Baudolino (21 page)

"And who might you be?" Baudolino asked.

"I'm Oberto del Foro, but you don't know that, and you probably don't remember anything. I was maybe ten years old and my father deigned to visit yours, to see some calves that were for sale. I was dressed the way a gentleman's son should be, and my father didn't want me to go into the stable with him for fear I would get dirty. I was wandering around outside the house, and you were right after me, so dirty and ugly you looked like you'd come out of a dunghill. You faced me, looked at me, and asked me if I wanted to play a game; I stupidly said yes, and you gave me a shove that sent me into the pigs' trough. When my father saw me in that state, he gave me a whipping because I had spoiled my new clothes."

"That may be," Baudolino said, "but it happened thirty years ago...."

"First of all, it was thirteen, and since then I've thought about it every day, because I've never been so humiliated in my life as I was that time, and, growing up, I kept telling myself that if I one day met the son of Gagliaudo, I'd kill him."

"And you want to kill me now?"

"Not now, no. On the contrary, because we're all here and we've almost finished constructing a city, to fight the emperor when he sets foot again in these parts, so obviously I don't have time to waste killing you. For thirty years..."

"Thirteen."

"For thirteen years I've had this rage in my heart, and now, at this very moment, strangely enough, it's gone."

"Like they say, sometimes..."

"Now don't try to be smart. Go and embrace your father. Then, if you apologize to me for that day, we can go to a place nearby where
they're celebrating the completion of a building, and in these situations we draw from the keg of the best and, as our old folks used to say, we drink the night away."

Baudolino found himself in a huge cellar. The city wasn't yet finished, and already the first tavern was open, in a cave that was all hogsheads and long wooden tables, full of fine mugs, and salami made with ass's meat, which (Baudolino explained to a horrified Niketas) arrived looking like swollen wineskins; you pierce them with a knife, drop them in some oil and garlic to fry, and they are a delicacy. And that's why all those present were in high spirits, stinking and tipsy. Oberto del Foro announced the return of the son of Gagliaudo Aulari, and immediately some of the men threw themselves on Baudolino, punching his shoulders, as he first widened his eyes, surprised, then responded, in a whirl of recognitions that threatened never to end. "Good Lord, why you're Scaccabarozzi, and you're Cuttica of Quargnento—and who are you? No, don't tell me, I want to guess. You must be Squarciafichi! And are you Ghini or Porcelli?"

"No, he's Porcelli, the one who always threw stones at you! I was Ghino Ghini, and to tell the truth I still am. The two of us used to go and slide on the ice, in winter."

"Good Lord Jesus, it's true: you're Ghini! Weren't you the one who could sell anything, even the dung of your goats, like that time when you passed some off on a pilgrim as the ashes of San Baudolino?"

"That's right, I did! In fact, now I'm a merchant. Talk about fate! Now look at him—try and say who he is...."

"Why, it's Merlo! What was it I always used to say to you?"

"You used to say: 'Lucky Merlo, stupid as you are, you never take offense.' Now, look at me; instead of taking, I've lost..." and he held up his right arm, the hand missing. "At the siege of Milan, ten years ago."

"Yes, I was going to ask. As far as I know, the people of Gamondio, Bergoglio, and Marengo have always been for the emperor. So
how is it you used to be for him and now you're building a city against him?"

They all started trying to explain, and the only thing Baudolino understood clearly was that around the old castle and the church of Santa Maria of Roboreto a city had risen, made up of people from the neighboring settlements, places like Gamondio, Bergoglio, and Marengo, but with whole families who had come from everywhere, from Rivalta Bormida, from Bassignana or Piovera, to build the houses they would then live in. So that since May three of them, Rodolfo Nebia, Aleramo of Marengo, and Oberto del Foro had brought to Lodi, to the communes assembled there, the support of the new city, even if it existed, at that moment, more in their intentions than on the banks of the Tanaro. But they had all worked like animals, all summer and autumn, and the city was nearly ready, ready to block the emperor's path, the day he came down again into Italy, as was his bad habit.

What did they think they were blocking? Baudolino asked, slightly skeptical. "He could simply skirt it...."

