Chiara – Revenge and Triumph

by Gian Bordin

  She did not deign him with an answer. I’ve done it, was the jubilant silent cry.

  Speed was now essential. She left the room, locked the door and took the key along. In the shadow of the entrance, she quickly unbuttoned her skirt, revealing the black breeches underneath, donned the skirt over her shoulders like a cape, removed a few pins to release her plaits, and shook her hair a bit, letting some strands fall partially over her face. It hardly took more than half a minute. Then she stepped outside and walked up Via di Camollia at a measured pace, taking the first side street to the left to Via della stufa secca, off the direct path to Casato di sopra, and by various detours went to Via delle Cerchia. When she met up with the people in the street, she turned her head away or hid her face behind the book. Fortunately, there were few. Near a cross-street, she heard voices and running feet resounding on the paving stones along Banchi di sopra, a street over to her left. She waited in the recess of a house and then resumed her path.

  In the house of Via delle Cerchia, she changed into the young priest, tied up all her belongings into two bundles, and made for the stables at the end of the street. She gave the stable hand a few coins, asking him to return on Monday the key of the little house to its owner and the key to the house on Casato di sopra to the servant couple. Half an hour later, she passed through Porta Pispini with her two horses and took the road toward Rapolano. She would leave that road two leagues before the baths and go over the hills into Val di Chiana and then on to Arezzo, a two-day ride for her.

  As the sun dipped behind the hills, she looked back to the west. Clouds at the horizon, like carcasses torn to bits by wolves, left a few holes of washed-out pink sky, fiery underbellies of yellows and brilliant orange, the closer ones already turning red like dripping blood. A shudder went up her spine. An omen of what was to come, Niccolo’s threat echoing in her mind?

  She turned away, looking for a farmhouse to stay the night.

  18

  October, on the way to Rome, 1349

  I fled Siena to join up with I Magnifici in Arezzo. Unmasked by Contessa d’Appiano, I must admit to my shame that this very fact was the pinnacle of my revenge — I triumphed over father and son Sanguanero in front of their fellow merchants. I had achieved everything I had set out to do; even the book of poems was mine again. My only regret was that I also hurt a young woman I had come to like, Lucia, Niccolo’s sister. I can still hear her anguished plea to her father to deny that he had violated me.

  There was another cloud on the horizon, but I hoped that time would dissolve it or the wind blow it away. How wrong I was! Niccolo had cursed me with the threat that every Baglione would thirst for my blood.

  To put ourselves beyond their reach, we planned to go to Rome and pass the winter there in the comfort of the city, rather than suffer the hardships of the road. In Rome we could choose when and where to perform. Money was no problem. But as so often happens with plans, you enjoy making them, you may even embark on them only to be thwarted by events that you had not accounted for.

  We set out from Arezzo, going south, through Castiglion and Cortona. At the Lago di Perugia, we continued south, avoiding Perugia and a possible encounter with the Baglione, and entered Siena territory again, but I was not afraid that this could spell trouble — Siena was several days’ ride away from Chiusi, this old town which reminded me of the Etruscan vases that Niccolo had stolen from my Elba castle. Our plan was to continue along the River Chiana to Orvieto and then join Via Flaminia to Rome, but it was not to be. Alda fell ill, and we ended up spending most of the winter in a pleasant little mansion near the baths of Chianciano, nursing her back to health. It was a time of contemplation and introspection, but also a time of trying to solve the puzzle of the hidden treasure whose whereabouts lay in the secret of the little book of Latin poems.

  * * *

  Chiara arrived in Arezzo two days after the troupe and found them in the inn Pepe had told her. To say that there was consternation when they heard what happened in Siena would be an understatement. While Jacomo was visibly proud to hear about how Casa Sanguanero was publicly humiliated, and Alda worried about Chiara’s safety, Orlando was upset about what this could mean for his safety and that even his hard-earned share of the spoils was now in jeopardy, that Casa Medici might well go back on their promise to keep the funds safe for them. Even Alda mentioned that they might never see that money again, but then also added that this was the least of her concerns. Although Orlando never voiced it to her directly, Veronica told Chiara that he blamed her for dragging him into this unfortunate affair. Chiara did her best to calm them about the money. She was confident that di Bicci would not renege and forgo the opportunity to hurt Casa Sanguanero, even to the point of bankrupting them. The threat they posed of preempting Florence in the spice trade was too big to be ignored. But she wrote to di Bicci, warning him of what happened in Siena and had the letter dispatched by courier to Florence. It cost her a whole florin.

