The Bronze Crown. Stefano Vignaroli
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docile mares, The Mancino drove Andrea to the area where a few brick compartments had been built, where the fiercest steeds were locked up to prevent them from getting nervous just by seeing each other.
«Stallions are harder to assemble, but they give much more satisfaction. They are much quicker and can shoot at the enemy, not giving a damn about the arrows hissing near their ears. And even if you weigh them down with trappings, their performance is very little reduced. Here it is», said Gesuald, opening the door of a shelter, where a black horse whined nervously at the sight of the newcomers. «Ruffo is my favorite. He is a Murgese, a horse from Puglia, where horses were once bred for the Emperor Frederick II of Swabia and his family.»
Andrea appreciated the beautiful shapes of the steed, then lowered his eyes to study its legs and hooves.
«You can see that it’s not a horse bred in green and humid plains, but on the arid and stony hills of the Murgia. We love to remember Frederick II in Jesi, because it is the city where he was born, and I had the opportunity to have in my hands his treatise “De arte venandi cum avibus”, where he describes how these were horses suitable for falconry, because, unlike others, the Murgese is not afraid of hawks or eagles flying around him, especially when they swoop down to return to the gloved arm of the master...»
Their speeches were interrupted by hearing voices indicating the presence of other people. The Mancino signalled to Andrea to be silent and to remain hidden, cowering near Ruffo and approaching the wooden door of the shelter without closing it completely. The two thugs just crossed paths in the rooms upstairs had perhaps had the same idea, that of coming to choose the horses for the next day. Convinced that there was no one in the stables, they spoke quite loudly, so that it was easy to hear them talking. A lump went up to Andrea’s throat when the guys stopped right in front of the half-closed door of Ruffo’s shelter. The idea of being discovered in there and having to face them weren’t much liking to him, also because both he and Gesualdo were unarmed.
Luckily, the two of them moved on.
«It’s better not to risk riding stallions we don’t know about», said the older, uglier one, a guy with a pockmarked face framed by a shaved beard. «Let’s get two young geldings, instead. We have the advantage of the night anyway. We’ll reach the Montignano Tower at our leisure and have plenty of time to prepare for the ambush. It will be a quick and easy job and the Duke will reward us well.»
The other one accompanied the last words said by his friend with a loud and fat laugh. Under the incredulous eyes of Andrea and Gesualdo, who continued to remain well hidden, threw their miserable saddlebags on the first two horses that came into their sights, jumped on the animals’ backs and disappeared in the darkness of the night, leaving behind them the wake of their loud laughter and their pestilential smell.
CHAPTER 5
Culture is what most people get,
many transmit and few have.
(Karl Kraus)
That morning, too, Lucia woke up, with the first rays of the sun filtering through the shutter, in Andrea’s comforting arms. Her naked body, saturated of love, of the love given and received during the night, was protected by the strong and muscular arms of her beloved, which enclosed him like a shell. She had known Andrea for such a short time and yet she was so in love with him that she could no longer conceive her life without him. If at that moment she had woken up on a bed alone, she would already have found herself with a lit cigarette between her fingers, even before she got up. But now she didn’t, now Andrea was there to satisfy her, and nothing else was needed. She had discovered in him a man who was passionate about culture, history, ancient and modern literature, and this made that young man the ideal companion for her, with whom to share interests and passions, beyond the home and the bed. She had asked him more than once what kind of work he did and he had always answered evasively: the anthropologist, the archaeologist, the geologist. In short, she had not yet understood exactly what his source of financial support was. In order to be a researcher, as he defined himself, he had to have support, to be a scholarship holder in some university at least, Italian or foreign. Or have funding from some important private organization interested in his studies. You knew very well how difficult it was to carry out research with the limited funds made available by the government and the Ministry of University and Research. It seemed as if Andrea had enough money to do whatever was on his mind. But perhaps he was supported by the wealth of his family of origin. Who knows, maybe the Franciolini family, over time, had managed to administer their assets in a more effective and productive way than the Baldeschi-Balleani. But what did it matter? Now she still enjoyed the warmth of skin-to-skin contact, contrasted by the coolness of the sheets that partly covered their bodies. Outside soon the sun would hit hard, but the thick walls of the ancient Palazzo Franciolini kept the environment cool even in the middle of summer, without the need to install any air conditioning splits.
She had tried to limit her movements as much as possible, but at a certain point Andrea had perceived her awakening, had just opened her eyelids slit open, had brought his lips closer to her face, had printed a kiss on one cheek and had untied her from the embrace with delicacy. At that point Lucia, though reluctantly, decided to get up. She reached the bathroom and let the lukewarm water from the shower run over her body for a long time, then, still in her bathrobe and with her hair wet, she gained the kitchen and prepared coffee for her and Andrea. She sat down at the table, with the steaming cup in front of her, greedily resuming the reading of the text she had left up there the previous evening. Attracted by the strong smell of the drink, Andrea soon appeared and pulled down his coffee from the pot and sat down in front of her, activating the tablet to read the morning news on the ANSA website.
«I don't understand why you don’t turn on the television instead of ruining your view on that small screen. There’s news on certain channels all the time and...»
«It’s not the same», Andrea interrupted her. «Some particular news on TV doesn’t pass it on. I’m following closely the events of the archaeological sites destroyed by the Jihadists, the Islamic extremists. The official news are making us believe that the situation is much more serious than it is in reality. But in any case, for me, the loss of finds thousands of years old remains a fact of extreme gravity. When some of these areas are freed, I think I might be ready to leave immediately to assess the damage and bring help to the historical reconstruction of the ancient cities. We saw last year with Nineveh that much of what the ISIS militants had shown as destroyed could be salvaged.»
«And would you leave me here alone for millennia-old ruins?» she turned to him, grabbing his hand and holding it in hers.
«If you wouldn’t follow me, yes. Work is work, and I find mine very exciting. Of course, not that I’d stop loving you, but I wouldn’t give up my commitments anyway.»
Pretending to be a little offended, Lucia took her hands out, looked for the pack of cigarettes and lit one.
«Without perhaps disdaining some exotic love affair, eh? Never trust men. They’re traitors by nature.»
Lucia drew long from the cigarette and puffed the smoke at him, who took it out of his hands and pulled it back.
«Oh, not me. I'm a faithful man!»
«That statement is all to be considered. You’re 30 years old and you make love like a “matter expert”. I know nothing about your previous life. Who knows how many women you had before me!»
As if not to get involved in a speech he didn’t want to face for any reason in the world, Andrea changed the subject.
«But let's come to your work, rather. What did you find so interesting in the humble library of this dwelling, that you’re up until two in the morning and find yourself here at seven in the morning already reading again?»
Waiting for an answer, Andrea crushed the cigarette half consumed in the ashtray. Lucia, unsatisfied with the dose of nicotine she had taken, pulled the electronic cigarette out of the case and pressed the ignition button. The steam puffed out by the young woman vanished into the kitchen air.
«These documents refer to the history of this