by Gian Bordin
The first of November 1347 was the earliest entry — almost half a year after she had fled Elba. She checked the first few pages, stopping when she reached June 1348. She was certain that by then Casa Sanguanero had already taken possession of her property. So the signing over must be listed in the previous ledger.
It was a fair guess that the older ledgers were stored in one of the cabinets, most likely close to the table since he might have to consult them frequently. She opened the door of the first cabinet to the right of the window and almost jumped out of her skin when a heavy object fell on the floor with a loud bang. She quickly grabbed the oil lamp and her candle and went to the bottom of the staircase below, shielding the lamp, pricking her ears for any noise. She counted to five hundred, but could not hear the slightest sound, no creaking of doors or wooden floors, no footsteps.
After another while she returned upstairs and checked the stairs to the top floor. All remained quiet. The old man must not have woken. She went back to the cabinet, searching for the previous ledger. Her guess was right. The top shelf of the first cabinet she had opened contained a row of more than a dozen books, identical to the one on the table, except for age. She opened the newest, intent on working through it backward. The last two pages were blank, except for two entries at the top of the second to the last page, both dated 30th of October. She almost missed them, already scanning the opposite page when belatedly the name Elba registered in her mind. The contract signing over her land to Casa Sanguanero was the last entry. What a fortunate coincidence! Rather than having to remove a page somewhere in the middle of the ledger with several other listings on it besides the one she wanted, she only needed to cut that last sheet from the book. Nobody was likely to notice that, since the last entry at the bottom of the previous page was also dated 30th of October.
She had just slipped one of the small knives from her belt when she heard a rasping wheeze. Startled, she whirled around, the blade of the knife in her raised hand briefly flashing in the light of the oil lamp.
The notary was standing at the foot of the stairs to the floor above, about ten feet away, barefoot, a robe wrapped around him, a night cap hiding his hair. His right hand was gripping his chest, his eyes wide open in terror, the irises turning slowly up and almost disappearing under the lids. He teetered a bit, and then a hoarse groan escaped his lips, as he slumped to the floor.
She remained frozen in place, her own heart beat ringing in her ears. She stared at the heap on the floor, thin legs sticking out from the robe, arms lying limp at an unnatural angle, eyes looking at nothing.
Her first impulse was to flee. But he needed help. She overcame her repulsion and went to him. He did not seem to breathe. Her left hand searched for a pulse on his neck. There was nothing. Dead! I killed him. Frightened him to death. Her hands trembled. If I hadn’t come here, he would still be alive.
For a long moment her mind remained paralyzed. Then she slowly regained control over her senses. Yes, he died of fright, not because I had threatened him, but because of a weak heart, and that was not my fault, she tried to justify herself. But he would still be alive if I hadn’t come here, the other voice in her mind blamed again. He could have dropped dead anytime, she tried to reassure herself, but it felt hollow.
Almost without thinking she started to go up the stairs. You came here with a purpose, reminded another voice. You might as well finish it. Nothing can be done about the poor man anymore.
She went back to the ledger and cut out the last sheet cleanly. The entry code was ‘G3'. She presumed that the ‘3' referred to the shelf. She took out a scroll from the middle and opened it. It dealt with a loan contract for Casa Sanguanero, dated July 1348. The next scroll she opened, more to the left, had the date of September 1347. After a dozen or so more tries she found the scroll of her father’s deed.
Next, she carefully put everything back in its place. She left the oil lamp to burn itself out during the rest of the night. After lighting her candle, she skirted past the dead man — there was no need to tiptoe anymore. Climbing up to the attic, she noticed two dust spots on the ladder and wiped them. As she closed the trap door, she wondered what to do about the foot prints she had made in the dust on the floor. In the end she dragged the wicker basket over them and left it under the hole.
A quarter hour later she was back in her house. The first thing she did was to burn both the scroll and the sheet she had removed, and scattered the ashes in the fire place. The proof was gone. Her throat felt parched. She drank a cup of water. Then she undressed and folded the garments tightly into a small bag. She would take them early next day to the little house in Via delle Cerchia.
Dawn found her still awake. She had been haunted most of the night by the image of the notary sprawled on the floor, wave after wave of reproach tormenting her.
If she ever had seriously considered gaining access to the Casa Sanguanero mansion in Camollia and steal the little book of poems, such thoughts were all but banished. She admitted that it would be foolish, as she had been foolish to go to Faranese. What other scheme could she think of? She could contrive a reason to visit Niccolo in his office and arrange for a diversion, such as a brawl outside his office. While he went out to check what was going on, she could remove the little book. But whom could she hire to create such a brawl? And would it be fair to tempt some poor man with a few florins to do something that almost certainly would land him in jail or worse? She shuddered at the thought, last night’s experience still very much in her bones. Maybe she had no choice except to give up on the little book and on the treasure. The latter seemed to be safe from Casa Sanguanero.
* * *
She visited Lucia twice during the week. The latter gave her the shocking news that Casa Sanguanero’s notary had suddenly died. The servant woman who cooked and cleaned for him had found him on the floor of his office. It seemed that he died of a weak heart.
