When they open his cell door, he fears they are going to take him back to the torture chamber. At the mere thought of it, he feels a sharp pain in his shoulders.
Two officers place a bucket of water and a dirty rag on the floor.
“Wash up, and do it quickly.”
“What?” That’s all he can say.
“You’re being released,” Dino Gherardi says, entering the cell. “You will now go home, pack up your things, and by the end of the day you must move your family to your farm in Sant’Andrea in Percussina. You are not allowed to leave the farm. If you need to come to Florence for some important matter, you will have to ask permission. You may never leave the Republic; it is a crime punishable by death.”
The sunlight that shines through the grating in the ceiling of the prison is blinding. He is forced to shut his eyes and wavers unsteadily on his feet.
Gherardi grabs him and has him sit down.
“It will pass,” he says. “Stay seated until you get your strength back. You haven’t been maimed and that’s what counts.”
The road home is inconceivably long. He’s exhausted, he has to walk slowly and stay close to the wall so he can lean on it now and then. He helps himself along with his hands, step by step.
He notices how people in the street look at him and move away. Everyone has heard about what happened to him.
After what seems like an endless amount of time, he reaches the street where he lives, or rather, where he used to live.
Bernardo and Lodovico are playing with other children near the front door.
Bernardo notices him first. “Babbo! Babbo’s home!” he says, running toward him, followed by his brother. But then the boy stops and hesitates, as if he’s afraid of him, as if something obscure and dangerous has taken his father’s place. Lodovico does the same.
Niccolò smiles to reassure them, but they keep their distance.
Marietta rushes out of the house and to his side. Her eyes are shiny with tears and she hugs him. Niccolò flinches with pain but holds her tight.