Inquisition Read Free

Gerardo, without turning round. ‘And what remained would have gravely damaged our order. The accusation of adoring the Devil that has been levelled against us would have been well substantiated.’
    It was the second time that he had referred to witchcraft, but the corpse spread out on the table had nothing strange about it, apart from the amputated hands. The face conveyed an expression of stupor more than horror. Some dried blood in the short hair at the nape of the neck suggested that he had been attacked from behind.
    ‘So,’ said Mondino, ‘You found this man murdered and left naked in your house. You dressed him, set fire to the house and fled. How were you thinking of getting rid of his body?’ Gerardo opened his mouth wide, surprised. ‘How did you know that he was naked?’ then he nodded. ‘Oh, I understand, the tunic.’
    The fact that his surprise lasted so short a time slightly annoyed the doctor. But it was not the moment to worry about such nonsense. He had to carry on talking and hope that the grave-diggers would be there soon.
    ‘Exactly, the tunic,’ said Mondino. ‘It is stained with blood and yet there are no holes, a sign that the wound to the chest was inflicted on this man when he was undressed. And perhaps,’ he continued, moving to the side to get a better view, ‘When he was already dead or had fainted due to the blow to his head.’
    ‘Your perspicacity is worthy of your fame,’ said Gerardo.
    ‘You already know everything before you’ve even examined him.’
    Despite himself, Mondino felt pleasure at a compliment that he sensed was sincere and he rebuked himself silently. Vanity was one of his greatest defects.
    ‘You have referred to devilry more than once,’ he said.
    ‘What is so strange about that wound?’
    Gerardo turned to look at him, with an expression that was both fearful and resolved. ‘See for yourself, magister,’ he said. Quickly but respectfully he lifted up the dead man’s chest and pulled the tunic over his head. As soon as Mondino saw the chest wound his interest grew tenfold. He asked Gerardo to step back and stand between the benches of the lecture hall and, without losing sight of the templar, he approached the table and ran a finger of his free hand along the cold skin at the edge of the wound.
    ‘The person who did this knows how to cut flesh and bone,’ he said with assurance. ‘It took me months of practice to make such precise incisions.’
    Under the livid skin, the sternum had been sawn lengthways and the ribs broken at the sides. To the left, there was a small triangular hole. Having stunned him with the blow to his head, the murderer must have stabbed the heart with an awl or stiletto, then got down to producing his work of art. It looked as though the man’s chest had been turned into a small casket and one had only to open the door to see what it contained.
    ‘I closed it,’ said Gerardo, confirming his thoughts. ‘When I found him, stretched out on my bed, his chest was wide open like an obscene mouth. And inside ...’
    He stopped short, won over by an emotion that could have been horror or pain. Mondino was no longer thinking of the grave-diggers who were about to arrive, or the fact that Gerardo might be a dangerous criminal on the loose. Now he only wanted to know the secret of the dead templar. He rolled his sleeves up to the elbows and put his fingers between the edges of the wound. The idea of a tabernacle came to mind. He banished the thought as sacrilegious, but then it came to him with lightning intuition that perhaps this was the mysterious murderer’s very intention. To make a mockery of religion by building a tabernacle out of flesh and bone in the chest of his victim.
    However, he couldn’t waste any more time. In the room, there fell an unnatural silence in which any tiny movement sounded like the crack of a whip. With the greatest care, he moved the sides of the wound apart and opened the two strips of flesh in the