The first session of the new Council opened punctually at ten o’clock on Tuesday morning.
The first to speak was the Grand Captain of Justice, who recounted what had transpired at the little palace of the Holy Refuge, and why he’d had to arrest everyone. Following the two assassins’ confessions, he’d sent some soldiers to look for the three girls’ corpses, which were found just a short distance from the Refuge. The bodies were then put in coffins and reburied in consecrated ground.
That morning the Tribunal decreed that the property of all the defendants would be confiscated, and they were sentenced to five years in prison, with the exception of don Simone, who was condemned to death, along with Nasca and ’Mpallomeni, for the triple murder.
The twenty-four orphan girls, upon the specific order of donna Eleonora, were taken to the convent of Santa Teresa.
The prior evening, after the full confession of don Simone, the accomplices who had pointed out the prettiest orphans for consignment to the brothel were also arrested. These included Matre Teresa, the abbess of the convent of Santa Lucia, Suor Martina, head of the orphanage run in conjunction with the convent of the Sacred Heart, Don Aglianò, who ran a shelter for orphan girls, and Brother Agenore, the assistant superior of the Franciscans.
The Grand Captain finished by saying that the marquis had submitted a list of the possessions he’d obtained through his shameful business practices, and the results were astonishing.
After him the Chief Administrator proposed that don Esteban, once he’d finished dealing with the former Councillors, should be transferred to Messina to put some pressure on the chief of the shipyard there.
And after Messina, he should go to Bivona to see what don Aurelio Spanò, marquis of Puntamezza, was up to, since it was almost certain the gentleman was lining his pockets with tax proceeds, as the people of Bivona were claiming. Lastly he said that subsequent to all the expropriations being conducted of the money and properties of corrupt officials, the revenues might perhaps make it possible to reduce taxes a little.
Donna Eleonora showed great interest in this argument and asked the Chief Treasurer to explain. He replied that, indeed, money was pouring into state coffers by the bushel.
The marquesa then ordered that the arrest and conviction of don Simone and his friends should be brought to the public’s knowledge by the town criers, who must cover every street in the capital.
She then announced that she would explain everything she had in mind to do at the next Council on Friday.
And she adjourned the session.
She’d invited the princess of Stabia and don Serafino to lunch and didn’t want to be late. She wanted to talk to them at length about the plans she had in mind.
* * *
When the great door of the palace was closed and locked every evening, it was the custom that, aside from the guards outside, who stood ten steps away from one another all along the walls, twelve elite soldiers, who changed from week to week, would remain inside, under the command of Lieutenant Ramírez, who was always there.
Of these twelve soldiers, three stood guard in front of the Viceroy’s private apparentment, another outside the door, a second halfway down the corridor, and a third at the top of the stairs leading to the floor below.
Normally, after an hour or so, seeing that nothing ever happened inside the palace, the guard at the top of the stairs would lie down on the floor and go to sleep.
The other two would likewise fall asleep, but on their feet, like horses, with their backs against the wall.
That week the three soldiers assigned to guard the apartment were called Osorio, who was outside the door, Vanasco, who was the one halfway down the corridor, and Martínez, who was at the top of the stairs.
That night, while in a deep sleep, aided by the semidarkness created by the fact that the only torch lighting the hallway was far away, Osorio was suddenly awakened by something he didn’t at first understand.
Was it a human voice or an animal?
He pricked up his ears and soon became convinced that he was hearing the voice of a man moaning in pain.
“Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!” said the voice.
What was a man doing inside the private apartment where there were only supposed to be women—that is, donna Eleonora and her four chambermaids?
Hearing the desperate laments continue, he went over to Vanasco, who was asleep, and woke him up.
“Come with me,” he said.
“What is it?”
“I want you to hear something.”
Vanasco followed him and heard the moaning.
It was possible that someone had entered the apartment through a different door. But that door led directly into the room where don Angel’s catafalque rested.
The two men ran to Martínez and woke him up.
“Have you seen anyone pass this way?”