The preparations for the celebrations were in full swing. Lucia told her proudly that the list of guests included most of the leading Sienese families. Chiara probed discreetly if anybody from Casa Salimbeni was invited. Definitely not, since they were the enemies of Casa Tolomei, Casa Sanguanero’s banking house. It took some worries off her not having to face Gaetano Salimbeni.
Since she planned to leave the day after the celebration, she bundled up all things she intended to take along, and shifted them to Via delle Cerchia. She also told her servant couple that their last duty would be to clean the house on the Monday after and return the keys to its proprietor.
On Saturday morning, she took extra care to prepare her Lucrezia look. Her top, vermilion velvet, left her shoulders free and again gave a hint of cleavage. The dark blue skirt, worn over black breeches — a habit since those first days in Pisa — was separate, just clearing the floor, with silver buttons down the front. In fact, it came from the troupe’s chest of costumes. Its side seams were open almost to the hip, revealing what looked like an underskirt, but was simply a triangular piece of vermilion velvet sown in — another of Alda’s inventions. The same belt she wore to see di Bicci, decorated with the four small knives, added an unusual touch of finesse. Her black plaits wound around her head, uncovered. She wore her only two pieces of jewelry, the diamond cross and the diamond ring. It would be a stark contrast to the excess of jewels displayed by most women, but would at the same time subtly emphasize that her beauty had no need for such enhancements. She inspected the result in the mirror, smiling to herself, and murmured: "You did it, for the last time."
Before leaving, she dismissed the servants. A litter, ordered earlier, carried her to Casa Sanguanero. When she was ushered into the upstairs loggia and her name called out, all eyes turned on her. Niccolo was beaming with proprietary pride as he came forward to greet her.
"What a privilege to see you again, Lady Lucrezia. You honor this house with your beauty."
"Signore, you indulge me with compliments. I risk becoming vain."
"It is all deserved," whispered
Lucia who had joined them.
"I have a surprise for you," continued Niccolo. "Casa Sanguanero has the good fortune to be honored by a most distinguished guest, but I do not want to spoil this special occasion for you by telling you prematurely who it is. It must be a surprise."
Who could it be? "Signore, you cannot be so cruel as to leave me unprepared. I might commit a faux pas and embarrass you."
He looked at her puzzled, until Lucrezia whispered into his ear, and his smile returned.
"Signorina, it would be most unlike you to make a blunder."
"It would not be the first time. But I think I should now greet Signor Sanguanero, your father."
The old man seemed to be in his normal sullen mood. After exchanging a few meaningless words, Chiara excused herself, and was quickly surrounded by a score of other guests. Niccolo began introducing her to those she had not met before. Again, she recognized several from performances.
Rose water was sprinkled on the floor, filling the room with a pleasant fragrance. The servants carried in loads of refreshments — squares of muskmelon, wrapped in thin slices of smoked ham, smoked eel, cockles, goat cheese, figs, grapes, honeyed walnuts, and other delicacies.
Chiara had forgotten about Niccolo’s surprise when she heard a familiar trilling laughter on the stairs. Lady Maria — it couldn’t be, it mustn’t be, she cried silently, steeling herself at the same time for what she knew would come as certain as that she would die one day, nor did she see a way to extricate herself. She might as well brave the storm, but she was also determined to grab the first opportunity for her exit.
A moment later, the herald loudly announced: "Please welcome the illustrious Lady Maria, Contessa d’Appiano, … and Lady Heloïse."
Everybody turned to the entrance, where the countess with her usual smile, half-mocking, half-solemn, enjoyed the polite applause in her honor. Lady Heloïse, stood at an appropriate distance behind her. She had blossomed into a pretty young woman, already the focus of male attention. Chiara spotted Mercurio behind them. His eyes, puzzled at first, lit up when she acknowledged him with a faint smile.
Niccolo rushed forward, bowed deeply, and kissed the hand the countess offered.
"Lady Maria, it is a most auspicious privilege to welcome you to our humble house in celebration for my betrothal to Lady Lucrezia. I would be honored to introduce her to your ladyship."
He stepped backward, took Chiara’s hand and led her to Lady Maria.
"Lady Maria, my future wife, Lady Lucrezia Alberti de’ Morrone of Naples."
"Lady Maria," Chiara said softly, while she curtsied formally, at the same time curious, in spite of her predicament, how the countess would react. Then she raised her eyes. The bewildered expression of the woman she adored changed to hurt and then anger.
"What perfidious trickery is this, Lady Chiara? This time you have gone too far. Was it not enough that you grieved your father while he was alive? Do you also have to dishonor his memory?"
The words cut deep, because she knew them to be true, at least in part.
An ominous hush had descended on the guests. Lady Heloïse audibly sucked in her breath and brought a hand to her mouth.
"Do you have nothing to say, unfortunate girl?"
Chiara raised herself to her full height, her chin set firmly. "My Lady, violation and injustice rob honor, but just revenge restores it." Her voice was firm and hard. Her eyes did not waver under the blazing gaze of the countess.
Niccolo looked baffled from one to the other. Finally, he found his voice. "Honorable Lady, I do not understand of what you accuse Lady Lucrezia?"
