The Shadow Of The Bell Tower. Stefano Vignaroli
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him with his ass in the air praying to his God...», Andrea began to say, with his cheeks inflamed with fever, shaking so much that a convulsive coughing fit managed to interrupt his speech in half. Lucia took the hand of the young man among her own, trying to calm him and, at the same time, enjoying that physical contact.
«You must be quiet, or you will plunge back into unconsciousness and feverish delirium. And you must not rage against Alì. Only thank to him, you’d already be in the ground! As for me... Well, I would be Lucia Baldeschi, your betrothed.» In uttering these words, a slight redness took hold of the girl’s cheeks, which could then sink her hazel eyes into the young man’s blue, magnetic eyes, which attracted her face, her lips all over her body to him.
«I did not imagine that the Cardinal would want to reserve such a gift for me. But you are not lying to me? The enemy overwhelmed us just before we reached the Cardinal’s palace, and I believe he is no stranger to ambush!» With the force of anger, he pulled himself up a little, and Lucia hastened to place the pillows behind his back to help him sustain himself. «I should have guessed it was a trick, nothing but a political marriage! Your uncle made arrangements with his enemies, to kill my father, me, disperse my family and centralize civil and religious powers, once the invaders had been liquidated with money. But what invaders? The Duke of Montacuto and the Archduke of Urbino certainly agreed with him! I bet even not anyone knows where is my mother, perhaps kidnapped, or perhaps killed by the enemy. And you?» After having passed to the “you” of respect, he went back to speak to Lucia calling her as one did with the servants. «You’re not Cardinal Baldeschi’s niece. You can’t be. He’d never allow his niece to be here beside me. You’re a servant, a tramp sent by the Cardinal because I’m not dead yet and you must take the opportunity to finish me off. Come on, then! Where do you hide the dagger? Put it in my chest and let’s get it over with, because these wounds will kill me in a few days. Then I might as well cut the suffering short.»
So he grabbed Lucia’s arm and pulled her towards him. They found each other’s faces very close, each felt the other’s panting breath touching their cheeks. Lucia read in young Franciolini’s eyes the fear of dying, not the wickedness. Her instinct would have been to withdraw, and instead she did the opposite, she gently placed her lips on those of him. She didn’t even have time to feel the roughness of the beard that hadn’t been shaved for a few days, which was swept away in a vortex of tongues tangled together, hands looking for naked skin under her clothes, caresses that would isolate her from reality to reach heavenly heights, and then sensations never felt before, until she reached an intense pleasure, accompanied however by a deep pain. Now the blood was hers, and it came from her intimate parts violated by that sweet encounter; she had never felt anything like it in her life, but she felt satisfied.
«How could you think I’m here to kill you? I love you, I have loved you since the first moment I saw you, a few days ago, riding out of this palace on your steed. I saved your life, I cured you, and now you have made me a woman, and I am grateful.»
She finished getting rid of her clothes and, completely naked, slipped into bed next to her love. She opened her nightgown, began to caress his chest, to kiss him, then guided his hand to touch her swollen nipples. And it was kisses and caresses and sighs, for endless magical minutes. Then she sat astride him on his belly and, guided by the instinct that told her to do so, began to swing up and down, at first slowly, and then increasing the rhythm progressively, until she reached intercourse again.
The orgasm plunged Andrea once again into unconsciousness. The girl would have liked to talk to him gently, but with the clear objective in mind to bring the speech about the symbols linked to the strange seven-pointed pentacle, seen in the basement of the cathedral, brought back to the portal of Franciolini’s palace and recalled by Andrea in his delirium. There were many topics he would have liked to talk about with him, now that he had recovered, but at that moment it was again impossible.
While Lucia retrieved her clothes from the floor and settled down, still feeling in her lap sensations that stimulated the pulse of her intimate areas, excited voices came to her ears from the entrance of the palace.
«You can’t enter in this house, you’re not allowed!», Ali was shouting. Then his voice faded to the point of extinction.
«Arrest the Moor, kill him if he resists. And search the house. The Cardinal wants Countess Lucia back in the palace immediately. As for young Franciolini, if he is still alive, arrest him without harming him. He must be tried for high treason and heresy. It’s not us who will kill him, but justice, divine justice and that of men. And the punishment will be exemplary, to make the people understand who they must be subject to: God and His Holiness the Pope!»
Lucia had just recognized the voice of the person who had uttered these last words, the Dominican Father Ignazio Amici, who together with his uncle presided over the local court of the Inquisition, when the door of the room opened wide and the satisfied grinning of two armed guards was drawn on his bow.
Chapter 4
Culture is the only thing that makes us happy
(Arnoldo Foà)
The insistent sound of the alarm clock managed to catapult Lucia back into everyday reality. With the same hand with which she had silenced the ringer, she found the packet of cigarettes on the bedside table. It had become her custom to light the first cigarette as soon as she woke up, but in recent times she had even done so before leaving the bed. Then she would reach the bathroom with the smoking stick in her mouth, devote herself to the toilet and make-up, occasionally taking a big puff of smoke, throw her cigarette butt in the toilet and earn her way into the kitchen to prepare her coffee, after which she would light another cigarette, concentrating on the new working day that awaited her. In the workplace she was absolutely not allowed to smoke, so even if she sometimes thought that this vice would be very harmful in the long run, she would throw behind her shoulders any hesitation while watching the red tip light up every time she sucked.
My body needs its dose of nicotine, so much for that puritanical dean of the foundation!, Lucia often thought lighting her third cigarette of the day, the one that allowed her to get a decent hour without having to leave her place of work before the breakfast break. In the year 2017 the spring was very rainy and, although it was the end of May, the temperature had not yet reached the summer average; so, especially in the morning at the time of going out, it was still cool, and it was difficult to decide which was the most suitable dress to wear. A quick glance at the wardrobe, while wearing a light, flesh-coloured, almost invisible pantyhose, made the choice for that day fall on a red, long-sleeved, but not wintery, dress of a length suitable to leave the legs bare just above the knee. A thread of lipstick, two strokes of brush to her naturally wavy brown hair, a line of pencil to emphasize the hazelnut of her eyes, a last pull from the cigarette, whose cigarette butt remained punctually smoking in the ashtray, and Lucia Balleani, twenty-eight years old, one meter seventy-five centimetres of austere beauty, almost unattainable by the common man, graduated in ancient literature, specializing in medieval history, was ready to face the impact with the external environment. She was one of the last descendants of a noble Jesi family, the Baldeschi-Balleani and, ironically, despite the fact that from birth she had never been able to live and dwell in the sumptuous family residence in Piazza Federico II - let alone in the beautiful villa outside Jesi - she now found herself working just in that palace. She had willingly accepted the job offered her by the Hohenstaufen Foundation, which had found its natural home there, in the very square where tradition says that in 1194 Frederick II of Swabia, prince and later emperor of the Hohenstaufen family, was born. Like all noble families, from the 1950s onwards, when sharecropping with the income from immense agricultural estates inherited from time immemorial ended, the Baldeschi-Balleani were not immune from gambling away most of the family’s possessions, selling them or selling them off to the highest bidder, in order to maintain the standard of living to which they were accustomed. The Baldeschi branch, a little wiser, had moved in part to Milan, where it had set up a small but profitable design and architecture company, and in part to Umbria, where it ran a charming farm holiday in the green hills of Paciano. The Balleani branch was left with the crumbs and Lucia’s father continued with tenacity and little profit to run the farm, which consisted of plots of land scattered throughout