  Rather reluctantly, she gave in to Orlando’s request to give a private performance that he had arranged. She would have preferred to leave the area quickly without advertising their presence by offering shows and possibly alerting the Baglione of Perugia. Even before leaving Arezzo, they already received another invitation to present Phormio to a select group of nobles in Cortona. There she let it be known that they were on their way to Perugia and Assisi, just in case Niccolo had already notified the Baglione. But rather than turn east at the top of Lago di Perugia — Lago Trasimeno in later centuries — they continued south to Chiusi, where they arrived six days after leaving Arezzo, each day covering a strenuous distance, except for the extra days in Castiglion and Cortona.

  In Chiusi, they gave a public show of the knife-throwing act, followed by short skits. They intended to stay no more than two nights, unless a private invitation could be procured, and then continue on to Orvieto. The weather was becoming cold and everybody was getting eager for Rome and the comfort it promised.

  When they were packing up in Piazza del Mercato of Chiusi, after the show, Chiara noticed Alda’s glossy eyes.

  "Alda, are you not feeling well?" she queried concerned.

  "Oh, it’s nothing, maybe just a cold. There was a rather fresh wind blowing while we traveled along the lake, and I might have caught something. Don’t worry."

  Chiara touched her forehead. It was burning. She now was full of worry. "You have a high fever." She turned to Pepe and Jacomo, who were folding the wooden board. "Pepe, take Alda to the tavern, right away, and see that she gets a hot drink of spiced wine. Keep her warm. Get a fire going."

  He looked at her surprised, and Alda began to protest, but she did not give them a chance. "No arguments. Alda has a fever. Pepe, drop what you are doing and take her, now!"

  She wrapped a shawl around Alda shoulder and pushed her to Pepe.

  "Is Alda sick?"questioned Veronica. "Should I go and help?"

  "Yes go, and help her keep warm. We’ll finish here."

  She helped Jacomo with the board, while Orlando packed up the various utensils they had used. When everything was ready, she waved over two of the lads who had lingered around and watched, and offered them a denaro each to help carry the board to their inn.

  Alda was sitting near the fire, a cup in her hand. In spite of the warmth, she was shivering. Chiara again checked her forehead. The fever seemed to have risen even more in the short time. Right then, the woman was shaken by a hacking cough and only Chiara quick action prevented the cup from spilling over her. Alda closed her eyes, seemingly in pain whenever she coughed.

  Chiara did not like what she saw. "Do you have pain in the chest?"

  Alda nodded, pointing to her right side. Pneumonia? Chiara wondered and wished old Antonia were with them. She knew that pneumonia was a dreaded illness that quite often ended in a painful death for those afflicted. The death of her favorite chambermaid on Elba, now almost ten years ago, was still vivid in her memory. Her grandmother, in spite of not being herself at full stren
gth anymore, had labored for three days to no avail. But it triggered her into action. She found out that there was one guest room that had its own fireplace and immediately arranged for it to be prepared for Alda — a fire, a good mattress, clean sheets, soft cushions, and woollen covers. Then she ordered Pepe to carry Alda up, and she and Veronica got the woman into bed. She remembered her grandmother keeping the room of the maid steamed up and that she administered to her milk with honey, chamomile tea with honey, chicken broth and other easily digestible soups.

  That night, she did not leave Alda’s bedside, sponging off her forehead with cool wet towels and giving her warm drinks that Veronica fetched from the kitchen, and doing all to make the sick woman comfortable, while Pepe looked after the fire and made sure that the steam of the vessel near the fire was keeping the air in the room humid. When Alda complained about severe chest pains, Chiara remembered another thing her grandmother had done — cold towels put on the side of the hurting chest. So Pepe regularly brought her cold towels. It seemed to bring some relief to Alda.

