ma non però ch’aloma sen rivesta,
ché non é giusto aver ciò ch’om si toglie.
“Qui le strascineremo, e per la mesta
selva saranno i nostri corpi appesi,
ciascuno al prun de l’ ombra sua molesta.
“So Dante recalls, in sound, the death of Judas in the death of Pier della Vigna for the same crimes of avarice and treachery.
“Ahithophel, Judas, your own Pier della Vigna. Avarice, hanging, self-destruction, with avarice counting as self-destruction as much as hanging. And what does the anonymous Florentine suicide say in his torment at the end of the canto?
“Io fei gibetto a me de le mie case.
“And I—I made my own house be my gallows.
“On the next occasion you might like to discuss Dante’s son Pietro. Incredibly, he was the only one of the early writers on the thirteenth canto who links Pier della Vigna and Judas. I think, too, it would be interesting to take up the matter of chewing in Dante. Count Ugolino chewing on the back of the archbishop’s head, Satan with his three faces chewing Judas, Brutus and Cassius, all betrayers like Pier della Vigna.
“Thank you for your kind attention.”
The scholars applauded him enthusiastically, in their soft and dusty way, and Dr. Lecter left the lights down as he said good-bye to them, each by name, holding books in his arms so he would not have to shake their hands. Going out of the soft light of the Salon of Lilies, they seemed to carry the spell of the lecture with them.
Dr. Lecter and Rinaldo Pazzi, alone now in the great chamber, could hear wrangling over the lecture break out among the sc
holars as they descended the stairs.
“Would you say that I saved my job, Commendatore?”
“I’m not a scholar, Dr. Fell, but anyone can see that you impressed them. Doctor, if it’s convenient for you, I’ll walk home with you and collect your predecessor’s effects.”
“They fill two suitcases, Commendatore, and you already have your briefcase. Do you want to carry them?”
“I’ll have a patrol car come for me at the Palazzo Capponi.” Pazzi would insist if necessary.
“Fine,” Dr. Lecter said. “I’ll be a minute, putting things away.”
Pazzi nodded and went to the tall windows with his cell phone, never taking his eyes off Lecter.
Pazzi could see that the doctor was perfectly calm. From the floors below came the sounds of power tools.
Pazzi dialed a number and when Carlo Deogracias answered, Pazzi said, “Laura, amore, I’ll be home very shortly.”
Dr. Lecter took his books off the podium and packed them in a bag. He turned to the projector, its fan still humming, dust swimming in its beam.
“I should have shown them this one, I can’t imagine how I missed it.” Dr. Lecter projected another drawing, a man naked hanging beneath the battlements of the palace. “This one will interest you, Commendator Pazzi, let me see if I can improve the focus.”
Dr. Lecter fiddled with the machine, and then he approached the image on the wall, his silhouette black on the cloth the same size as the hanged man.
“Can you make this out? It won’t enlarge any more. Here’s where the archbishop bit him. And beneath him is written his name.”
Pazzi did not get close to Dr. Lecter, but as he approached the wall he smelled a chemical, and thought for an instant it was something the restorers used.
“Can you make out the characters? It says ‘Pazzi’ along with a rude poem. This is your ancestor, Francesco, hanging outside the Palazzo Vecchio, beneath these windows,” Dr. Lecter said. He held Pazzi’s eyes across the beam of light between them.
“On a related subject, Signore Pazzi, I must confess to you: I’m giving serious thought to eating your wife.”
Dr. Lecter flipped the big drop cloth down over Pazzi, Pazzi flailing at the canvas, trying to uncover his head as his heart flailed in his chest, and Dr. Lecter behind him fast, seizing him around the neck with terrible strength and clapping an ether-soaked sponge over the canvas covering Pazzi’s face.