Secrets of the Tower

by Debbie Rix

  ‘Good. I can see that they must have been very damaged by… what… damp? But some words are still visible fortunately.’

  ‘Yes could read the word “Operaio,” but we couldn’t make out anything else,’ said Sam.

  ‘You’re right… this is a letter from the Operaio. From what is legible, he appears to be offering Berta sanctuary here… in the confines of the Opera.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Sam, ‘we know from her will that she was living in the “house of the Opera Sancta Maria” when she died. What are the other documents?’

  ‘There seem to be some accounts here. There is something that looks like a promissory note. It says: ‘I agree to pay sixty soldi paid to the widow.of Lorenzo Calvo’. The signature says Benedette Ugoccio.’

  ‘She left sixty soldi for the tower to be built,’ said Sam excitedly. ‘Might that be where it came from? It does look as if Berta lived in that house on the Arno. I mean, why else would her letters and documents be found there?’

  ‘That does seem a reasonable deduction,’ said Gina, ‘but we’d need a real expert to examine these more closely. This last document is quite different from the others. It appears to be a letter. It’s quite hard to read.’

  ‘The original was very badly damaged by damp and mould – the ink had almost disappeared,’ interjected Sam. ‘Dario’s father did his best with the photocopy, but I know it’s not very clear. Can you make anything out at all?’

  ‘Not much, but this last page has a few words that are intact.’

  Gina rummaged in her office drawer for a large magnifying glass and peered intently at the letter, shining her desk light on it. ‘I will translate. More grateful than you could ever know. I cannot read the next bit… ah, this is clearer… adore you… pray for you each day. Gerardo.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  March 1172

  The chestnut woods that surrounded Lucia’s farm were just coming into bud on the day Aurelia received a letter from her mother telling her that Berta had died, and they would be sending Giuseppe with the cart to collect her and bring her back to Pisa. The days were getting longer, and she relished the feel of the spring sunshine as it warmed her face… and the scent of the apple blossom in the orchards. Aurelia was sad to leave her new family. She had come to love the company of her cousins, and felt a real connection with the countryside around Siena.

  ‘Thank you, Lucia,’ she said, as Giuseppe piled her belongings into the cart for the return journey. ‘You have been so kind to me, I won’t forget you all. One day, I hope, I shall return.’

  Back home, Aurelia moved into her mother’s house. It felt as if the years spent with Berta had been a dream. She and her mother slipped back into their old routine – her mother prescribing teas and herbal medicines to an increasingly wide circle of customers, Aurelia helping to clean and tidy the house, fetching water from the well in the garden, and collecting herbs to dry over the fire.

  A few days after she returned, Violetta handed Aurelia a letter Berta had left for her. She took it into the little garden behind the house and sat on the bench against the wall, near the well, enjoying the spring sunshine. As she broke the seal on the letter, she smelt a strong scent of lavender, and in her mind’s eye she saw Berta lying in her bath, her hair fanned out behind her. Inside was a small ring decorated with rubies and pearls.

  My dear Aurelia, she read, when you read this note, I shall be dead. I wish you happiness and success in your life. You are a beautiful girl, and a good one. Be content, for you are about to embark on the most thrilling journey of your life. Gerardo loves you – be assured of that. I know that you love him. Thank you for allowing me to share his love – it has meant more than you can ever know. Take him now, bear his children, and give him the life he was destined to have. Take this ring also, it belonged to his mother and he lent it to me to cheer me before I died. But it belongs to you as of right.

  God bless you. Berta.

  Aurelia read and re-read the letter. The gentleness of Berta’s tone surprised her, as did her intuitive understanding of the love Aurelia had for Gerardo. But what she found most disconcerting was Berta’s insistence that Gerardo returned that love. She had left Pisa four months earlier, convinced that Gerardo truly loved her mistress. To discover now that he had actually loved her all along seemed almost incredible.

