Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (77 page)

The spectators cheered wildly, while Cola stood there, rubbing the side of his head, looking at her dumbfounded, as if she had performed magic on him.

"Where have you learned to fight like this?" someone shouted.

"That’s too long a story to tell."

She gave the pole back to the young man, who received it reverently.

"Now, what have you learned from this?"

"That you beat our best pole fighter."

"That’s not what I asked."

"You used tricks on him."

"Exactly. If somebody rushes you, pretend trying to block him and in the last moment, with a flick of the pole, trip him. Or pretend attacking from the left and in the last moment switch stance and hit him from the right, or vice-versa. What else?"

"You went faster and faster, tiring him out."

"Yes, but that will tire you out too, unless you have more stamina and practice than he. Going faster will though sharpen your own reactions. But where did I hit him? … Not in the body, like all of you do, but his head. A blow to the head or neck can kill. A thrust at the stomach will wind him. And a blow to the groin will stop any man." Several muttered protests. She turned to face them. "Men, when you are putting your life on the line, the aim is to come out on top. Therefore, anything goes, including hitting a man where it hurts most. Only a fool or somebody who wishes to die fights fair whatever that means… Now practice until you think your arms will fall off, but be careful not to hit your partner too hard or you might knock him out. And don’t hold your breath when you block, as I have seen some of you do. Always keep breathing deeply. That will give you endurance."

She went back to her dogs who were her constant companions. She knew that she had been showing off, but she had done it on purpose. She wanted once and for all dispel any doubts about her ability to lead them in battle. Simple men, as some of them were, they were more impressed by physical fighting ability than by an intelligent head. She also deliberately continued to wear men’s clothing to underline her differentness from the women they were used to deal with.

Her preparations for taking the Santa Caterina went beyond drilling the men in various arms and reacting instantly to her commands. She made them practice overpowering a group of ten to twelve sailors who were likely to accompany Niccolo back to the castle. On a dark night, three boats of six people each made the journey from the fishing village of Nisporto around Poggio Fortino into the bay of Sant’Anna as a practice run. Luca with two men and his daughter, Angela, and four horses went to Rio nell’Elba to buy a number of things, four large bags of flower, two kegs of olive oil, two barrel of chestnuts, a dozen big loaves of cheese, all to supplement the depleted stocks of the tenants, as well as in anticipation of having a large number of prisoners. He also had to bring back a large barrel of wine and a keg of grappa — her intended ‘gift’ to the crew of the Santa Caterina. There was a twenty-four-hour lookout on Poggio Fortino, with a horse, to immediately alert both the castle and the people at Nisporto and Sant’Anna of the return of the Santa Caterina. Each man knew where he had to show up in that case.

Her contingency plan, should they not be able to take the ship, was to set it ablaze with fire arrows, but she felt confident that it would not come to that. Both Niccolo and the crew were too arrogant and confident to even suspect that a daring revolt of that sort might occur.

* * * 

"The Santa Caterina is nearing Scoglietto." It was early afternoon on the sixth day after she had taken the castle. Within a quarter hour, twenty-four men, some with axes, others with pikes or poles, and all with knives, assembled in the castle garden. Chiara again went over the planned action. She reminded them to follow orders strictly, that sometimes it was essential to wait before taking action, so that the enemy was fully in the trap, that the aim was to take the sailors and Sanguanero prisoners, maybe even without a single blow, rather than have a bloodbath where some of the Nisporto men might be killed or maimed.

An hour later, Angela rode up and reported that the ship had lowered its anchor. Chiara gave the four stable hands the signal to meet Sanguanero at the beach with an extra horse. If he asked them why he was not met by the steward’s men, they were to tell him that they had been called away to Nisporto to deal with a few stroppy tenants.

This was greeted with guffaws by the few tenants who heard it. "We’ll show them how stroppy we can be!" one called out.

The men took up their assigned places, some inside the great hall, some behind bushes and still others in the shade of the draw bridge, none visible from the approach to the castle. Chiara quickly made sure of that by walking up the path and over the bridge to the entrance.

