Free Imprimatur by Rita Monaldi, Francesco Sorti

request for daisies and the mysterious gift of three pearls, which Cristofano had recognised as being of the type used to cure poisoning and apparent death. For which reason, I feared that these little jewels might have something to do with the death of Signor di Mourai, and perhaps Brenozzi knew something, but had been afraid to speak clearly; I showed the pearls to Melani. The abbot took one look at them and laughed heartily.
    "My boy, I really do not believe that poor Monsieur de Mourai..." he began, shaking his head; but he was interrupted by a piercing scream.
    It seemed to come from the floor above.
    We rushed into the corridor, and then up the stairs. We stopped halfway up the second staircase where, sprawled across the steps, lay the inanimate body of Signor Pellegrino.
    Behind us, the other guests also came running. From my master's head flowed a rivulet of blood which ran down a couple of steps. The scream had without a doubt issued from the mouth of Cloridia, the courtesan, who, trembling, with a handkerchief that covered almost all her face, was staring at the apparently lifeless body. Behind us, who all still stood as though frozen, the chirurgeon Cristofano made his way forward. With a kerchief, he removed the long white hair from my master's face. It was then that he seemed to regain consciousness and, giving a great heave, vomited forth a greenish and exceedingly foul-smelling mass. After that, Signor Pellegrino lay on the ground without giving any sign of life.
    "Let us carry him up to his chamber," exhorted Cristofano, lean­ing over my master.
    No one moved save myself, when I tried with scant success to raise his torso. Pushing me aside, Abbot Melani took my place.
    "Hold his head," he ordered.
    The physician took Pellegrino by the legs, and, making our way through the silent onlookers, we bore him to his chamber and laid him on the bed.
    My master's rigid face was unnaturally pale and covered with a fine veil of perspiration. He seemed as though made of wax. His wide-open eyes stared at the ceiling, and under them were two livid bags of skin. A wound on his forehead had just been cleaned by the chirurgeon, revealing a long, deep gash, on either side of which the bone of the skull was visible, probably injured by a heavy blow. My master, however, was not dead. His breathing was stertorous, but subdued.
    "He fell down the stairs and struck his head. But I fear that he was already unconscious when he fell."
    "What do you mean?" asked Atto.
    Cristofano hesitated before answering: "He suffered an attack of a malady which I have not yet identified with any certainty. It was, however, a fulminating seizure."
    "And what does that mean?" repeated Atto, raising his tone somewhat. "Was he too perhaps poisoned?"
    At those words, I was seized by shivering and remembered the abbot's words the night before: if we did not stop him in time, the assassin would soon find other victims. And perhaps now, far earlier than expected, he had already struck down my master.
    The doctor, however, shook his head at Melani's question and freed Pellegrino's neck from the kerchief which he usually wore knotted over his shirt: two swollen bluish blotches appeared below his left ear.
    "From his general rigidity, this would appear to be the same sick­ness as that of old Mourai. But these," he continued, pointing out the two swellings, "these here... And yet he did not seem..."
    We understood that he was thinking of the plague. We all drew back instinctively. Someone invoked heaven.
    "He was perspiring, he probably had a fever. When we lowered Monsieur de Mourai's body to the street, he was far too easily fatigued."
    "If it is the plague, he will not last long."
    "However, the possibility does exist that this may be another similar but less desperate infirmity. For example, the petechiae."
    "The what?" interrupted Father Robleda and Stilone Priaso, the poet.
    "In Spain, Father, 'tis known as tabardillo , while in the Kingdom of Naples, it