The Collector of Dying Breaths

Chapter 5

MARCH 11, 1573

BARBIZON, FRANCE

The place where you have willingly worked all of your life takes on very different dimensions and sensibilities when you are imprisoned there. For seven days I was locked inside my mentor’s laboratory, under arrest pending a trial.

Brother Serapino had told me over and over that he longed for death the way a thirsty man yearns for water. That the pain was too much to bear. It is horrible to see a loved one suffering. I thought that I too would find relief once he was gone, knowing that he was no longer in agony.

But in truth I had no idea how it would feel. I had not been apart for him for a single day in more than ten years. I slept in an alcove in the laboratory steps away from his cell. I ate with him. Studied with him. Only when I bathed or relieved myself was I alone. Now he was truly gone, and my loneliness pressed down on me in the darkness of the cell. I shed tears until I had none left. Then I tried to pray. But prayer had never been of much solace to me. I did not truly believe. I had seen too much suffering in my short life. While many of the brothers around me espoused blind faith, Serapino did not.

My mentor felt blessed by the bounty of the garden that allowed him to create the lotions, potions, elixirs and waters that were so coveted both in and out of the monastery. He dutifully went to Mass every morning and matins every afternoon and awoke in the middle of every night to join the others in supplication in the chapel. But once he was back in the laboratory, there was never talk of God. Never prayers. His work was his all. It fed him and energized him and kept him curious. That was what he had imbued me with. His true belief was his faith in alchemy.

And so, alone in the laboratory in those hours after his death, I had no branch to reach for, no promise of solace waiting if only I could dive deeper into prayer and contemplation. Instead I sunk deeper and deeper into the muck and mire of mourning.

When the door opened the morning after Serapino’s death, five monks entered the cell: three to remove Serapino’s body and two to stand watch over me and make sure I didn’t try to-what? Run? Overpower them? What did they think I was going to do? It was in fact their suspicion that ignited my imagination. If they thought me so capable of escaping that I needed watching, then perhaps I was.

Serapino used to tell me that he could see cunning and determination in my eyes and talked to me about using my intelligence for good and not evil. As I grew older, I questioned him about what he thought me capable of. He smiled that secret smile he had, put his hand on my shoulder. “Every man has two souls,” he said. And he was watching mine wage a battle with each other. “You are strong, René. Tragedy has tempered you. Your determination can be either your salvation or your ruin. Go after what you want, but not ruthlessly. Explore the ramifications. Pay attention to cause and effect. Weigh your actions against your desires. It’s critical you understand.”

But I didn’t. How was I any different than he was? How was I any more cunning?

I didn’t know. Not then. Not yet. But as they prepared to remove Serapino’s body, I called upon that part of me that he had warned me about and began to plan.

Brother Leo put his hands under Serapino’s arms. Brother Pietro took him by the feet. Brother Alferius supervised. On his count, the other two lifted the body and carried it gently out toward the door.

Brother Michael, who I knew well and who had often worked with Serapino and me in the garden, looked down on me with sympathetic eyes. “René Bianco, the friar has requested I explain what is going to happen.”

“I was only doing what Serapino asked,” I protested. “You saw how ill he was. You know he was eager for his time to come.”

I had never pleaded before.

Michael shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He held out his hands, palms up, in supplication. “You’ll stay here in this cell until the abbot is ready for the trial.”

“When will that be?”

“No more than a fortnight. There’s never been an inquisition here in his time. He needs to prepare.”

“But I have to be allowed out to go to the service for Brother Serapino. I must be at his internment.” When I grabbed the hem of Michael’s rough brown robe, Brother Pius stepped forward, yanked my hands loose and shoved me backward, sending me tumbling.

“They can’t bury him without allowing me to say good-bye,” I begged.

But hearing my own voice, seeing the look of pity on Michael’s face, I was ashamed. Sniveling on the stone floor. Whining like a child. It awakened anger in me.

I didn’t want compassion or sympathy. I was René Bianco, Brother Serapino’s apprentice. I already excelled at creating perfumes and potions. Hadn’t I created the scented water that Catherine de Medici used exclusively? Hadn’t I created the fragrant water that Alessandro de Medici traveled with?

Slowly, I rose to my feet.

“This is not right or just. You both know it. And I will make sure that all the brothers know it.” My voice was calmer now. “Brother Michael, will you please tell the abbot that I request permission to attend the funeral services of Brother Serapino? I am an innocent man who has neither been tried nor proven guilty, so it seems inhumane to prevent me from paying my respects as my mentor prepares to enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Slowly, a plan began to emerge in my mind. The fact was, I was not a monk. Had taken no vows. I was a free man who had willingly stayed here to work with Serapino. If I could escape the monastery during the funeral, there were ways a young man could hide in a city as big as Florence. All I needed was to get out of this cell.

“The abbot was clear: you will not be allowed to leave here until the day of your trial.”

Calculating how best to play this, I bowed my head. “I beg you to tell the abbot how grief-stricken I am and how much this kindness would mean to me.”

They left and soon I heard the far-off chanting that accompanied Serapino to his resting place in the catacomb beneath the basilica of Santa Maria Novella.

As I tried to envision the ceremony, it suddenly occurred to me: If they believed I was guilty, then Brother Serapino could not have taken his own life. Not committed the ultimate sin in the eyes of the Lord. And they could still bury him in hallowed ground. Even if I was innocent in the brothers’ eyes, even if some of them believed me, I was the scapegoat; they needed to sentence me to eternal damnation and protect the holy sanctity and reputation of the monastery.

Such was the power and the glory of the church. Such was the duplicity of these holy men who claimed to care about the human soul but were no less selfish than the princes and noblemen outside the stone walls.

It was two hours after the chanting ended when the key turned in the lock. With a creak the door opened. Two monks stayed at the door, blocking any attempt I might make to escape. One walked inside.

Brother Michael was carrying a wooden tray with a loaf of bread, a jug of water, a wedge of cheese and a meager bunch of grapes. My rations for the next twenty-four hours.

His soft brown eyes were heavy with sorrow as he put the tray down on the table and then from his pocket removed a candle stub. I could smell smoke still clinging to it. He held it out.

“I have candles aplenty,” I said, gesturing to the shelves of supplies in the laboratory.

Or were they going to strip the laboratory of supplies and leave me with just this?

“No, this is not for light,” he whispered. “We buried your mentor this afternoon, and this is the candle I held during the Mass. When it was time to pass by the body and pay our respects, this was the candle I used to drop wax on his lips to seal his soul so it would be delivered intact to God. I thought you would like to have it.”

Stunned by his compassion, I took the candle from his hand. Unable to speak, I looked at the well where the wax had melted and dripped onto Serapino’s lips. They didn’t know they hadn’t sealed his soul inside his body with that last rite. I had his soul in the glass vial that was strapped to my chest. And somehow I would escape this prison and learn how to free it and bring my Serapino back to life.