Introduction

“Tentarelli's ability to immerse readers in medieval Florence's sights, sounds, and struggles makes this a novel worth diving into.” –The Literary Titan

It's Europe in the 1300s, and Gino, a young man living in rural Italy, leaves behind the familiarity of his family's farm to seek a new life as an apprentice in an apothecary shop in Florence.

But Gino's dream quickly becomes a nightmare as relentless rain destroys crops in the countryside, leading to famine and despair in the city. He is grief stricken to lose contact with his family when they are forced to flee their farm.

Just as the rains end, the devastating Black Plague sweeps through Florence. Fear and superstition consume the city, targeting priests, immigrants, and women accused of practicing witchcraft.

Even with his own challenges, Gino offers help to the suffering—a woman left alone in the city, a young girl orphaned by the plague, and people who have lost everything. And just as he's providing hope to others, glimmers of happiness come his way as well, even in a world teetering on the edge.

The Blackest Time is a powerful tale of compassion, love, and the human spirit's ability to endure immense adversity.

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Excerpt

The Blackest Time is a tale of compassion, love, and the resilience of those who endured the Black Plague. Gino Liani, the central character, works in an apothecary shop that sells perfumes, pigments, and elixirs in addition to medicines. This chapter illustrates the desperation of people seeking to protect themselves from the scourge they believe is caused by “bad air.”

31

February 11, 1348

Shortly after the shop opened in the morning, the sound of the door creaking caught Gino’s attention. An elderly man, whom Gino had never seen before, pushed his cane ahead of him and limped into the perfumery. A stooped white-haired woman clung to his arm, supporting him or perhaps being supported by him. He hobbled to the counter, with the woman shuffling along beside him. With a smile, Gino greeted the pair, who stood barely taller than the counter. “May I help you?”

“We want perfume for my wife,” the man croaked.

Gino gestured to the row of urns on the shelf behind him and directed his attention to the woman. “As you can see, we have an abundant selection of perfumes. Do you have a favorite fragrance, or would you like to sample our most popular perfumes?”

The man replied, “We’re looking for a perfume strong enough to overpower the bad air.”

Gino’s mouth dropped open. “What?”

The man coughed. Saliva mixed with blood leaked from his mouth and hung on his lower lip. His wife reached up with a cloth already stained pink from his spittle. The man looked up at Gino and repeated his request slowly, as one might to a child. “We need a perfume to dispel the bad air.”

Gino had heard people claiming bad air caused the pestilence. The claim lacked proof, but its adherents cited circumstances to support their belief. They argued the famine of the past two years had swelled the city’s population with refugees from the countryside, many of whom had become beggars. The refugees lived in alleys with no sanitation, urinating and defecating anywhere. They slept on piles of refuse and ate rats and other vermin. Gino had to admit he avoided walking near those alleys because the stench was intolerable.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know which perfume might be best at displacing the bad air,” Gino responded.

“Then I need all of them. Mix them all together.”

“Are you sure?” Gino asked skeptically. “I’m not sure how the mixture might smell. It might not be pleasant.”

“I don’t care about the smell as long as it keeps her safe.” He coughed again. This time, the saliva dribbled to his chin before his wife wiped it.

Gino took a few drops from each of the fifteen urns and combined them in a vial. After adding the last drops, he sniffed the vial. It had the sour odor of a peat bog after a rain, he decided, and handed the vial to the woman. She wet her finger with the liquid and dabbed it under her nose while displaying no reaction to the scent. Expecting the man might want a scent to protect himself, Gino asked, “Something for you, signore?”

The man took the blood-stained cloth from his wife’s hand and held it up for Gino to see. “Look at this.” He shook his head. “Nothing in this shop can help me.”

No sooner had the elderly couple left the shop than they were replaced by two women, also unfamiliar to Gino. Most women who came to the shop were the wives of successful business owners or the servants of wealthy aristocrats. Judging from their clothing, these women labored in a workshop or a woolen mill. They stood a distance away from the counter and glanced around the shop as though it didn’t meet their expectations of a perfumery. Finally, one asked, “Are you the person who sells perfume?”

“Yes, I am,” Gino replied. “Were you expecting someone else? Signor Roselli is in the other part of the shop. I can fetch him if you wish.”

“No. No,” the woman stammered. “We thought perfumes would be sold by a woman.”

“Perfumes certainly could be sold by a woman, but I’ve been the perfumer in this shop for three years.” Gino gestured toward the row of urns. “I’ve prepared all these fragrances. Jasmine and Rose are the most popular, but if you’re looking for a distinct scent, I’m sure we can accommodate you.”

“What is the most pungent scent?” the second woman asked.

Although surprised by her unusual question, Gino answered, “Gardenia has the strongest scent. The perfume is made from flowers imported from North Africa.” Gino went to the urn containing gardenia perfume, dabbed a few drops of the liquid onto a cloth, and handed the cloth to the woman. “This is gardenia,” he said.

The woman sniffed the cloth, said, “It is potent,” and handed the cloth to her friend.

