With a torch in his hand, Father Rodrigo of Salamanca climbed down the stairs that led to the castello dungeon at a time of night when only the guards, diligent in their nightly watch were still awake. The jailer, hearing someone approach, stood at the bottom ready to confront his intruder. ‘Who goes there?’ he barked. Father Rodrigo reached the last step and held up the burning torch.
‘Oh, it’s you, Father,’ the jailer said. ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone at this hour. Step this way.’ He opened the door to his guard room and offered a chair to Father Rodrigo, who declined.
‘Show me the Butcher of Milan,’ the Inquisitor demanded. The jailer held out his palm to receive his customary payment for such services, but all he received was a rap over the knuckles. ‘I am here on the will of God. Now
