He disappeared into the dark, until all I could see was thesmall spark of his lantern bobbing across the garden in the direction of theconvent buildings. Silence fell around me, punctuated only by familiar nightsounds: the snort and stamp of a sleeping horse, the drawn-out cry of an owl,the relentless, one-note song of the cicadas. Farther off, a whoop, followed bya gale of raucous laughter from the streets beyond the wall. I pressed myself intothe shadows of the outbuildings and waited. Where was this mysterious patient,then, if not in the servants’ quarters? I glanced across to the door FraGennaro had locked behind him. In the storehouse? Why could he not be treatedin the infirmary, like any other …
A sudden understanding flashed through me, flooding myveins with cold. This man must be an enemy of the state, someone it would notbe politic for us to be seen helping. San Domenico had a reputation forfomenting resistance against the kingdom’s Spanish rulers; it was well knownthat the more rebellious among the Neapolitan barons met regularly in theconvent’s great hall to discuss the form of that resistance, with the readyinvolvement of some eminent Dominicans. Perhaps this secret patient was aconspirator who had been wounded in the course of action against the Spanish.That would explain Fra Gennaro’s insistence that I ask no questions. Pleased bymy own reasoning, I bunched my hands into fists beneath my robe and slid downagainst the wall of the storehouse to squat on my heels, bouncing withanticipation.
I recited psalms and sonnets to measure the time; anothertwenty minutes passed before Gennaro returned, with a bundle tied over hisshoulder and carrying the full pail of water, steam rising from the cracks inits lid. I leapt up and hurried to take it from him; he nodded and paused tocheck all around before fitting the key to the padlock. As soon as we wereinside, he secured the door again behind us.
He held up the lantern and turned slowly to reveal only anunremarkable room with stone walls and a paved floor. Wooden crates lined onewall; barrels were stacked against the back. A sound of scurrying overhead mademe jump; I looked up, and a fine dust filtered through between the planks thathad been laid over the roof beams to partition the eaves into a loft space. Aladder led up to a closed hatch.
“Only rats,” Gennaro muttered. “Keep that light over herewhere I can see it.”
He gestured toward the furthest end of the room. At first Icould not make out what he meant to show me, but as I drew closer with thelantern, I saw a wooden hatch set into the floor, the stones at the edges scrapedclean where the crates concealing it had been moved away. The hatch was alsoheld fast with a padlock. Gennaro selected another key from his belt, knelt,and unfastened it. He paused with one hand on the iron ring and looked up atme, his eyes large and earnest in the flickering light.
“Your oath, Bruno, that whatever you witness here willremain sealed in your heart as long as you breathe.”
I could have taken offense that my oath was not good enoughthe first time; instead I was too impatient to see what lay beneath the door.Goosebumps prickled along my arms. I swore again, on my life and all I heldsacred, my right hand pressed over my heart. Fra Gennaro studied me for a longmoment, then lifted the hatch and led the way down a flight of stone steps intoan underground chamber.
The air was cooler here, with a taint of damp. Though I couldsee little at first, on peering harder I made out an arched ceiling and wallslined with stone. No sound came from the dense shadows further in, none of thejagged breathing you would expect from an injured man. A cold dread touched me: Suppose the patient had died while Gennaro was fetching his instruments and Iwas waiting uselessly outside? But the infirmarian showed no sign of panic. Heclosed the hatch and slid a bolt across so that we could not be disturbed. Next,he unwrapped an oil lamp from the pack he had brought and lit it carefully fromthe lantern. In the brighter glow, I saw that the chamber was dominated by asturdy table draped with a thick shroud, under which was laid the unmistakableoutline of a human figure.
A strange fear took hold of me, somewhere under my ribs,constricting my breath. Gennaro removed his cloak and hung it on the back ofthe door, indicating that I should do the same. In its place, he shrugged on arough hessian smock, such as the servants wear, and over this a wide leatherapron. Then he rolled up his sleeves, dipped his hands into the steaming water,and rubbed them clean before opening the bag he had brought with him. In the lamplight,I caught the flash of silver blades. The last item he extracted was a largehourglass, which he set upright on a box beside the table to allow the sand tosettle. When he had assembled all the equipment to his satisfaction, he tookone corner of the shroud in his hand and glanced at me.
“Ready?”
I tried to swallow, but my throat had dried. I managed anod, and he pulled back the sheet covering the body.
In the stillness, I heard myself gasp aloud, though I hadthe presence of mind not to cry out. Stretched out on the table was the body ofa young woman, about my own age, unmoving as a marble tomb. Her flesh was sounblemished that it seemed at first she might be merely sleeping; indeed, Idared to hope as much for the space of a heartbeat, until I looked more closelyand saw in her face the unmistakable contortions of strangulation. It wasclear, despite the bulging eyes, the protruding tongue, and the discoloration ofthe face, that she must have been unusually beautiful, not very long ago. Herskin was pale and smooth, her dark hair flowed around her shoulders, and herwaist was small and neat, her hips narrow, and her breasts full. Ripe bruises likeshadow fingers formed a ring around her white throat.
“By my reckoning,” Gennaro said, turning over the hourglass,now brusque and businesslike, “we have about two and a half hours until Matins.There is no time to waste.”
So saying, he took a broad-bladed knife and slit the girl’sshift lengthwise in one swift movement, from hem to neck, leaving the fabric tofall away either side. I tried to avert my eyes from the dark thatch of hair onher pubis, but it was difficult; I had not seen a woman’s body in three years.If Gennaro noticed my confusion and the color rising to my cheeks, he wasdiscreet enough not to mention it.
“Who is she?” I whispered, fixing my gaze on her feet. The soleswere bare and dirty.
“Beggar. Homeless. Come, hold that lantern closer.” His replycame just a fraction too quick.
“But — how does she come to be here?” I blurted, forgettingmy earlier promise.
“She was found in the street by one of the night patrolsand brought to me. They thought they might be in time to save her. Alas, theyarrived too late.”
He could see that I did not believe this version of events.I was not convinced that he did either. No Spanish soldier in the city wouldtrouble himself to help a vagrant girl. They were more likely to be the oneswho had abused and killed her. At least he had the grace to look away as hesaid it.
“But she has clearly met with a violent death, and quiterecently-”
He laid the back of his fingers on the girl’s neck, hisexpression speculative. “An hour or so, I would say.”
“Then surely we should report it?”
“Fra Giordano, I thought we had agreed no questions?”
I bit my lip. He paused and straightened, his hand hoveringover a selection of knives. I could not miss the impatience in his face, thoughhis voice was softer. “Listen. You told me you have read the work of Vesalius.”
“I have, but-”
“And how did Vesalius come by his knowledge of the humanbody? Where did he find his raw materials?”
“He stole corpses from the gallows at night.” I felt as ifan invisible hand were squeezing my own throat.
“Exactly. And you know he also robbed graves? In thepursuit of understanding, it is sometimes necessary to interpret the law in one’sown way.”