Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (7 page)

She lowered her head. "No."

"Oh, she shows talent," interjected Alda, grinning. "She snuck past the guards by pretending to be one of us."

Chiara mustered all her courage and said: "I would be willing to do any kind of work, cleaning, mending, pull a cart. You and the others could teach me tricks, how to tumble, juggle balls, act small roles in your plays."

He put his left hand to his chin and began stroking his beard.

"We have people for all of these things, my girl."

"I don’t expect to be paid, just food and a place to sleep."

The old woman, who had scrutinized Chiara all this time, now said: "Lorenzo, give her a chance."

"Yes," said Alda, placing a hand back on Chiara’s shoulder. "Why not put it up for discussion, but after dinner, when all bellies are full and people feel happy after today’s long march."

Chiara could have kissed her.

"Fine with me," replied Lorenzo. "But don’t put your hopes up high, girl." With that he sat down again and resumed talking to the old woman.

"That’s Antonia. She’s our fortune teller. It’s wise to be on good terms with her." She led Chiara back to their table. "No matter what happens, you may stay the night with us."

"Thank you, Alda. You are so good to me."

"You seem a nice girl, … and it would be good to have another intelligent woman in our group."

Chiara did not know what to reply. She was physically and mentally exhausted. Suddenly, the tears proved stronger.

"Oh, my dear child," Alda exclaimed, taking her into her arms. "Has it been so hard for you?"

Chiara put her head on her shoulder and let go, sobbing silently, while Alda stroked her back.

"Come, let’s go over there and sit quietly."

She led her to a bench in a shady corner. Chiara used the sleeve of her tunic to wipe her face. They sat in silence, and she regained a measure of composure. Alda had closed her eyes. After a while, she opened them and asked: "Would you like to talk about it?"

Chiara shook her head. How she yearned to empty her heart, her pain and her sorrows, but how could she tell of her disgrace, tell about blinding a man?

"It’s all right, Chiara; but you know, it often helps to talk. Maybe later. Look, some of us are going out to explore the town. Would you like to come along? It might take your mind off things."

"No, I’m embarrassed about my clothing, … and …" She was just going to add that if Niccolo Sanguanero or any of his sailors were in town, she might be recognized.

"Yes?"

"No, it’s better that I stay here. Thank you."

At that moment, Pepe approached and put an arm over Alda’s shoulders. "Coming,
tesoro mio
?"

She nodded. Her warm smile expressed her love for him. She turned to Chiara. "Rest, or even better, go and talk to Antonia. I know she’s curious about you, and having her on your side might help tonight."

Chiara was of two minds about talking to the old fortune teller, but the moment the last members of the troupe had left the court, Antonia waved her over.

"Come,
figliola
, keep me company. I’m too old to go nosing around town and, besides, I’ve seen it all before."

"It will be my pleasure, Signora. I also must thank you for speaking up for me to
Ser
Lorenzo."

"Oh, that was only fair, my girl, but unless you can offer the troupe something it needs, they won’t take you in." She inclined her head to the side, a sly twinkle in her eyes. "And then you may think traveling artists — yes, we all think that what we do is art — that this is all fun and excitement. It isn’t. It’s a hard life, and we never know whether tomorrow we’ll have a roof over our heads and where the money for the next meal comes from. Last lent some of us went begging for food because we had such a bad season. People had no spare
denari
during the famine when they hardly could feed themselves. Oh, right now you wouldn’t believe it. Right now we’re a happy bunch, but don’t let that deceive you. My advice to you is, stay away from the likes of us."

"I don’t mind hardship, Signora."

"How old are you, girl?"

"Sixteen, seventeen in four months."

"And have you ever been hungry? Really hungry? … Don’t answer. No, you haven’t. You’ve been raised in a good family. You never even doubted that the next meal wouldn’t be served at its proper time in beautiful dishes. Then something happened that you thought you couldn’t bear. It may have been something as trivial as not liking the man your father chose as your future husband."

Chiara averted her gaze, feeling her cheeks go hot.

"Yes, girl, but that’s nothing compared to a belly empty of food for two weeks. When men are hungry, really hungry, they become animals, worse than animals, and women, they’ll sell their body for a crumb of old bread."

