The Shadow Of The Bell Tower. Stefano Vignaroli
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Название: The Shadow Of The Bell Tower

Автор: Stefano Vignaroli

Издательство: Tektime S.r.l.s.

Жанр: Историческая литература

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isbn: 9788835421108

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СКАЧАТЬ could quickly reach the church dedicated to the apostle Peter, built by the Longobard community living in Jesi in the second half of the tenth third century. “Principles Apostolorum – MCCLXXXXIIII”, could be read above the portal; those who had engraved the date no longer had much memory of how the numbers were written in Latin, or perhaps they had never known it being an architect of Byzantine origin, already used to dealing with Arabic numerals, much easier to memorize. Opposite the church, the Franciolini’s Palace, just completed, was the residence of the People’s Capitan, Guglielmo dei Franciolini. He too had made his fortune as a merchant since, after the discovery of the New World, new commercial channels were opened and many new merchandise had also arrived in Jesi. Those who had been able to take advantage, had succeeded in a short time to accumulate considerable wealth. Lucia dwelt on the rich portal of the palace, limited by two columns and some square sandstone tiles, decorated with depictions of gods and symbols of Roman times. In all probability, while excavating the foundations of the house, decorative elements of a house of some Roman patrician had been found, and these had been reused to embellish the portal. Lucia recognized the God Pan, Bacchus, the Goddess Diana, and then some three-pointed lilies, and... a six-pointed star formed by two crossed triangles - strange, wasn’t it the symbol of the Jews? - and again a five-pointed star, a pentacle, and... a seven-pointed design inscribed in a circle, similar in every way to what he had seen just before in the crypt. These last drawings could not date back to Roman times, and in fact, looking carefully at the tiles on which they were made, one could see that these were of different features, more recent than the others, perhaps made for the purpose of decorating the portal. But what was the meaning of all this? In that little square the sacred coexisted with the profane: on the one hand the church dedicated to the principal of the apostles, to Peter, the first Pope in the history of Christianity, on the other hand pagan figures and symbols that could accuse the landlord of being a heretic. And yet the uncle Cardinal was on good terms with Franciolini, he had even proposed his son to her as her future husband! The more she looked at those symbols, the more Lucia thought that the place had something magical. Perhaps that palace had been built over the ruins of a pagan temple, and had kept its peculiarities. She tried to focus, to open her third eye to the vision, she invoked her spirit, to make it hover high and peer at elements that she would not otherwise have seen. Already in his cup-shaped hands, the semi-fluid ball of colours was materializing, when the door of the palace suddenly opened wide, showing in the half-light a young man wearing light battle armour, riding a powerful steed in turn harnessed on his head to protect him from any blows that might be inflicted by swords and spears.

      The knight held with his right hand the banner of the Republic of Jesi, representing the rampant lion adorned with the royal crown. As soon as the door was completely open, he spurred the horse outside, almost overwhelming Lucia who was there in front. The girl, frightened, became distracted, and the sphere immediately disappeared. The horse, in front of the unexpected obstacle, soaring, kicking in the air with its front paws. Lucia felt a hoof at a very short distance from her face, but she did not panic and stuck her gaze into the sea-blue eyes of the rider, whose helmet visor was raised. For a moment he lost herself in those eyes, the horse calmed down and the knight looked back at the damsel, staring in turn at the girl’s hazel eyes. There was a moment of calm, of total silence, the crossing of the two glances seemed to have stopped time.

      Who was that handsome knight, ready for a hypothetical battle to defend his city? Was it Andrea? If it had been, she should have been grateful to her evil uncle! But maybe Franciolini had other children. She didn’t have time to open her mouth, because after a few moments, the bells of St. Peter’s church began to ring, and gradually they were joined by those of St. Bernard’s church, then those of St. Benedict, and finally those of St. Florian. Throwing a last glance at Lucia, the knight spurred the horse again, reaching the nearby Piazza del Palio4 , the huge open space inside the walls, dominated by the Torre di Mezzogiorno5 . In short, other knights in arms squeezed around the one holding the banner, then came people on foot, armed with crossbows, daggers and any other weapon that could be used against the enemy.

      «The Anconetans are attacking us!» cried the noble Franciolini. «Our lookouts sighted them from the Torrione del Montirozzo6 . Today, May 30, 1517, we prepare to defend the walls of our city.»

      All the city gates were closed, the majority of the men on foot set out on the guard’s walkways, while the knights gathered in the square inside Porta Valle7 , ready to sortie against the enemy. But for that night, the Ancona army, led by Duke Berengario di Montacuto, did not approach to Jesi, but remained camped further downstream, a few leagues from the town of Monsano, half-hidden in the riparian bush near the Esino River.

      For a few days the alert remained. At dusk, the Scolte8 reached the terraces, to strengthen the guard usually given to some lookouts, and from the walls resounded the call of a song that the population had not heard for several years:

      «The trumpet sounded, and the day was over,

      already by curfew the song went up!

      Up, up, to the armed guard towers, there,

       Be careful, quietly watch out!»

      The People’s Captain had imposed a curfew on the citizens. At 9:00 p.m., those who did not go up to the stands of the walls had to strictly retire into their homes. But the guard was bound to drop early. For the evening of June 3, a party was planned at Palazzo Baldeschi, where the engagement of the Cardinal’s niece, Lucia, with the cadet of the Franciolini’s house would be announced. In those days, every time Lucia crossed her uncle’s eyes, even if she was unable to read his thoughts, she saw only one word drawn on her face: “betrayal”. But she could not understand what interpretation to give to that word, at the same time so simple and so complex.

      Chapter 2

      Guglielmo dei Franciolini, People’s Capitan of Jesi, was a wise administrator, and he knew well that it was not the case to authorize a sumptuous party just in the days when the enemy was at the gates of the city. But he could not go against the Cardinal, reviving once again the disagreements between civil and ecclesial authorities. Just a few years earlier, the Government Palace had been completed and inaugurated with the blessing of Pope Alexander VI himself, who had granted the citizens of Jesi to continue to adorn the lion with the royal crown, provided that ecclesiastical authority was observed in the city and the countryside. So much so that on the facade of the palace one could read, above the symbol of the city, the inscription “Res Publica Aesina - Libertas ecclesiastica – MD”. And so the infamous Pope Rodrigo Borgia had granted a certain freedom to the Republic of Jesi, provided that it was nevertheless subjected to the power of the Church. With this agreement, the Jesi’s people were also spared the horrors perpetrated in the rest of the Marches by the Pope’s son, Cesare Borgia, who had proposed to become absolute lord of Romagna, Umbria and the Marches with ferocity and betrayal. It was past history, almost twenty years earlier, but in any case Guglielmo had to respect the pacts. Moreover, it was the engagement of his son Andrea with the Cardinal’s niece that further sealed the agreement between the Guelphs9 and Ghibellines of his city. After all, the enemy had been camped a few days ago on the banks of the river, much further downriver, and did not mention moving. On those curfew nights, the lookouts and the Scolte had not noticed any movement; the camp’s bivouac fires were clearly visible, almost kept burning all night long by the people of Ancona. The fear, not unfounded, of Guglielmo and his son Andrea, was that all this was a trick. Perhaps the enemies were waiting for reinforcements to attack, or perhaps they drew the attention of the Jesi’s inhabitants on that small camp, while the bulk of the army would appear elsewhere. The afternoon of Thursday, June 3 had been particularly hot. While Guglielmo was preparing for the ceremony, helped by some servants to wear elegant and colourful brocade dresses, which helped to increase his sweat production, he finished giving orders to the commanders of his guards.

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