kneeled next to her bed and led her in prayer, where he implored God to give her courage through his divine love and grant himself strength to present her case to the bishop. After the prayer, she moved a bit to the far side of the bed, and, as she had hoped, he sat at the edge, taking her hand again. She sat up, looking deeply into his eyes, and suddenly his arms were around her in a tight embrace. His lips searched hers. It felt strange, but not unpleasant, and she resisted the instinctive response of drawing back and let him kiss her.
"Oh Chiara, my angel. This is surely God’s hand that has brought us together. Our love is so pure that there can be no sin between us."
He fumbled with her tunic, trying to lift it. She immediately saw her chance. Once they were both undressed, it should be easy to subdue him with the threat of her knife. She did not even feel embarrassed being naked in front of him. Off came the cross hanging around his neck, and she helped his frantic effort to shed his cassock and removed his mutande, a sort of drawers, little more than a loin cloth. His skin was a sickly, pallid white, in contrast to her own pale olive complexion she had inherited from the Moorish side of her mother. In spite of his ardor, his penis was flaccid. When he wanted to draw her down with him onto the mattress, she reached for the knife in her boot and held it to his throat.
"Not a sound," she hissed, "or I will push it in."
His eyes almost popped from their sockets and his hands fell limply to his side.
"No harm will come to you if you do what I say, otherwise …," she left the sentence hanging. She doubted that she would in fact be able to hurt the poor fool. "Now, turn on your stomach and hold your hands behind your back."
He trembled, his eyes riveted on her knife.
"Do it! Now!" Although she murmured, her tone was sharp.
With a whimper he lay on his stomach, and she used part of the new cord of her tunic to tie his hands on his back. She did the same to his ankles. Next she made a ball with one part of her hose and ordered him to open his mouth. When he did, she stuffed it in firmly and bound the other part of the hose over his mouth. Then she retied the silk breast band over her bosom, put on her breeches and tunic, and finally donned the cassock over it all. Its skirt almost touched the floor. She pulled the hood firmly over her head, hiding most of her face. A quick glance at her reflection in the window pane confirmed that in the dim light of the corridor she should pass a casual inspection of the guard. She hid the small knife again inside her boot and, taking the bible, went to the door. She was just about to knock when she cast another glance back at the naked priest. That would not do. If the guard looked into the room when he opened the door, he might see him. She returned to the priest and, moved by his frightened eyes, stroked his locks and whispered: "I’m sorry to have to do this to you, you poor lad. And quiet now!" Then she covered him totally with the woollen blanket.
She was ready. She adjusted the hood once more, held the bible in her right hand in front of her chest and knocked. When the door opened, she was fingering the crucifix with her left, murmured: " Grazie ," and passed by the guard with her head lowered. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed that he briefly looked into the room and then locked it again. Walking down the corridor, she made an effort to take big steps, imitating the gate of a man. At the far end of the corridor, she almost bumped into the woman attendant who came around the corner and greeted her with " Buona serata, Padre ." Chiara’s pulse took a leap. It took all her presence of mind to mutter "God be with you", forcing the pitch of her alto voice as low as she could while turning her head to the wall. She had forgotten about that woman. It meant that her escape would be discovered shortly. She had to get out of the building quickly and hide, but where? A church!
"Oh Chiara, my angel. This is surely God’s hand that has brought us together. Our love is so pure that there can be no sin between us."
He fumbled with her tunic, trying to lift it. She immediately saw her chance. Once they were both undressed, it should be easy to subdue him with the threat of her knife. She did not even feel embarrassed being naked in front of him. Off came the cross hanging around his neck, and she helped his frantic effort to shed his cassock and removed his mutande, a sort of drawers, little more than a loin cloth. His skin was a sickly, pallid white, in contrast to her own pale olive complexion she had inherited from the Moorish side of her mother. In spite of his ardor, his penis was flaccid. When he wanted to draw her down with him onto the mattress, she reached for the knife in her boot and held it to his throat.
"Not a sound," she hissed, "or I will push it in."
His eyes almost popped from their sockets and his hands fell limply to his side.
"No harm will come to you if you do what I say, otherwise …," she left the sentence hanging. She doubted that she would in fact be able to hurt the poor fool. "Now, turn on your stomach and hold your hands behind your back."
He trembled, his eyes riveted on her knife.
"Do it! Now!" Although she murmured, her tone was sharp.
With a whimper he lay on his stomach, and she used part of the new cord of her tunic to tie his hands on his back. She did the same to his ankles. Next she made a ball with one part of her hose and ordered him to open his mouth. When he did, she stuffed it in firmly and bound the other part of the hose over his mouth. Then she retied the silk breast band over her bosom, put on her breeches and tunic, and finally donned the cassock over it all. Its skirt almost touched the floor. She pulled the hood firmly over her head, hiding most of her face. A quick glance at her reflection in the window pane confirmed that in the dim light of the corridor she should pass a casual inspection of the guard. She hid the small knife again inside her boot and, taking the bible, went to the door. She was just about to knock when she cast another glance back at the naked priest. That would not do. If the guard looked into the room when he opened the door, he might see him. She returned to the priest and, moved by his frightened eyes, stroked his locks and whispered: "I’m sorry to have to do this to you, you poor lad. And quiet now!" Then she covered him totally with the woollen blanket.
She was ready. She adjusted the hood once more, held the bible in her right hand in front of her chest and knocked. When the door opened, she was fingering the crucifix with her left, murmured: " Grazie ," and passed by the guard with her head lowered. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed that he briefly looked into the room and then locked it again. Walking down the corridor, she made an effort to take big steps, imitating the gate of a man. At the far end of the corridor, she almost bumped into the woman attendant who came around the corner and greeted her with " Buona serata, Padre ." Chiara’s pulse took a leap. It took all her presence of mind to mutter "God be with you", forcing the pitch of her alto voice as low as she could while turning her head to the wall. She had forgotten about that woman. It meant that her escape would be discovered shortly. She had to get out of the building quickly and hide, but where? A church!
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