"I would rather suffer that and be free than go back," Chiara murmured.

The old lady scrutinized her face for a long time. It was unsettling.

"You’re of noble birth, aren’t you?" she said finally.

"Yes, Signora."

"And you think something terrible happened to you. Let me guess. You were raped. Am I right?"

Her chin on her chest, Chiara whispered: "Yes."

"Are you with child?"

Chiara looked up alarmed. That thought had not even entered her mind. "Could I get pregnant from a single time?"

"Oh, yes, my dear innocent child. It all depends. What did you do right after it happened?"

"I jumped into the sea."

"Then I think you don’t have to worry. That’s the best way to prevent getting pregnant." She stroked Chiara’s hand. "You’ll be all right. But that isn’t the reason you ran away, right?"

Chiara had stopped wondering why these people seemed to read her like an open book. "No," she replied.

"You don’t want to talk about it."

"No, and I will not go back. I would rather die." An obstinate tone had crept into her voice.

"It’s easy to talk about dying when there’s no real threat. It’s much harder to do it, dear child, especially as you get older and cling to life, even if it’s miserable," the old women said with a bemused smile.

"I was willing to die after he did it. I jumped into the sea, leagues off the coast, to get away from them."

"But you didn’t die. You’re a survivor. Maybe you are cut out for the life of traveling artists. We’ll see what happens tonight. And now,
figliola
, fetch me a cup of wine."

When Chiara returned with a full cup, she said: "Alda mentioned that you tell the future."

"Yes, I read the cards. Would you like me to tell you what’s in the cards for you?"

"No, I don’t want to know."

"Why?"

"Because if the cards say something that I don’t like, I would do all I could to prevent it."

The old woman laughed. "Dear child, the cards aren’t that specific and there are always several different possible interpretations for any constellation of faces, but I think that you’re wise not to put your trust in cards."

"The reason I asked about fortune telling is that the city ordinances prohibit it. I thought you should know."

"I see they haven’t rescinded that law yet. So I won’t tell fortunes but simply read the cards. They don’t specifically prohibit that or do they?"

Chiara could not suppress a smile. "No, only telling the future."

The old woman chuckled. "Yes, we learn all sorts of tricks."

"Then you have been in Pisa before."

"Oh many times. I’ve been traveling these regions since childhood. Lorenzo’s troupe is the fourth one that I belong too. He likes to do a circuit through all the towns this side of the mountains, Pisa, Lucca, Florence, Arezzo, Perugia, and then back along Via Francigena to Siena — you know the road the pilgrims from the north take to go to Rome, and then back to Pisa, and all the villages and smaller towns in between. Two years it takes to make the round. When I joined him, he also still visited Urbino and Rimini, but not anymore. It’s too strenuous to cross the mountains and we were robbed. Lucky they didn’t kill us."

"Have you been to Venice?"

"No, that’s the one city that I yearn to see but never could. I guess I’m too old now to travel that far."

Chiara was just going to protest, when she continued: "Child, would you do me another favor? My shoulders ache badly. Would you knead them like this?" She demonstrated the hand movement on her knees.

"I will try, Signora." Chiara moved behind her and worked the knobbly shoulders.

"Yes, that feels good on my old bones…Harder… All over, please… Yes, don’t stop… Serena, my daughter used to do it for me every evening."

"Where is she now, Signora?"

"Here in Pisa, under the ground, eight years now."

"Oh, I’m sorry. What happened?"

"She caught the swamp fever. That’s why we’ll only stay three weeks in the city before going into the mountains. It gets bad here in July. All the rich merchants abandon the city then."

A young male voice startled Chiara. "I see, Antonia, you found two nimble hands for your shoulders."

She briefly looked at the young man entering the court, before resuming massaging the old woman’s shoulders. It was the one who had been pulling the first small cart.

"Yes, Giovanni. What else can I do since you always find an excuse?" the old woman replied with a raucous laugh. Turning to Chiara, she added in a low voice: "Handsome Giovanni dreams of playing the lover in our theater, but that’ll have to wait until Lorenzo gives up. You can stop now,
figliola
."