  Wrapped in a small red velvet bag, nestling in the fold of the letter, was the ring. She removed it and tentatively slipped it on her finger – before quickly removing it again. She took it inside, placing it carefully in the little carved box her father had given her as a small child. Her mother waited for Aurelia to tell her what was in the letter, but the girl hid the note and refused to discuss it. Aurelia appeared cheerful, and over time, her mother wondered if, perhaps, she was beginning to forget Gerardo. But alone at night, Aurelia would take out Berta’s letter and read and re-read the words, ‘Gerardo loves you’, wondering if Berta had perhaps mistaken her lover’s feelings. For Gerardo did not come. Each morning, when Aurelia woke, she wondered if today would be the day that he would turn up at her mother’s house and declare his love. But each day she was disappointed, and slowly, over time, she began to believe that he did not care for her. She put the ring and the letter back in the box and placed it deep in the bottom of a trunk beneath some winter clothes. Weeks turned to months and still there was no sign of him.

  But twelve months, almost to the day, after her mistress had died, Gerardo came to call on Aurelia. Her mother opened the door, showing him through to the garden behind the house. Aurelia was sitting on a little bench by the well, wearing a warm woollen cloak, catching the last rays of the evening light. She had grown, he realised. No longer the innocent girl, but a beautiful woman. She looked up from her book, her pale face registered shock and surprise, but she nevertheless stood and held out her hand to him – polite, formal.

  ‘Gerardo, how good to see you.’

  ‘And you, Aurelia.’

  They sat, silently, next to each other, neither quite sure how to start.

  ‘You are well?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, yes… very well. And you?’

  ‘Yes, I am well.’

  ‘And you are busy? I hear you are to be congratulated on being made lapicida on the new tower. You must be very pleased.’

  ‘Yes, it is a great honour. I am delighted. But there is a lot of work to be done on the other tower, at San Nicola, before I can hand the job over to a new mason –we have found a replacement, a good man, who worked on the Duomo, so I am confident all will be well.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Well, not so busy. I am helping my mother of course. But I have no other occupation, as yet.’

  ‘Aurelia?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Aurelia, I came to you today because I wanted to tell you that I still care for you.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes I do. And I know you must have been very hurt by my relationship with Berta.’

  Aurelia was silent.

  ‘But I could not leave her when she was in trouble. I hope you understand?’

  ‘I suppose so. But it has been hard, Gerardo.’

  ‘Aurelia… do you think you could care for me again?’

  ‘I have had to learn to live without you. Especially when you were with her at the end, before she died. It was unbearable. That was why my mother sent me away. It was the only way I could cope. Before that, I used to run and hide when I heard you arriving in the evenings. I only got through it because I knew she was going to die. It sounds awful to say that now, but I was happy when she died.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Gerardo stared disconsolately at his feet, ‘I did not realise how much I had hurt you.’

  ‘Gerardo, I was in love with you. How did you think I would feel?’

  ‘Was? So you do not love me anymore?’

  ‘Gerardo, I don’t know. I thought after she died that you would come here for me. I’ve waited over a year, Ge
rardo. I began to believe you did not love me at all. I didn’t know what to think. And now I don’t know what I feel anymore.’ She stood up and began to pace the garden, the light now fading.

  Gerardo followed her, took hold of her arms in his strong hands and turned her towards him.

  ‘Through all the time I was with Berta, I never stopped loving you. You know why I stayed with her at the end. She was dying, and I could not leave her. I cared for her very much, but I did not love her in the way I loved you. Never. I know you cannot understand that, but it is true, Aurelia. And I did not come to you before now because it would have been wrong. Things have happened so fast and I needed time to think it through. Now, I know what I want, and it is you, Aurelia, if you will have me. I would like to think that we could now have the relationship that we should have had from the start.’

  ‘I don’t know. I feel so… broken by it all. You broke my heart, Gerardo.’

  ‘Then let me mend it again… marry me, Aurelia.’

  She did not give him her answer straight away. Their love, she felt, needed to be tested a little first.