  * * *

  Next day, Orlando arrived with the only medical doctor in town, a man in his forties, smelling unwashed, black fingernails encrusted with what looked like dried up blood, scratching himself constantly all over his body. She took an immediate loathing for the man. He confirmed that Alda had pneumonia.

  "The best help I can offer is to bleed her now and maybe again tonight," he said, getting his utensils ready.

  "Why bleed her?" Chiara asked.

  "To relieve the pressure on her heart. It is what the Greek physicians order." While he said that he removed a small dirty bowl from his tattered bag and placed it on the floor next to Alda’s bed. Then he partially uncovered Alda and stretched her arm over the vessel.

  "Wait," said Chiara sharply. "Why should bleeding help her?"

  "Young woman, I know what’s best for the patient. Just be calm and let me do what I know is best." He took out a small knife and wiped it on the stained sleeve of his tunic.

  "Bleeding her will only weaken her."

  He went down to his knees and held Alda’s arm flat, squeezing it above the vein at the wrist, ready to cut into it as it swelled. Chiara grabbed the hand holding the knife and pulled the man up.

  "You are not going to cut that woman with your dirty knife."

  He struggled, trying to free his arm, but her grip was firm.

  "Young woman, you don’t know what you are doing. I’m a renown physician and have attended illustrious persons of high standing in this town."

  Yes, and you probably killed most of them with your quackery. She almost said it aloud. "In fact, you’re leaving this room right now before any lice and fleas drop off you."

  "You better beware who you insult like this. I’ve powerful protectors in this city and I’ll make you responsible if this gravely sick woman dies," he cried as she pushed him from of the room, while Pepe collected the man’s stuff.

  "Are you sure this is wise?" Orlando asked. "He was recommended to me by several people."

  "I don’t know whether it’s wise or not, and I might have trusted him if he had looked halfway clean and respectable and not swarming with lice. You could see them running around on his scalp. Please, leave. This commotion is no good for Alda."

  She replaced the cold towel on the woman’s chest and noticed that she wanted to say something, but was too weak. She approached her ear to Alda’s mouth and felt vindicated when she heard the faint "Thank you."

  Over the next few days, she hardly ever left Alda’s side, resting occasionally, when Alda was asleep. Veronica had strict instructions to wake her the moment Alda stirred. She continued administering the treatment her grandmother had done.

  On the fourth day, she was afraid that Alda was slipping away. For periods at a time, she was delirious. At other times she looked completely spent, her face gaunt, her eyes sunk in deep cavities. Toward evening, while she was sponging her burning forehead, Pepe came back to the room with wood for the fire. He saw her crying, sitting on the floor, next to Alda. He put his hand on her head. She looked up, searching his eyes.

  "Pepe, I think she is dying." She burst out sobbing. "You better get a priest."

  He stroked her hair once more and nodded. When he returned, Chiara asked him to hold her. It did not take long before the priest came and administered the last rites. After the priest had left, both she and Pepe cried. She desperately wanted Alda to live. She could not let the woman who had become her mother die. Bending over the prostrate Alda, she started talking to her.

  "Alda, please hear me. Alda, I love you, and you must not die. I need you. Pepino needs you. Veronica needs you… Please, Alda, don’t leave us… You must hear me. You must fight. You must get well again."

  Tears were rolling down her cheeks, dropping on Alda’s face. The woman stirred and moaned faintly. "Alda, do you remember when we met and you said to Pepe: ‘Pepino, she’s a girl!’ and then called out to me when I wanted to run away: ‘Ahi, figliola, don’t be afraid, we mean you no harm!’? You called me ‘daughter’, and that’s what I am, your daughter. Don’t leave me now without a mother again." As she spoke softly, she started stroking Alda’s hair. She put all her will and conviction into her voice, into her heart, as she repeated: "Alda, don’t leave. We want you to stay with us." Then she starting humming one of Alda’s favorite tunes. At the second round, Pepe joined in. At that point Veronica came back to the room, bringing a fresh cup of honeyed camomile tea, in the faint hope that Alda might be able to drink. She joined in with her clear, unformed soprano voice, and the three continued humming for several minutes.

