her of her clothes and, making sure she was a woman to all intents and purposes, had raped her one after the other, holding a knife to her throat. The last soldier, having reached his unhealthy pleasure, sank the knife, cutting her throat mercilessly.
The sacking of Jesi lasted eight days, many palaces were set on fire, some with the inhabitants inside, bound so that they would burn alive inside their homes, guilty that the looters hadn’t found enough money or valuables to take away.
There was no respect even for sacred things, nor for religious people, and many priests were tortured and tortured to confess where they had hidden the church ornaments. The plundering spread to the whole countryside and no place, city or country, was spared.
Baldeschi Palace, which had been barred the whole time, on the eighth day opened its doors to Grand Duke Francesco Maria della Rovere and Duke Berengario of Montacuto, who were welcomed in conversation by the Cardinal. The latter had in fact arrogated to himself the right to negotiate the surrender with his adversaries, being no longer present in the city a higher civil or ecclesial authority than he was.
After the servants had offered wine of cherries and sweets made with sultanas, at the Cardinal’s nod, they withdrew and closed the three men alone in the study.
«You have gone too far. The agreements were that you would find no obstacles and you would have to kill Franciolini and his son, taking over the city. An easy conquest, instead for days and days you sowed terror, destruction and death», thundered the Cardinal addressed to the two Dukes.
«No self-respecting army, especially if made up of mercenaries, renounces the spoils of war», replied Della Rovere in a calm tone, almost bored, concentrating his gaze on the nail of the little finger of his right hand, perhaps regretting the fact that during the fighting this had broken. «We kept our word. Now you keep yours, and we will retire in good order, leaving you the undisputed Lord of this city.»
«So be it!», continued the Baldeschi, swallowing the toad, and still satisfied in his heart of how the operation had gone. If several of our fellow citizens had left us, worse for them, it was no big deal. «As promised, I will intercede with the Holy Father so that you, Grand Duke Della Rovere, may have your lands and title returned. You may retire to Urbino and be respected forever by your subjects. As for Ancona, dear Duke, within a month I shall have ten thousand gold florins poured into the coffers of your city, which will serve to enlarge and fortify the port, but the merchants of the city of Jesi must be guaranteed a commercial port of call. And now, withdraw your armies.»
Francesco Maria Della Rovere finally gave the order to his troops to leave the city. The invaders left with a caravan of a thousand beasts loaded with all God’s goods, as well as a large lot of money, valuables and artillery pieces. For his part, the Montacuto, not fully trusting the word of the Cardinal, withdrew the bulk of the army, but left a garrison in Jesi, which would leave only after the defeated city had paid what was agreed.
In those days, Artemio Baldeschi had been too focused on the course of events, to look after what his sister and niece were doing, and he had not even noticed that the girl had disappeared since that famous Thursday evening. The two maids, the blonde and the brunette, Mira and Pinuccia, who were waiting for the Cardinal’s sure rant the moment he finally noticed her, were well aware of her absence. The two maids knew very well that, from that evening, Lucia was locked up in the Franciolini’s house, intent on curing Andrea, who had been seriously wounded in the clash with the enemy, and they knew very well that if the girl’s uncle found out, he would be even more furious.
On the evening of the party, Lucia, having finished dressing, had gone out onto the balcony of the palace overlooking the square below to watch the procession of the nobleman Franciolini arriving on the opposite side, from Via delle Botteghe. It was dusk and it seemed that everything was going well, that everything was quiet, and the bad feeling she had felt just before had already vanished. But suddenly, from Via del Fortino, more and more armed men had begun to appear, more and more numerous, who had immediately engaged in battle with the men in the procession following the People’s Capitan. He had seen his beloved Andrea struck by arrows, and had seen Guglielmo shot dead from behind. That coward with a huge sword had taken advantage of his moment of distraction, for having seen his wounded son, to hit him from behind. Lucia could not watch helplessly that horror, she had to run to Andrea’s aid, who beyond the arrows, was oppressed by the weight of his horse that was ruined on him, perhaps lifeless. She rushed down the stairs and gained the entrance hall; she was about to open the front door when she realized that the fighting was raging throughout the square and that it was not appropriate to go out of there. She entered the stables and spotted the side service door, the one used by the stable-keepers, which overlooked the alley. The wooden door was bolted with a bolt from the inside, it was easy to open it and find herself in a dark and smelly alley a few meters away from the ancient Roman cistern. A few steps and she would have been in the Piazza, on the side of the church of St. Florian. To avoid being noticed by the crowd of fighters, and cross the square unscathed, he had to use a stratagem. Just a few days earlier, her grandmother had taught her a sort of invisibility spell. Not that it made her invisible in the true sense of the word, but it made her go unnoticed by others. She hoped that it would work, recited the formula and began to cross the square, always keeping close to the walls, first of the convent, then of St. Florian Church, then those of a recently built building, the Ghislieri Palace, arriving at the corner where both Via del Fortino and Via delle Botteghe appeared in the square. If she had arrived there thanks to the spell of invisibility or because no one had taken care of her, so busy in the battle, she was not allowed to know. The fact is that she had come to the square with her agonizing love. As many as four arrows had hit him, two in his right leg, one in his left shoulder, the last one passing through his right arm at the biceps muscle. He had lost a lot of blood, and was in a state of semi-unconsciousness, his left leg crushed against the pavement by the weight of the horse’s torso. Lucia focused on the dead beast, ordering with her mind her partial levitation. The change of position of the animal was almost imperceptible, but it was enough that, starting to pull Andrea by grabbing him under the armpits, the girl managed to free him from that unfortunate position. The young man’s eyes, as if by magic, regained light, staring at the girl’s eyes for a moment that she thought sublime, then turned backwards, while Andrea lost consciousness completely. Lucia did not despair, she placed two fingers on her beloved’s jugular shower and could feel a faint pulse.
All is not lost, she thought. Life hasn’t abandoned him yet! But I must act quickly if I’m to get him to safety.
Trusting in her powers, but also and above all in the power of despair and in the deep love that Andrea’s inspired to her, she began to drag his inert body, realizing that she was not even making a superhuman effort. She extended the spell of invisibility to her young love and headed down the Longobard Coast to reach Franciolini’s Palace. None of the men who were fighting in the street gave them a glance, continuing to cross their weapons and fight as if Lucia, with her heavy burden, did not even exist. When she stood in front of the door of Andrea’s house, she laid her lifeless body on the ground and dwelt once again on the decorated tile that had intrigued her so much, the one representing a seven-pointed pentacle. But it was not the time to let herself be taken by distractions. She grabbed the clapper attached to the door and began to knock with how much strength she still had. One of the servants at Franciolini’s house, a muscular dark-skinned man with a turban on his head, whom the People’s Captain had bought as a slave on one of his trips to Barcelona, opened the door just a crack to make sure that no enemies were knocking at the door. When he realized the situation, in the blink of an eye, he let the girl in and dragged the young master inside.
«By Allah and Muhammad, blessed be their name, may I be forgiven for naming them. What about the Captain?»
«The Captain is dead, and if, instead of wasting time invoking your gods, you don’t do as I say, the same end will be reserved for your young master!»
«There doesn’t seem to be much for him to do. In a few moments his soul will leave him to be reunited with that of his ancestors, and that of his father, may Allah have him in glory.»
«He’s