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ed in its warmth。 Slowly； as my stomach settled； I tried to gaze steadily before me； to fight the pain of the light and love it and trust in it。
My vision was filled with the face of the angel Setheus right in front of me； only a foot from me； peering at me with the deepest concern。 〃Dear God； you are here；〃 I whispered。
〃Yes；〃 he said。 〃I promised you。〃
〃You aren't leaving me； are you？〃 I asked。
〃No；〃 he said。
Over his shoulder； Ramiel peered at me closely； as if studying me at leisure and with mitment for the first time。 His shorter looser hair made him seem younger； though such distinctions made no difference。
〃No； none at all；〃 he whispered； and for the first time； he too smiled。
〃Do as these gentle people tell you；〃 said Ramiel。 〃Let them take you inside； and then you must sleep a natural sleep； and when you wake we'll be with you。〃
〃Oh； but it's a horror； a story of horrors；〃 I whispered。 〃Filippo never painted such horrors。〃
〃We are not painted things；〃 said Setheus。 〃What God has in store for us we will discover together； you and Ramiel and I。 Now you must go inside。 The monks are here。 Into their care we give you； and when you wake we will be at your side。〃
〃Like the prayer；〃 I whispered。
〃Oh； yes； truly；〃 Ramiel said。 He raised his hand。 I saw the shadow of his five fingers and then felt the silken touch of his fingers as he closed my eyes。
10
IN WHICH I CONVERSE WITH THE INNOCENT AND POWERFUL SONS OF GOD
WOULD sleep and deeply； yes； but not until much later。 What came was a hazy； dreamlike wonderland of protective images。 I was carried by a burly monk and his assistants into the monastery of San Marco。
There could be no place better for me in all of Florence … other than Cosimo's own house perhaps … than the Dominican Monastery of San Marco。
Now； in all of Florence； I know of many exquisite buildings and so much magnificence that even then； as a boy； I could not catalogue in my mind all the riches that lay before me。
But nowhere is there any cloister more serene； I think； than that of San Marco； which had only recently been renovated by the most humble and decent Michelozzo at the behest of Cosimo the Elder。 It had a long and venerable history in Florence； but only in recent times had it been given over to the Dominicans； and it was endowed in certain sublime ways in which no other monastery was。
As all Florence knew； Cosimo had lavished a fortune on San Marco； maybe to make up for all the money he made by usury； for as a banker he was a taker of interest and therefore a usurer； but then so were we who had put money in his bank。
Whatever the case； Cosimo； our capo； our true leader； had loved this place and given to it many many treasures； but most of all perhaps its marvelously proportioned new buildings。
His detractors； the whiners； the ones who do nothing great； and suspect all that isn't in a state of perpetual disintegration； they said of him； 〃He even puts his coat of arms in the privies of the monks。〃
His coat of arms； by the way； is a shield with five protuberant balls on it； the meaning of which has been variously explained； but what these enemies actually said was： Cosimo had hung his balls over the monks' privies。 Eh！ That his enemies would be so lucky to have such privies； or such balls。
How much more clever it might have been for those men to point out that Cosimo often spent days at this monastery himself in meditation and prayer； and that the former Prior here； who was Cosimo's great friend and advisor； Fra Antonino； was now the Archbishop of Florence。
Ah； so much for the ignorant； who still to the day five hundred years from then tell lies about Cosimo。 As I passed under the door； I thought； What in the name of God shall I say to these people in this House of God？
No sooner had that thought popped out of my sleepy head and； I fear； my drugged and sleepy mouth； than I heard Ramiel's laugh in my ear。
I tried to see if he was at my side。 But I was blubbering and sick again； and dizzy； and could make out only that we had entered the most tranquil and pleasing cloister。
The sun so burnt my eyes that I couldn't thank God yet for the beauty of the square green garden in the center of this place； but I could see very starkly and sweetly the low rounded arches created by Michelozzo； arches which created gentle colorless and humble vaults over my head。
And the tranquillity achieved by the pure columns； with their small rolled Ionic capitals； all of this added to my sense of safety and peace。 Proportions were always the gift of Michelozzo。 He opened up things when he built them。 And these wide spacious loggias were his stamp。