Next, Gino wet a cloth with rose perfume and handed it to the woman. “This is rose. Like most other perfumes, rose has a much more delicate scent than gardenia.”

“Gardenia certainly is much stronger,” the woman agreed after sniffing the second cloth. “If gardenia is the strongest, it’s the one we want.”

“A vial for each of you?”

“Just one. We’ll share it. If it works, we’ll come back for more.”

Unable to contain his curiosity, Gino asked, “What do you mean, if it works?”

“The foul air is killing people more and more every day. Yesterday, we lost two women who worked the looms at our shop. Today, two more good women were taken before their time. We need a smell strong enough to protect us,” the woman explained as she dabbed the liquid onto her cheeks close to her nose.

Throughout the morning, other women came to the shop in groups of twos, threes, and fours, to buy gardenia perfume. People are panicking, Gino said to himself as he mixed up a new quantity of the suddenly popular heavy scent.

In mid-afternoon, a man entered the shop. He had leathery skin, calloused hands, and a jagged scar dangerously close to his right eye. Gino felt certain the man hadn’t come to buy gardenia perfume. In a tight voice, the man said, “I need to protect my wife and children from the pestilence.” He sank down into a chair. “A family in the house next to mine died from the sickness. Three days ago, they were all well and happy. This morning, all five bodies were taken from their house. I saw one girl before they covered her with a cloth.” He shuddered. “Her face was misshapen so badly I hardly recognized her.” He slapped a hand against the counter. “In just three days, this horrible sickness took them all.”

He exhaled forcefully, took a moment to recover his composure, then stood. “I refuse to let my family be stricken. There was a woman living in my neighborhood who sold amulets, potions, and incense, but the church threatened her. They called her a witch and forced her to leave the city. If she hadn’t been driven out, I would go to her, but since she’s gone, I’m hoping you can help me.”

In a sympathetic tone, Gino said, “We don’t sell potions.”

“I’m not looking for a potion. I want incense to cleanse the air and banish the sickness hanging in it. Can you make incense?”

Speziali didn’t make incense, nor did apothecary shops sell incense, but Gino had watched Masina make incense before she, too, had been driven from the city by false accusations of witchcraft. She had made her incense from the plants she and Gino had gathered in the fields surrounding Florence. Masina’s creations ranged from mild sweet scents to strong, harsh odors. “I can make incense, but I can’t guarantee it will overcome bad air or protect your family from the pestilence.”

“Make it strong enough to fill my house and block out the poisonous air.”

Gino considered the compounds available to him in the apothecary shop and settled on cinnamon. “It will take several minutes.”

“I’ll wait,” the man said firmly and sat back down.

Signor Roselli had heard the conversation while he was in the other room. He came into the perfumery to watch as Gino ground several pieces of cinnamon bark into a powder and added oil and a few drops of water to create a thick paste. With his fingers, Gino formed the paste into two cones, a large one and a small one. Recalling Masina’s process, he heated the cones until the paste solidified. Signor Roselli watched intently and when the incense had dried, Gino handed a flint to Roselli, who lit the small piece. Gino beamed, pleased his attempt was successful as a thin smoke spiral rose into the air from the smoldering cone. In little more than a minute, the smell of cinnamon permeated the shop. Gino gave the man the large cone and repeated his caution, saying cinnamon might not be an effective protection against the pestilence. His words went unheeded.

Over the next few days, word spread. Other men came to the shop for cinnamon incense and women came for gardenia perfume. When Professor Vianello came for a mug of his elixir, Gino asked the man, whose opinion he respected, “Professor, do you believe all the deaths are caused by something in the air? Hundreds every day. Is it possible?”

Vianello inhaled deeply and his eyes twinkled. Clearly, Gino was not the first person to have posed similar questions to him. “There is no evidence … none at all … to show air is to blame for the countless deaths,” Vianello said firmly. After a pause, he waved a finger, saying, “Nor is there evidence to prove the very air we must breathe for life has not turned malignant. Eventually, we may learn the cause of this pestilence, but for now, no one can say for certain.” While Vianello consumed his elixir, Gino filled a vial with gardenia perfume. Later, he would take it to his sister.

Ken Tentarelli 2025 view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the author:

1. How did the book change your assumptions about the time of the Black Plague? 

2. Which aspects of the story relate to our time? Which don’t?

3. Was there a specific decision made by a character in the book that struck you as particularly admirable or foolish?

4. Which turning points in the story were under the control of characters? Which were unavoidable?

5. Of those who escaped the disease itself, how were people in the various classes of Florentine society affected by the plague?

6. What were Gino’s impressions of Florence when he first arrived in the city and how did they change over time?

7. What measures did Florentines use to protect themselves from the plague? How do they compare to the steps we took to protect ourselves from Covid?

8. Florentines were devout Christians who believed in the mythical goddess Fortuna and in witchcraft. How did those beliefs lead to various explanations of the plague? Do we have dual beliefs today?

9. Does Professor Vianello’s prediction based on planetary conjunctions differ from today’s belief in astrology?

10. Who cared for the poor in medieval times? How does that differ from our practices today?

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