“Anyone . . . ?” Martínez repeated, still half asleep.
“Yes, a man.”
“No,” said Martínez, who, in a sleep as deep as his, wouldn’t have seen even a whole army pass.
All three went to listen to see whether the voice was still moaning.
It was.
“I’ll go and call the lieutenant,” Osorio said, worried. “You two don’t move from here.”
Lieutenant Ramírez arrived on the run, a burning torch in his hand. He too heard the cries, which grew more and more frightening.
Now all of them were scared.
“Go and wake up the Chief of Ceremonies and get him to bring the key to the private apartment.”
The other key was in the possession of Estrella, the chief chambermaid.
The Chief of Ceremonies arrived in his nightshirt and opened the door. They all went into the antechamber.
It was immediately clear that the cries were coming from the room in which don Angel’s corpse was lying.
Everyone’s hair stood on end, and they all started trembling. They were scared out of their wits.
“Who has the key to that room?” asked Ramírez.
“Donna Eleonora.”
“Isn’t there any other door?”
“There is, there’s a second door that gives onto the landing. But it’s always been locked,” said the Chief of Ceremonies.
“And who has the key?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Then the lieutenant went up to the locked door and asked:
“Who are you?”
There was no answer. The moaning, however, became more terrifying.
Voice now quavering a little, the lieutenant asked:
“Do you need help?”
“Yessssssss!” replied a cavernous voice that sounded as if it came from the bowels of the earth.
The torch fell from the terrified lieutenant’s hand and went out, plunging them all into darkness.
At which point they crashed into one another and fled into the hall, where they remained, out of breath and clinging to each other.
At that moment the groans stopped.
They all pricked up their ears but no longer heard anything.
The following morning the Chief of Ceremonies and Lieutenant Ramírez respectfully asked donna Eleonora if they could have the key to the room where the dead body lay.
“Last night we heard a man moaning in there,” said the Chief of Ceremonies.
“He was asking for help,” added the lieutenant.
“Estáis seguros?”
“Absolutely.”
“Voy con vosotros.”
Inside the room, everything was in perfect order. The great candles in the candlesticks were still lit. Lieutenant Ramírez went and checked the other door.
It seemed not to have been opened for years.
The Chief of Ceremonies and lieutenant felt upset. But the look donna Eleonora gave them made them feel even more upset.
That same morning Osorio, the soldier, who had a thing going with the palace chambermaid whose job it was to buy provisions in town, told her about the terrible fright he’d had. And she, who was quite a gossip, told it to everyone at the market.
The following night nothing happened. All hell broke loose, however, on the night between Thursday and Friday.
At half past midnight the two soldiers on guard on the first floor, whose names were del Rojo and Sánchez, were leaning against each other, asleep, when they were awakened by a sudden blast of cold air.
Since it was a nasty night of wind and rain, apparently a gust had opened a window somewhere. A second later, owing perhaps to another gust, the only wall torch went out.
The two guards immediately became worried, knowing what had happened three nights before.
They didn’t manage in time to go and relight the torch before a bonechilling, lost-soul lament paralyzed them.
Then, by the light of a thunderbolt, they saw a frightful thing.
A ghost, with both arms raised, was approaching them menacingly, emitting that groan, which one couldn’t hear without being scared to death.
“Una aparición!” shouted del Rojo.
“Un fantasma!” yelled Sánchez.
And both took to their heels, shouting wildly and so loudly that they woke up half the palace.
The only open route ahead of them was the staircase. They took it and ran past Martínez, who was in a haze of sleep.
“Una aparición!”
“Un fantasma!”
Martínez started running behind them, adding his voice to the screams.
When the three soldiers came to Vanasco, who was the bravest of the lot, he let them pass but remained steadfast at his post, sabre unsheathed, waiting for the ghost to arrive.
Osorio came running up and planted himself beside him.
And the white ghost appeared at the far end of the corridor. But it was not alone.
Behind him was another ghost.
