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〃You'll frighten him。 Be quiet。 He has no fever。〃
〃Well； you're damned wrong if you think you took my wits；〃 I declared suddenly。 I shouted it to Florian and to Godric and to all of them。
The monks looked at me in urgent astonishment。
I laughed。 〃I only was talking to those who tried to hurt me；〃 I said； again letting each word have a clear distinct shape。
The thin monk with the remarkably scrubbed hands knelt by me。 He smoothed my forehead。 〃And the beautiful sister； the sister who was to be married； is she too。。。 ？〃
〃Bartola！ She was to be married？ I didn't know。 Well； he can have her head for a maidenhead。〃 I wept。 〃The worms are at work in the dark。 And the demons dance on the hill； and the town does nothing。〃
〃What town？〃
〃You're raving again；〃 said a monk who stood beyond the candles。 How distinct he looked； though he was beyond the light； a round…shouldered individual with a hooked nose and thick somber heavy eyelids。 〃Don't rave anymore； poor child。〃
I wanted to protest； but I saw suddenly a giant soft wing； each feather tinged with gold； e down over me； enfolding me。 I was tickled all over by the softness of the feathers。 Ramiel said：
〃What must we do to make you shut up？ Filippo needs us now； will you give us some peace and quiet for Filippo； whom God sent us to guard？ Don't answer me。 Obey me。〃 The wing crushed out all vision； all woe。
Shadowy pale darkness。 Even and plete。 The candles were behind me； set up high。
I woke。 I rose up on my elbows。 My head was clear。 A lovely even illumination gave just the smallest tremble as it filled the cell。 From the high window came the moon。 The shaft of the moon struck the fresco on the wall； the fresco obviously painted by Fra Giovanni。
My eyes could see it with amazing clarity。 Was this my demonic blood？
A strange thought came to me。 It rung in my consciousness with the clarity of a golden bell。 I myself possessed no guardian angels！ My angels had left me； they had departed； because my soul was damned。
I had no angels。 I had seen Filippo's because of the power the demons had given me； and because of something else。 Filippo's angels argued so much with each other！ That's how I had seen them。 Some words came to me。
They came back to me from Aquinas； or was it Augustine？ I'd read so much of both to learn my Latin； and their endless excursuses had so delighted me。 The demons are full of passion。 But angels are not。
But those two angels had such spirit。 That's why they'd cut through the veil。
I pushed back the covers and set my bare feet on the stone floor。 It was cool； and pleasing； because the room； having received the sun all day； was still warm。
No drafts swept the polished and immaculate floor。
I stood before the wall painting。 I wasn't dizzy or sick； or like to fall。 I was myself again。
What an innocent and untroubled soul Fra Giovanni must have been。 All his figures were devoid of malice。 I could see the figure of Christ seated before a mountain； round gold halo decorated with the red arms and top of a cross。 Beside him stood ministering angels。 One held bread for him； and the other； whose figure was cut off by the door that was cut into the wall； this other angel； whose wingtips were barely visible； carried wine and meat。
Above； on the mountain； I saw Christ also。 It was a painting of different incidents； in sequence； and above； Christ was standing in His same smooth and multiwrinkled pink robes； but here He was agitated； as agitated as Fra Giovanni could make Him； and Christ had lifted His left hand； as if in wrath。 The figure who fled from Him was the Devil！ It was a horrid creature with the webbed wings I thought I'd glimpsed earlier； and it had hideous webbed feet。 It had dewclaws on its webbed feet。 Sour…faced and in a dirty gray robe； it fled from Christ； who stood firm in the Desert； refusing to be tempted； and； only after this confrontation； then had the ministering angels e； and had Christ taken His place with His hands clasped。
I sucked in my breath in terror as I beheld this image of the demon。 But a great rush of fort passed through me； causing my hair to tingle at its roots； causing my feet to tingle against the polished floor。 I had routed the demons； I had refused their gift of immortality。 I had refused it。 Even faced with the cross！
I retched。 The pain caught me as if I'd been kicked in the stomach。 I turned。 The basin was there； clean and polished； sitting on the floor。 I dropped to my knees and heaved up more of their syrupy filth。 Was there no water？
I looked around。 There stood the pitcher and the cup。 The cup was full and I spilt some of it as I put it to my lips； but it tasted thin and rancid and awful。 I threw down the cup。
〃You've poisoned me for natural things； you monsters。 You will not win！〃
My hands trembling； I picked up the cup； filled it once more and tried again to drink。 But it tasted unnatural。 To what can I pare it？ It was not foul like urine； it was like water that is full of minerals and metal and will leave a chalk on you and choke you。 It was bad！
I put it aside。 Very well then。 Time to study。 Time to take up the candles； which I now did。
I went out of the cell。 The hall was empty and glowing in the pale light that came from tiny windows over the low…ceilinged cells。
I turned to my right and approached the doors of the library。 They were unlocked。
I entered with my candelabra。 Once again； the tranquillity of Michelozzo's design brought a warmth to me； a faith in all things； a trust。 Two rows of arches and Ionic columns moved down the center of the room to make a broad aisle to the far distant door； and on either side were the study tables； and all along the far walls were racks and racks of codices and scrolls。
Across the herringbone stones of the floor I walked barefoot； lifting the candle higher so that the light would fill up the vaulted ceiling； so happy to be here alone。
Windows on either side let in shafts of pale illumination through the overwhelming clutter of shelves； but how divine and restful were the high ceilings。 How boldly he had done it； made a basilica of a library。
How could I have known； child that I was then； that this style would be imitated all over my beloved Italy？ Oh； there were so many wondrous things then for the living and for all time。
And I？ What am I？ Do I live？ Or am I walking always in death； forever in love with time？
I stood still with my candles。 How my eyes loved the moonlighted splendor。 How I craved to stand here forever； dreaming； near to things of the mind； and things of the soul； and far away in memory from the wretched enchained town on its cursed mountain and the castle nearby； which at this very moment probably gave forth its ghastly； ugly light。
Could I discern the order of this wealth of books？
The very cataloger of this library； the very monk who had done the work here； the very scholar； was now the Pope of all Christendom； Nicholas V。
I moved along the shelves to my right； holding high my candles。 Would it be alphabetical？ I thought of Aquinas； for I knew him more freely； but it was St。 Augustine whom I found。 And I had always loved Augustine； loved his colorful style and his