Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (23 page)

Before she even put down her stuff into the dark far corner, she asked the innkeeper for clean fresh straw. When the helper simply wanted to spread it out, she offered him a
denaro
to remove the old straw first and sweep the floor. Anything to prevent being bitten by fleas.

Mercurio was rather taciturn while they ate the greasy meat soup the innkeeper offered them for dinner. Only when she filled his cup a second time with the unexpectedly good red wine did he look up and asked: "Lady Chiara, are you always that merciless?"

"I don’t understand."

"What I saw today — merciless with others, not to speak of merciless with yourself."

"I never ask of others anything that I can’t do myself or wouldn’t trust that I could do. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes and no. Lady Chiara, would you find me insolent if I asked you how old you are?"

"No. I’m eighteen, and
Messer
Mercurio, please drop the lady. I hardly behave like one. It would please me if you called me simply Chiara."

His face showed surprise and he nodded. "I must say, I have never met anyone like you. You violate every single preconception I have about women of noble birth. To be frank, I think you behave more like a man."

Chiara smiled. "Maybe I should have been born a boy. But,
Messer
Mercurio, this is a man’s world and to have my freedom, to be in control of my life, I may often have to think and behave like a man."

He nodded again. "I served under your father when I started out as a young soldier. He was a strict man but fair, demanding of himself and of others. He never tolerated slack performance. I guess he brought up his children the same way."

Chiara laughed. "You served under my father? So you may see him again when we are in Grosseto. But to answer you, he spoiled me rotten. Four years ago I was an innocent girl like young Heloïse. Even two years ago I thought and behaved like a young noble maiden. It took but one year of harsh reality to change all that."

He remained quiet for a while.

"Lady Maria warned me that you were different from other young women, although I could not think what this could mean other than that you might be headstrong. But if she really knew how different you are, why did she ask me to accompany you? It isn’t easy for me to admit that I failed to protect you from the robbers. I still don’t fully grasp how you did it. It was over before I could even draw my sword."

"I’m glad to have your company. I enjoy it, and we both know why Lady Maria sent you along. It was for her own peace of mind, and that’s fine with me. As to what happened this afternoon, your very presence helped. I guess my training as an acrobat has taught me to react instantly, and my father always said, surprise is nine tenth of the victory."

"There has never been a truer statement than that."

Chiara rose. "I don’t know about you,
Messer
Mercurio, but I’m tired and will take the rest I deserve."

He nodded. "Chiara, I hate to admit this, but you showed me today that I’m no longer a young man. I’m not tired. I’m totally beat and stiff all over."

"I like you,
Messer
Mercurio," she responded with a chuckle. "But I can assure you that you will lose the stiffness tomorrow when we ride again, and it is hardly to your discredit if you admit that you are tired."

"Young lady, do you know that when Lord d’Appiano learns that it took us barely two days for a trip that normally takes four, he will insist that we always do that for him from now on?"

Chuckling, she patted his shoulder. "Sleep well,
Messer
Mercurio."

She spread out one of the horse blanket on the straw near the wall and lay down, using a bundle of some of her belongings as a head cushion. The air was stuffy and warm, even close to the floor, too warm for a cover. After draining the last of the wine, Mercurio joined her, leaving a polite distance between them. She could tell that he fell asleep almost instantly, his low, but persistent snoring keeping her awake, before tiredness finally conquered her.

An hour or two later she woke, refusing to open her eyes, her body protesting, demanding more sleep. Mercurio was still snoring softly. She became aware of the smell of fresh air.
The door to the outside is open… Why
? she wondered, and then sensed somebody close by. She opened her eyes a slit. In the faint glow from the ambers of the fire, she saw a man kneeling next to her head. Both his hands were carefully feeling the inside of her bundle. Slowly, her right moved to the knife in her belt. Just as he withdrew her money bag, she pulled the blade out in a flash and in the same movement planted it almost to its hilt in his thigh. He howled, rising, dropping the bag, and staggered back, clutching his thigh. She too jumped up, a knife in each hand.

