The Shadow Of The Bell Tower. Stefano Vignaroli

absorbing the lead dust through the cracked skin of his hands.

      «The blame for your anaemia and bone pains lies with the lead you handle every day. It is absorbed through the skin, and inhaling its dust while you breathe. If you want to live much longer, follow my advice.»

      Lucia was a young woman, at the time she was twenty years old, tall, brunette, with hazel eyes always attentive, curiously looking for every single detail. Nothing escaped her from what was happening around, she had a very fine hearing, and also the ability of foresight; moreover she was able to cure a great variety of diseases with herbs and natural remedies. This was what officially knew everyone in her hometown. In fact, Lucia had powers unknown to most ordinary people, but she tried not to reveal these, especially since she lived under the same roof as her uncle. She was a nine-year-old girl when, witnessing the burning of Lodomilla Ruggieri in the public square, was shocked by the gruesome spectacle of the execution. Her grandmother held her hand, in the crowd waiting for the condemned girl to come out of the fortress at the top of the Ascent of Death. The woman, riding a mule, her hands tied to her reins, her clothes torn and her nudity left uncovered, showed the signs of the tortures that inquisitors had inflicted in order to confess her guilt. She had a crushed eye, a dislocated shoulder, and when she was brought down from the mule, she was almost unable to stand upright. She was tied to the post, with her arms up, so that she would not fall to her knees. Then the wood was placed under her feet and around her legs. A priest approached her with the cross: «Do you deny Satan?» In response, Lodomilla had spat at the cross and the priest and the flames were set on the pile. The screams of the burning woman were inhuman, Lucia could not bear them, and she had thought intensely that, if at that moment it started to rain heavily, the water would put out the fire and the poor girl would be saved, in some way. She looked up at the sky and imagined it briefly filled with black clouds threatening of rain. Lucia understood that it was enough for her to order the clouds to rain and the flood would break out. Her grandmother, who knew the potential of the child, in order she had begun to teach her the first rudiments of magic, stopped the granddaughter just in time.

      «If you don’t want to end up like Lodomilla, restrain your instincts. It is the Goddess who has turned our friend to herself, otherwise she would have escaped the flames with her magic arts. Soon she will end her suffering and her spirit will be welcomed by the Good Goddess.»

      They heard the roar of some thunder, but not a single gut of water fell. Soon the clouds vanished and the sky cleared. Only the column of black smoke, rising from the pyre, crossed the blue sky in that end of May. Lodomilla was now a lifeless body, a burning ember. Someone kept throwing faggots and feeding the fire until the witch became only ashes.

      From that day on, Lucia had sensed that, with her powers, she could dominate the various elements of nature, putting them at her service, for better or for worse. Her grandmother had tried to guide her on the path to control her magical arts, had taught her to recognize medicinal herbs, healing and toxic ones, those with narcotic effects and those with supposed magical powers. She taught her how to cast spells and make talismans and, at the age of fourteen, she told her: «Only the most powerful witches can control all four elements, air, water, earth and fire. The union of them is represented by the quintessence, the spirit, which can soar high, make you fly, and the sky allow you to see things that you would not otherwise see. You can see the past, foresee the future, converse with the spirits of our ancestors, or listen to what I, or another person dear to you, would like to tell you even without being close to you. You can penetrate the minds of others, and read their innermost thoughts. I believe that you may be able to use all these faculties, but remember, always use them for good. Black magic, the kind you use for evil purposes, will sooner or later turn on the person who practiced it.»

      So she had opened an ancient chest and brought her niece an ancient manuscript, covered with a black leather case on which was engraved a pentacle, a five-pointed star inscribed in a circle. It was the family diary, which was passed from mother to daughter, in this case from grandmother to granddaughter, because Lucia’s mother had passed away when she was still in her infancy. The diary where each witch reported her experiences, the spells she had invented, the healings she had obtained, the magical experiences she had improved, so that knowledge and wisdom increased with time. Lucia had understood that she was now able to control all four elements when, by concentrating, she had managed to materialize a semi-fluid sphere, floating between her hands joined together like a cup, detaching itself from the palms of very little space. The sphere was nothing more than its spirit, a mixture of colours which, rotating, at certain moments mixed together to give infinite tones, at others they outlined themselves as if each element wanted to resume its nature and detach itself from the others. She recognized the air with its yellow colour, the earth with its green colour, water with its blue colour and fire with its red colour. She could order each of those elements to do what her mind desired, for better or for worse. If, for example, she wanted to use fire, her mind selected that element and from the sphere she could start a ball of fire, more or less large according to her needs. Lighting the fire in the brazier was the simplest thing in the world: it was enough that the wood was arranged to be lit, Lucia directed a small igneous ball towards it and immediately there was a nice crackling bonfire. But those powers could also be dangerous. One day a young girl of the same age, a certain Elisabeth, had apostrophized her in the street, mocking her because she had now turned fifteen and no young man had turned his attention to her.

      «They say you’re a witch, no man will want you, because the girls like you only make love with the devil. The fact is that the one you mate with is not the devil, but Tonio’s goat, the farmer who has the land down to the river.»

      Lucia threw her a ball of fire, as big as she had never made one before, and her clothes and hair caught fire. Then she invoked the air, raised her arms above her head and, with circular movements of the same, gave rise to a vortex, which broke away from her in the direction of the other girl. The wind fed the flames, Elisabetta felt the excruciating pain on her skin and began to scream. Then Lucia remembered her grandmother’s recommendations and took pity on the impertinent one. She called for water and caused a sudden downpour, then asked the earth to provide her with herbs for a soothing compress to apply to the girl’s burns. All in all, nothing serious had happened, the girl only had a half-burnt tunic and reddened skin, but no bubbles had formed either. She was supposed to cut her hair, and the remaining hair had rippled so that she looked like a porcupine, but then it would grow back.

      «Don’t get in my way again, next time I might not be able to stop.»

      «Witch, I’ll report you to the authorities. You’ll be the one who’ll be burned alive. At the stake. In the public square. And I’ll watch as the flames consume you. Witch! Witch!»

      Those words brought to mind the execution of the witch Lodomilla, whom she witnessed as a child. Without uttering any more words and without appealing to her powers again, Lucia left the place, hoping that Elisabetta’s story had not been taken seriously, and returned home to Palazzo Baldeschi, a huge building overlooking the Piazza del Mercato² . The palace had been finished enlarging a few years ago, on the basis of a building dating back more than three centuries, at the behest of her uncle, Cardinal Artemio Baldeschi, who was her grandmother’s brother. The sumptuous residence was located between the new church of St. Florian and the Cathedral. The last one was a wonderful church in Gothic style, enriched by beautiful spires on the facade, with a large interior with three naves, able to accommodate over two thousand faithful. Unfortunately, it was built on the basis of the temple of Jupiter and the ancient Roman baths, without those who had built it at the time had bothered too much to fortify the foundations. So the construction was unsafe and would have had to be torn down to make way for a new church dedicated to the city’s patron saint, St. Septimius, whose relics were kept in the crypt of the ancient cathedral. For the time being, the Cardinal celebrated Holy Mass every Sunday in the church of St. Florian, and had also obtained that the adjoining convent, destined to the friars of the Dominican Order, should instead become the seat of the Tribunal of the Holy Inquisition, as he was the Chief Inquisitor. The Dominicans had therefore been relegated to a convent further down the valley, in an old 12th century building near the church of St. Bernard and the convent of Poor Clare nuns of the Valley.

      Lucia was heartbroken when, after a few days, Uncle Artemio summoned