“And look at that!” the brigand went on, mostly to amuse his comrades. “Did you ever see humble monks wear such splendiferous footwear? Now there”-he pointed his sword at Friar Lorenzo’s gaping sandals-“is what you should all have worn, my careless friends, if your intent was to avoid taxation. As far as I can tell, the only humble brother here is the mute fella on the cart; as for the rest of you, I’ll bet my balls you are in the service of some munificent patron other than God, and I am confident that the value of that coffin-to him-far exceeds the miserable five florins I am going to charge you for its release.”
“You are mistaken,” replied the senior monk, “if you think us capable of such expense. Two florins are all we can spare. It reflects ill on your patron to thwart the Church by such disproportionate greed.”
The bandit relished the insult. “Greed, you call it? Nay, my fault is curiosity. Pay the five florins or I shall know how to act. The cart and coffin stay here, under my protection, until your patron claims them in person. For I should dearly love to see the rich bastard who sent you.”
“Soon, you will be protecting nothing but the stench of death.”
The captain laughed dismissively. “The smell of gold, my friend, overcomes all such odor.”
“No mountain of gold,” retorted the monk, casting aside his humility at last, “could suitably cover yours.”
Hearing the insult, Friar Lorenzo bit his lip and began looking for an escape. He knew his travel companions well enough to predict the outcome of the spat, and he wanted no part in it.
The brigand leader was not unimpressed with the audacity of his victim. “You are determined, then,” he said, head to one side, “to die on my blade?”
“I am determined,” said the monk, “to accomplish my mission. And no rusty blade of yours can sever me from my goal.”
“Your mission?” the bandit crowed. “Look, cousins, here is a monk who thinks God has made him a knight!”
All the brigands laughed, more or less aware of the reason, and their captain nodded towards the cart. “Now get rid of these fools and take the horses and the cart to Salimbeni-”
“I have a better idea,” sneered the monk, and tore off his cowl to reveal the uniform underneath. “Why don’t we go see my master Tolomei instead, with your head on a pole?”
Friar Lorenzo groaned inwardly as his fears were fulfilled. With no further attempts at concealment, his travel companions-all of them Tolomei knights in disguise-drew their swords and daggers from cloaks and saddlebags, and the mere sound of the roused iron made the brigands pull away in astonishment, if only to instantly throw themselves and their horses forward again in a screaming, headlong attack.
The sudden clamor made Friar Lorenzo’s horses coil on their haunches and erupt in a frenzied gallop, pulling the cart along as they went, and there was little he could do but tear at the useless reins and plead for reason and moderation in two animals that had never studied philosophy. After three days on the road they showed remarkable spirit as they pulled their load away from the turmoil and up the bumpy road towards Siena, wheels wailing and the coffin bouncing this way and that, threatening to fall off the cart and break into splinters.
Failing all dialogue with the horses, Friar Lorenzo turned to the coffin for an easier opponent. Employing both hands and feet, he tried to hold it steady, but while he struggled for a good grip on the unwieldy thing, a motion on the road behind him made him look up and realize that the comfort of the coffin should be the very least of his concerns.
For he was being followed by two of the brigands, galloping apace to reclaim their treasure. Scrambling to prepare his defense, Friar Lorenzo found only a whip and his rosary, and he watched with trepidation as one of the bandits caught up with the cart-knife between his toothless gums-and reached out to grasp the wooden siding. Finding the necessary fierceness within his clement self, Friar Lorenzo swung the whip at the boarding pirate and heard him yelp with pain as the oxtail drew blood. One cut, however, was enough for the villain, and when Friar Lorenzo struck again, the other got hold of the whiplash and jerked the handle right out of his grip. With no more than the rosary and its dangling crucifix left for self-protection, Friar Lorenzo took to throwing bits of leftover lunch at his opponent. But despite the hardness of the bread, he was unable to prevent him from finally climbing on board.
Seeing that the friar was out of munition, the brigand rose to his feet in gleeful triumph, took the knife from his mouth, and demonstrated the length of the blade to its trembling target.
“Stop in the name of Christ!” exclaimed Friar Lorenzo, holding up his rosary. “I have friends in Heaven who will strike you dead!”
“Oh really? I don’t see them anywhere!”
Just then did the lid of the coffin swing open, and its tenant-a young woman whose wild hair and flaming eyes made her look like an angel of venegeance-sat up with all signs of consternation. The mere sight of her was enough to make the bandit drop his knife in horror and turn completely ashen. Without hesitation the angel leaned out of the coffin, picked up the knife, and thrust it immediately back into the flesh of its owner, as high up his thigh as her anger could reach.
Screaming with anguish, the wounded man lost his balance and tumbled off the end of the cart to even greater injury. Her cheeks glowing with excitement, the girl turned to grin at Friar Lorenzo, and she would have climbed out of the coffin had he not prevented her.
“No, Giulietta!” he insisted, pushing her back down. “In the name of Jesus, stay there and be quiet!”
Slamming the lid over her indignant face, Friar Lorenzo looked around to see what had become of the other horseman. Alas, this one was less of a madcap than his mate and had no intention of boarding the rumbling wagon at its current speed. Instead, he galloped ahead to seize the harness and slow the horses, and much to Friar Lorenzo’s distress, the measure soon began to take effect. Within another quarter mile the horses were gradually forced into cantering, then trotting, and finally to a complete standstill.
Only then did the villain approach the cart, and as he rode towards it, Friar Lorenzo saw that it was none other than the lavishly clad captain of the brigands, still smirking and seemingly untouched by the bloodshed. The setting sun gave the man a halo of bronze that was utterly undeserved, and Friar Lorenzo was struck by the contrast between the luminous beauty of the countryside and the sheer viciousness of its dwellers.
“How about this, Friar,” began the villain, with uncanny gentility. “I grant you your life-in fact, you can even take this fine cart and these noble horses, no tolls paid-in exchange for that girl?”
“I thank you for the generous offer,” replied Friar Lorenzo, squinting against the sunset, “but I am the sworn protector of this noble lady, and I cannot let you have her. If I did, we would both go to Hell.”
“Bah!” The brigand had heard it all before. “That girl is no more of a lady than you or I. In fact, I strongly suspect she is a Tolomei whore!”
An indignant shriek was heard from inside the coffin, and Friar Lorenzo quickly put his foot on top of the lid to hold it closed.
“The lady is of great consequence to Messer Tolomei, that is true,” he said, “and any man that lays a hand on her will bring a war upon his own kin. Surely your master, Salimbeni, desires no such feud.”
“Ah, you monks and your sermons!” The bandit rode right up to the cart, and only then did his halo fade. “Do not threaten me with war, little preacher. It is what I do best.”
“I beg you to let us go!” urged Friar Lorenzo, holding up his quivering rosary and hoping it would catch the sun’s last rays. “Or I swear upon these holy beads and the wounds of sweet Jesus that cherubs will come down from Heaven and strike your children dead in their beds!”