by Gian Bordin
"But you must, otherwise he will betray us. And we’ll only repay him some of the medicine he ordered for Antonia… Do I have to do it?"
"I might kill him."
"He wanted to carry Antonia to her death."
The priest’s eyes went wide. A wet spot was forming at the front of his skirt. Chiara took a step back, disgusted. Lorenzo looked at her for a moment, closed his eyes briefly, and then hit the priest twice hard with a closed fist to the side of the face. The man slumped to the ground.
"Put him back to where Antonia was."
Armed with paper, ink and a quill, she followed Lorenzo who half carried, half dragged the priest. In the light of the fire, she quickly wrote a note:
Esteemed Captain Gonzaga,
Her ladyship has decided to take the road to Urbino while it is still dark and asked me to be her protector, which I am honored to do. You are to follow with the captive at your own pace and deliver her to the keeper of the Holy Inquisition in Urbino.
Yours, Fra Anselmo, inquisitore assistente
P.S. Her ladyship’s servants also have made an early start for Cagli.
She took the captain’s sword from Pepe and asked him to help getting the carts on the road. Then she stuck the note onto the hilt of the sword. Just as she was about to put it back to its original place, the captain turned to his side. The snoring stopped. Chiara remained perfectly still, the sword in her left, a knife in her right hand. After a long few seconds, the snoring gradually resumed. She started breathing again and placed the weapon such that on waking the captain would see the note first. Next, she went over to the priest. He was still unconscious, and she hoped he would remain like that for a long time. She adjusted the scarf around his head and pulled the hood over it, such that much of the face and hair remained hidden. The swelling from the blows would make recognition difficult. It was fortunate that he was clean shaven and full of wrinkles, like Antonia. Unless somebody removed the scarf or it slipped, he would easily pass for her, as she had intended. She cast one more glance around. The players had removed all their belongings, including the cooking pot.
The rain was coming down hard and drowned the noise of the carts moving out of the barn. Any talk between the players was restricted to single words, murmured or whispered. A few minutes later they reached the road and turned north. Chiara now trailed behind the carts, obliterating the wheel and hoof marks with a birch broom. She caught up with them near the bridge where the road surface was paved.
Shortly past the bridge, a primitive track led into the hills. That was the one they took. It was hard going, not only because in places the track was quite steep, but also because of the darkness, with the wheels often getting trapped by roots and rocks. Everybody, except Antonia, helped to push. Fortunately, the track was awash, any wheel or hoof marks being swept away quickly. However, as they made their way up in the sparse forest, she again made sure that no traces of them remained. Once deep inside a dense stand of trees, they stopped for a rest. Alda and Maria looked after Antonia, giving her wine and bread. She was still disoriented and in obvious pain. Chiara took her hand and the old woman pressed it.
"What are we going to do now, Chiara?" asked Lorenzo, expressing the question in everybody’s mind.
"This track must surely lead to some farmhouse where we can find shelter. In a week or two, they’ll give up the search for us, and then we can continue on our way."
"But the farmer may refuse to take us in."
"Possible. We can offer him one or two gold coins, and if that doesn’t work, we can always force him, although I doubt that this will be necessary. I’m sure even one florin will be tempting enough, particularly if we also promise to pay for food. Anyway, we have plenty, and we can replenish our supplies again on the road."
People nodded only. They still seemed too overwhelmed by the audacity of what they had done.
"However, this track is too difficult for our carts. I suggest that we hide them in the forest, and only take along what we and the animals can carry. We can always come back down to fetch more."
"Antonia is hardly in a position to walk."
"She can ride the donkey."
* * *
It took them a good hour to find a suitable hiding place for their stuff and camouflage it with branches and other vegetation. Then they continued uphill on the stony track that left few if any marks of their passing. It had stopped raining and the clouds were breaking up, allowing a bright moon to guide them along. After about half a league, the trees became sparse again. The track leveled out as it entered a small valley of open pasture. They spotted the faint outlines of several rectangular structures toward the back.
Pointing, Lorenzo remarked: "That must be houses."
Chiara nodded. "Yes, but let’s wait until there’s daylight, and then we’ll explore."
Pepe lifted Antonia off the donkey.
Chiara went to Alda and begged: "Please, hold me."
Without a word, Alda put her arms around her, and Chiara dropped her head on the woman’s shoulders, letting go of her inner tension, feeling the warmth of the motherly figure holding her, drawing strength from her. Pepe joined them and put his arms around both.
After a while, they broke apart, and Alda murmured: "Do you think we will make it?"
"We must… There is no other choice." And then, more as an afterthought, she added: "And if the pestilence has already reached Fossombrone, the authorities will have more important things to worry about than a witch that slipped through the fingers of the Inquisition."
"Do you think that the man died of the pestilence?" questioned Pepe.
"Yes. How else could a healthy young man die within hours?"
"So we are in danger too, aren’t we?" murmured Alda.
"Yes… If God has willed that we should be struck down with the pestilence, there’s not much we can do about it."
"Aren’t you afraid of dying, child?"
"Yes, but I won’t let fear conquer me. I’ll fight with all the means I can muster."
"Oh, Chiara, I love you so."
