Chapter 22 Chapter 21

The bodies on the St. Trinidad Bridge still speak of a frenzied killing spree.The body was hung from a pillar near the chapel, and the friar had already given the wild dogs a good meal when they found it.Irilah says the only thing that's human is that he was eviscerated after death; but it's hard to say if that's the case, because even if he yelled when he was eviscerated, what was stuffed in his mouth Also enough to muffle the sound.The wild dogs that bit his body must have arrived not long after the murderer had left, because news spread quickly throughout the market after the body was found, and when we walked there with the crowd, there were only a few bits of his body left on the ground. offal.The church watchman was beating the dogs and driving them away; but even the tameest of them remained

He wandered around, his belly grinding the ground, lowered his head, pretending not to care, and pawed hard.When the crowd gathered, there was still one running away with a piece of entrails in its mouth; being kicked on the bridge, it howled, but still held on to its prize. "Don't you see, Irilah," I said eagerly, "it's the fifth one now." "Fifth what?" "Fifth dead man found after Lorenzo's death." "What does this mean?" She tutted her voice, "There are people lying dead on the street every day, but you, a nerd, didn't notice it."

"It's not like that. Think about it: the girl from the Holy Cross, the man and woman from the Church of the Holy Spirit who were moved to the Imprune Tower, and the man from the Baptistery three weeks ago. They were all killed near the church, mutilating their The methods are also terrible. There must be a connection." She smiled and said: "But what about the sins of these people? Two whores, a client, a sodomite and a male whore. Maybe they just repented in this way. At least, whoever the murderer was, he was Do justice for the heavens." "What do you mean? You know him?"

"Everyone knows him, why don't you think about why there are so many people watching? Marcirio Trancolo. Whatever you want, Trancolo can, or maybe find it for you. Wine, dice , women, men, boys - he has a good supply of them all at fair prices. Best pimp in Florence. I hear he's been working overtime for the past two weeks to keep up with the demands of those foreigners. Well now he'll be down Hell, it will. Hey..." she yelled, smacking the man who pushed us away, eager to get in front, "Scum, look where your hand hits." "Then don't your black body stand in the way here." The man yelled at her, "Bitch! We don't want to see women with devil's skin on the streets. Be careful, the next one to be killed It will be you."

"Unless your balls are hung on the Medici's crown first," she muttered, pushing me from behind the crowd. "But Ilila..." "But what. I told you, this is not a place for ladies." She was very angry now, but she couldn't tell whether it was out of concern or fear, "If your mother finds out, she will hang me in his on the pillar next to it." She led me swiftly across the bridge.After crossing the bridge, there were fewer people, but when we got to the town hall square, there were more people.In the days after the French left, the Town Hall Square was filled with crowds demanding a reshuffle of the government, proposing that Savonarola rule.Now his supporters sat solemnly in the city hall, making new laws they hoped would sanctify an unholy city.From the conference room, they could see the St. Trinidad Bridge in the distance; the devil's retribution was close at hand, the lessons of which could make them more engaged in their task.

Over the next few days, Ilila grew more and more impatient with my demands to go out into the street. "I can't accompany you to the street all the time. There are many things to do in this house. If you are the hostess of this house, you also have many things to do." Of course, I didn't tell her about the first night. To be brooding about this is to express it in various ways.She wasn't the only one, the servants were looking at me strangely now. Lest I get too desperate, I retreat to the library.The library was in the sunny part of the top floor, protected from the damp; it was the only room in which I felt at home.There are hundreds of volumes in the room, some of which were published at the beginning of the century.The most precious thing is a set of first editions of Plato's complete works translated by Ficino presented by Lorenzo Medici.I found a beautifully written gift in the book:

A gift for the studious, such as the lecherous Christofolo. The date is 1477, a year before I was born.The signature is exquisite, an art in itself, and who else but Lorenzo himself?I sat down and looked at the handwriting.Had Lorenzo been alive, he would have been around my husband's age.My husband and he are obviously closer than I realize; what would we say about it if he were back home? Intrigued by the origins of the book, I flipped through a few chapters.It is a great shame that, just a few months ago, the wisdom of this book would have amazed me, and now these philosophical volumes are like old heroes, venerable but incapable of mastering the world that goes on.

