“No more,” whispered Alessandro, ignoring Eva Maria’s warning glare, “will this dagger harm a Salimbeni, or a Tolomei, or a Marescotti. The circle of violence is ended. No more will we be able to hurt each other with any weapon. Now peace has finally come, and this dagger must be returned to where it came from, poured back into the veins of the earth.”
When Friar Lorenzo had finished the prayer, he put the dagger very carefully into an oblong metal box with a lock. And only now, handing off the box to one of his brothers, did the old monk look up and smile at us, as if this was a completely normal social gathering, and we had not just taken part in a medieval wedding ritual and an act of exorcism.
“And now,” said Eva Maria, no less exalted than he, “one last thing. A letter-” She waited until Friar Lorenzo had taken a small, yellowed roll of parchment out of a pocket in his cowl. If it was really a letter, it was very old and had never been opened, for it was still sealed with a red wax stamp. “This,” Eva Maria explained, “is a letter which Giannozza sent to her sister Giulietta in 1340, while she was living in Palazzo Tolomei. But Friar Lorenzo never managed to give it to Giulietta, because of everything that happened at the Palio. The Lorenzo Brothers only found it recently, in the archives of the monastery where Friar Lorenzo took Romeo to recover after saving his life. It is now yours.”
“Uh, thanks,” I said, watching as Friar Lorenzo put the letter back in his pocket.
“And now-” Eva Maria snapped her fingers in the air, and within the blink of an eye a waiter had materialized right next to us carrying a tray with antique wine goblets. “Prego-” Eva Maria handed the largest vessel to Friar Lorenzo before serving the rest of us and raising her own goblet in a ceremonial toast. “Oh, and Giulietta… Friar Lorenzo says that when you have-when all this is over, you must come to Viterbo and give the crucifix back to its true owner. In return, he will give you Giannozza’s letter.”
“What crucifix?” I asked, only too aware that my words were slurred.
“That one-” She pointed at the crucifix hanging around my neck. “It belonged to Friar Lorenzo. He wants it back.”
Despite the bouquet of dust and metal polish, I drank with a vengeance. There is nothing quite like the presence of ghostly monks in embroidered capes to make a girl need a drink. To say nothing of my recurring wooziness and Romeo’s ring, which was now stuck-completely stuck-on my finger. But then, at least I had finally found something that actually belonged to me. As for the dagger-presently locked away in a metal box before its journey back to the crucible-it was probably time for me to acknowledge that it had, in fact, never been mine.
“And now,” said Eva Maria, putting down her goblet, “it is time for our procession.”
WHEN I WAS LITTLE, curled up on the bench in the kitchen and watching him work, Umberto had sometimes told me stories of religious processions in Italy in the Middle Ages. He had told me about priests carrying the relics of dead saints through the streets, and of torches, palm leaves, and sacred statues on poles. Occasionally he had ended a tale by saying, “and it is still going on, even now,” but I had always interpreted that the way one interprets the “happily ever after” at the end of fairy tales: as wishful thinking, and nothing more.
I had certainly never imagined that I would one day take part in a procession of my own, especially not one that seemed to have been put on partly in my honor, and which took twelve austere monks and a small glass case with a relic through the whole house-including my bedroom-followed by the better part of Eva Maria’s party guests, carrying tall candles.
As we moved slowly along the upstairs loggia, dutifully following the path of the incense and Friar Lorenzo’s Latin chant, I looked around for Alessandro, but could not see him anywhere in the procession. Seeing my distraction, Eva Maria took me by the arm and whispered, “I know you are tired. Why don’t you go to bed? This procession will go on for a long time. We will talk tomorrow, you and I, when all this is over.”
I did not even try to protest. The truth was that I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my Homeric bed and curl up in a tight ball, even if it meant missing the rest of Eva Maria’s strange party. And so, when we passed by my door next, I discreetly extricated myself from the group and stole inside.
My bed was still moist from Friar Lorenzo’s holy-water sprinkles, but I didn’t care. Without stopping to take off my shoes, I collapsed-facedown-on top of the bedspread, certain that I would be asleep within a minute. I could still taste Eva Maria’s bitter sangiovese in my mouth, but didn’t even have the energy to go out and brush my teeth.
As I lay there, however, waiting for oblivion, I felt my dizziness receding to a point where everything suddenly became perfectly clear again. The room stopped rotating around me, and I was able to focus on the ring on my finger, which I still could not get off, and which seemed to emanate an energy all its own. At first, the sensation had filled me with fear, but now-seeing that I was still alive and had not been harmed by its destructive powers-the fear gave way to tingling anticipation. Of what, I was not entirely sure, but I suddenly knew that I would not be able to relax until I had talked to Alessandro. Hopefully, he would be able to give me a calm interpretation of the evening’s events; failing that, I would be quite content if he simply took me in his arms and let me hide there for a while.
Taking off my shoes, I slipped out onto our shared balcony in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him in his room. Surely, he had not yet gone to bed, and surely-despite everything that had happened this evening-he would be more than ready to continue where we had left off this afternoon.
As it turned out, he was standing right there on the balcony, fully dressed, hands on the railing, looking despondently into the night.
Even though he heard my French door open and knew I was there, he did not turn around, just sighed deeply and said, “You must think we’re insane.”
“Did you know about all this?” I asked. “That they would be here tonight… Friar Lorenzo and the monks?”
Now, finally, Alessandro turned to look at me with eyes that were darker than the star-spangled sky behind him. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have brought you here.” He paused, then said plainly, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I said, hoping to soften his frown. “I’m having the time of my life. Who wouldn’t? These people… Friar Lorenzo… Monna Chiara… chasing ghosts around-this is the stuff that dreams are made of.”
Alessandro shook his head, but just once. “Not my dreams.”
“And look!” I held up my hand. “I got my ring back.”
He still did not smile. “But that is not what you were looking for. You came to Siena to find a treasure. Didn’t you?”
“Maybe an end to Friar Lorenzo’s curse is the most valuable thing I could possibly find,” I countered. “I suspect gold and jewelry don’t count for much at the bottom of a grave.”
“So, is that what you want to do?” He studied my face, clearly wondering what I was trying to say. “End the curse?”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing tonight?” I stepped closer. “Undoing the evils of the past? Writing a happy end? Correct me if I am wrong, but we just got married… or something very like it.”
“Oh, God!” He ran both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry about that!”
Seeing his embarrassment, I couldn’t help giggling. “Well, since this is supposed to be our wedding night, shame on you for not bursting into my room and slapping me around in a medieval manner! In fact, I’m going down to complain to Friar Lorenzo right now-” I made a move to go, but he caught my wrist and held me back.