Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (31 page)

The countess remained silent and then sighed. "You may be right. Oh, I was so hoping to see you safe and married. Your current life is fine while you are young, and you have remarkable talents. But think about your future when you need the security of a home and a husband who provides for you. And a young woman like you should bear children."

"I think about my future and I will have my own home, where I will bring up my children."

"But it should be now, not five or ten years from now."

"I expect it will happen within the next two years."

The countess frowned. "Chiara, I think that you are hiding something from me. You are not still thinking of getting your father’s land back, because if it is that I cannot help you. My Lord made it quite clear that your father signed away his land and that cannot be undone anymore."

Chiara did not respond, but neither did she waver under the stern gaze.

"So my guess is right. It is the curse of revenge, and I feel helpless. I have learned that it is useless to try to bend your will. You should have been born a man."

"That thought has occurred to me also, my Lady."

"Oh, Chiara. I love you. Promise that you will not do anything foolish."

"I promise, Lady Maria."

"But can I trust your promise? What I consider foolish, you may think as perfectly reasonable."

Chiara could not help smiling.
She’s probably right.

"You see, now you even smile… But then you have to live your own life. I have done what I could… I guess you are leaving Siena soon."

"Yes, we will depart for Florence tomorrow."

"Promise me at least one thing. Send me a letter from time to time, and if you change your mind about marriage, let me know."

"I will send you a letter every month, my Lady. And please accept my gratitude for all you have done or tried to do for this stubborn woman."

The countess rose and so did Chiara.

"Let me embrace you, you stubborn child," but she said it with a smile.

* * * 

Shortly before the night curfew two hours after sundown, somebody was banging loudly at their front door. Jacomo rushed to open it. A man shoved him aside and stumbled into the hall, falling headlong onto the tile floor. He raised himself partway, stretching his left hand toward Chiara who rose from the table where she had been writing. With a shock, she recognized Gaetano, drunk, without a hat, his fashionable clothes tattered and smudged, red eyes imploring her.

"Chiara, why don’t you want me?" he cried, slurring the words. "Why? Tell me why!"

She kneeled next to him, holding him up.

"Gaetano, what are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." He gripped her hand tightly. "I must know why you reject me. Why I’m not good enough for you."

"Gaetano, get up."

She nodded to Pepe who had come into the hall, and they lifted the young man up and made him sit on a chair. Only Chiara’s quick action prevented him from slipping to the floor again. She held his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Gaetano, look at me. It’s not that you’re not good enough for me. You’re a fine young man. It’s me. I’m not ready for this step yet."

"You lie. I know you think that I’m a fool."

She let go of his face and he immediately held on to her skirt.

"Gaetano, that’s not true."

She removed his hand. He tried to get up and collapsed on the floor. Pepe helped him up again.

Alda murmured: "Chiara, it’s useless to talk to him while he’s in this state. Let’s get him back to his home."

"It’s too late. We won’t make it before curfew."

"Then let him sleep it off here. Jacomo, fetch a mattress and put it into the corner over there."

"Get mine," said Chiara.

With Pepe’s help, she laid the mumbling young man on the mattress, removed his boots and belt and loosened his shirt laces. Alda covered him with a blanket. He held on to Chiara’s hand, repeating her name from time to time. When his grip slackened, she extricated her hand.

While the others went to bed, she rested in Antonia’s chair, watching him. His face was relaxed, almost boyish now, except for the dark stubbles around his unshaven jaws and chin. From time to time he smacked his full, inviting lips. Was he really so hurt about her refusal that he drank himself stupid? Or was it only hurt pride? And was she wrong in rejecting him? Lady Maria was right, he offered everything that a girl could wish in a marriage.
And I even like him. I could learn to love him.
The rugged face of the sailor rose in her mind.
Why am I thinking of him?
She was suddenly confused about her own reasons. Was it really her quest for justice and revenge … or was it something else? … The sailor? She chided herself for her foolishness. What a forlorn hope, whereas this silly young man lying at her feet was a tangible possibility. But maybe that was the real trouble. He was a silly young man and maybe her own pride would not allow her to face the almost certain prospect of being turned down by Signor Salimbeni.