She saw movement at the door and heard the shout: "
Porca miseria, via
!"

The wounded man ran limping to the door, while Mercurio pulled his sword from its sheath, and then ran after him. Before following outside, the soldier quickly checked that nobody was set to ambush him. He had barely stepped through the door, when she heard the clatter of hooves on the gravel of the courtyard.

"
Misericordia
, what’s going on?" wailed the innkeeper, shuffling in his wrinkled clothing into the room from the lean-to kitchen, an oil lamp in his hand. Chiara ignored him and checked through her things. Nothing was missing.

Mercurio came back, still panting. "They’ve fled. Are you hurt, Chiara? Did he get anything?"

"No … no to both," she replied.

The innkeeper came over, carrying the lamp, lamenting. "
Messere
, I swear by the Holy Madonna, I have nothing to do with those two. Please, believe me. I didn’t like the looks of them when they came in yesterday, but, alas,
Messere
, what can a humble innkeeper do but trust his clients… Please, believe me, I am as much a victim as your ladyship."

His protests of innocence made Chiara wonder. They had come rather too quickly, before anybody had even cast any suspicions. But then, it was not worth worrying about. "Dear man, calm down. We believe you. Just go back to sleep."

"Can I be of service to you, gracious lady? … No? … Really? … Thank you, thank you." He retreated backward, bowing repeatedly, and then disappeared in the kitchen. She lay down again.

Mercurio remained standing, fiddling awkwardly with the hilt of his sword. "I’m sorry, Chiara. I failed you again… I will keep watch, while you sleep,"

"Oh no,
Messer
Mercurio, you have no reason to take any blame, and I doubt there is any need for a watch anymore. And besides, you need that rest as much as I do. We’ll have a strenuous day ahead of us."

* * * 

Her sleep after that was restless, disturbed by dreams of her father. At the break of dawn, they were off again. The closer they got to their destination, the more apprehensive she became. Would her father receive her? Would he forgive her? Would she again be his daughter? Not the young noble maiden of Elba, but Chiara of I Magnifici?

Late afternoon they entered Grosseto. Mercurio led her to the house of Giancarlo Denardo. When they announced their names, they were promptly admitted into a dark high-vaulted hall. Mercurio offered to take care of the horses. As he left, he said: "Courage, Chiara."

While she waited nervously, she wondered whether she should ask for privacy to change into her woman’s clothes. But there was nobody around. The house seemed eerily quiet. When she saw a priest come down the staircase, trailed by an acolyte carrying a box like the ones used to hold the instruments for the last unction, it felt like an icy hand was gripping her heart. Was she too late?

The priest scrutinized her clothing curiously. Her long cloak did not hide that she was wearing breeches. He seemed to be on the verge of addressing her, but then simply nodded in response to her greeting, and let himself be ushered out by an elderly gentleman. After having thanked the priest, he came to her.

"I am Giancarlo Denardo. Are you Chiara da Narni, the daughter of Alberto da Narni?"

"Yes, Signore. Please forgive my dress. I just arrived from Monte Pulciano where I saw Lady Maria d’Appiano two days ago."

"Two days ago?" he echoed. "You have come in time. I will conduct you to his lordship."

"Is my father ill?"

"Lady Chiara, he has lost the will to live." He went ahead up the stairs.

The single window of the room cast a somber light. On the wall opposite the door they entered, a white-haired man lay on a bed, his eyes closed. Chiara’s chest constricted. He was only a shadow of the man she had last seen.

Her host noiselessly went to his side and murmured: "Signore, you have a visitor."

After he had left the room, Chiara approached and knelt by the bed. Her father still had his eyes closed. She reached for his right hand. He opened his eyes. A flame of recognition lit them.

"Is it you, Sophia? Has God granted me my wish to join you?" His voice was no more than a horse whisper.

"Father, I’m Chiara, your daughter."

The flame died and he closed his eyes.

"My daughter is gone. I have no daughter."

Tears welled in her eyes. She held on even more fervently to his hand. "Father, I love you. Don’t deny me. Not now," she cried.

