Free The Kingdom of Light by Giulio Leoni Page B

from your city.’
    ‘Why the philosopher?’ Dante asked, startled.
    ‘It’s in Mainardino’s papers. Arrigo was a novice with Elias of Cortona, Frederick’s Franciscan friend. And he is said to be very rich. Like Elias. Of whom it was said that he had learned the alchemical secret for making gold. Or perhaps he had found the imperial treasure.’ Bernardo seemed to be thinking out loud. ‘But perhaps everything is lost,’ he said then, shaking his head sadly. ‘Everything has vanished into dust with the death of Frederick.’
    ‘And the proof is thought to be here in Florence? Along with his treasure?’
    ‘Mainardino was sure of it. I’m trying to check that certainty. Before death takes me and freezes my lips as it has frozen my master’s.’
    Dante gripped the man by an arm. ‘Do you think you’re in danger? Tell me who is threatening you, and all my authority will rise up to shield you!’
    The other man smiled sadly. ‘Not even all the legions of ancient Rome could come to my aid, Messere. For some time now my piss has smelt of honey and a fire within me is devouring my innards. I only pray to God that he will grant me time to bring my work to its end,’ he concluded, bending once more to drink from the fountain.
    The prior waited until Bernardo had more or less quenched his burning thirst.
    Then the man stood up straight, licking his lips as if to drink every last drop. He seemed to feel better. ‘I too should have drawn up the Treaty of Jerusalem,’ he murmured.
    Dante darted him a quizzical glance, and saw a faint smile lighting up his face. ‘In Jerusalem, during his crusade, it is said that Frederick concluded a treaty with the infidels, who in return revealed to him the secret of the panacea, the drug that cures all ills and sends death back beyond the borders of the realm of darkness. Because of this legend, it is believed that Frederick never died, and that he is waiting to come back in the turning of fifty suns since his decease. Just think, Messer Durante: the return of the Antichrist in the year of the Jubilee. Wouldn’t it be a terrible joke on Boniface?’
    ‘It occurs to me that the Pope declared his
Centesimus
specifically to exorcise that possibility,’ Dante murmured.
    *
    A LITTLE later Bernardo took his leave and walked wearily away.
    For a moment the poet thought of following him, then decided to return to Maestro Alberto. Perhaps there had been some news about the mechanism. And then that book, the
Mi’raj
, kept popping up in his thoughts. The tormented faces of the dead alternated in his mind with the confused image of the heavens in his future work. As if the form of Paradise, still not found, and the dark form of the crime were merging into a single blindness.
    He was distracted from his thoughts by the sight of a massive silhouette that had emerged from a side-street to pass along the curve of the ancient amphitheatre. ‘Greetings, Messer Monerre!’ Dante called to him from behind.
    The other man jerked round, looking around to see who in the crowd had called his name. He looked worried, but his circumspection dissolved as soon as he recognised the poet.
    ‘You won’t mind exchanging a few words along the way, I hope,’ said Dante, catching up with him.
    ‘Messer Durante, it’s an honour for me to make your acquaintance. Even if I can imagine the origin of your interest in my humble person. Perhaps in other circumstances learned matters would have been our subject, rather than violence and death.’ The man had pronounced those words in correct Tuscan, rendered slightly harsh by his French accent.
    ‘I hear that you speak my language well. But to which learned matters do you refer?’ the poet replied.
    Monerre raised his finger towards the sky. ‘The science of Urania, to which I have dedicated my whole life. In Toulouse, where I was born, then in the Languedoc and finally in Venice. There I studied the chart of the skies on the maps of the ancients, particularly