She was woken by Gaetano stirring on the mattress. The candle had burned itself out. A hint of dawn gave body to the room. Gaetano opened his eyes, looking around confused.

"Where am I?" he murmured. She bent forward, and he saw her. "Oh no," he exclaimed and covered his face with his hands.

"Gaetano, you were drunk and spent the night at our house."

"Did I disgrace myself?"

"No, you fell asleep almost immediately."

He remained silent, searching her eyes in the dim light.

"Chiara, tell me why."

What could she say? Maybe it was simplest to lie. He might accept that more readily. "I am already betrothed, secretly."

It seemed like a light extinguished in his eyes. He lowered them, noticed his boots and put them on. Then he rose and fastened his belt.

"Lady Chiara, please accept my apologies for my unbecoming behavior. I will now leave and will not bother you any further."

His sudden formality pained her.

"Oh, Gaetano. You once wanted to be friends with me."

"That was before I knew who you were," he said, walking to the door.

She followed him. When he briefly looked at her at the door, she said: "Gaetano, I still would like to be your friend."

He bowed slightly and murmured: "Good-bye, Lady Chiara."

13

On the Road to Florence, April 1349

If initially I had been toying with revenge alone, I now wanted to recover my rightful inheritance from Casa Sanguanero and be master of Castello Nisporto, whether I lived there or not. It had grown into a firm determination. I admit that I almost abandoned this quest when Contessa d’Appiano tempted me with an attractive union to the Sienese Casa Salimbeni. But it only lasted a moment, not only because my doubtful reputation and the lack of a sizeable dowry would hardly get the approval of that illustrious house, but more because the young man, although fun for a good banter, did not measure up to my exacting standards.

Siena had helped me firm up the vague plans of how to go about my quest. Casa Sanguanero wanted to break into the lucrative spice trade. From what I had heard the Venetians were unlikely to admit foreigners into their close-knit circle. By some clever scheme I was going to lure Niccolo into my snare. He was gullible and ambitious. I would offer myself as the prey, the sole daughter of a rich Naples merchant family in search of both a husband and a partner to run the family’s business until her only infant brother reached maturity to assume a leading role himself. I even had a name — Lucrezia Alberti de’ Morrone, a name I vaguely remembered my father mentioning several times. If planned carefully, it should work. And I now knew what further preparations and investigations I needed to undertake before I could set my trap. Florence, the biggest and most affluent city offered just the right forum.

By April I was getting impatient to embark on it. Of my fellow players only Alda guessed what I was up to, and I intended to protect them as best as I could. Once I was setting the trap, it would be impossible to hide it, but until then I figured that the less they knew, the better.

To dupe Sanguanero, I needed testimonials from credible sources. My father’s satchel provided the names. Two of the documents were from the reputable Naples banking house Lamartini, used by the King of Naples himself. A third — the document knighting my father — was written by the King’s notary, Oddo Arringhi da Catenaia, himself. And equally important, if not more so, I had clear wax imprints of their seals. I felt confident that I would be able to forge their signatures and write convincing letters. Attending the lectures at the university had sharpened my Latin. So all I needed to complete that task was somebody who could forge the seals, and Florence surely had its seedy hideouts where unholy plans were hatched and unsavory acts perpetrated.

We left Siena by Porta Camollia in the third week of April under a clear, blue sky. Antonia clung to the saddle of the donkey. Alda walked beside her, just in case the old woman decided to fall off. We had begged, implored, cajoled, even tried to bribe her to enjoy her life in Siena. We painted the grim picture of being on the road, but it was all to no avail.

Our first destination was the Sienese fortress of Monte Riggioni, some four leagues north, under normal circumstances a pleasant half-day walk. But it was not to be. After an hour, Antonia was moaning that her back was killing her, that the silly animal was torturing her on purpose by its jerky gait, that she wanted to walk. So we let her, which slowed us to less than half our previous pace. For a while, Pepe even carried her on his back, but that only earned him her wrath. We took a long rest and half an hour later the whole scene repeated itself again.

