The Kingdom of Light
Read The Kingdom of Light Online
Authors: Giulio Leoni
Contents
About the Book
Italy, August 1300. A mysterious ship is discovered at the mouth of the Arno River. The crew has been poisoned and the only clues are a mysterious mechanical device and a page containing the words ‘The Kingdom of Light’. Dante suspects that the damaged instrument is an astrolabe and is the work of al-Jazari, the legendary Persian inventor. But others are also after the astrolabe and will stop at nothing to lay their hands on it…
When Dante returns to Florence to work on his magnum opus,
The Divine Comedy
, he discovers that the renegade monk, Brinando, is stirring up trouble and recruiting Florentines for a new crusade to liberate the Holy Land. Is this disturbing new development somehow linked to the deaths of the galley crew?
About the Author
Giulio Leoni is a professor of Italian literature and history. He lives in Rome with his family.
Shaun Whiteside’s most recent translations from Italian include
Venice is a Fish
by Tiziano Scarpa and
The Solitude of Prime Numbers
by Paolo Giordano.
ALSO BY GIULIO LEONI
The Third Heaven Conspiracy
C
AST OF
C
HARACTERS
D
ANTE
A
LIGHIERI
(c.1265–1321) – prior of Florence, poet and author of
The Divine Comedy
; often referred to in the book as Messer Durante, because his full name was Durante degli Alighieri
Some real persons are described in greater detail in the Glossary at the back of the book (
see here
)
.
C
ARDINAL D
’A
CQUASPARTA
– the Pope’s representative in the city of Florence
M
AESTRO
A
LBERTO
– a Lombard
mechanicus
who keeps an inn at Santa Maria
A
RRIGO DA
J
ESI
– formerly held the chair of natural philosophy at the Faculty of Arts and Theology in Paris, where he taught Dante; known in the novel as ‘the philosopher’
THE
B
ARGELLO
– chief of the guards for the Commune
B
ONIFACE
VIII – Pope of the Roman Catholic Church from 1294 until 1303; sometimes referred to in the novel as Caetani, because he was born Benedetto Caetani
B
RANDANO
– a monk and preacher of miracles; the leader of a group of pilgrims seeking to free the Holy Land from the pagans
C
ECCHERINO
– the owner of a disreputable tavern
C
ECCO
A
NGIOLIERI
– a poet and acquaintance of Dante
N
OFFO
D
EI
– the head of the inquisitors in Florence
M
ESSER
Duccio – town clerk and secretary of the Council
F
REDERICK
II – Holy Roman Emperor 1220–50 and monarch of Italy from 1215
H
AMID
– a young Saracen slave captured off the coast of Egypt and now working for Maestro Alberto
M
ONNA
L
AGIA
– a local brothel-keeper
P
IETRA
– one of Monna Lagia’s whores and Dante’s lover
A
T THE
A
NGEL
I
NN
B
RUNETTO DA
P
ALERMO
– a painter
F
RANCESCHINO
C
OLONNA
– a student from Rome
F
ABIO DAL
P
OZZO
– a cloth merchant from the North
M
ANETTO DEL
M
OLINO
– keeper of the Angel Inn, on behalf of the Cavalcanti
M
ESSER
M
ARCELLO
– a scholar and doctor from the North; known in the novel as ‘the doctor’
J
ACQUES
M
ONERRE
– a scholar and astronomer from Toulouse
R
IGO DI
C
OLA
– a wool merchant
B
ERNARDO
R
INUCCIO
– a writer and scholar; known in the novel as ‘the
historian’
For Riccarda
Si probitas, sensus, virtutum gratia, census, nobilitas orti possint resistere morti, non foret extinctus Federicus, qui iacet intus
.
If probity, reason, abundance of virtue, nobility of birth, could prevent death, Frederick, who lies here, would not have died.
Inscription on Frederick’s tomb.
Palermo, summer 1240
T
HE GLARE OF
sunset pierced the foliage, inflaming the gilded surface of the fruits on the lemon tree
.
In the garden, closed off by a marble colonnade, an intense scent of flowers floated through the air, carried on the sea breeze
.
Reclining on purple cushions, the Emperor was distractedly tracing geometrical drawings on the ground. He stretched his hand towards a citrus fruit lying on the ground and showed it to the younger man who stood beside him
.
‘So what shape is the earth?’ he asked after a moment’s reflection
.
‘A solid sphere, curved at every point,’ confirmed Guido Bonatti, the court astrologer
.
Frederick meditated upon these words. Then he suddenly opened his fingers, dropping the fruit. ‘So what holds it up, then?’ he went on, turning towards his other companion in thought, who sat slightly apart from the others. A pale man, freckled face and red hair
.