In ones or twos, the members of the troupe trickled back into the inn. Chiara joined Alda who was sitting at the closest of the four trestle-tables.

* * * 

"Ahi, Carlo, tell us the gossip," Pepe called out to the latest arrival.

Alda leaned toward Chiara and whispered: "Carlo is our ears. I don’t know how he does it, but he always manages to worm all gossip and rumor out of the locals. If Lorenzo wants to know what’s happening in a town, he only has to send Carlo."

"Not much, Pepe," replied the tall man.

"He always says that," whispered Alda again.

"For once, the water seems safe, and there’s no talk of war with Genoa, and the Viscontis are up to their old intrigues again, but I heard no specifics … and, I almost forgot, you remember the brash merchant from Siena — the one with the eyepatch?"

"Didn’t he want us to do a show in his mansion?"

Chiara could suddenly feel her heart beat faster.

"The one who promised a fat purse and then filled it with
denari
?" mocked Alda.

"Yes, that one. They also have a house here along the Lungarno. I was told that just the other day he lost his other eye too."

Chiara bent her head, trying to hide her blushing face.

"It happened off the coast on his vessel, where apparently they picked up a wench whose row boat had been blown out to sea, and after they had fed and wined her, she thanked him by stabbing a chicken bone into his one good eye, and —"

"Per Dio! Can you believe that?" somebody shouted.

"And then? Did they throw her back into the water?" asked Lorenzo.

"No, she jumped overboard herself, and they lost her in the dark."

From the corner of her eye, Chiara saw the sharp glance Antonia cast at her. She did not dare to move, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Was she never going to escape Casa Sanguanero?

"I wonder what they had done to the poor girl before that," said Alda.

"You mean, before she jumped?"

"No, before she stabbed the old lecher. I’d have liked to hear her side of the story, but I guess the poor girl drowned."

For a while nobody said anything. Chiara could still feel Antonia’s glance repeatedly turn to her. She started breathing deeply, trying to calm her racing heart and sooth her fraying nerves.

A gong announced that dinner was going to be served. Two cooks placed a large bowl of steaming soup on each table, while the innkeeper’s wife brought several loaves of bread. A maid distributed spoons. The innkeeper juggled four pitchers of wine.

"Come Chiara," said Alda, taking her to the two tables on the right-hand side of the court, where the members of the troupe were seating themselves, "this smells delicious. I bet you’re hungry again."

Chiara was glad for the distraction, Carlo’s story seemingly already forgotten by most people. Nobody referred to it again. The thick fish soup with carrots and cabbage, spiced to perfection, was in fact a delicacy, better than any soup she had ever tasted. Or was it only her hunger that made it taste even better? She shared the communal bowl with Alda and Pepe, and Lorenzo and Maria, his wife, while the other five of the troupe occupied the next table. An easy comradery reigned among the diners. Alda occasionally stole a particularly choice morsel of fish from Pepe’s spoon.

When the light started to fail, the innkeeper brought a candle for each table. The members of the troupe had animated discussions that sometimes spilled from one table to the other. Chiara listened, eager to learn as much as possible about them. It was mainly Lorenzo and Alda who talked, with Pepe making an occasional assenting comment. Carlo lent an ear to each table and managed to have his say in both discussions.

A leaden feeling of exhaustion was taking hold of her mind and body. She wondered if Lorenzo had forgotten about her. She was desperate to know whether the troupe would take her in. Finally, he asked them to form a circle in the corner behind the tables and bring all the candles into their midst.

"Friends, we’ve a serious matter to consider. Some of you have already had the opportunity to meet this young girl, disguised as a lad, who has shared our dinner. Chiara, will you come forward to the candles so that we all may see you."

Self-consciously, she rose and moved to the center of the circle. She did not know whether she should remain standing or sit again.

"Chiara, you already know Alda and Pepe, and I guess Antonia. This is Maria, my wife, Carlo, our clown and
arlecchino
, Giovanni, doing a bit of everything, Pietro, our musician, and Anna, his wife," he said, going around the circle.