The Dawn

Maiori forsan cum timore sententiam in me fertis quam ego accipiam.

(Perchance you pronounce my sentence with greater fear than I receive it.)

Giordano Bruno

8 February 1600

The door opened with an ear-splitting screech.

Already? It was barely the crack of dawn. Through the tiny window high above my head I could see the stars blending into the brightening skies. The last day of my life had started.

‘You’re too early, fra’ Ricardo.’ I didn’t bother to turn my head. ‘The crowds haven’t gathered yet. It’ll be no fun.’

‘I’m afraid I’m too late, Nolan.’

The voice was familiar. I turned around, squinting against the flame of the torch. Bright light hurt my eyes—I had spent too long a time in dark dungeons.

‘Angelo! What are you doing here?’ I folded my arms and almost winced. The tips of the fingers on my right hand, where the skin had been cut off, were still raw.

‘I came to talk.’ Angelo made a step forward and the door closed behind his back. We were now standing face to face.

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Have a sit, if you like.’

Angelo glanced at the dirty stone floor. The cell was devoid of any furniture, of course.

‘Very kind of you to offer.’

‘What do you want to talk about?’ I asked rather surly. I would have prefered to be left alone for those last precious minutes, but that was obviously not to be.

‘Your last chance.’

I laughed into his face.

‘Don’t tell me I’ll be pardoned!’

‘Well, you’re still alive. The offer is still valid. So, your fate is in your hands.’

For a while I just studied his plump, clean-shaven cheeks, his sensuous lips curved in an oily smile. The cold look of his small black eyes belied his friendly tone. Anyway, I knew him only too well. We met thirty-seven years ago, when we both just entered San Domenico Maggiore as novitiates. At that time his name was Lorenzo and mine was Filippo. We were two very promising youngsters, eager to join the Dominican Order. Who would think that our paths would be so different?