Ritual of Fire

Ritual of FireD. V. BISHOP ContentsChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-oneChapter Twenty-twoChapter Twenty-threeChapter Twenty-fourChapter Twenty-fiveChapter Twenty-sixChapter Twenty-sevenChapter Twenty-eightChapter Twenty-nineChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty-oneChapter Thirty-twoChapter Thirty-threeChapter Thirty-fourChapter Thirty-fiveHistorical NoteAcknowledgements For readers, librarians and booksellers everywhere –you keep our stories alive The injury that is to be done to a man ought to be of such a kind that one does not stand in fear of revenge.Niccolò Machiavelli, The Princetranslated by W. K. Marriott (1908) Chapter OneThursday, May 23rd 1538Cesare Aldo could still smell flesh burning, even from this distance.In Florence it would have been one scent among many, easily missed in the city’s overwhelming assault of stenches and sounds and sights. But here in the Tuscan countryside there was time to inhale unexpected aromas, to deduce where they were coming from, and to follow an acrid odour across a hillside to its source.Even in the meagre light of a sickle moon, Aldo had not struggled to find his quarry. Few people roasted meat over an outdoor fire this long after midnight, not unless they were fools or banditi. Looking down on the inept cook hunched in the hollow of a rocky slope, Aldo knew this was no bandit. Any doubts about their foolishness were banished when the stolen capon fell into the fire, prompting a string of curses. The panicked thief failed to retrieve the bird but almost set his sleeve alight. More curses filled the air.Aldo had seen and heard and smelled enough. Pulling the stiletto from his boot, he chose a careful path down the hillside, avoiding fallen branches and tinder-dry twigs that would signal his approach. His quarry was too busy pushing the charred capon out of the fire with a stick to notice until Aldo stepped into the light.‘What are you doing here?’ the thief asked.‘I could ask you the same question,’ Aldo replied, ‘but the answer is at your feet, Lippo.’ The thief had been a successful pickpocket in Florence until he was arrested by Aldo and sent to Le Stinche. Repeated rule breaches inside the prison led to Lippo’s favoured right arm being cut off as a punishment. ‘Things aren’t going well, are they?’ Aldo asked. ‘Reduced to stealing farmyard fowls from peasants in the countryside.’‘I wouldn’t take food from peasants,’ Lippo protested, jabbing a stick through the charred capon and lifting it in the air. ‘This came from that grand villa further up the hill.’The grand villa belonged to Girolamo Ruggerio, one of the most ruthless merchants in Florence, but Aldo chose not to mention this to Lippo. Not yet. ‘I know where the bird came from,’ Aldo said, ‘but thank you for confessing where you took it from. Saves me having to gather any more evidence.’ He pointed his stiletto at the ground in front of Lippo. ‘Sit. It won’t be sunrise for a few hours, so we’ll be waiting here a while.’ Lippo scowled but did as he was told. Aldo leaned against the trunk of a stunted olive tree, blade still in hand. The prospect of chasing the thief in the weak moonlight was not appealing.‘Can I at least eat the bird?’ Lippo asked.‘If you wish,’ Aldo said, ‘but most of it is probably still raw. Better to leave it in the embers until the flesh cooks through, otherwise you’ll be sick all the way to Florence.’‘You’re taking me back? For stealing a capon?’‘For stealing three capons, one barrel of wine, half a sack of millet you abandoned a mile from where you took it, plus that doublet and the boots you’re wearing.’Lippo looked down at his clothes. The doublet was made of black embroidered silk and the boots were of the softest brown leather, while his woollen hose were a patchwork of tears and stains. ‘Have you been following me all the way from the city?’Aldo laughed. ‘Far from it. I am the Otto di Balia e Guardia’s representative for the lands east of Florence, enforcing laws and hunting criminals for the court. I spent the past two days investigating a supposed dispute between two farmers in a village twenty miles further east of here, after someone sent me a letter claiming the quarrel was about to turn bloody. But when I finally got there, both men denied having any argument, or knowing who sent the letter. I returned to a message from the Otto containing an order for your arrest. It said you were released from Le Stinche after serving your time and went straight back to thieving.’‘I didn’t go straight back to thieving,’ Lippo protested. ‘Well, not the same day.’‘Perhaps. But trying to steal the purse from one of the Otto’s own magistrates?’‘It was a mistake,’ the thief conceded.‘So was fumbling the job and letting him see you were missing an arm . . .’‘That was shameful.’ Lippo stared at his stump. ‘Never would have happened before.’‘When I read that you had fled into the dominion, I knew it wouldn’t be long before you got into more trouble,’ Aldo said. ‘So I offered coin for reports of any petty pilfering in this area. You obligingly left a trail of thefts all the way here from Florence.’‘A man’s got to eat.’‘Half a sack of millet?’‘That was also a mistake.’ Lippo sighed, giving the capon a prod. ‘You working in the dominion now? Wondered why I didn’t see you at the Palazzo del Podestà last time I got arrested.’Aldo smiled. ‘Consider it fortunate I’m the one who caught you out here.’‘Why? You’re taking me back to Le Stinche. I won’t last a month in there.’‘I’m surprised you survived a week out here. The Otto has branded you an outlaw. That means any other outlaw can capture or kill you and get their own offences reduced as a reward. That’s better than any bounty. Most of them would kill you.’Lippo shook his head. ‘I didn’t know.’‘You wouldn’t . . . until they found you.’ Aldo folded both