Nothing would erase the memory for me of the soaring dagger…tipped Gothic arches of the French castle in the North； of the filigreed stone peaks everywhere there that seemed to point in animosity at the Almighty。 And though I knew I misjudged this architecture and its intent … for surely； before Florian and his Court of the Ruby Grail had taken hold of it； it had been born from the devotions of the French and the Germans … I still could not get the hated vision of it out of my head。 Trying desperately not to heave up my guts again； I relaxed all my limbs as I saw this Florentine enclosure。
Down around the cloister； down around the burning hot garden； the large monk； a bear of a man； beaming down at me in habitual and inveterate kindness； carried me in his burly arms； while there came others in their flowing black and white robes； with thin radiant faces seeming to encircle us even in our rapid progress。 I couldn't see my angels。
But these men were the nearest to angels that the world provides。
I soon realized … due to my former visits to this great place … that I was not being taken to the hospice； where drugs were dispensed to the sick of Florence； or to the pilgrims' refuge； which was always swarming with those who e to offer and pray； but up the stairs into the very hall of the monks' cells。
In a glaze of sickness in which beauty brought a catch in my throat； I saw at the head of the stairway； spread out on the wall； the fresco of Fra Giovanni's Annunciation。
My painting； the Annunciation！ My chosen favorite； the painting which meant more to me than any other religious motif。
And no； it wasn't the genius of my turbulent Filippo Lippi； no； but it was my painting； and surely this was an omen that no demon can damn a soul through the poison of forced blood。 Was Ursula's blood forced on you too？ Horrid thought。 Try not to remember her soft fingers being pulled loose from you； you fool； you drunken fool； try not to remember her lips and the long thick kisslet of blood slipping into your own open mouth。
〃Look at it！〃 I cried out。 I pointed one flopping arm towards the painting。
〃Yes； yes； we have so many；〃 said the big smiling bear of a monk。
Fra Giovanni was of course the painter。 Who could have not seen it in one glance？ Besides； I knew it。 And Fra Giovanni … let me remind you one more time that this is Fra Angelico of the ages … had made a severe； soothing； tender but utterly simple Angel and Virgin； steeped in humility and devoid of embellishments； the visitation itself taking place between low rounded arches such as made up the very cloister from which we had just e。
As the big monk swung me around to take me down the broad corridor … and broad it was； and so polished and austere and beautiful to me … I tried to form words as I carried the image of the angel in my mind。
I wanted to tell Ramiel and Setheus； if they were still with me； that look； Gabriel's wings had only simple stripes of color； and look； how his gown fell in symmetrical and disciplined folds。 All of this I understood； as I understood the rampant grandeur of Ramiel and Setheus； but I was blubbering nonsense again。
〃The halos；〃 I said。 〃You two； where are you？ Your halos hover over your heads。 I saw them。 I saw them in the street and in the paintings。 But you see in the painting by Fra Giovanni； the halo is flat and surrounds the painted face； a disk hard and golden right on the field of the painting
The monks laughed。 〃To whom are you speaking； young Signore Vittorio di Raniari？〃 one of them asked me。
〃Be quiet； child；〃 said the big monk； his booming bass voice pushing against me through his barrel of a chest。 〃You're in our tender care。 And you must hush now； see； there； that's the library； you see our monks at work？〃
They were proud of it； weren't they？ Even in our progress when I might have vomited all over the immaculate floor； the monk turned to let me see through the open door the long room crowded with books and monks at work； but what I saw too was Michelozzo's vaulted ceiling； again； not soaring to leave us； but bending gently over the heads of the monks and letting a volume of light and air rise above them。
It seemed I saw visions。 I saw multiple and triple figures where there should only be one； and even in a flash a misty confusion of angelic wings； and oval faces turned； peering at me through the veil of supernatural secrecy。
〃Do you see？〃 was all I could say。 I had to get to that library； I had to find texts in it that defined the demons。 Yes； I had not given up！ Oh； no； I was