  Gerardo began to court her, visiting her at her mother’s house each evening after work. Gradually, as she realized his affection was genuine, she began to look forward to his visits, helping her mother to prepare special meals for him. Together they walked the narrow lanes near her mother’s house, and over time she let him kiss her, feeling herself falling in love with him once again. One evening, as they walked to the tower of San Nicola, she handed him the ruby ring.

  ‘This is for you,’ she said.

  ‘How did you get it?’ he asked

  ‘Berta gave it to me – she left it to me before she died. You gave it to her, Gerardo. I do not feel it’s right that I should have it.’

  ‘She meant it kindly,’ he said, ‘giving it to you. She felt it was a ring for a wife… and she wanted you to be that wife.’

  ‘I know,’ said Aurelia, ‘but I do not need the ring. I have you now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  August 1173

  Early in the morning of August 9th 1173, Gerardo di Gerardo set off for the newly laid out groundworks of the Tower, just as the sun began to rise. He had woken early, his bedchamber illuminated only by moonlight, filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation at the task that lay ahead. He walked the now familiar route from his home to the Piazza, pausing to take in the breathtaking sight of the massive Duomo which stood proudly on the Piazza’s north boundary. Consecrated some sixty years earlier, but still unfinished, it had been designed by the master architect, Buscheto di Giovanni Giudice, a local man who had a solid architectural reputation for church design. The Duomo, however, was the most ambitious project he had ever undertaken. It was to be unlike any building that he, or any other architect, had ever built. For this was not just a monument to God, it was also a testament to the power of the Pisan people and their well-deserved reputation as a seafaring power. Funded by the shipload of treasure brought back from an expedition to Sicily in 1063, during which they had successfully plundered and defeated Palermo, the Muslim Capital of Sicily, the Duomo was designed to represent the supremacy of Pisa over Italy and that of Christianity over the Saracen world.

  Gerardo stood, as he often did, admiring the spectacular marble façade of the church. As a lapicida, he was well versed in the myriad techniques of construction and decoration that had been employed in its creation, and he knew well how much extraordinary effort had gone into creating this revolutionary building. The layers of pure white marble interleaved with grey, extracted from the quarries at Monte Pisano, a nod to the traditional Roman style of decoration. The monumental proportions of these vast slabs of marble, chosen with care by the architect and his masons, provided an exciting juxtaposition with the delicate and intricate carvings that decorated its surface. Buscheto was relentless in his search for the perfect raw material. No stone had been left unturned, almost literally: white marble was quarried in Monte Pisano, tufa was transported by ship from Livorno, and limestone brought down the river from Veruca. Even the long-abandoned quarries of Elba were reopened to provide Buscheto with the stone he required – almost all of it transported by sea and brought up the Arno River into the heart of Pisa. Classical monuments plundered from Elba and Sardinia, were shipped back and forth on board galleys ferrying goods and human cargo between Pisa and the southern states of Italy. Re-sited in the Duomo, they added layers of exotic texture to the building.

  Buscheto had died many years before, and a succession of magisters had taken over the ambitious project. While it was nearing its conclusion, an army of craftsmen continued their work – carving, gilding, and painting. Each time Gerardo visited the cathedral, he saw something new to excite his imagination. The building was one of the first of what would later be referred to as the Romanesque style of architecture – bringing influences from classical Rome, together with those from the Byzantine and Lombard eras, mixed in with Islamic influences. In many ways, the Cathedral was the physical manifestation of Pisan socciety at that time – a melting pot of cultures and peoples. While Gerardo could not perhaps understand the significance of the architectural forces at work in this building, he certainly recognised it as a supreme example of the latest in modern architecture, and was impressed by both the scale and the detail.

