The Daughter of Siena (14 page)
When the horseman said nothing, Pia continued, ‘The priory of Siena was a council of lawgivers, august citizens of the city, greybeards from all
contrade
. The priory originated and gathered in Owlet territory. My father, as the
capitano
of the Civettini, holds the ancient title of prior.’
contrade
. The priory originated and gathered in Owlet territory. My father, as the
capitano
of the Civettini, holds the ancient title of prior.’
She felt no compunction in revealing all this – her father clearly felt no loyalty to their
contrada
any more, so why should she?
contrada
any more, so why should she?
The voice in the dark was tentative. ‘You think his title places him above such alliances?’
‘No. I think quite the reverse. My father is the prior. To have the sanction of the priory is to confer a certain legality on Faustino’s actions. He would not act without my father. I am sure he is involved. You saw them last night – it’s the entire reason for my marriage.’ She spoke as realization came to her. ‘First to one brother, then the
other …’ She finished in a whisper and had almost forgotten Signor Bruni was there, when his voice came again.
other …’ She finished in a whisper and had almost forgotten Signor Bruni was there, when his voice came again.
‘In his cups, Faustino told me that by the next Palio the duchess would not be here. That is in a little more than a month. The Palio dell’Assunta, on the sixteenth day of August, is the conclusion of the plan, the day they intend to take the city. We don’t know why or how. But before then the nine conspirators will meet. I must be there when they do.’ Riccardo took a breath. ‘Do you know of any such meetings?’
It was the moment. She must decide if she was for the Civetta and Aquila or the duchess and this man. She did not hesitate.
‘Faustino told his kitchens he would not be at home to dine tonight.’
‘Where is he going?’
At this, Pia stopped, unable to take this final step. Was this whole discourse a trick devised by Nello to test her loyalty to her new
contrada
? She did not even know if the Panther was really dead – but her instinct told her she could trust this man.She opened her mouth to tell Signor Bruni about the duomo, but it was too late.
contrada
? She did not even know if the Panther was really dead – but her instinct told her she could trust this man.She opened her mouth to tell Signor Bruni about the duomo, but it was too late.
Footsteps sounded in the nave. Pia opened the curtains of the confessional to see the priest returning. He seemed visibly shaken. In the distance, she could hear Zebra still keening about the Devil. It was loud enough to warn Signor Bruni. And then Pia knew that the horseman had not lied. As the priest came closer, she could hear him muttering about the Panther, beaten and laid out in the piazza, and watched as he fell to his knees in prayer.
At once the horseman was gone. The flurry of his borrowed priest’s robes created enough wind to extinguish her candle as he swept from the box in a swirl of acrid silver smoke. He dropped back into the shadows and Pia prayed that Nicoletta had not seen or heard him leave. In the silence that followed, she heard a gentle snoring from the back of the church, and realized her corpulent maid was no more pious than she.
The priest of the Aquila climbed into the box, huffing a little, and fumbling in his gown for his tinderbox. As he struck a light he apologized to Pia in unctuous tones.
‘Forgive me, Signora Caprimulgo. A dreadful sight in the square, a man dead and laid out, and a little parishioner afeared. And here you sit, patiently in the dark …’
As she listened to the priest go on and on, Pia went over in her mind all that Signor Bruni had told her. So it was true about the Panther’s body. But what of the rest? She wanted to trust him, but could not; not yet. But there was a way to trick him out into the light.
Her voice rang out, clear as a bell, speaking not to the priest but to the horseman, hiding in the shadows. She would give him more than a clue: she would offer a safeguard, the meaning of which was couched in legend like the riddle of some Grecian oracle. She would test him, try him and find him true.
‘But Father, I see by night, like Minerva.’
Riccardo went back to the Palazzo Popolo, dispirited, as the day cooled a little and the city woke from siesta. As
instructed, he entered the cool marble loggia of the Cappella di Piazza and began to climb the Torre del Mangia, the palace’s great tower. The duchess had deemed it unwise for them to meet again in the palace itself. To run there for sanctuary once was one thing, but to be admitted with regularity would be a sign to the watchful. Violante suggested they should meet instead at the top of the Torre del Mangia. At the bottom, she would post her most faithful sergeant who would not allow anyone in or out while the duchess was in conference two hundred feet above. Riccardo was to enter through the street entrance of the Cappella and Violante herself would come from the palace entrance to the tower through the library, when alerted by her sergeant that Riccardo was by. With walls eleven feet thick, no room for two-way traffic on the stairs and an echoing organ pipe of a stairwell that gave ample warning of any approach, the
torre
was the perfect place for a clandestine meeting.