"No, no," they answered, "you don't know the emperor [Imagine!]. A city that rises without his consent is an offense to be cleansed in blood; he'll be forced to lay siege to it [on this point they were right; they well knew Frederick's character]; that's why you need solid walls and streets designed specially for warfare, and that's why we needed the Genoese, who are sailors, true, but they go to distant lands and build many new cities, and they know how it's done."

"But the Genoese aren't the kind to do something for nothing," Baudolino said. "Who paid them?"

"They paid! They've already given us a loan of a thousand Genovese solidi, and they've promised another thousand for the coming year."

"And what do you mean by saying you make streets specially designed for warfare?"

"Have Emanuele Trotti explain that to you. It was his idea. You speak: you're the Poliorcete!"

"What's the Polior thing?"

This Trotti (who, like Oberto, had the air of a
miles,
a knight, in other words, a vassal of a certain dignity) said: "A city must resist the enemy, prevent him from scaling the walls, but if unfortunately he does scale them, the city must still be ready to stand up to him, and break his neck. If the enemy, inside the walls, immediately finds a tangle of alleyways where he can slip in, you'll never catch him again; some go here, some there, and after a while the defenders end up like a mouse. No, the enemy must find an open area under the walls, where he remains exposed long enough to be assailed by arrows and stones from around the corners and from the windows, and before he can move past that space, half of his forces will be done for."

(True, Niketas sadly interjected, on hearing the story, this is what they should have done in Constantinople; instead, at the base of the walls they allowed that tangle of alleyways to develop.... Yes, Baudolino would have liked to reply, but you'd also need men with balls like my countrymen, and not a bunch of namby-pambies like your weak-kneed imperial guard—but he remained silent so as not to hurt his interlocutor, and he said: "Be quiet, don't interrupt Trotti, let me continue.")

Trotti said: "If the enemy then gets past the open area and slips into the streets, they should not be straight, made with a plumb line, not even if you are inspired by the ancient Romans, who designed a city on a grid. Because with a straight street the enemy always knows what's awaiting him, but not if the streets are full of corners, or elbows, if you like. The defender waits around the corner, on the ground and on the rooftops, and he always knows what the enemy is doing, because on the next roof there's another defender, crouching on a corner, who glimpses the enemy and signals to those who haven't yet seen him. The enemy never knows what's in store for him, so he
slows down his advance. Therefore a good city must have its houses badly arranged, like a crone's teeth, which seems ugly but is what's really beautiful. And, finally, you want the false tunnel!"

"You haven't told us about that yet," Boidi interjected.

"Naturally. I just heard about it myself from a Genoese who heard it from a Greek, and it was an idea of Belisarius, the general of the emperor Justinian. What does a besieger want? He wants to dig tunnels under the walls that will lead him to the heart of the city. So what is his dream? To find a tunnel already made. So we promptly dig a tunnel for him, which from outside leads inside the walls. On the outside, we conceal the mouth of the tunnel with rocks and bushes, but not cleverly enough to prevent the enemy from discovering it sooner or later. The end of the tunnel, the one that opens inside the city, must be a passage so narrow that only one man, or at most two, can go through at a time. It is closed with a metal grating, and the first one to reach it will see a square and perhaps the corner of a chapel, a sign that the passage leads right into the city. At the grating you set a guard, and when the enemy arrives, they have to emerge one by one, and as each comes out, the guard fells him...."

"And the enemy are all stupid and they keep coming out, not noticing that those ahead of them are dropping like figs," Boidi snickered.

"Who says enemies are stupid? Calm down. Maybe the idea should be studied a bit more, but it isn't something to reject."

Baudolino stepped to one side with Ghini, who was a merchant and must therefore be a man of sense with his feet on the ground, not like those knights, vassals of vassals, who to achieve military fame fling themselves even into lost causes. "Listen to me a minute, Ghini, pass me that wine and tell me something. I'll go along with the idea that, when you make a city here, Barbarossa is forced to besiege it to save his reputation, and that gives time to those of the League to strike him from behind after he's worn himself out with the siege. But the losers in all this are the people of the city. You'd have me believe
that our people will leave the places where, for better or worse, they were getting along, and come here to get themselves killed to please the people of Pavia? You're telling me that the Genoese, who wouldn't shell out a penny to ransom their mothers from the Saracen pirates, are giving you money and labor to build a city that, at best, serves the purposes of Milan?"

