by Gian Bordin
While the countess talked, Chiara looked at her, displaying a curiosity as if she too had never heard the story. It was not lost on her that Lord Baglione watched, bemused.
"My son told me how that betrothal celebration ended in utter chaos."
"The chaos came only after Lady Chiara had made her escape, taking Niccolo along as a hostage and not a single man in the room lifted a finger to prevent her."
"Not even your own guard?"
"You mean Mercurio?" For the first time that day her trilling laughter filled the room. "My dear Mercurio is so taken by this young lady he would have helped her if she had needed it."
Lord Baglione chuckled. "I always said that the Sienese gentry is going soft. That is why I predict that Siena will sooner or later fall under Florentine rule."
"With your permission, I will pass on this intelligence to my Lord."
"By all means, although I am certain he is of the same opinion. But we are straying from our topic." He turned back to Chiara. "Lady Chiara, to come back to your, how should I put it … imaginative exploits, I have no difficulties believing in your cunning. However, I find it difficult to believe what my son tells me happened in that ravine between your people and three of my most experienced retainers. It must have been too dark for him to see. How many men did you have with you?"
"A sixteen-year-old who shaved for the first time the week before."
"This is hard to believe. And it is even harder to believe that you killed them with long bows. You cannot pierce modern chain mail with a wooden arrow of a long bow. Admit that you used crossbows."
"We aimed at their heads."
"They were not wearing helmets?"
"Not the first two. Remember, they were only chasing a young woman in skirts and a young boy — hardly two opponents to be taken seriously. Underestimating your opponents can be fatal," she replied, with a shade of irony in her voice.
"Indeed, but Ser Piero wore his helmet, my son told me."
"It still left his throat exposed."
He smiled. "And you expect me to believe that your aim with a knife is that accurate? That you can hit a small target like that at ten paces?" His voice became ever more mocking as he spoke.
"Lord Baglione," exclaimed Lady Maria, getting all agitated, "please, I implore you, do not provoke her into proving it!"
"Let her prove it and I will believe."
Should I? she wondered fleetingly. Although common sense told her no, her instinctive response to a challenge had already set things in motion. A little handkerchief dropped from her hand, and she bent down to pick it up, rising as she did so. In the same movement, she whipped two knives from her belt and let fly the one in her right hand. It embedded itself almost in the center of the coat of arms engraved in the high back support of Lord Baglione’s chair, vibrating for a second or two. It happened so fast that the cries of dismay and alarm of the other three women only rang out after the vibrations had stopped. Chiara replaced the second knife in her belt and sat again, her face only showing a shade of triumph.
"Oh, Chiara, what have you done?" cried Lady Maria.
"How dare you? You could have killed my Lord!" came the outraged cry of Lady Amelia.
Lord Baglione had not moved, his eyes firmly on her the moment she had risen. Now he slowly raised his head and looked at the knife barely two hand widths above his head. His serious gaze returned to her. She wondered whether she had, in fact, gone too far, whether she had misjudged him. Finally, he rose — the face of his mother and of Lady Maria showing apprehension, while outrage still flared on Lady Amelia’s. He tested the firmness of the knife and turned to her, lights dancing in his eyes. "I presume I may keep this token of your skill."
She returned his smile. "Yes, under one condition."
"And what is that condition, Lady Chiara?"
"That you allow Master Luigi to study law, as is his greatest wish."
He looked at her perplexed. Her unexpected request had thrown him. "I now understand why Lady Maria says you are unpredictable… You really like that young man?"
"Yes, I am proud to know him, and he could have a bright future as a lawyer and serve Casa Baglione well."
"Please, my Lord," begged his wife, who had recovered from her shock, "grant this request. I cannot but agree with this impertinent young woman."
He turned to his wife, knitting his eyebrows, and then back to Chiara, his smile returning: "Lady Chiara, your wish is granted."
He now waved a hand toward the door. Instantly, servants brought light refreshments and a rare drop of wine.
I made myself an enemy, reflected Chiara, casting an unobtrusive glance at Lady Amelia whose face did not hide her displeasure.
* * *
When Chiara returned to the loggia for the evening meal in company of Lady Maria and Heloïse, she discovered to her dismay that her knife was still embedded in the back support of the chair occupied by Lord Baglione. Years later, she heard that it had remained in that chair and that nobody was allowed to touch it.
She made a conscious effort to shut out the whispers and pointed looks — many an eye searching out the sheath in her belt where the knife was missing — as she again was assigned the seat next to Lord Baglione’s mother. The old woman greeted her warmly. "I was looking forward to talk to you some more. It is rare to meet somebody like you. In fact, I have never met a young woman who could hold her own in front of my son. I don’t know what you did to him, what magic you used."
"My Lady, maybe the respect he bears you was the determining factor that swayed him to grant me peace, rather than any magic on my part."
"I think it was your undeterred frankness, your willingness to call a spade a spade. I think you have gained his respect, and there are no more than two or three women he has ever granted that, Lady Maria is another that comes to my mind. But tell me, are you really only twenty?"
"I will be twenty in four months, my Lady."
