At the end of August 1569, salt sparkled like snow in the salt flats of Larnaca, resisting the sun that cast its burning rays indifferent to the place and the toil of the people. The dazzling light forced Gerolamo to squint, leaving only a narrow slit to see around, while he made sure to walk beside the camel, in its shade and under its load. The donkeys, mules, and those leading the way kicked up clouds of dust that stuck to him, and as he wiped the sweat from his face from time to time, grayish-white lines formed on his skin. To his left, on the hill near the coast of the large salt flat, he could just make out the small chapel of Saint Catherine among the date palms. A tiny drop of green amidst the pure white of the salt and the yellowish-white of the plains. To his right, the smaller salt flat shimmered, with the blue sea nearby. Everything was dull from the glare and the mist.
In the middle of the salt flat, about a hundred people seemed to be floating as the heat made the air boil and distorted their shadows. It was as if they were attempting to ascend to the heavens and escape their dark existence. However, the whirlwinds of the concentrated salt and the dark stripes among them, where they had gathered the precious product, resembled a spider’s web trapping them on the surface of the now-dry lake. In the same trap were dozens of donkeys, loaded with baskets of salt, transporting it to the edge of the salt flat, where other workers stacked it into tall, elongated heaps. As the caravan of twenty Lefkarites was passing by, Houzas, the overseer of Knight Marcus the Consul, feudal lord of Lefkara and master of the entire retinue, appeared. He arrived galloping, identified eighteen men, and after consulting with the salt workers’ supervisor, ordered them to start work on the salt flat.