When she heard the hollow sounds of the hooves on the draw bridge, she counted to twenty and then stepped out into the courtyard, one knife in her right, three in her left. Years later she would still relish the expression on Niccolo’s face. He starred at her as if she were a ghost, his mouth wide open, but no sound coming out. The eight sailors he had with him looked at her uneasily, not knowing what was happening. Some had their hands on their swords.

"Niccolo Sanguanero, we meet again," she cried in a ringing voice. This was the signal to her men to come silently out of hiding. Niccolo and the sailor found themselves suddenly surrounded by two dozen men. It happened so fast that they had no time to react.

"Sailors, put down your weapons and you live another day. Fight and you will be killed."

Niccolo pushed out a frustrated cry, and tore his horse around, pushing aside several sailors, knocking two over. He did not get past Cola. The big man grabbed his leg, pulling him right off the horse, and then held the ineffectually struggling man in a tight grip.

While this happened, a tall sailor standing at the front drew his sword. Chiara’s knife struck the muscle of his right arm as the sword got free of its scabbard. He dropped it with a cry.

"The next knife kills."

"The knife woman!" came the cries of several sailors.

One after the other, they raised their hands above their head and were quickly disarmed and taken away by her men down to the makeshift prison in the stables. Aldo brought her the knife, holding it like a precious relic in his upturned palms. Niccolo was the last one to be slapped into irons.

"Niccolo, I will take you back to Piombino where you will stand trial for attempted murder."

He finally found his voice. "Lady Chiara, this is all a misunderstanding. You cannot do this. We are related. We are family —"

"Cola, take him away, and if he does not stop sniveling, slap him a few times, but don’t kill him. The gallows await him."

She left Luca in charge of the castle with eight men, while the rest went to their next assignment. Cola and two other giants were to guard the thirteen prisoners, with clear instructions to kill them all should the castle come under attack.

By now, two fishermen should have brought two skinned sheep and a dozen loaves of bread to the Santa Caterina. Like this, none of the sailors would attempt to go ashore to steal any. They were to tell them that a barrel of wine would be brought shortly.

She rode down to Sant’Anna to check if this had happened. The two fishermen reported that the crew was in a festive mood, particularly after hearing that wine would come soon. She let them wait till sundown before sending the boat out with the barrel of wine and the keg of grappa. Cheers greeted the keg when it was hauled on board. It was now only a question of waiting for darkness to fall. By then the remaining sixteen or seventeen sailors should be thoroughly drunk, the combination of wine and grappa chosen especially for that effect.

* * * 

It was time to begin the second phase of her plan. She rode to the Nisporto fishing village. The seventeen men had already assembled there. Again she reviewed the battle plan. She warned them that, drunk or not, but especially drunk, the sailors might fight back. When the light began to fade, they set out, Chiara in the front boat. They had to wait at the tip of Poggio Fortino for the village women to light the bonfire on the south side of the bay, its aim to draw the attention of the sailors away from the port side, where the boats would approach. Hidden, behind the fire were six archers, each with two primed crossbows, their brief to prevent any sailor who jumped overboard from getting beyond the beach, although she counted on the fact that few sailors knew how to swim.

Reminded of her struggle when she fled Elba, Chiara marveled at how the fisherman noiselessly propelled the boats to the port side of the Santa Caterina, although the singing and hubbub on board would have drowned out any splashing. And now came the most difficult part, throwing the grappling hook over the railing without being discovered. Chiara swung the rope. The first time she hit the side of the ship just below the railing with a hollow knock. She counted to twenty, ready to throw a knife should a head appear, then she threw it a second time and it held. Within seconds she had climbed to the top, a knife in her mouth and three more in her belt. A quick glance confirmed that all sailors were standing on the starboard side, most holding cups, some singing or shouting, and waving to the women on the shore, who were dancing around the fire.

She attached the rope ladder and stepped aside, to let the next man over the railing, and then helped him attach a second ladder, while at the same time keeping an eye on the sailors. Her men now came on board at two seconds intervals, one going to the her right, the other to the left, forming two rows, arms alternating between axe and pike.