  He stopped, as he often did, to study a pair of magnificent pillars delicately carved with animals of all kinds, sculpted by the celebrated artist of the day, Magister Bonanno Pisano. He found the naive quality of the carvings touching; it was as if Bonanno was telling a story to a child through his work. Entering the Duomo, he admired the work of his own grandfather, old Gerardo. He thought of him, stripped to the waist in the summer months, sweat pouring down his back as he worked. His large hands remarkably deft as they carved and chiseled the stone so delicately. He had been such an important influence on the younger man. He hoped he would be proud of his young grandson today.

  Venturing further into the cavernous building, he stood and watched the gilders and painters hard at work in the dimly lit interior. Here and there, he admired the simplicity of the columns plundered from classical sites on Elba or Sardinia many years before. It thrilled him to think of these pieces, perhaps more than a thousand years old, still fulfilling their purpose – but instead of decorating a Roman monument, they were now supporting this most modern and exciting of buildings; a building which was designed to demonstrate the supremacy of Pisa amongst all the city states of Italy. He was reminded of his other grandfather Carlo Vaselli, lost at sea on a trip to The Holy Land with the merchant Lorenzo. Had these columns been part of that ill-fated cargo?

  Gerardo emerged from the gloom of the Duomo’s interior and blinked as the bright sunlight bounced off the white marble steps outside. Glancing up at the sun as it made its steady climb across the Piazza, he hurried on. Deotisalvi had called his team together for an early meeting and Gerardo was anxious not to be late. Having been chosen for the position of lapicida from more than fifty stonemasons, he was well aware of the honour the great man had done him. He also knew that Deotisalivi, now entering his eightieth year, was a difficult man to please.

  The old Capo Magister stalked impatiently back and forth over the bare earth where the new building would be sited, east of both the Duomo and of his other ‘work in progress’, the Baptistery. Begun some twenty years earlier, the Baptistery along with the Duomo and the Campanile were to form the extraordinary architectural vision of the Pisan people for their cathedral square. Sixty years older than his new chief stonemason, Deotisalvi was at the peak of his powers, entrusted by the good burghers of Pisa with two of their most prestigious new buildings, and this August morning, as the sun soared over the Duomo’s roof, he felt confident and full of excitement.

  ‘You are late,’ Deotisalvi spoke roughly without looking up at Gerardo.

  The mason bowed low, using the old man’s full title. ‘Forgive me, Capo Magister.’

  Vernacci, the Op
eraio came forward and took him by the arm. ‘Welcome Gerardo; this is an auspicious day. We are pleased to see you and delighted that you have accepted the position of lapicida.’

  The old man scowled, and led the group to an exquisitely detailed model placed on the dusty ground.

  Gerardo had been lapicida on Deotisalvi’s other campanile, at the church of San Nicola, just a short walk from the Piazza. Here the magister had decorated the circular upper storey of the octagonal tower with a ring of Pisan arches. He had made great use of the Pisan arch at the Baptistery too, a building Gerardo was well acquainted with. But with both these buildings, the arches formed mere decoration on the surface, the weight of the building being supported on a solid marble base.

  The new campanile was quite different. In spite of the fact that it would support the weight of seven vast bronze bells to call the faithful of Pisa to prayer, the tower consisted of six layers of open galleries, each one supporting the next. On every level were thirty columns supporting the signature Pisan arches. The effect it created was of the galleries floating one on top of the other. It was almost lacy in appearance, not unlike a piece of woman’s clothing – a stocking or a lace veil – and of a delicacy which defied the builder’s logical mind.

  Gerardo studied the calculations on the geometric drawing that lay next to the model. The columns measured ten Roman feet in height and the tower was a hundred feet in circumference. In total, the tower measured 100 braccie, or ‘arms’. Gerardo stood up and stroked his neat beard. He looked at the older man who was watching his face intently.

  ‘Well,’ said the Operaio, ‘what do you think?’

  Gerardo fingered the soft stubble of his beard. ‘I am not employed to think,’ he said guardedly, ‘I am here to build and do the magister’s bidding.’

  A faint smile flickered across the architect’s face.