Life in that gilded fortress was one frightfully regimented and repetitive day after another, each successive day adding its grain of salt to the festering wound besieging the soul of each inmate.
Manfri had been accused of murdering a bishop, a bishop he had never heard of, never met. He couldn't say who had framed him, or why; but he knew he was innocent of the crime.
And when a newly arrived convict - old, half-moon-bespectacled, and eyes crinkling with laughter - revealed the name of the person responsible for his imprisonment...
'You are Manfri di Rocco, and I know you to be innocent of the crime for which those lackey judges sent you up here... to this lovely spot,' said the old man, as he pirouetted about himself with his arms and hands extended and highlighting the resplendent setting.
Manfri knew then that he would take his revenge.
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