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was, as all of Rome knew, Torriani’s most worrisome problem. Everyone spoke of him. A persistent reader of the Book of Revelation, this Dominican of brilliant tongue and great seductive power had recently established a theocratic republic in Florence to fill the gap left by the flight of the Medici. From the vantage of his new pulpit, he raged against the excesses of Pope Alexander VI. Savonarola was a madman or, even worse, a fearless rogue. He lent deaf ears to the calls to order from his superiors, and he deliberately ignored canonical legislation. The Dictatus Papae, which, from the eleventh century, exempted the Pope and his court from all possibility of error, filled him with outrage, and challenging even the nineteenth sentence (“No one may judge the Pope”), he shouted from the altar that His Holiness must be stopped in the name of God Himself.
    Our Master General had been driven to despair. Not only had he been unable to stifle that madcap’s dreams of grandeur, but he had been helpless to prevent Savonarola’s attitude from compromising the entire order in the eyes of His Holiness. The rebel, proud as Samson before the Philistines, had rejected the cardinal’s hat offered to him to silence his criticism, and had even refused to abandon his tribune in the Florentine monastery of San Marco, alleging that he had a more important divine mission to accomplish. For this reason alone Master Torriani did not want the loyalty of the Dominican preachers questioned in Milan. If the Soothsayer was a Dominican and he was correct in his warnings against Ludovico il Moro’s pagan plans for our new house in the city, then our order itself would once again be called into question.
    “I’ve reached a decision, Father Agostino,” the Master General declared with severity, after a moment’s reflection. “We must abolish any shadow of a doubt from the works at Santa Maria delle Grazie, even appealing to the Holy Inquisition, if need be.”
    “Master, you are not thinking of bringing the Duke of Milan before a court?”
    “Only if necessary. You know full well that nothing pleases the princes of this world more than to uncover the weaknesses of our Church and use them against us. That is why we are obliged to forestall their movements. Another scandal like that of Savonarola, and our House would be left in very bad standing in the eyes of the Papal States. You understand that, don’t you?”
    “And how, if I may ask, do you intend to reach the Soothsayer, confirm his denunciations and gather the necessary information to judge him, all without raising suspicion?”
    “I’ve given the matter much thought, my dear Father Agostino,” he muttered enigmatically. “You know better than I do that if I sent one of our inquisitors at the wrong time, the Milan tribunal would ask too many questions and thereby destroy the discretion demanded in this case. And if such a far-reaching plot does indeed exist, the accomplices of Ludovico il Moro would quickly hide its evidence.”
    “And so?”
    Without answering, Torriani opened the study door and went down the stairs to the entrance gate. He entered the stables courtyard and sought out his mule: the emergency meeting was at an end. Outside, the storm was still blowing strongly.
    “Tell me, what are you planning to do?” I insisted.
    “Ludovico il Moro has decreed that the duchess’s state funeral should take place in ten days’ time,” he answered at last. “There will be envoys from everywhere coming to Milan, and then it will be easy to enter Santa Maria and make the pertinent inquiries to find the Soothsayer. However,” he added, “we can’t send any simple friar. It must be someone discerning, knowledgeable in laws, heresies and secret codes. His mission will be to find the Soothsayer, to confirm his accusations one by one and to stop the heresy. And it must be a man from this house. From Bethany.”
    The Master General cast a wary glance at the road he was about to