"Baudolino," Ghini said, "the story is much more complicated than that. Take a good look at where we are." He dipped a finger in the wine and began to make marks on the table. "Here's Genoa, right? And here are Terdona, then Pavia, then Milan. These are rich cities, and Genoa is a port. So Genoa must have free access for its trade with the Lombard cities, right? The passes go through the Lemme valley, then the Orba valley, the Bormida, and the Scrivia. We're talking about four rivers, aren't we? And they all intertwine more or less along the shore of the Tanaro. So if you have a bridge over the Tanaro, from there your way is open to trade with the lands of the marquess of Monferrato, and God knows where else. Is that clear? Now, while Genoa and Pavia were getting along nicely, it was fine for them if these valleys remained without a lord, or else, if the situation demanded, they formed alliances, for example, with Gavi or with Marengo, and things went smoothly.... But with the arrival of this emperor, Pavia on one side and Monferrato on the other, both allied with the empire, Genoa is cut off to the left and also to the right, and if it goes over to Frederick, it can kiss its trade with Milan good-bye. So they have to remain on good terms with Terdona and Novi, since one will allow them to control the valley of the Scrivia and the other, the Bormida. But you know what happened: the emperor razed Terdona, Pavia seized control of the Terdona region as far as the Appenines, and all our towns went over to the empire, and, by God, I ask you: puny as we were, could we have tried acting strong? What did the Genoese have to give us to persuade us to change sides? Something we'd never dreamed of having: namely, a city, with consuls and soldiers, and a bishop, and walls, a city that collects tolls on
transients and goods. You realize, Baudolino, that just by controlling a bridge over the Tanaro you make piles of money, you sit there comfortably and you ask money of one man, a couple of hens from the next, a whole ox from the one after that, and they pay up right away. A city is a gold mine. Remember how rich the people of Terdona were compared to us in the Palea. And this city, which is good for us, is good also for the League, and good for Genoa, as I was telling you, because, weak as it might be, by the mere fact of being there, it disrupts the schemes of all the others and guarantees that in this area neither Pavia nor the emperor can be master, nor can the marquess of Monferrato...."

"Yes, but then Barbarossa comes along and squashes you like a bug."

"Just a moment. Who says so? The problem is that when he arrives, the city is already there. Then you know well what happens: a siege costs time and money, we make a fine show of submission, he's happy ( because with such people it's honor above all) and he goes off somewhere else."

"But the League people and the Genoese have thrown their money away to build the city, and you tell them to go screw themselves?"

"It depends on when Barbarossa arrives. As you can see, in the space of three months these cities change their allegiance like it was nothing. We sit and wait. Maybe at that moment the League is allied with the emperor." ("Master Niketas," Baudolino said, "I swear by my own eyes, six years later, at the siege of the city, there were Genoese slingers. You understand? Genoese! The ones who had helped build it!")

"Otherwise," Ghini continued, "we face the siege. Dammit to Hell, in this world you get nothing for nothing. Enough of this talk, come and see."

He took Baudolino by the hand and led him out of the tavern. Evening had fallen, and it had turned colder. They came out into a little square, from which, it seemed, at least three streets should lead,
but only two corners were built, with low houses, a single story, the roofs of straw. The little square was illuminated by lights coming from the surrounding windows, and by a few braziers kept burning by vendors, who were crying: "Hey, you women! Hey! The holy night is beginning and you surely don't want your husband not to find something tasty on the table." Near what would become the third corner was a knife grinder, who made the knives squeak as he sprinkled the wheel. Farther on, at a stand, a woman was selling chickpea flour, dried figs, and carobs, and a shepherd wearing a fleece jacket held a little basket. "Right here, ladies! Good fresh cheese," he shouted. In an empty space between two houses, two men were discussing the sale of a pig. In the background, a pair of girls were lazily leaning against a door, their teeth chattering, their shawls allowing a glimpse of an ample low-cut bodice; one of them said to Baudolino: "What a pretty boy you are! Why don't you come spend Christmas with me, and I'll teach you how to make the beast with eight paws?"