‘The hand of God,’ replied the foremost scientist of Christendom, the pride of his court. Michael Scotus. Slender as one of the reeds that held up the pergola of the vines
.
‘And how high are the skies where God dwells? Can you tell me that, Guido?’
‘As far as their light reaches, Majesty,’ replied the astrologer, picking up the fruit with his left hand. ‘Which is the light of God.’
‘And what lies beyond that light?’
‘Beyond it lies only darkness. As the Scriptures tell us, what remained after light was called into being,’ replied Michael Scotus, pointing a finger up into the air
.
An enigmatic smile lit up Frederick’s face. A little way off, a man dressed in the rough habit of the Minorites had witnessed the scene in silence
.
The Emperor turned towards him. ‘Tell me your measurement, Brother Elias. The measurement of the height of God.’
1
Morning of 5th August, 1300, in the marshes west of Florence
T
HEY HAD
turned away from the houses beside a cottage on the road to Pisa, when the sun was already high in the sky. From there they had headed towards the river, which flowed a few leagues away, invisible among the cane thickets and the patches of marshy vegetation.
For over two hours the little column trudged across the waterlogged terrain, weighed down by their heavy armour, seeking a path among the swamps. At their head Dante Alighieri, wearing the banner of the priory, stayed about twenty yards ahead of the group.
‘Prior, please wait, slow down. Why such a hurry?’ wheezed the Bargello, a squat man covered with armour that made him even clumsier than he would otherwise have been. The Bargello, chief of the guards, slipped as he attempted to catch up with the prior.
A little waterway blocked their path. Dante turned round, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.
Then
with a resolute gesture he pulled the hem of his robe up above his knees and waded through the stream, followed by the others. Further ahead the horizon was hidden by a scrubby hillock.
‘That’s the tower of Santa Croce … we should be there by now,’ panted the chief of the guards, pointing at a far-off building.
The prior had stopped a little further off, halfway up the slope, and was pulling his shoes out of the mud and water.
With a grimace of disgust he pulled a leech from his calf and threw it far away. At the point where the sucker had bitten his flesh, a thin stream of blood stained his skin. He washed the wound with a little water, then stared impatiently at the awkward movements of the Bargello, who was breathlessly trying to catch up with him.
‘So where is it?’
In front of them, in an opening among the reed-thickets, the bank of the Arno could be seen, folding into a loop hidden by a bump in the ground.
‘It should be here … behind this clump.’
Dante looked in the direction indicated. The muddy dune seemed to be trying to drag them down. For the last few steps he had to use his hands, clutching the spiny tufts that covered its summit; then finally he was able to take a look from the other side.
About three hundred yards away a dark outline lay beached on the pebbly shore, partly hidden by the vegetation.
‘So it was true … there it is,’ stammered the Bargello.
Dante was also having difficulty believing his own eyes. Leaning slightly to one side, a war galley lay against the river bank, its whole array of oars outstretched as though about to take to the open sea.
‘The devil must have brought it here,’ the Bargello murmured with a shudder. Dante couldn’t suppress a smile. He knew the legends that were told about this place. But if the devil really did exist, at least he would catch a glimpse of him.
‘I can’t see anyone on board. It looks abandoned,’ remarked one of the guards.
‘Yes, not a trace of life,’ the poet confirmed, studying the deserted fo’c’sle. On the narrow central corridor not a soul could be seen, and there was no one at the helm. The nave looked in perfect condition, as if the ship had only recently docked, its big triangular sail neatly furled on the boom. Dante felt a shiver running down his spine. Such large vessels couldn’t possibly sail on the Arno. Its presence here was … yes, it was
impossible
. He sought a sign that might reveal where the ship had come from, but there was nothing but a black flag dangling slackly from the yard.
‘Let’s go over. I have to see … and I have to know,’ he said, and slipped quickly down on his back, plunging into the canal, followed reluctantly by the others.
He had grabbed a sword from one of the men, and
opened
up a path for himself by impetuously scything the plants, wading through water up to his knees. Streams of sweat trickled down his body, but the excitement of the discovery seemed to have swept all exhaustion away.
He couldn’t see where he was going. Then he dealt one final blow and stopped with a jerk, as the horrified cries of the
bargellini
rose up behind him.
A bearded giant had appeared in front of him, more than six ells in height. On the creature’s monstrous, crowned head two hideous faces looking in opposite directions took in the whole of the horizon with their twofold malevolent gaze. The giant sat on a massive carved tree-trunk that ended in a bronze tip half-hidden in the mud of the river bank.
An insistent hum echoed in the air. The insects that had been tormenting the men all the way along their march now seemed even more numerous and aggressive. They clustered around the figurehead in a repellent throng.