The squat, rounded shape is designed for a short time on the pavement of the alley dirty and smelly: the full moon, bright in the clear sky in January, had projected the shadow separating it from 'dark and shapeless protective wall. He cursed to himself, the star of the night and drew back as quick as a rat, flattening as he could against the wall pulled up with blocks of sandstone barely blunted. There was not just that his presence was not noticed by the patrol, but fortunately the warriors pulled on without noticing anything. Building, on edge, he heard them go rhythmic and pitch poorly rendered uncertain by quaff mugs of wine just before starting the tour. It would take something else, he thought, to defend themselves from the cold nights of January ... With the echo of voices and coarse laughter turned away even the sweet smell spread by drunken breaths. Even more cautious and circumspect, the figure wrapped in his cloak worn and faded estimated the distance to be covered until the destination: the small dilapidated building overlooking the perimeter walls of the north. Adjacent to the slaughterhouse.
The man had managed to penetrate into the little town before closing the doors, at the stroke of the twelfth hour. Dressed like a beggar, the bald head hidden under the large cap, had passed under the gaze of men guarding the result of a dealer in hides and leather and wagon packed with merchandise. As an extra precaution had pretended limped noticeably, proceeding with unsteady gait and leaning on his stick with both hands, lumpy, full of knots for almost the entire length. The merchant had ensured their own complicity in exchange for two florins silver: if there had been trouble from the guards, he said that the poor man was an aide to then fall back on when he had occasionally to be transferred a bulky load. But even then the fate had not shown adverse: some look beyond a couple of contemptuous and mocking, none of the warriors had shown much interest and, above all, no one had recognized him. Once past that first hurdle, had waited until the complicity of the shadows of the evening, carefully avoiding the places visited. He had waited too: in the winter it got dark early.
The man still stood listening for a while. Reassured by the silence, he looked around one last time, not to mention the windows facing the alley: the taxes were all locked from the inside and not even a glimmer of light filtered through. It took courage and jumped in the race for the sliding casing holding the wall. A moment later the figure had disappeared over the turn, swallowed by the darkness of night.
I surprised when the knock on the door was about to get under the heavy blanket of raw wool. He had not yet turned off the lamp. It struck a massive blow on the buttocks and unique flaccid mumbling obscenities at the intruder: who could be in an hour so unusual? What you said, not expecting anyone. Men who never imagined that anyone would have needed her. Mistrust and fear of the suggested beware. He grabbed the lamp and headed for the door to the access ramp to the basement. He placed his ear at the crack between the door and sash.
- Who is it? - Asked in a voice hoarse and awkward. - What the hell are you now?
- Open - was the answer on the other side of the door. - I need to talk ... You will not regret.
She recognized the voice instantly. No, it could be that it was just him, he said incredulously. It took a moment to recover from the surprise and, with the lamp raised above the head, opened just enough to glance sideways.
- You here? - Whispered, eyes wide. - But you should not have ...
- She 'Shut up and let me - said another. - For you there will be those, if you have the goodness to listen to me.
As he spoke quietly, put his hand on the strip of space between the jamb and the door, shaking his tiny bulging bag: there arose a clatter promising. The expression of greed in the face of the woman he accompanied the creaking of the door-open cautiously, her eyes explored the top of the stairs to the dim and uncertain light of the wick fed tallow. Reassured, closed the door behind the man who meanwhile had snuck into the room dingy and cold. The unexpected visitor slid off the hood from his head and stared for a moment with a sly air of a woman looking hag.
- a 'truth: you did not expect to see me, you old witch ... is not it?
She was speechless. Holding the lamp at mid-height stared at the figure before him with wonder mixed with concern: no, definitely was the last person who would have imagined seeing.
The other did not wait for an answer. He went to what was left of the table and threw rotten over the open bag. Some of the content rolled to the irregular surface, spreading in the shadows the sound produced by the Argentine coins as they knocked each other before stopping completely.