instructed, he entered the cool marble loggia of the Cappella di Piazza and began to climb the Torre del Mangia, the palace’s great tower. The duchess had deemed it unwise for them to meet again in the palace itself. To run there for sanctuary once was one thing, but to be admitted with regularity would be a sign to the watchful. Violante suggested they should meet instead at the top of the Torre del Mangia. At the bottom, she would post her most faithful sergeant who would not allow anyone in or out while the duchess was in conference two hundred feet above. Riccardo was to enter through the street entrance of the Cappella and Violante herself would come from the palace entrance to the tower through the library, when alerted by her sergeant that Riccardo was by. With walls eleven feet thick, no room for two-way traffic on the stairs and an echoing organ pipe of a stairwell that gave ample warning of any approach, the
torre
was the perfect place for a clandestine meeting.
As Riccardo climbed, with each turn of the stair he thought on what Pia had said, going over and over their short conference. It was quite a climb; no wonder the
torre
was named ‘tower of the eater’ after its first guardian, Giovanni di Balduccio, who spent all his wages on food – he had clearly needed fuel to make the climb so many times a day. Riccardo’s stomach growled and he was reminded suddenly that he had not eaten since the feast last night, and not much had passed his lips then. He began to feel dizzy and a cold sweat soaked his skin, but then, in a burst of sunlight and a gust of air, he was at the top. The view of the golden city, spread out beneath him, took his breath away,
the
campo
seen from above reminding him sharply of his musings on the hoof that morning, a world away.
torre
was named ‘tower of the eater’ after its first guardian, Giovanni di Balduccio, who spent all his wages on food – he had clearly needed fuel to make the climb so many times a day. Riccardo’s stomach growled and he was reminded suddenly that he had not eaten since the feast last night, and not much had passed his lips then. He began to feel dizzy and a cold sweat soaked his skin, but then, in a burst of sunlight and a gust of air, he was at the top. The view of the golden city, spread out beneath him, took his breath away,
the
campo
seen from above reminding him sharply of his musings on the hoof that morning, a world away.
He was so captivated by the glory laid out below that it was a good minute before he noticed the duchess. She was in her customary purple and looked much grander in her gown and wig than she had in her nightgown the night before, somehow less approachable. He bowed, suddenly shy, and she smiled.
‘How went it?’
Violante was only partly successful in keeping the urgency out of her voice. As she waited for Riccardo to climb the stairs, she had been thinking of little else but the
campo
, the next Palio and the few short weeks it seemed she had left to her.
campo
, the next Palio and the few short weeks it seemed she had left to her.
Riccardo nodded as if in answer to her question.
‘She confirmed that there is a plot.’
Violante swallowed visibly. Riccardo went on to recount his conversation with Pia in fine detail, including the fact that Nello had cut off her hair. Violante was shocked: not so much at the blighting of a beauty but that a man could be so jealous of his wife. She had spent her marriage being ignored and was sure that if she had taken a lover Ferdinando would have been no more than relieved. But she had not, for she had made her choice when she wed and given her heart with her hand. She wondered briefly what it would have been like to be possessed, guarded, adored, as she had never been. But she wondered, too, for the first time in her life, if beauty were perhaps as much of a curse as her own plainness. Riccardo spoke again, breaking into her musings.
‘She thinks her father is connected as the prior of the Sienese, that his involvement would give lawful sanction to the plot by reviving the ancient priory. I asked her when and where they meet, but we were interrupted. I think, though, that she was trying to tell me something …’ Riccardo tried to order his thoughts. ‘We spoke for some moments, then the priest returned. We’d blown out the candles in the confessional to cover my escape in darkness. He struck his tinderbox and apologized to her and she replied, “I see by night, Father, like Minerva.”’
Violante thought for a moment. ‘“I see at night” is a Civetta saying – the motto of the Owlet
contrada
.’
contrada
.’
‘But she did not just say she saw at night, but that she saw at night like Minerva. Who is Minerva?’
‘Menrva was a Tuscan goddess represented as an owl.’ Suddenly the connection seemed significant, but Violante could not make the leap. ‘She was wise, and her name means memory. The Romans called her Minerva.’
Minerva
. Something nagged at her own memory, tugged at it like a child tugs her mother’s skirts. She tried another tack. ‘What do owls do?’
Minerva
. Something nagged at her own memory, tugged at it like a child tugs her mother’s skirts. She tried another tack. ‘What do owls do?’
‘Fly.’
‘But silently.’
‘They see all around.’
‘And they see at night.’
‘Yes. We are back at the starting line.’
They caught each other’s eye and smiled ruefully.
‘Perhaps she means, then, that the Nine always meet at night.’
