"So he did not mean to kill you. There is, however, something I do not understand: why, among all the diplomats and agents of His Most Christian Majesty present here in Rome should Lamberg have taken aim at you?"
"But it is quite obvious, my boy! He knows that my words and writings are heard and read by influential persons and that I can act on some of the most eminent members of the Sacred College, who are preparing… well, they're preparing for the next papal election, a matter which is obviously close to Lamberg's heart."
I was struck by Atto's hesitation in explaining why Count Lamberg should have wanted to filch his treatise. I had my own good reasons for this. From my clandestine reading of the correspondence between Atto and Maria, I knew that the conclave was not the only game involving the Pope, as Atto was trying to get me to believe. There was also the matter of the Spanish succession.
And precisely that aspect of the question remained unclear to me. Why had Atto, in reconstructing all that had happened to him (the theft, the wound to his arm) failed to make any reference whatever to the Spanish succession? Yet Lamberg, the Ambassador of the Habsburgs, must take a lively interest in the question, seeing that the House of Austria aspired to place one of its members on the Spanish throne!
I pretended to be satisfied with Abbot Melani's explanation and for the rest of the way we rode in silence. Gloomy and sinister was the place where our meeting was to be held, and perfectly in keeping with Ugonio's lugubrious cowled silhouette which awaited us in the midst of the expanse of tombstones. Some nocturnal raptor disturbed the air with its eldritch screeches; the air of that warm night, almost as though impregnated with some black secretions from mortal remains, was in that neglected churchyard even denser, murkier, more torrid. Ugonio had chosen welclass="underline" for a clandestine meeting, there could be no better place than the harlots' cemetery.
The corpisantaro approached, staggering under the weight of a great jute sack which he bore on his shoulders.
"What have you in there?" asked Atto.
"A merest ineptitude of nothingnesses. Jubilleous objectitions."
Atto circled him and prodded the sack with his hands. The loot creaked and clattered as though the bag had been crammed to the limit with all manner of objects: wooden, metal and bone.
"So business is thriving now that there's the Jubilee?"
Ugonio nodded with false modesty.
"This is a lady's hand mirror," Abbot Melani diagnosed, groping at a corner of the sack, "stolen from some poor dame as she prayed in church. The little purseful of coin just next to it will be the proceeds of alms obtained from the ingenuous by one of your dirty tricks, or else your ruffian's fee for taking a group of pilgrims exhausted by their travels to some overpriced doss-house. This must be a most holy sacrament filched from some distracted parish priest; and this must be a crucifix, perhaps lifted off some confraternity during their visit to the four basilicas, am I not right?"
The corpisantaro could not suppress a bestial half-smiling grimace which betrayed shame at the unmasking of his evildoing and gloating delight at the opportunities which the Jubilee offered him for satisfying his base appetites. He then drew a little book out from his greatcoat and handed it to Melani. It was in rather poor condition, and poorly bound; judging by its size it could not contain more than eighty pages. Atto opened it at the frontispiece as I craned over and read:
A new way of understanding the cant lingo.
Or how to speak St Giles' Greek newly brought up to date in Alphabetical Order.
A work no less pleasant than useful MDXLV
In Ferrara by Giovanmaria di Michieli and Antonio Maria di Sivieri, Companions.
Anno MDXLV
"Aha!" the Abbot jubilated, flourishing it under Buvat's nose.
"What is it?" I asked.
"What my good secretary was supposed to find: a glossary enabling one to understand the canters' language — or Saint Giles' Greek, if you prefer. It will help us to understand what the cerretani are saying. 'Tis a good thing that I also asked Ugonio to find this somewhere," replied Atto, slipping a couple of silver coins into the corpisantaro' s claws.
"I bestole it off a goodlious old friendly," declared Ugonio with a mean snigger.
"From what I can see, it is an old edition; I doubt if it will be very reliable," interjected Atto's secretary, nervously scrutinising the book.
"Silence Buvat, and read it to me," the Abbot cut him short.
We began to leaf through the pages:
A
There followed all the letters of the alphabet, each with its double list of words from ordinary language and a translation into the jargon of the cerretani, and vice versa.
'"Tis a truly strange glossary," insisted Buvat, looking sceptical. "It mixes words with phrases, and then it makes for all kinds of confusion. 'Albert', the name of a person, means 'egg'. 'Anticrot' means 'God' and 'Christ', but also 'Ambassador'."
"It is still better than nothing," said Melani, silencing him. "Come now, let us test it. What did that cerretano, Il Marcio, cry out when we went to get him and II Roscio?"
'"The saffrons…' and then 'buy the violets'," I said.
We leafed through the book and soon found what we were looking for.
"There, do you see?" Atto gloated, turning to his secretary. "As I thought, the saffrons are the police. To buy violets means to make a run for it. Il Marcio warned Il Roscio that we were in the vicinity. This book is by no means useless. But there's something else you must lend me. I'm sure you must have many copies of what I need," said Atto to the corpisantaro, miming with his hand the gesture of someone turning a key in a lock.
Ugonio understood at once. Nodding with a sordid, knowing smile, he pulled out from the old greatcoat a huge iron ring from which hung, clinking against one another, dozens and dozens of old keys of every kind, shape and size. This was the secret arsenal of which I have already spoken, giving the corpisantari access to all the cellars of Rome for their subterranean searching for the sacred relics from the sale of which they lived; but often, they were also used to enter and rob private residences.
"Good, very good," commented Atto, inspecting the heavy bunch. "In Palazzo Spada these will surely prove useful."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Sfasciamonti, like every good catchpoll, could not wait to squeeze some information from the corpisantaro in his turn. He was still somewhat disoriented by that animal-like being, half mole and half weasel, so different from the ordinary criminals he had known; he came to the point, confronting him brutally.
"So, what did you learn?"
"I parleyfied with two Maggiorenghi," replied the corpisantaro. "The treaticise is to be presented to the Grand Legator, who in turn will present it ad Albanum."
I saw Atto grow pale. The tidings were doubly grave. Not only had the cerretani given Atto's treatise to a mysterious Grand Legator, but the latter would be presenting it to a certain Albanum. And who might that be if not Cardinal Albani, His Holiness's powerful Secretary for Breves, the man with whom Atto had already had two venomous verbal clashes at Villa Spada?
"Until Thursday, where will they be keeping my treatise?"
"In the Sacred Ball."
"The Sacred Ball?"
I looked at Sfasciamonti. His face wore the same astonished, dumbfounded expression as Atto Melani's.
"Thus have they verbalised," continued Ugonio, hunching his shoulders. "Then the Grand Legator will exposition ad Albanum the insinuation, accusation and perquisition against the treaticise."
"Who is this Grand Legator?"
"I know not. I scented that they do not want to verbalise this to me."
Some coins (no few of them) moved rapidly from Atto's hands into those of Ugonio. As he slipped them clinking into a greasy little purse, the corpisantaro pulled his cowl well over his forehead, preparing to disappear into the shadows.