After reading the book, I turned to the artwork.Botticelli's diagrams of Dante still stir my heart, of course, but the cupboard where those volumes are stored is locked away by my husband.I called his servant and asked him for the key, but he said he knew nothing about it.I felt he was making fun of me secretly, maybe that was just my imagination? An hour later, he came to me again. "There is a visit, ma'am." "Who?" He shrugged, "A gentleman. He didn't announce his name and is waiting downstairs." my dad?my brother?painter?Painter... I blushed and stood up hastily. "Take him to the drawing room."

He stood by the window, looked through a narrow alley, and looked at the tall tower opposite.We haven't seen each other since the eve of my wedding.Since then, the slightest thought of him has been as resolutely snuffed out as one puts out the altar candles after the service.But now he's in front of me again, and I can almost feel myself shaking as he turns.He didn't look good, he looked thinner, his usual pale complexion was like goat's cheese, and he had dark circles under his eyes.I saw paint marks on his hands, clutching a roll of drawings wrapped in tulle.My sketch!I was so excited that I held my breath.

"Welcome," I said, carefully moving one of my husband's solid wood chairs. "Please take a seat." He was still standing, with a small sound that seemed to be a refusal from his throat.What made the two of us so jumpy and overwhelmed?Irilah once said to me that unintentional innocence is more dangerous than deliberate seduction, what does that mean?Of course, I am no longer innocent.I thought of him drawing the viscera of corpses at night, and I knew that, in some ways, he too had lost his innocence. "You're married," he finally said, his shyness like a shield, but almost sullen.

"Yes, I'm married." "I hope this doesn't bother you." I shrugged. "What's the trouble? I'm the master myself now." My eyes were still fixed on the scroll in his hand. "How's the chapel? Have you started yet?" He nodded. "And then? Is everything going well?" He mumbled something I didn't catch, and said, "I... I'm bringing you these," he said, handing out the sketches tremblingly.When I took them, I could even feel his hands shaking slightly... "Have you seen it?" He nods. "and then?" "You know I'm not the judge...but I think...I think your observation skills and brush are really good." My stomach constricted, a mixture of surprise and surprise, the way Our Lady felt when she heard the gift of God at the Annunciation; and though I knew the metaphor was blasphemous, I couldn't help thinking about it. "Ah...you think so!...then can you help me?" "I……" "Oh, don't you see? Now that I'm married and my husband wants me to be happy, I know he'll allow you to teach me how to draw. Maybe I'll be your assistant in the chapel too." ,I……" "No, no," he said in surprise, his voice as high as my excitement, "that's impossible." "Why not? You know so much, you..." "No, you don't know." He blocked my thoughts violently, "I can't teach you anything." He looked horrified, as if what I was suggesting was something very obscene. "Is it impossible, or not?" I stared at him and said coldly. "No." He whispered, then repeated it loudly, as if telling himself not just to me, "I can't help you." I was very sad, as if I fell from heaven to hell at once... "I know, okay..." I stood up, too proud to let him see how sad I was, "I know of course you have your own affairs to do." He lingered for a while, seeming to have something to say, then turned and walked towards the door.There he paused and said, "I...have other reasons." I waited for him to continue. "That night...the night before your wedding, we...you were in the yard..." But now that I knew what he was going to say, I couldn't help getting angry and saying, "So what?" "I dropped something...a piece of paper. A sketch. I'd appreciate it if you'd give it back." "A sketch?" My voice became cold. He had dashed my hopes just now, and now I want to get back at him. "I'm afraid I can't remember. Maybe you can give me a hint, what does it look like?" " "That's... nothing, I mean nothing important." "But important enough that you want to go back?" "That's just because... a friend drew it. I... I have to give it back to him." Clearly a lie--the first, probably only time I've ever heard him tell a lie without even daring to look at me.The torn drawing surfaced in front of my eyes: the man's body had been cut open from the neck to the lower abdomen, exposing the internal organs, as if hanging from a butcher's hook.Of course, until now I hadn’t recalled a realistic image: the most notorious pimp in the city was hanged on a pillar beside the church, with a pack of dogs gnawing his insides.Although the painting was a few weeks before the incident, the tragedy of the exposed internal organs is exactly the same. "I'm sorry," I replied coldly, "I can't help you." He froze and turned away after a moment when I heard the door close behind him.I sat for a while with the scrolls on my lap, then lifted them up and threw them across the room.