Alda, who never loses her patience, lost it then. She told her: "We told you so," only to get abused. Finally, I could stand it no longer.

"I am taking you back to the sisters of Santa Maria, whether you like it or not. Pepe, put her back on the donkey."

She must have seen that I meant it, because she immediately cried: "No, Chiara, please not. I will not complain anymore." And she was true to her word. I saw that she suffered, and we took regular rests to give her respite. So it was afternoon before we reached Monte Riggioni.

The fortress was full of soldiers. To offer all of them an opportunity to watch our show, we gave two performances, one that afternoon, the other on the morning of the next day. Our skits were rather more raucous and Jacomo got his first chance to put his head under my skirt. I do not know whether he was disappointed in seeing only my breeches, but the soldiers were generous.

As it turned out, Antonia soon changed her mind about staying with us. She sprang her surprise when she asked to be left with her cousin in Poggi Bonsi. Although the old woman had grown on me, this took a great burden off my shoulders. We set off for Florence light-hearted and nothing in my everyday dealings betrayed the dark plans on my mind.

* * * 

For Antonia’s sake, they traveled from Monte Riggioni to Colle in three stages, stopping in Castiglioncelo and Staggia for one night each. The takings were meager and Chiara wondered whether it had been worth it.

When Poggi Bonsi came into sight, Antonia announced, without having given them any hint beforehand: "Chiara, you can leave me with my cousin here. That old weed must have survived the pestilence."

She did not say any more than that. Her pride would not allow her to admit that she was not cut out for the road any longer. The others simply looked at each other, lost for word, until Chiara broke into a big smile. Why had she not told them before, she wondered? It would have avoided much anguish and aggravation, but that was the way she was. They entered the little town with a light foot.

As it turned out, her cousin, an equally cantankerous woman a few years younger, took her in willingly when Chiara gave her two florins and offered another two each year. Antonia promised to pay her share for the food. Chiara knew that she had plenty of money to live for another ten years.

Alda and Pepe wanted to visit San Gimignano, one of the towns on Lorenzo’s itinerary, where they hoped for good crowds. Chiara was astounded by the number of towers — keeps built as protection against attacks from other families — some over twenty men tall, like so many beanstalks, sprouting on that hill. She counted sixty-nine and had to start three times, since several were hidden behind others. Nor did it feel safe to walk near them, although they were impossible to avoid. Some looked like crumbling at any moment.

They returned to Poggi Bonsi to make sure that Antonia had settled in and discovered that she already had a small clientele for her card reading. When they left her, the old woman wanted to hug Chiara, something she had never done before. The words that usually came so sharp and easy failed her, and her tears lost themselves in her wrinkled cheeks.

Although Chiara would have preferred to take the direct route to Florence, she gave in to Alda and Pepe who wanted to visit their old haunts down Val d’Elsa. At the Arno, they took the good road along its left bank.

As they got closer to Florence, Chiara sensed Alda’s growing need for news about Carla, her daughter. So, at Signa, the port of Florence on the Arno, she suggested that they go directly north to Prato before turning east to Florence. She was devastated by the emptiness of that once bustling merchant town and sometime competitor to its bigger and more famous sister. Every second house looked empty. Poorer quarters were utterly deserted. A stranger greeted them in the cobbler’s workshop previously run by Carla’s husband. He rented the shop from the widow of the merchant who owned the house and did not even know the name of the previous occupant.

After taking lodgings at their usual inn, Alda, Pepe, and Chiara went in search of the merchant’s widow. She confirmed that the cobbler, his young wife and their little son had all been claimed by the plague and had been buried in a mass grave. Alda and Pepe took the news with stony faces, but once back at the inn, Alda’s front shattered and she cried inconsolably in Pepe’s arms. Feeling her pain and seeing solid Pepe’s wet cheeks, Chiara let go of her own tears. She ended up hugging and consoling Veronica.