"Lady Lucrezia," she replied with a derisive sneer. "This is Chiara da Narni, the girl you were once betrothed to, the woman you saw as the corago of I Magnifici."
"This cannot be. With all due respect to your ladyship, you must be mistaken." He sounded like a chastised little boy. "There is a slight resemblance between them, but Lady Lucrezia is the daughter of Casa Alberti of Naples. I have testimonials to that effect."
"You naive fool. Ask her!"
He turned to Chiara, eyes pleading.
For a fleeting moment, she wondered whether she should deny it, but she was not willing to contradict Lady Maria openly. Her esteem for the woman was too strong.
She locked eyes with Niccolo and said firmly: "I am Chiara da Narni."
Lucia’s worried smile turned into hurt, her eyes crying ‘Why? Why?’ Chiara felt like being stabbed through the heart.
Niccolo took a step back, as if bitten by a snake. Then an almost insane look convulsed his face. His "You snake!" was cut off by the shouting of his father.
"Chiara da Narni, Chiara da Narni, here? Moro! Moro! Kill her, kill her!"
He tried to rise from his chair but fell back helplessly, renewing his outburst of vile abuse and calls of "kill her". Some of the guests had retreated to the walls and all stared in fascination at the woman standing alone and undeterred in the middle, the woman accused of blinding Massimo Sanguanero.
She was looking for a break to escape, but the main entrance was blocked by Lady Maria and her entourage. Then she noticed the countess look past her and saw her eyes widen in terror. Instantly sensing a threat from her back, she whipped around, drawing two knives from her belt at the same time and let the one in her right hand fly before she had completed the turn. A split second later it struck Moro’s throat. His raised sword clattered onto the marble. The momentum carried him another step forward before he buckled to his knees, both hands going to his throat. Cries of fright and dismay echoed in the loggia. The old man’s shouting stopped. By then Chiara had drawn a third knife and made fleeting eye contact with the men in the circle, her intentions clear. She also knew her advantage. None of them was armed, since Siena’s ordinance prohibited men wearing arms in the city unless called up by the council to do so.
Nobody moved. She took a quick step to Moro, withdrew the knife and wiped it on the man’s doublet, not losing the guests from her sight. He fell backward. The sickening rattle of a man drowning in his own blood was the only sound, joined a moment later by the lone sigh of a woman fainting and slumping to the floor.
Suddenly, the old man shouted again: "Moro, where are you? Have you killed the snake?"
"Old man, your loyal Moro is dying. He has given you his last breath."
This time he managed to rise. His face looked crazed. "Where are you, you whore? I will kill you with my own hands," he croaked, walking with hesitant steps toward her voice, his outstretched hands searching for her.
"You promised to do that before, old man, on the Santa Caterina, on the deck above the cabin where you had me locked in."
He came to a halt, hands still outstretched, but no longer searching.
"You remember how you put it? … You need reminding? … It would be a shame to throw her away before tasting her young flesh… And you recall your son’s answer? … What a splendid idea!" Her strident voice rang through the room. Many spectators — the assembly had the unreal air of a scene in a play — audibly sucked in their breath, and then utter silence hung over the room, even Moro’s death rattle had stopped. "Yes, old man, you burned those words into my mind forever."
Suddenly, Lucia’s anguished cry shattered the silence. "Oh father, tell me it is not true, father, please."
Massimo Sanguanero briefly turned his distorted face toward his daughter.
"Yes, old man, do you dare to deny that you tasted that young flesh, that you violated me and that I punished you then and there? But that was not enough for you, was it? You also had to steal my inheritance with lies, and now I made you pay again. Ten thousand florins! Do you think that is a fair price?"
"She is a witch!" came his crazed scream. "Kill her, Niccolo, kill her!"
"Your son will do nothing, because he is a coward. In fact, he is right now coming with me as a guarantee that nobody tries to prevent me from leaving." As she said that, she took three quick steps to Niccolo, who half turned, trying to get away, but
she was too fast. She grabbed his left arm and twisted it up his back, before he knew what was happening, while her right pressed a knife into his kidney area.
"Avanti!" she said sharply, pushing him ahead of her.
The spectators watched spellbound. Nobody moved, except for the countess and her entourage who hurried aside to let her pass. At the entrance to the loggia she briefly looked over her shoulder. "If anyone follows me, he is dead." Then she briefly locked eyes with Mercurio. She saw proud approval in them.
Once at the bottom of the stairs, she checked again that nobody followed. Only a few faces peered cautiously down from the entrance to the loggia. When she saw Niccolo’s office to the left, an idea sprung into her mind — the little book. So rather than make directly for the exit, once she was out of sight from the stairs, she pushed him toward the office.
"Open."
When he did not react immediately, she increased the pressure of the knife in his side. He took the key from his coat pocket and opened the door. She pushed him in before he could retrieve the key and forced him to sit in his chair behind the desk. Then she grabbed the little book from the shelf, quickly opened it the make sure that it really was her book, and slipped it into one of her deep skirt pockets.
Niccolo’s face contorted into a grimace of hatred. "You will not get far, all of the Baglione will be after you until you are dead."