"I love you too, mamina. Your love gives me strength… and then we both have this lovable bear." She raised herself to her toes and kissed Pepe’s cheek.
Alda smiled. "Pepino, you’re a very lucky man."
"Yes, I know, tesoro. Look, there’s a light in the house now."
Chiara went to Lorenzo. "Let’s go and inquire, just the two of us. You talk. I have silver and gold coins in my pouch."
"What shall I say?"
"You could tell him the truth, that we are fleeing from the pestilence, but that will make them afraid. Maybe it’s wiser to tell him that I’m fleeing from a vendetta and need a hiding place for two weeks."
"Has there ever been a situation where you didn’t know the answer?"
Chiara only smiled in response.
As they approached the house, an old man in a homespun shepherd’s cloak stood in the door. The filthy cloak’s original color must have been brown, but now that could only be guessed. He carried a long stick in his hand. A boy in his teens peered over the old man’s shoulder. Both looked at them suspiciously, neither uttering a word. She was struck by the sudden greed in the old man’s eyes when she showed him a gold coin.
"You’ll get another one when we leave and we’ll pay for any food we take from you, but there is one condition. Neither you, nor this boy, will reveal to anybody that we are here."
"Yes, honorable Signorina, neither of us’ll say a word."
She handed him the coin. He almost ripped it from her hand, turned it over several times and then bit into it. Satisfied with the result, he disappeared inside, and she heard noises of stones being moved.
There were three other stone huts with slate roofs. He told them they could choose any one. While Lorenzo went back to fetch the players, Chiara inspected the structures. The smallest had a badly leaking roof. The largest was filthy, full of animal excrements. It would take them a day to clean it. The third one was the only one that still
had a door, although the top part refused to budge. The hut had a smoke vent and two small windows. There were stone benches along the walls. A broken table lay in one corner. With a bit of work and cleaning it could be made livable and it had the advantage that they could make a fire to kill the worst cold without being smoked out.
After cleaning and fixing things, they moved in and had a fire going for warmth and to cook a breakfast. Later in the morning, the men went into the nearby forest and collected big bundles of bracken to sleep on. The old man and the boy — his nephew, as they learned later on — seemed to have forgotten their flock of sheep and goats and instead stood near the door, watching their every move. It was past noon before they finally took their poles and disappeared over the hills above the valley. They returned at dusk, herding a flock of more than one hundred sheep and two dozen goats to where the horse and donkey grazed on the dry grasses.
Lorenzo bought a loaf of goat cheese from them and they all enjoyed its tart flavor. Since Chiara had been so generous with the wine, there were only two jugs left. To stretch it, each only got half a cup.
A little creek meandered through the valley. Antonia spoke for the first time: "Don’t drink that water."
"So what should we drink then?" asked Carlo, annoyed.
"Brew tea. Up here good tasting herbs grow. Alda can show you which ones to pick."
* * *
Next day, all except Antonia went down to their carts to fetch more things, including some grains and the remaining jug of wine. When they returned, they heard Antonia’s repeated shouts and found both shepherds in their hut, rummaging through their belongings. They quickly rushed out when Lorenzo and Pepe appeared at the door.
"I told them to get out. I even tried to chase them out, but they pushed me over," she cried.
"I’ll talk to them," responded Lorenzo.
"I’ve a better idea," said Chiara. "Pepe and I’ll practice with the knives and then you talk to them."
Pepe and Giovanni set up the table against the outside wall. From a distance of ten paces, he threw two knives, aiming for a large knot on its surface. Both knives stuck at the edge of the knot. The two shepherds watched from afar and then, driven by their insatiable curiosity, came closer. Chiara sat in front of the table. When Pepe threw the next knife, both yelled out in dismay. Their mouths remained wide open while they watched Pepe place eight knives within a thumb width around Chiara.
She now got up, removed four of the knives and went through a display of juggling with Pepe at ever increasing speed. After that little demonstration, Lorenzo talked to the two men. Still in a state of shock, both nodded gravely. They never again tried to get into their hut.
That evening over an extra cup of wine, the players finally talked about what happened at the abandoned farmhouse. Each told about their initial outrage over Chiara’s blatant support for the accusation of witchcraft, their increasing bewilderment until they caught on and began to improvise their roles as servants to a noble lady.
"I was puzzled for a moment but then smelled that you had a ploy," asserted Antonia, "and thought it would help if I ran off, but I didn’t count on the priest’s viciousness."
"You didn’t really think that I would abandon you to these people who thrive on burning flesh."
"No, I know you better than you know yourself, young hussy."
"Chiara, where do you always get these outrages ideas from, like that knife display this afternoon," questioned Lorenzo.
"Isn’t there a saying: Necessity is the mother of invention? And then there is this Latin proverb: Necessitas non habet legem. To answer your question, I don’t know. They enter my mind unbidden."
"You know, Chiara, you were superb as the noble maiden on a pilgrimage to the shrines of Rome," cried Alda.
Everybody laughed, and Carlo exclaimed: "I didn’t know whether I could trust my own ears, and I always thought I had good hearing."
"And did you see how she blushed at her own story," chuckled Alda.