"Not even twenty yet," she murmured, turning her head briefly to the noisy exclamations coming from a group of retainers who were standing in front of Lord Baglione’s chair, inspecting the knife. "That was quite a feat, not something I wish to experience again, and I was told that you stand smiling as target to one of your troupe."
"Neither did Lord Baglione wink an eye."
"Did he not? I chided him severely for challenging you so foolishly, and I am surprised that an intelligent woman like you would let herself be challenged to such a dangerous act so brazenly."
"My Lady, please accept my sincere regrets for having caused you distress, and I would be grateful if you conveyed my humble apologies to Lady Amelia. I think a roused her displeasure."
"You definitely did, and I will pass on your apology, but be warned, she is not easily appeased. No doubt, your feat will be a topic of conversation for years to come, I am afraid. But tell me, why are you not married?"
"A variety of reasons. First it was simply a question of survival. Then came the plague, and after my father forgave me for the suffering I had inflicted on him, punishing Casa Sanguanero for what they had done to him consumed all my energies, not to mention my lack of a dowry."
"But did you not have your mother’s jewels. I saw her wear that exquisite necklace shortly after she married your father."
"Niccolo Sanguanero stole them from me on the Santa Caterina."
"Did he? … Chiara, with your standing now, you will need no dowry, although you seem to be rich. Any house will be honored to take you in. In fact, if Luigi were a few years older, I would do my utmost to arrange a marriage with you."
"Master Luigi has already lost his heart, my Lady."
"That young girl who is with you? Tell me about her."
"Veronica, my adopted sister. She is seventeen, highly intelligent, has a sweet disposition, impeccable manners, and is one of the most beautiful women I know."
"She is adopted da Narni?"
"Yes." I can always fix that if need be, she reassured herself. "She and Jacomo l
ost their parents in the plague."
"And does she have a dowry?"
"At least five hundred florins, and I would be willing to double that."
"A thousand florins, that is a fair dowry. And do you know how she feels about Luigi?"
"I suspect the feelings are mutual. They got on extremely well. She was in charge of looking after his well-being. Master Luigi, Jacomo, and Veronica studied together improving their Latin skills."
"I must say, I was rather surprised to hear that. He hated it here and now he seems all enthusiastic about it."
"We had a lot of fun, and now he has a goal, a reason why he must speak Latin."
"Yes, to become a lawyer. I am glad for him. That was very clever of you, how you got my son to agree, because only last night, he had said no to Luigi."
"My Lady, may I ask you for a favor that is very much to my heart?"
"Chiara, you may always ask," the old lady chuckled.
"I also have an adopted brother, Jacomo —"
"— is he the sixteen-year-old that was with you?"
"Yes. Jacomo is also highly intelligent and would like to study law. In fact, Master Luigi and he promised each other that they would study together. But, Jacomo needs a sponsor to be accepted by a professor."
"Surely your word alone will suffice."
"Maybe, but I would be grateful if you convinced Lord Baglione to be his sponsor."
"I gladly will. If Luigi and he are friends, it may even be a good idea if he lived in our household. Luigi does not make friends easily."
* * *
Chiara and Heloïse had gone to bed late after the lengthy meal where a group of troubadours regaled the diners with song and verse. She had slipped into that state between sleep and awake, when thoughts become blurred and assume a mystic quality. A knock at the door pulled her back. A moment passed before its meaning asserted itself. She rose and took the oil lamp that Heloïse had wanted to be left burning. At the door, she paused, trying to wake up fully, before she opened. She vaguely perceived a dark figure jumping at her, a flash of light briefly reflected on the raised blade swooping down. Her reactions were instinctive. While her left arm instantly swung up and out, deflecting the blade, her right threw the hot oil into the man’s face. His scream tore through the corridor, amplified many-fold by its high vault. He staggered back, his hands reaching for his face, his knife clattering to the stone floor.
Within seconds, doors opened and heads looked into the sparsely lit doom. Lord Baglione rushed out of the room opposite Lady Maria’s, in his nightshirt, sword in hand. Behind her, Heloïse was screaming hysterically, pressing herself to the wall, shaking like a leaf.
"What happened?" he cried, when he saw Chiara standing in the door, the empty oil dish dripping in her hand.
By then the attacker had gathered his strength and staggered down the corridor, where two guards who came running up the stairs apprehended him. He slumped in their hands, groaning, only held up by their grip.
"What happened?" Lord Baglione asked again.
Chiara tried to concentrate on what had passed. It had all been too fast. She shook her head to clear her mind. "That man tried to stab me."
"Are you hurt? … You are bleeding." He turned toward his room. "Lady Amelia, quick, help. Lady Chiara is injured." Then he hurried down the corridor to the captured man.
Chiara looked at the rip in her nightshirt, blood pearling along a gash on her shoulder, some streaks already running into her bosom.
She became aware of Lady Maria’s voice. "Come to my room, child." The dish was taken from her hand and she was led along, Heloïse sobbing continued ringing in her ears. "Heloïse," she murmured.
"What did you say?"
Suddenly, her mind cleared. "Heloïse. You have to look after her."
"Later. You are injured. I look after you first."
"I’ll be fine," she said, turning back to her room. "The girl needs help."
