The Blackhearted Saint

By Ned Minkov

A student discovers a strange sonnet in a library’s collection of Italian Renaissance poetry. This leads him to another, greater revelation – a centuries-old story of lust, greed and killings – all the sins of a single man. The student is soon to find out that this mysterious persona is in the middle of one of the most shameful chapters of the Vatican's history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ned Minkov
• Release date: Mar 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476085982

Ned Minkov

My passion for writing grew gradually early in my school-time. It started feeding up even more in highschool where I graduated in a Literature class. Since that time I began to write some occasional poems and experimenting with short prose. My great interest in history and religion brought me to some ideas for a complete work along with other literary projects, which - I hope - will be ready to go public pretty soon as this would be the best way to value myself as an author...

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The Blackhearted Saint

by

Ned Minkov

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

Published by:

Ned Minkov on Smashwords

Cover design by:

Ned Minkov

Copyright 2011 Ned Minkov

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*****

I would like to thank Mr. Asparouh Velkov for helping me refine the manuscript and turn it into a book worth publishing. I would also like to express my gratitude to Erin Sanchez for the reassuring talks while preparing for my debut as an author.

Prologue

I walked out of my rental apartment rather reluctantly. It was 7:30 a.m. and the November chill was making me shiver. The streets outside were swathed in a dense fog, seasonal for this time of year. The University campus across the hoar-frosted meadow could barely be made out through the grayish curtain.

Usually, I found such weather romantic – its air of mystery, its feel of depression. Not this time round though. I was still sleepy and regretful that I had to exchange my cosy, snug bed for the cold outside. I’d much rather have lain in for another couple of hours. However, no one was likely to finish my Ph.D. dissertation for me. And as the deadline was looming larger and larger, I could not sleep peacefully, anyway. That was why I had made up my mind to get to work earlier that day instead of wasting yet another morning at home.

I was headed towards the Library – the only facility of the University that was outside the campus. It was on the far end of the park opposite to where the faculties were located. А long, narrow alley lead to the mansion-like building of the Library through a thick forest. The mist concealed the trees which, along with the chilly air, rendered the place ghostly, as if I were crossing a cemetery. Yet, as I was walking along the alley, I found its silent seclusion comforting. And I needed this comfort, for I had been feeling troubled too often lately.

I realized that the deadline for finishing my dissertation would coincide with my start in life. Ever since I had walked into the university for the first time, I had been striving towards this turn in my life. My parents had spent years working hard so as to make sure that I not lack comfort or proper education. Now, they expected me to graduate and find a decent, well-paid job and enjoy the good life they had struggled for. Then, the question of what a good life should consist in I had discussed with my colleagues at university, who in turn had inherited a notion from their parents and followed their examples. Raised in upper-middle-class families like me, they were accustomed to driving nice cars, to wearing expensive clothes, to living in spacious apartments or houses around Campus. And they had taken it for granted that these possessions should be the values to be striving after. Consequently, most of them had graduated, had begun working, and some were already married – their ideal of a perfect life fulfilled.

I myself had not been that impatient to take these steps. Although I also recognized the family as a cornerstone of general happiness and had been in a relationship with a wonderful smart girl for three years, I was not confident that I was willing to go all the way. This entailed, as my parents’ example had showed me, entering the vicious circle of work, loans, mortgages, savings, and planning from which there was no way out. Besides, I had begun wondering whether marriage itself was merely another form of possession.

Thus, I had applied for a Ph.D. program, hoping it would allow me time enough to figure out what I truly wanted from life. But this retreat of mine was now coming to an end, while the answer kept eluding me. The topic I had chosen for my dissertation had something to do, though remotely, with my attempts to solve this existential riddle of mine: The Sacred Dimensions of Secular Values in Italian Renaissance Poetry. I had been hoping that the wisdom of ancient men would cast some light on the essentials of life. However, instead of finding an answer to my troubles, I was left under the impression of having escaped reality. And reality in modern society meant calculating in money’s worth everything.

When had people lost their ideals, such as love, honour, and goodness, substituting them for the pursuit of wealth and possessions? Are there any high values still valid, or have they all been buried in the past? Has man discarded the unworldly from his nature, to strive after material comforts? Is that what life’s purpose should be?’

Such were the thoughts crossing my mind as I approached the Library. I decided to put an end to these troubled reflections of mine and leave them aside. Surely, there would be plenty of time to think the matter over. I had enough on my mind as it was. And there I was, entering what was later to become my office – the old University Library. Being no stranger to this building, I easily found my way to the reading hall. Even before resuming work on my dissertation, I used to spend time by its tall windows over a random book. One can say it was my retreat and indeed it was. The silence, along with the scent of wood and of old books, made it the perfect place to collect my thoughts, to hide from the otherwise hectic pace of life at the University.

Next to the hall’s entrance there stood a row of four computer workstations. I tapped on the screen of the nearest one and entered my faculty number and password. Then I opened the Library catalogue and made