He looked at her.

"Please, father. I love you. I have done you wrong, but I am still your daughter. Don’t take that away from me. Don’t you love me anymore?"

He took a while to answer: "Yes, child. I still love you."

She kissed his hand.

"Why have you come back, child?"

"Because it pains me that I hurt you. I need your forgiveness, father."

"Forgiveness? … Yes, that is all I have left to give you, daughter. They took everything else, even my will to live."

"Oh, father, don’t say that. I love you. I want you to live. You will be with me and you will get well again."

A shadow of a smile fleetingly appeared around his eyes.

"Chiara, I wish it could be so. They took all I had. I have to live off the charity of others."

"I am rich, father. I can look after you."

A cough racked him. It sapped his strength, and he closed his eyes.

"Don’t talk, father. Just let me be with you."

She kissed his forehead and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his gnarled hand.

After a while, he asked: "Chiara, is it true what Niccolo Sanguanero says about you?"

"Father, some of it is true, but it is only a half-truth. His father raped me on the Santa Caterina, and they planned to let me drown. I blinded him so I could get away and swim ashore… Father, will you tell me now why you arranged that I should marry Niccolo?"

"I may as well… Massimo Sanguanero threatened to renew the vendetta that raged between our two families before my father married your grandmother, unless I agreed to the marriage." He had trouble breathing.

"Don’t talk anymore, father."

"No, I have to tell you. They wanted to make sure that Nisporto and its harbor would go to them. They would have killed you otherwise."

"There is another reason, father. I heard them talking about getting their hands on a treasure, although I cannot imagine what that could mean."

He was catching his breath again before he murmured: "Yes, the treasure… Casa Sanguanero always wanted to get their hands on that. But they will never find it without the little book. It is fortunate that you took it along so they could not put their hands on it."

Chiara went hot and cold. "Oh, father, they stole it from me, together with my mother’s jewels."

"Then everything is lost. They will even desecrate that."

He lapsed into silence. Chiara did not dare to question him anymore, lest it might completely exhaust him.

"Don’t speak anymore, father, just let me be with you." She kissed him again and stroked his hand. "I don’t care about any treasure. I only care about you. I love you."

He opened his eyes and they searched hers. She could sense his love for her, and a glow of happiness warmed her heart. She was his daughter again. He had forgiven her. After a while his lids closed and he fell asleep. She watched his shallow breathing. His face was slack, loose skin over bones. Silent tears ran down her cheeks. She knew he was going to die and she still wanted to tell him so much.

A middle-aged woman tiptoed into the room and asked if she needed anything, if she wanted to have a hot drink. Chiara said no and thanked her. When the light was fading, the woman returned with candles. Her father stirred and opened his eyes, searching hers again. They were shiny.

"Chiara, my daughter," he whispered.

"Yes, father. I am here. I love you." She had the need to tell him this over and over, to make up for the months she had not told him.

"Child, will you say a prayer with me?"

She only managed to nod, while tears flooded her eyes. She knelled by his bedside, holding his hand in hers. With a trembling voice she recited the paternoster and added a short prayer for her mother’s soul, as she had heard him say so often.

There was a serene smile on his face. He pressed her hand and whispered: "Amen… Now I can die in peace, dear Chiara… Don’t cry… I am happy to join your mother."

He remained quiet. Chiara thought that he had fallen asleep again.

"Chiara, I am glad that you are with me when I go."

"Oh, father. I want you to live."

She sobbed. He raised his hand to her cheek, but it fell back before he could touch her. She put her head on his chest and he stroked her hair.

"Please, father, give me your blessing," she begged.

"I bless thee, my child." It was barely a whisper.

She kept her vigil at this bedside the whole night. He stirred a few times and searched her eyes, a weak glow in his. The middle-aged woman brought new candles and a herbal tea for Chiara, which she drank gratefully. She must have fallen asleep toward morning. When she woke, her father’s face was a mask. She touched it. It was cold.

"Oh, father," she cried and fell to her knees, her head on the blankets.