"I did because I suddenly became aware that you all had gone completely silent and were listening to every word I said."
"We should really give Chiara bigger roles in our plays. If ever anybody was born to be an actress, it’s her."
Chiara leaned her head on Alda’s shoulder, closing her eyes. It felt good being appreciated and valued by her fellow players. Then she suddenly became aware that she had not thought about her father for weeks and sadness flooded her heart, drowning her happiness.
"Why are you suddenly sad, Chiara?" she heard Alda’s whisper.
She shook her head, hesitated, and murmured: "I thought of my father."
Alda padded her arm. "Poor girl. Is it hard?"
"I’m not poor. I’m with you." A sad smile played around her eyes.
* * *
Two days later they had a scare. toward noon, the shepherd lad came running down from the hilltop and croaked, completely out of breath: "I saw two riders coming up through the forest."
"Chiara, what do we do?"
"Lock up our hut and hide up there behind those bushes. Giovanni, ride the horse over the hill! It could give us away. The donkey can stay down here. That won’t be suspicious."
"And I?" cried Antonia.
"Pepe and Carlo will carry you. Now get going and don’t forget the bows and arrows. I’ll take knives. And you, Giuglio, go hide with them too."
She quickly collected all their belongings that were outside, shifted anything inside that could be seen from the two windows and wedged both parts of the door from inside with the table. Then she climbed out through one of the windows. Fortunately, it had not rained for three days and the ground was hard, leaving few visible tracks.
The bushes were less than a hundred feet above the huts. She joined the players and lay on the ground, mostly hidden, watching the track through the dry grasses. They had to wait a long time. Chiara already thought that the riders might have turned back. Finally she saw them coming leisurely along the valley. They did not dismount, but rode around the four huts, casting casual glances through any openings.
"The shepherds must be on the other side of the hill," one of them called out.
"Should we go across?"
Chiara’s pulse raced away. If they did so, they would pass right by their hiding place. She inserted an arrow into her bow. So did Lorenzo and Carlo.
"Their flocks could be an hour or two away. No, the place looks deserted and I see no signs of the carts."
"I told you that the track wasn’t passable. It was a waste of time to come up here."
"Yes, you’re right. Strange though how they’ve simply disappeared without trace. Either they’re a very sly lot or they know witchcraft."
"You must admit that they really made a fool of Gonzaga. He only discovered that it was Fra Anselmo when they unloaded him in Fossombrone, and by then was hardly alive anymore. So we lost two days."
"They could have traveled far in two days."
"Let’s leave. If we hurry, we might still make it to Cagli before nightfall. I’d hate to spend another night in some dilapidated hut."
She heard the sudden pounding of hoofs and saw the two riders canter down the track.
"That was close," remarked Lorenzo.
"Yes, and I think this boy deserves a piece of silver for warning us."
* * *
That evening, Maria complained that she was not feeling well. She lay down on the bracken, and Lorenzo covered her with an extra coat. Antonia placed her palm on her forehead. She shook her head gravely.
"She’s being eaten by fire, and I know it’s no cold."
Maria’s eyes shone like glass bubbles. She shivered in spite of the extra cover and the heat of the fire. Pestilence? Chiara saw her own fear reflected in the faces of the players. Carlo and Giovanni moved to the far side of the hut.
"Water," whispered Maria.
Chiara immediately jumped up and filled a cup with watered down wine. She helped Maria into a sitting position. The young woman
’s hands were trembling so much that she was unable to hold the cup. Chiara held it to her lips and Maria drank eagerly. She could feel the heat of her skin. She fetched a wet towel and placed it on Maria’s forehead, renewing it from time to time. Lorenzo hovered nearby, restless, rubbing his hands as if he wanted to do something to help Maria.
"Sit, Lorenzo," said Antonia. "Chiara is doing all that can be done. There’s nothing more that you can do, except making everybody nervous too."
"She must not die. Oh God, please don’t let her die," he pleaded, sinking to the floor next to Maria.
As the evening progressed, Maria became delirious, thrashing around. Chiara and Alda continued sponging her face with cold water.
"Giovanni, please fetch more water from the creek," requested Alda.
He took the pail, put on his cloak, and disappeared in the dark.
When he did not return, Alda asked: "What’s taking him so long?" She went to the door, searching the black night. "Carlo, find out what’s happened. He may have lost his way."
Carlo also donned his cloak and went outside. They waited again. Neither returned. Chiara and Alda looked at each other. It was Antonia who voiced their suspicion: "I bet they have fled, the cowards."
Chiara got up and took the other pail. "I’ll get water and I will be back."
"I don’t doubt it, child. You’re not one to run from perils."
Chiara found the other pail at the corner of the hut. She took both and returned a few minutes later.
They continued their vigil the whole night.
During a rare moment of lucidity, Maria took Chiara’s hand. "Am I dying?" she whispered.
"We will not let you die, dear Maria."
"I think I’m dying. Will you pray for my soul?"
"You must not give up. You must fight to live, and we all will pray for you," replied Chiara, wiping the tears that rolled down her cheeks.
Maria closed her eyes, a faint smile around her lips. After a while she whispered: "Will you take my confession?"