Free Inquisition by Alfredo Colitto

want me to say?’ burst out Mondino, irritated. ‘That you’re right? Well, you are right. Happy now?’
    Liuzzo stiffened. ‘I only came by to remind you that your presence is expected at the sunday banquet,’ he said, in a formal tone. ‘I’ll be waiting for you to pick me up at my house, as is the duty of a younger member of the Studium .’
    Having said that, he turned round and left the room without a word of goodbye. Mondino stood listening to his steps on the wooden stairs that went down to the ground floor. Then he turned to the bookshelf and put the bundle of rough copies back in their place. It was clear that he wouldn’t be getting any work done that afternoon.
    It had stopped raining by the time Gerardo arrived at the Campo del Mercato. The working day had ended and the piazza was now full of people chatting and playing dice; taking their ease. There was no end in sight of the previous year’s famine that had caused the price of grain to rise, but people just wanted to forget about it. Three young lads played at making pebbles ricochet off the low wall surrounding the watering trough, while opposite them a peasant was washing his donkey, throwing water over its back with a wooden pail held together with strips of tin. When Gerardo asked the boys if they could show him where a certain Philomena lived, they replied in a chorus, ‘The hairy woman?’ and bolted like jackrabbits. Gerardo didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself by asking adults, so he decided to sacrifice some money. He showed the coin to the boys, who had stopped not far off. The one who seemed to be their leader, a blond, lank child, with knees covered in scabs beneath a short sleeveless tunic, came towards him, stopping at a safe distance. With a gesture he made Gerardo understand that he wanted the money first, and the templar threw it at his feet. The boy pointed to an alley not far from the watering trough and shouted, ‘The second last house on the right!’
    Then he ran off with his companions, proudly showing them the coin he had earned without much effort.
    Gerardo followed his directions, surprised, but not very, by the lads’ strange behaviour. If the woman he was looking for was a prostitute, it was likely that their parents must have told them to keep away from her house and her clients.
    The lane was foul-smelling, as were all the narrow alleys of the city. They tended to be overrun by filth and excrement despite the vigilance of the borough administrators, whose job it was to denounce anyone caught in the act of throwing rubbish away. The system worked in the main streets, but in the alleyways other customs were in force that were hard to eradicate. Gerardo walked up to the penultimate dwelling, stepping over a dead dog on which fortunately someone had thrown some quicklime, and knocked at the door.
    It was opened by the ugliest woman he had ever seen. She was old, over fifty, with grey hair under a dirty bonnet and a slovenly gown. She had a dull look about her and it was quickly obvious why the boys had saddled her with such an offensive nickname. The backs of her hands were covered in dark bristly hairs like those of a man. She didn’t exactly have a beard but her cheeks showed signs of the razor and her eyebrows were as thick as silkworms. With a shudder, Gerardo thought what her legs might be like. Fortunately her long grey tunic covered them down to her feet.
    ‘Are you mistress Philomena?’ he asked, incredulous. Angelo da Piczano could not possibly have broken his vow of chastity for a woman of this sort. ‘And who are you?’
    ‘My name doesn’t matter, I’ve been sent by a friend.’ the old crone asked who the friend was and Gerardo told her, but she didn’t recognise the name. Angelo had obviously introduced himself to her under an alias. So Gerardo described him to her, saying that his friend had come to visit some days before and had been very happy with the outcome. Finally the woman’s