"All right, you stubborn woman, I will go to her," exclaimed the countess, releasing Chiara’s elbow, "but you go to my room."
She gathered the fine cloth of her nightshirt and pressed it on the cut, noticing for the first time the painful stinging on her shoulder.
Lady Amelia came into the room with a bowl of water and towels.
"Lady Chiara, please sit. I will wipe the blood away," she said, wetting a towel in the bowl. Chiara heard Antonia’s voice in her mind. No water. Use a boiled chamomile lotion. When Lady Amelia uncovered her shoulder, these very words came from Chiara’s mouth.
"I will just clean it," replied Lady Amelia, looking annoyed.
Chiara put her right hand protectively over her shoulder. "Lady Amelia, please no plain water, boil a strong chamomile lotion. It helps prevent infection."
Just then Lady Maria entered with Heloïse. The girl was clinging to her, catching her breath convulsively from time to time. "I see, you have not lost your wits," the countess remarked. "When I saw you standing there, I was afraid for a moment."
"It all happened like in a dream."
"What happened like in a dream?" she asked, while helping Heloïse into her bed and covering her up. "You are safe here, my poor child," she murmured to the girl, stroking her hair.
"There was a knock at the door and when I opened, all I saw was that knife coming down. I was half asleep."
Lady Amelia, still holding the wet towel, asked dismayed: "You want me to have chamomile boiled? But that will take a while."
"Yes, Lady Amelia, a strong lotion, if I may be so bold to ask. I will be fine until it is ready," replied Chiara.
The woman shook her head and left the room.
"Who was it?"
"I don’t know. It was too dark to see."
"Let me have a look at that wound."
Chiara let the ripped night shirt drop from her shoulder, revealing the bloody streaks on her left breast. The skin at the top of her shoulder had been cut the whole length. It had stopped bleeding, except at the shoulder. Chiara moved her arm and shoulder. It hurt but felt all right.
Lord Baglione, wearing a coat over his nightshirt, entered the room, and Chiara gathered her nightshirt again, covering herself up.
"Lord Baglione, you promised that Lady Chiara would be safe," the countess immediately accused him, raising her voice. "Somebody tried to kill her under your own roof."
"Lady Maria, I assure you that I meant what I promised. The man who did this will be punished."
"From the clothing, it was one of your own men, Lord Baglione."
"Yes, I am loath to admit. It is the son of Ser Piero."
"The man I killed?" murmured Chiara.
"Yes. Please, Lady Chiara, accept my sincere apologies. I have ordered four of Lady Maria’s guards to be on watch outside your rooms for the rest of the night. I assure you the man will hang tomorrow."
Chiara went down to her knees in front of him, the nightshirt slipping from her cut shoulder. "My Lord, you promised no more senseless bloodshed," she pleaded. "Please, spare his life."
"Lady Chiara, you must rise." He took both her hands and pulled her up. "I cannot let such outrage happen to my guests."
"I beg you, spare his life. He has lost his father. Is that needless death not punishment enough? And he will be scarred for life."
"Justice requires that he be punished." Then he added in a low voice: "I cannot understand that boy. He has always given pride to his father, but I am sure that Ser Piero would insist that he pays for this crime."
"Lord Baglione, he only did what he thought the code of revenge demanded of him to restore the honor to his name. Don’t punish him. Pardon him, offer him another chance to show his worth by serving you, and you will buy yourself his loyalty for life."
"Spoken like only true wisdom does. Listen to her, son." It was the crackling voice of Lord Baglione’s mother. She was standing in the door, a robe tightly wrapped around her frail body.
He looked bewildered from one to the other. "Is this what you really want?" h
e asked, looking at Chiara.
"Yes, my Lord, and I also beg you to care for him until his wounds have healed."
"So be it. He will be told that this is your wish."
"Thank you."
She sank down on the chair. Somehow that exchange had taken more out of her than the attack.
"Will you be all right, Lady Chiara?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Then I will leave you in the capable hands of these ladies. I hope you will find sleep."
He briefly whispered into his mother’s ear before leaving.
The old lady now came to Chiara. "Let me have a look at your injury."
She inspected the cut.
"Lady Amelia is preparing a chamomile lotion to clean it," remarked Lady Maria.
"Good. It does not look serious, but you will bear a scar for the rest of your life. You must have a guardian angel watching over you."
Chiara smiled. A short time later, Lady Amelia returned with a maid, bringing the chamomile lotion.
* * *
Chiara found the excessive deference that greeted her the following morning oppressive. At lunch, Lord Baglione inquired about her injury.
"Thank you, my Lord, for asking. The wound looks clean. It will heal in no time at all. And how is the injury to the young man?"
"His burns are being looked after, but he will be in pain for a long time. I have told him that you asked for his life to be spared and that he be offered another chance to serve. I do not think he believes it yet."
"He will, in time, my Lord. Thank you again… With your leave, I shall depart early tomorrow morning and return to my troupe."
"But your injury! We must look after you some more."
"Chiara, you must stay longer. I thought that you would return with me in ten days," exclaimed Lady Maria.
"Yes, Lady Chiara, you must stay with us and rest until you are fully healed," admonished Lady Teresa.