  Watching Alda, Chiara had the impression that her breathing was more quiet, that it seemed freer. She checked her forehead. It was still hot, but not as burning as a when she had touched her earlier. The flame of hope that had almost extinguished was kindled again. She continued talking to Alda, reminding her of all the things that they had done together, how they had laughed together, how they had been sad together, how they had made plans for the future together.

  After a while, Pepe murmured: "Chiara, I think you have done all you could. You must now look after yourself and take a rest. We’ll wake you if there’s any change."

  She felt exhausted, almost at the end of her own strength. "But, Pepe, you must talk to her. You must let her know that you want her to live, that Veronica and I want her to live."

  He nodded and helped her to the second mattress in the room. She listened to his low, calming, but insistent murmur, as she slowly sank into a deep sleep.

  When Veronica woke her in the morning of the fifth day, the girl was smiling. "I think Alda is getting better," she whispered. "The fever has dropped and she hasn’t coughed for quite a while."

  Chiara jumped up and went over to the sick woman. She had her eyes open and there was life in them.

  "Mamina, I love you," she said, gently stroking her forehead, feeling it cool. "And now you must eat, so that you get strong again."

  She raced down to the kitchen, passing Pepe, Jacomo, and Orlando, who were eating breakfast in the tavern. Pepe stood up, alarmed.

  "Has anything happened?"

  "Yes," she called over her shoulder, "Alda is on the mend."

  She saw him run upstairs.

  * * *

  Alda’s recovery was slow. Either Chiara or Veronica were always with her. Chiara often read to her, and so did Veronica. It took her almost two weeks before she had the strength, with Pepe and Chiara’s help, to get up and take a few steps. Afterward, exhausted, but smiling, she closed her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

  After watching her for a while, Pepe embraced Chiara and murmured: "Thank you, figliola, for saving her."

  She looked at him surprised. "What do you mean?"

  "I know deep in my heart that she’s only alive because of you. You made her fight against death. He had her, I saw it, and then you pleaded with her, no, it was more than pleading, you ordered her to fight, and that’s when h
e lost his grip on her."

  "We all did that night, you as much as I… Oh Pepe, I’m so happy that Alda is getting better again. But we now have to make sure, she stays healthy. I think it would be foolish to expose her to the road again, especially in this horrible weather."

  In fact, the weather had turned nasty, most days a cold rain, often driven almost horizontally by sharp north westerlies, whipped the windows. At night, the temperature plummeted below freezing, something they had not experienced in Chiusi for several decades before winter had even started.

  "Do you mean, not go to Rome, but stay here?"

  "Yes … maybe not in Chiusi, but I heard that half-a-day away are the baths of Chianciano. Not as famous as Rapolano, but maybe exactly what Alda needs to get fully healthy again. What do you think?"

  "I’ll do whatever you say is best for Alda. She’s more important to me than anything, and if you think that the baths would be good for her, then let’s go there. But what if the others don’t want that?"

  "I’m certain that Veronica and Jacomo will agree. Alda has become their mother too. If Orlando doesn’t want to stay, he’s free to leave. He can join us next spring again, if he wants to. Remember, he’s rich. And while we stay in Chianciano, you can teach Jacomo more of your knife throwing skills if he wants that, and I can translate another Latin play into the vernacular."

  "And we can just be a family," they heard Alda’s whisper.

  "Oh, mamina, did we wake you?" Chiara exclaimed.

  "No, I wasn’t yet asleep when I saw you two embrace each other, thinking I wouldn’t know. I’ve to watch you more carefully, Chiara. You’ve tried to steal my bear before."

  "Alda, it was completely innocent," protested Pepe. "I was just telling her …"

  "I know, Pepino. You haven’t changed a bit. And I was only teasing you. Come lie down besides me and hold me. It has been such a long time since I felt your bear hug."