro Donato
In the Prisons
Journal of Antonio da Parma
22 December 1422
My hand shakes as I write this entry in memory of my encounter with Rolandino. The task of an inquisitor is laid out before him and he must not wither at the austere walls of the darkest prisons.
It is said that it is better to be buried alive than to dwell in the damp Wells beneath the palace’s Southern wing. But of the prisons on the upper floors, those where the accused were detained before judgment, one could only say that they reeked of fear. Without the familiar’s torch and the guiding moans and echoes resounding in the darkness, it was impossible to know where I was headed. Where the immense Sala di Maggior Consiglio, in the adjacent Southern wing, would eventually measure dozens of feet in height and more in width, here, the cramped confines and the absence of light, belied that one was at all in the Palazzo Ducale.
After passing rows and rows of bolted wooden doors, including one female ward where miscreant women, previously held in monasteries were now incarcerated, we came upon Rolandino’s cell.
It was colder here than outside the palace, yet the shiver I sensed, as the masked familiar unlocked the prison door, seemed to have come from deep within me. I heard a distant moan, like a chant, as though someone inside were fervently at prayer.
The ever silent familiar hung a flambeau to the wall and left me. In the near darkness, his footfalls pounded on the wooden floorboards, until he was faraway and I could hear nothing, save for Rolandino’s curious chanting.
Slowly, I advanced. The stench of nearby latrines assailed me but I had quickly adjusted to the dimness. I saw Rolandino. Rather, I glimpsed the figure I believed to be Rolandino, cowering in the corner of his windowless cell. In this place, with nothing but a stool and a wooden box where the prisoner may retch and use as he sees fit, no rays shine and one is left with no choice but to smell all and hear all. And if one is predisposed to hear voices in one’s head, it is worse. Was Rolandino chanting to calm his spirits?
Rolandino’s doublet had been removed. He shivered in a torn camicia stained by blood. It hung loose over his dirty hose.
I took a step forth and he turned instantly.
At the sight of him, my heart thumped in my chest. The merchant’s face was wracked with fear. Even in the cold, sweat glistened on his temples as he stared. The chanting had ceased and the light of desperation shone in his eyes.
“Rolandino Vitturi,” I pronounced in a sonorous voice. “I am here today, as your inquisitor and I will demand of you, that you tell me all that came to pass on the night of Giacomo’s murder.”
“Antonio?”
“It is I.”
“Antonio da Parma?”
“ Si , we have met once, Signore.”
“ Avogadore , I am pleased to see you.”
His voice came at me in the dark. I hardly recognized it. What had befallen the haughty merchant I had met in Santa Croce? A plaintive quaver escaped from his lips as he spoke of how grateful he was of my visit.
He had crawled forth a little. He evinced a weak smile, staring wondrously at me.
“Rolandi—”
I could not continue. A disturbing sight had caught my eye. I raised my torch.
The frightened man had etched crosses upon the wall. Even now, I discerned the
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