‘She did say they meet tonight.’
Violante sighed gustily. ‘We are circling the course again. Let us consider the facts for clues. She is Pia of the Tolomei, yes? Married to Nello Caprimulgo.’
He nodded.
‘Unusual, to marry out of the
contrada
. But perhaps not in this context – they are building alliances.’
contrada
. But perhaps not in this context – they are building alliances.’
‘That was her opinion too.’ Riccardo brooded on the crime that was Pia’s marriage.
‘Pia Tolomei,’ mused Violante, ‘of the Civetta
contrada
. Named for her ancestor?’
contrada
. Named for her ancestor?’
‘I suppose.’
‘You’ve heard of the first Pia Tolomei?’ she asked gently.
Riccardo did not wish to seem ignorant. The duchess, whom he’d dismissed as a well-meaning, kindly woman, was also clearly possessed of a formidable mind. Perhaps she’d spent many years being lonely, many years alone in great palaces and great courts; perhaps books were her solace. Pia had said she was a learned woman. Perhaps Pia had coded a message to him in some reference that he may not have known but which she’d known he would relay to the duchess? Something pertaining to her ancestor, the first Pia?
‘Heard of her, yes. I don’t know the story, though. Except she was a tragic figure.’
‘Indeed. Pia of the Tolomei lived here in Siena in the thirteenth century. She is mentioned in Dante.’ The duchess said the name as if he should know who Dante was. ‘She was a great beauty but was imprisoned by her jealous husband, in the tower of the Castel di Pietra out in
the Maremma, because he suspected her of taking a lover.’
the Maremma, because he suspected her of taking a lover.’
Riccardo felt the duchess’s eyes upon him. ‘What happened?’
‘Her husband killed her.’
Riccardo’s skin chilled despite the heat of the day. ‘Strange, then – with such a heritage – that Pia’s parents named her so.’
‘Indeed. A cautionary tale perhaps. History has a way of repeating herself.’ She looked sideways at him and knew she was right.
‘She said something of her own situation,’ admitted Riccardo, ‘that struck me as strange. She said: “Ah, when you return to the world, remember me, the one who is Pia.”’ He may not have had book learning, but his memory was excellent.
‘She was quoting.’ Violante stood a little straighter. ‘It is from Dante; the story of the first Pia. The poet met her in purgatory.’
‘She said that too!’ broke in Riccardo. ‘She said she was languishing in purgatory. The Palio freed her from one husband, and she was wed to his brother before the day was old: a man she detests, a man who …’ He could not go on.
Violante leaned on the balustrade. She thought about Pia, who was as trapped by her status as she herself had been, but without love to sweeten the pill. She had loved Ferdinando and would not have flown her cage even if the door had been opened for her. Riccardo came to stand beside her and stared down at the city.
‘She wants to help us.’
She turned to him then, squinting against the sun, sensing something in his tone. ‘But you do not wish to let her?’
‘No. Nello cut her hair just for smiling at me. If she acts against her family she would face not just his wrath but the weight of the law.’
Violante nodded. If a person betrayed their
contrada
they could, under Sienese law as old as this tower, be put to death.
contrada
they could, under Sienese law as old as this tower, be put to death.
She sighed and looked out again at her city, innocent and beautiful in the day. She was full of misgiving. It was clear the boy was infatuated with Pia, and she both envied and pitied him for this, but it would do him no good – and would put the girl in great danger. She thought of Ferdinando, of how much she had wanted him and how little he had wanted her.
Her eyes fell on the duomo. Ferdinando had once told her that the towers of this palace and the dome of the duomo were exactly of a height, demonstrating, he said, that the state was as powerful in this city as the Church. Faithless and long-dead, what would he have said to the threat that faced her now?
The duomo.
She straightened up abruptly, serious.
‘The duomo.’ She had spoken aloud without knowing it.
Riccardo was confused. ‘What of it?’
‘It was built on the site of an ancient temple. The temple of Minerva.’ They looked at each other.
‘Tonight, the duomo.’ Riccardo breathed. ‘That’s where the new Nine will meet. And it is within the Eagle
contrada
to boot. But what hour?’
contrada
to boot. But what hour?’
Now the duchess smiled properly. ‘Of course. Nine of the clock.’
The sun was setting as Riccardo Bruni crossed the Piazza del Duomo. He had kept his priestly garb and pulled the cowl close over his head. Stooped over to conceal his height, he hoped he would pass for one of the vast number of pilgrims who visited Siena on their way to Compostela or Canterbury. The great cathedral, striped in black and white marble, was gold and onyx in the dying sun. The starlings screeched as they sought their rest, black clouds in the golden sky.
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