One of the sailors turned around, taking two unsteady steps toward the barrel of wine, stopped in mid-stride, looking at the men coming over the port side. He raised a hand, pointing at them, opened his mouth as if to yell — Chiara again readied a knife. He stumbled backward, blabbering, and fell, knocking into his comrades, who laughed and cheered — she stopped her movement. By then all her men were on deck. She gave the signal and the group rushed forward over the deck, Chiara staying slightly behind. Several sailors turned around, some still singing, facing the nine pikes penning them in. Some continued waving and shouting to the women. Four suddenly tried to break through along the railing. Three ran into the pikes, while the fourth received an axe blow.

"The knife woman," one sailor cried, causing panic among the others. Two fell overboard. Another three tried to break on the other side, but were again stopped by the pikes.

"Surrender and you will live, fight and you will die," Chiara cried.

The sailors bunched up into a tight group. A couple still had not noticed what had happened and continued singing.

"Sit and raise your hands above your heads," she shouted.

First one, then another and then all the others followed her order.

She looked over the starboard side. One man splashing around, trying to stay afloat, while the other was hanging on to the rope ladder. She threw a rope to the floundering sailor, who managed to hold on to it, while she pulled him toward the rope ladder.

"Come up and live," she called out, "unless you prefer to drown. Your fellow sailors have all been captured."

Both climbed up and joined the ones sitting along the railing.

"Where do you keep your hand irons?" When none responded, she nudged one with a foot. "You, get up, and show me!"

He looked at the two knives in her hands and staggered to his feet. Two of her men immediately held his arms. He guided them to a cabinet next to the captain’s cabin.

"They are in here," he muttered.

The cabinet was locked.

"Who has the key?"

"The first mate, that one." He pointed to one who had received the axe blow, a bearded, dark-haired fellow, who was in visible pain.

Something about him looked familiar. Had she seen him before? Maybe in Casa Sanguanero in Siena? She went over to him. "Give me the key and I will look after your injuries later on."

He clumsily reached into a pocket with his right hand and retrieved a key. She gave it to Paolo, the man she had selected to be in command of guarding the prisoners on the ship. Then she knelt down to inspect the injured first mate. The blow that struck him must have broken his left upper arm. She gently touched the left side of his chest.

"Does that hurt?"

"Yes."

"Your arm is broken, and I guess one or two ribs. I will set the arm later. For the ribs, all I can do is to bind your chest. If there are no internal injuries, they’ll heel in a week or two. What’s your name?"

"Hakim."

"Are you a Moor?"

He looked surprised. "Yes, from Granada."

"My mother came from there too." She did not know why she said that. Maybe his olive skin and dark brown eyes reminded her of her mother’s picture. "Come, get up." She helped him. "Giovanni, Franco, help Ser Hakim into the boat. I will join you shortly too."

She made sure that Paolo and the ten men under his command were clear about their duties — that four oil lamps were to be kept lit the whole night, that guards always worked in pairs, one armed with a pike, the other with an axe, never alone under any circumstances, that prisoners were taken to relieve themselves once only during a shift, one at a time, accompanied by two guards, and if any prisoner soiled himself or behaved in a stroppy way that several buckets of salt water were poured over him. Then she checked that no other sailor had any injuries beyond superficial skin wounds. Before joining the boat with Hakim, she lifted the wine barrel and the keg of grappa. The latter was empty. The wine barrel had a bit left, but not enough to get her own men drunk.

The jubilant women, Angela among them, and archers had abandoned their fire and greeted them when they beached their boats. She thanked them for their help and then reminded them that the time for celebrations had not come yet, that they still had to get the prisoners to Piombino. Twenty minutes later they reached the castle where, with the help of Bettina, she set the first mate’s arm in splints and wrapped several layers of wide linen cloth around his chest. That done, she took him herself down to the stables. She wanted to see Niccolo’s face when he realized that the ship had been taken. But she arranged for Hakim to be only put into leg irons and allowed to sleep on a pile of straw, in contrast to the other prisoners who had to sleep on the ground or leaning against a wall.