Two ghosts was too much to bear. Both Vanasco and Osorio likewise turned tail and started running behind the other three, to the end of the corridor.
“Dos apariciones!”
“Dos fantasmas!”
And thus they were not in a position to notice that something odd had happened. Which was that the first ghost, hearing a loud moan behind him, had turned and, seeing the second ghost, had fainted and fallen to the floor.
This was because the first ghost wasn’t really a ghost, but the Chief of Ceremonies, who’d been woken up by all the yelling and got out of bed in his white nightshirt and the tasseled white cap he normally slept in.
Stepping over the ghost on the floor, the second ghost kept advancing, still moaning and groaning like a lost soul.
The soldiers, by this point spooked out of their wits, had nowhere to run, the only remaining escape route being the window.
But at that moment Sánchez remembered that just under the window was a little terrace. Small and narrow, but a terrace just the same.
Without thinking twice, he opened the window and threw himself below. The other four followed behind him, still shouting:
“Dos apariciones!”
“Dos fantasmas!”
All the yelling, meanwhile, had woken up donna Eleonora. She got up out of bed and went out of her apartment and into the corridor, where she ran into the lieutenant, who was bearing up a trembling, saucer-eyed Chief of Cermonies, arms around his shoulders, as the official blubbered:
“A gh . . . ghost! I s-saw a gh . . . ghost!”
Half an hour later it was learned that Sanchez, in jumping out the window, had leapt too far out and instead of landing on the little terrace had crashed some twenty yards farther below, at the base of the palace walls, and died instantly.
Donna Eleonora decided that it would be quite inappropriate to hold the Council session the following morning. She would tell the Councillors what she had to say to them at the Tuesday session.
And since it wasn’t possible to talk to the Chief of Ceremonies just then, she sent for the assistant chief and told him to inform the Councillors, first thing in the morning, that the session had been postponed.
By this point she longer felt sleepy, and so she went into the study to read the letters that had been coming in, since by now people were writing to her from all over Sicily.
The episode of the ghost left her indifferent, but she planned to discuss it with Lieutenant Ramírez in the morning. She was convinced it was a nasty prank among soldiers that, unfortunately, had ended badly.
As the first light of dawn was coming in through the window, however, Estrella appeared and told her that there was a priest in the anteroom who needed urgently to speak with her. She got up and went to meet him.
She’d never seen this priest before. He was rather young, had wild eyes, and was decked out in a stole and holding a holy-water bucket and aspergillum. He didn’t greet her, but only stared fixedly at her.
“Quién es Usted?”
“I am Don Scipione Mezzatesta, the new palace chaplain. Don Asciolla was reassigned.”
“Qué quiere?”
“The key to the room where your husband’s mortal remains lie.”
“Por qué?”
“I believe it is my duty to undertake the immediate burial of the deceased. The ghost who appeared this evening is clearly your husband, who is wandering about bewailing that he has not yet been granted a Christian burial.”
Black flames flashed in donna Eleonora’s eyes.
“Fuera de aquí!”
“I shall have to notify his excellency the Bishop that—”
“Fuera de aquí!”
The priest turned his back and went out.
That same morning the bishop sent word to all the local parish priests to inform their congregants that at noon the following day, Saturday, he wanted everyone gathered together in the Cathedral because he planned to celebrate a Mass for the troubled soul of don Angel, after which he would deliver a special sermon. And then on Sunday morning there would be a solemn funeral procession that would leave from the Cathedral and march to the viceregal palace.
At midday on Saturday in the great church, there wasn’t room left for so much as a needle. A great many people remained outside, not having been able to enter.
To ascend to his pulpit the bishop had to wend his way through the crowd, which overflowed onto the stairs leading up to it.
He knew that he had started a battle with donna Eleonora that could only end with the disappearance, in one way or another, of one of them. And he’d decided to speak without casting any anathemas, and to try to use only words that touched the heart.
