black cassock that must originally have been made of good cloth, probably a charitable donation.
Suddenly the church bell rang compline. As though waiting for precisely that signal, the beggar got up and came rapidly towards him.
Wilhelm watched, trying to work out whether he was a real beggar or the friend in disguise. But when the man got to him every doubt vanished: the smell and filth that he had about him couldn’t possibly be part of a disguise. Wilhelm got ready to refuse a request for alms, but the man said a phrase in laboured Latin in which the templar recognised the word amicus .
Suddenly wary, he asked the beggar to repeat himself and after various attempts managed to make out the message: the friend with whom he had a meeting could not come. He asked Wilhelm to return to his lodgings and wait for him there.
The beggar held out his good hand and Wilhelm grudgingly let drop a coin. How did the friend know where he was staying? After eating and resting, the only place he’d been to that afternoon was the office of a trusted banker to the templars, where he had changed some silver florins into Bolognese lira. But he had certainly not told the banker that he was staying in a low order of tavern.
Beginning to feel concerned, he turned back to the inn. When he got there he was surprised not to find the innkeeper sitting at the entrance to check on the comings and goings of his clients. However, loud shouts and the cackle of hens could be heard coming from the garden. He went to have a look and saw the innkeeper struggling with a stray dog that had got into the hen coup and killed two hens already. Wilhelm shook his head and went upstairs, going into his room.
He immediately felt a terrible pain at the nape of his neck and everything went black.
When he came to his senses, Wilhelm von Trier found that he was paralysed and couldn’t speak. He had a bitter taste in his mouth. Someone must have made him swallow some poison while he was unconscious. He knew that he’d been caught in a trap. The hunter, had become prey.
He heard a slight movement in the room and a clinking of metal, as though someone were preparing metallic instruments. He pretended to be unconscious, trying to discern what was happening from the noises and whether it would be possible to free himself. But he couldn’t figure it out. In the end, terrified, he slowly opened his eyes.
By an association of thoughts, what he saw took him back to the name of that evening’s rendezvous, to the word ‘Passion’ from the Latin patior , to suffer. It was about to begin.
At the end of his bed was death, looking him squarely in the face and smiling.
IV
Mondino walked into the banqueting hall with a heavy heart. When a new physician hosted the customary entertainment to celebrate getting his licentia docendi, even the older and more respected masters abandoned their usual gravitas to laugh and enjoy the pleasures of the feast. Mondino, who was closer in age to his students than to the other teachers, given that many of the students were nudging forty, made the most of these merry occasions and thoroughly enjoyed the music and singing. As a rule, he never had to be asked twice to dance a stampita or a farandole, even if he had absolutely no sense of rhythm and was always hopelessly out of step.
He was firmly of the opinion that humanity gained something with the arrival of a new graduate in the world of medicine, jurisprudence or the liberal arts. So it was right to rejoice. And this particular banquet was being given by a student from syracuse with ample means who certainly hadn’t stinted. All the teachers from the faculty of medicine had been talking about it for weeks.
And yet, as he glanced around the great hall with its cross
Vaulted ceiling and florentine tiled floor, filled with three long tables placed in a horseshoe and covered with snow-white tablecloths, Mondino felt listless. And as he watched the servants busying themselves arranging
Suddenly the church bell rang compline. As though waiting for precisely that signal, the beggar got up and came rapidly towards him.
Wilhelm watched, trying to work out whether he was a real beggar or the friend in disguise. But when the man got to him every doubt vanished: the smell and filth that he had about him couldn’t possibly be part of a disguise. Wilhelm got ready to refuse a request for alms, but the man said a phrase in laboured Latin in which the templar recognised the word amicus .
Suddenly wary, he asked the beggar to repeat himself and after various attempts managed to make out the message: the friend with whom he had a meeting could not come. He asked Wilhelm to return to his lodgings and wait for him there.
The beggar held out his good hand and Wilhelm grudgingly let drop a coin. How did the friend know where he was staying? After eating and resting, the only place he’d been to that afternoon was the office of a trusted banker to the templars, where he had changed some silver florins into Bolognese lira. But he had certainly not told the banker that he was staying in a low order of tavern.
Beginning to feel concerned, he turned back to the inn. When he got there he was surprised not to find the innkeeper sitting at the entrance to check on the comings and goings of his clients. However, loud shouts and the cackle of hens could be heard coming from the garden. He went to have a look and saw the innkeeper struggling with a stray dog that had got into the hen coup and killed two hens already. Wilhelm shook his head and went upstairs, going into his room.
He immediately felt a terrible pain at the nape of his neck and everything went black.
When he came to his senses, Wilhelm von Trier found that he was paralysed and couldn’t speak. He had a bitter taste in his mouth. Someone must have made him swallow some poison while he was unconscious. He knew that he’d been caught in a trap. The hunter, had become prey.
He heard a slight movement in the room and a clinking of metal, as though someone were preparing metallic instruments. He pretended to be unconscious, trying to discern what was happening from the noises and whether it would be possible to free himself. But he couldn’t figure it out. In the end, terrified, he slowly opened his eyes.
By an association of thoughts, what he saw took him back to the name of that evening’s rendezvous, to the word ‘Passion’ from the Latin patior , to suffer. It was about to begin.
At the end of his bed was death, looking him squarely in the face and smiling.
IV
Mondino walked into the banqueting hall with a heavy heart. When a new physician hosted the customary entertainment to celebrate getting his licentia docendi, even the older and more respected masters abandoned their usual gravitas to laugh and enjoy the pleasures of the feast. Mondino, who was closer in age to his students than to the other teachers, given that many of the students were nudging forty, made the most of these merry occasions and thoroughly enjoyed the music and singing. As a rule, he never had to be asked twice to dance a stampita or a farandole, even if he had absolutely no sense of rhythm and was always hopelessly out of step.
He was firmly of the opinion that humanity gained something with the arrival of a new graduate in the world of medicine, jurisprudence or the liberal arts. So it was right to rejoice. And this particular banquet was being given by a student from syracuse with ample means who certainly hadn’t stinted. All the teachers from the faculty of medicine had been talking about it for weeks.
And yet, as he glanced around the great hall with its cross
Vaulted ceiling and florentine tiled floor, filled with three long tables placed in a horseshoe and covered with snow-white tablecloths, Mondino felt listless. And as he watched the servants busying themselves arranging
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