Inquisition by Alfredo Colitto

young man was shocked, but even more so by her eyes, that were so dark and deep, shaded by an immense sadness.
    It was only for a second, then she dropped her gaze, as befitted the modesty of a young woman, and walked swiftly out in her yellow felt slippers that matched her hair.
    ‘I’ve never seen a female scribe before,’ Gerardo felt the need to comment, sitting down on a silk cushion on the high-backed chair.
    Remigio laughed. ‘Fiamma is my adopted daughter. When I took her in, she already knew how to read and write.’
    ‘Strange for a woman. Was she the daughter of a noble family?’ Gerardo did not really want to know about Fiamma’s family, but something inside him refused to let the matter drop. ‘Her father was a Venetian merchant who ran his business in the Kingdom of Aragon, too close to the saracen lands,’ explained Remigio. ‘One day the city was sacked and Fiamma’s family killed. But a Knight of the temple certainly did not come here in order to talk about that.’
    ‘No, of course not.’ Gerardo took a breath and added, ‘To be brief, Messer Remigio, due to an unfortunate incident I have lost all my money and I need a loan. I have land near Ravenna that I wish to sell, and I will use a part of the proceeds to restore your money to you.’
    ‘An incident? of what type?’
    ‘Does it matter?’
    Remigio Sensi laid his palms on the dark table and looked him in the eye. ‘You are a Knight of the temple. If the incident of which you speak has anything to do with the Inquisition, the probability that you will soon be caught is high. And I must know the risks to which I am exposing myself.’
    Gerardo nodded slowly. He could not tell him everything and decided to tell a half-truth instead. ‘The Inquisition doesn’t come into it,’ he lied. ‘The house where I had a room took fire and I had to escape. I have no way of paying my landlord back.’
    ‘A fire?’ said Remigio, with an alert look. ‘You mean the house behind the Church of sant’Antonino that burned down last night? I know the owner, he lives near here.’
    Gerardo felt himself exposed. He wanted to make up an excuse, any sort of lie, but he paused a moment too long and the banker made a sign as if to say that it didn’t matter to him. ‘Your secrets are safe with me, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I certainly won’t denounce you. But now let’s get back to business.’ He raised his eyes to look at a large painting of St matthew, protector of the moneylenders, as if to ask for inspiration. Then he set out the conditions of the loan.
    ‘As you know, the comune permits moneylending, on condition that the interest does not exceed four denari per lira a month. Naturally, in the case of a wanted man, this absolutely does not cover the risks.’
    ‘So what do you propose?’ asked Gerardo, knowing that the preamble was prelude to a hammering.
    ‘It depends on how much money you need, in any case I would say that I cannot accept less than fifteen denari per lira a month, with full restitution of the debt a year from the agreement.’
    Gerardo had been expecting an even more exorbitant request and he took heart. But his relief did not last long.
    ‘Furthermore,’ continued the banker, ‘There would have to be a fine for default in case of failure to pay on the due date.’ He sighed as though it displeased him to have to say such a thing, and added, ‘Fifty per cent of the entire sum.’
    Gerardo leaped to his feet in outrage. ‘What? But this is usury! It is a very serious crime, condemned by—’
    ‘Calm down, Messer. Do not insult me,’ interrupted Remigio, without losing his composure. ‘Are you or are you not aware of the risks that I run, lending money to a wanted man, a member of the order accused of heresy and filthy practices and currently under trial? And just so that you know, that is not all.’
    ‘You don’t need to go on,’ said Gerardo, holding up his hand and walking towards the door. ‘I will look for