He opened by declaring that all the gold in the world would never persuade him not to say the words he was about to say. In addition, these words, if taken the wrong way, could lead to grave charges against him, namely that of having rebelled against the representative of the power of our beloved sovereign, the King of Spain.
So why, then, was he speaking?
Not in obeisance to a higher order, but only to give voice his own conscience as a pastor who had to find ways to make his entire flock follow the holy precepts. And among these holy precepts, there was one in particular that must not be transgressed: the injunction to bury the dead.
“My little brothers and sisters, my sons and daughters, has it ever once crossed your minds not to give a Christian burial to one of your loved ones? To your father? To your mother? It never has, I am sure of it. And one who does not want to bury the dead, what kind of person is that? A man or a beast? A beast, you will say. But, be careful, my little brothers and sisters: there are people who have the appearance of human beings and the feelings of beasts. And these people can only be either possessed by the demon or incarnations of the devil himself. And right here, in Palermo—and my heart weeps to say it—there is a woman who, if she is not the demon herself, belongs to him. Do you know of whom I speak?”
“Yes!” said a thousand or so voices.
“This woman,” the bishop resumed, “refuses to bury her husband, and keeps his dead body in her house. Why is she doing this? Is it perhaps—and the mere thought of it makes me tremble—because she needs that body for some of her devilish black magic? And the other night, as you all know, the deceased’s poor soul started wandering from room to room groaning and pleading for help. Because his wife will not grant him the peace that is his due.”
“The woman is cursed!” cried a very shrill, almost hysterical voice.
“Cursed! Cursed!” hundreds of voices repeated in unison.
“And do you want to know something else?” the bishop continued. “Yesterday morning she dared throw out the priest who wanted to bless the deceased just to grant him a little peace!”
There was a long murmur of shock and disapproval.
At this point all it took was for one woman to fall to the ground, foaming at the mouth, for dozens of others to follow suit. Some knelt and beat their chests with their hands, some tore at their hair, some writhed on the floor, eyes rolling back into their heads . . .
With all the power in his lungs, the bishop announced that the solemn procession would leave from the Cathedral at nine the following morning, and then he stepped down from the pulpit.
He was pleased with his effort.
And since in a short while the content of the bishop’s sermon came to be known at the palace, Lieutenant Ramírez, weighing his options, requested that the number of soldiers guarding the building be tripled and was granted his request.
The bishop, too, for his part, held a long meeting with Mezzatesta and four other trusted priests, during which they worked out all the details of the next day’s procession and of what would follow the procession.
In the early afternoon, a worried don Serafino raced to donna Eleonora to warn her that there was a great deal of uneasiness in the city over the question of her unburied huband and the supposed ghost in the palace. And as he knew nothing of what had transpired, since he hadn’t been to the palace since the previous Tuesday, he was filled in on everything. Afterwards, he sat for a few minutes in silence, then asked donna Eleonora for the key to the room with the catafalque. The marquesa gave it to him without any questions.
The court physician went and spoke with the Chief of Ceremonies.
“I wanted to ask you about what happened the other night.”
“When I saw the ghost?”
“I’m not interested in the ghost.”
“Then what do you want to know?”
“Where the cries were coming from.”
“Definitely from the room with the viceroy’s casket.”
“Is it true that the lieutenant asked the person crying if he needed any help?”
“Of course. And the person said yes. I heard him with my own ears. And the voice was coming right from there.”
“I’m told that there’s a second door there.”
“That’s true.”
“Who has the key to it?”
“I don’t know.”
He thanked the Chief of Ceremonies, went and opened the door to the mortuary chamber, went in, and closed it behind him.
Don Serafino didn’t believe in ghosts. The four candlesticks gave off sufficient light. He looked around.
And he noticed that in the wall on the right-hand side of the room there was a large recess, the sides of which were carved into trompe-l’oeil columns supporting an arch. Surely in the past the room must have been a chapel.
He approached the door at the back, which was large and old, and studied it long and hard, examining the lock in particular.
He was starting to form an opinion, but he needed to ask a few questions.