The Family - Mario Puzo [95]
16
FRANCIS SALUTI, INTERROGATOR for the Florentine Council of Ten, knew that this would be the most important task of his official life, the questioning by torture of Girolamo Savonarola.
That Savonarola was a priest, and an important one, did not lessen his sense of purpose. True, he had often listened to the man’s sermons and had been moved by them. But Savonarola had attacked the Pope himself and challenged the ruling class of Florence. He had conspired with the enemies of the republic. And so he must stand trial. The truth of his treason must be ripped from his body.
In the special chamber, guarded by soldiers, Saluti directed his staff. The rack was ready; the artisan had checked its mechanisms, the various wheels, straps, pulleys, and weights. They were in order. A small stove, its belly red and its opening speared by various pincers, heated the room so thoroughly it made Saluti sweat. Or perhaps it was because he knew that this was a day on which he would earn a generous pay.
Saluti had the pride of a professional, but he did not enjoy his work. He did not enjoy the fact that his occupation was an official secret, kept for his own protection. Florence was a city filled with vengeful people. He always went armed to his house, which was surrounded by the houses of the members of his extended family, who would rally to his defense if he was attacked.
His job was much sought after. It paid sixty florins a year, twice that of a cashier at the Florentine banks, plus a bonus of twenty florins for every job to which he was assigned by the council.
Saluti was dressed in tight-fitting silk hose and a blouse the color of burnet, a blue, almost black, fabric color made only in Florence. That color dignified his office, but it was not so severe that it offended his own personal taste. For Saluti, despite frequent stomach upsets and insomnia, was a cheerful, thoughtful man. He attended lectures on Plato at the university. He never missed a sermon of Savonarola’s, and he regularly visited the studios of the great artists to take in the newest paintings and sculptures. He had even been invited once to tour the magical gardens of Lorenzo Medici, when Il Magnifico was still alive. It had been the greatest day of his life.
He never enjoyed the suffering of his victims. He resented such accusations. Still, he never was tormented by pangs of conscience. After all, the infallible Pope Innocent had published a bull ruling torture justified in the search for heresy. True, the screams of his subjects were heartrending. True, the nights of Francis Saluti were long, but he always drank a full bottle of wine before retiring, and that helped him sleep.
What really bothered him was the unaccountable stubbornness of his victims. Why did they refuse to admit their guilt at once? Why did they wait and make everyone suffer with them? Why did men refuse to listen to reason? Especially in Florence, where beauty and reason flourished more than in any other place, except possibly ancient Athens.
It was a pity, really a pity, that Francis Saluti himself was to be an instrument of their suffering. But wasn’t it true, as Plato had said, that in the life of every single person, no matter how good his intent, there were persons in this mortal world they made suffer?
More to the point: the legal documents were impeccable. Under the great republic of Florence, no citizen could be subjected to torture unless there was proof of his guilt. The documents had been signed by the responsible officials of the Signoria, the ruling council. He had read them carefully, more than once. Pope Alexander had approved, and sent church dignitaries as official observers. There were even rumors that the great Cardinal Cesare Borgia was in Florence secretly to observe. In that case there was no hope for the sainted friar. Silently, the man who must torture prayed for the holy man’s quick release from this earth.
His mind and soul prepared, Francis Saluti waited at the open door of the torture chamber for the defeated Hammer of God, Fra