- These are for you. But this time you will serve me well. Count them. I am thirty florins silver.
suspicious gaze of the woman was still for a moment. Then greed took over, and the view dell'inopinata wealth made her give up any suspicion. It catapulted to the table closer to the money the flickering light of the lamp.
- Whatever I do, this time it will be done well ... you can count on it. He leaned forward
shooting: the fingers grabbed the coins one after another in rapid succession.
- Yes, we account - said the man behind him.
He moved as fast as a cat, despite the large body size and awkward. The left hand rested on the woman's mouth and, with a sudden snap, the man took to himself the head of the unfortunate preventing her from screaming. For a moment, feeling his body in close contact with the lower back, she thought with a sudden rush of lust What the hell, he said, he could ask otherwise! She would be very glad to satisfying the desires if only ...
blade, cold, inexorable, the stuck at heart. The stifled groan licked the hand of the executioner that he did not abandon the taking until the body went limp lifeless.
With the coldness of the hardened killer, the mysterious person cleaned the knife and rubbed his hand dripping with blood as the victim on several occasions. Picked up from the table the coin, put it in the bag and walked out, taking care to close the door behind him. He slipped on the ramp and, once outside, he looked around: None. The stench of rotting offal from the slaughterhouse took him inside the nostrils. The man covered his mouth and nose with a flap of the coat and put her on the opposite side of the lane. Well, he thought to himself, the corpse of the woman would not have been discovered so soon: the cold temperature of the hut would have slowed decomposition and, in any case, the stench coming from the basement would be confused for some time with every day that stagnated nearby. So there was no reason to act with haste and the risk of making some unwise for the haste: she had the time to leave town quietly.
The moon shone for a moment the man's face: the expression, wild and happy, it was all condensed into the crook of grin left on his face.
The landscape around him he was completely unknown. To avoid taking risks and unwanted encounters had preferred to stay away from the roads normally frequented by travelers and had penetrated the lands of the Montefeltro along unusual paths. He looked around looking for some good reference orientation: it was spent a long time from now that he got along the river towards Forlì Voltre and therefore must have pushed for a good stretch in the Valdinoce. Stopped the horse in order to better observe the surroundings, while the animal Sbruffo was massed in a gray cloud. Despite the south had not spent a long time, regarded with dismay the knight was very cold and moisture of the place was penetrating into the very bones. The man wrapped himself in the mantle even more and gave vent to his temper muttering a curse through clenched teeth.
He had left the town at sunset on the first three days. Leave had been less difficult than feared: mix in the swarm of beggars, forced out the perimeter of the walls before they were closed doors, he could pass the guard easily, confused, messy to handle and mournful of the derelicts who, as usual, poured each morning in the streets of the citadel and then moving on, after begging, approach of the twelfth hour. Freed of the rags used to disguise, in the evening and after a trek of about three hours, had reached the inn where she had left in case your mount. With this, the first light the next morning, he took the road in the direction of Bologna.
Under the command of his knight, the bay resumed the normal pace and kept it for a good while until, suddenly, foot down, and nearly caused him to lose balance to those who stood on the back. He was absorbed in thought, not expecting a move so sudden and barely managed to stay in the saddle. Insensible to the blows of the spur, the horse did not want to know about getting into motion, the front legs stiffened, stood motionless as though warned an imminent danger.
The unusual behavior of the beast was followed almost immediately by an even more unusual: a series of explosions ripped through the air in rapid succession. Yes would be those of thunder, if it was not that the sky was completely clear. Instinctively, the man raised his head to look up and just then the sky seemed crossed by a blinding fireballs despite broad daylight. The Knight was startled, frightened by the strangeness of the event. That it had not been a joke of the imagination, betrayed by fatigue and stress caused to the murder committed three nights later, it bore witness to the mysterious whitish trails still visible above his head.
was attacked by a grim sense of unease and remained motionless, unsure what to do. Soon, the anxiety took the form of a question full of anguish that this miraculous sign was left to be interpreted as an omen?
The loss that ensued lasted the space of a moment, but no, he was not the kind of person to give substance to such superstitions. And could not let distract from their own revenge. That
revenge, brood for almost two years, had finally begun.
