by Gian Bordin
The courier from Siena did not arrive back on Saturday, as expected, nor did the Santa Caterina return to port, but that was expected. Lord d’Appiano raised his concern that the tribunal might not be able to sit on Monday. On Sunday evening, Captain Fiorini reported that the courier showed up just before the gates closed and had gone directly to Messer Chiamora. The countess could hardly contain her curiosity about whether he had brought back the proofs demanded by the judges. He has not, was Chiara’s silent answer. If she had experienced any misgivings about fraudulently accusing Sanguanero of forgery, they had disappeared. She would not stop until she was in full possession of her inheritance again.
* * *
The tribunal opened its session promptly at nine in the morning. The hall was filled to capacity with many spectators standing along the back wall. Chiara’s first glance, when she entered the hall, went to the place of the defendant. She saw only Chiamora, and his whole demeanor and neglect of dress betrayed his extreme state of agitation and distress.
"So it is true that Niccolo Sanguanero has disappeared," murmured Barbarigo, after they took their places. "You have won your case, Lady Chiara."
The three judges entered with solemn faces, the people in the hall rose, and the judges briefly bowed to them, before taking their seats. Chiara noticed the senior judge look searchingly to the place of the defendant, narrowing his brows. Finally, he spoke: "Messer Chiamora, where is Signor Sanguanero?"
Chiamora rose. "Your Honor, I regret to report that his return to Piombino has unfortunately been delayed by adverse wind conditions. I humbly request the tribunal’s indulgence to postpone this sitting and reconvene in two-days time."
The three judges briefly conferred, and then the senior judge said: "We shall proceed without the defendant. Messer Chiamora, submit to the tribunal the documents that it has requested so that they can be duly inspected."
Chiamora was squirming. He repeatedly fiddled with his collar, as if it was too tight. The light from the window reflected off the sweat pearls on his forehead. He shifted from foot to foot. Chiara did not try to suppress her glee at his plight. She had not forgiven him his slur on her character.
"Yes, Messer Chiamora, proceed."
"Your Honor, it distresses me to report that notary Talmone, who has taken over the practice of notary Faranese, was unable to find a copy of the document in question. As my client pointed out previously, he had severed all ties with Messer Talmone for the very reason that Messer Talmone had already lost important documents of Casa Sanguanero on an earlier occasion. I have requested that a new search be undertaken immediately. A courier to this effect will depart for Siena later today."
"But you have the ledger that lists the date the document was recorded?"
"Unfortunately, your honor, even that ledger is missing."
"Missing? … Are the ledgers prior to the … hmm … the 30th of October in the year of the Lord 1347, and the one after that date also missing?"
"No, your Honor."
"What is the date of the last document recorded in the one prior to the 30th of October?"
A low squeak escaped Chiamora’s mouth before he closed it again.
"Yes, Messer Chiamora?"
"The 30th of October, your Honor."
"The 30th? And what is the date of the first entry in the next ledger?"
"The fourth of November, your Honor."
Suppressed laughter briefly swept the spectators.
"The fourth of November of which year?"
"1347, your Honor."
"So why do you say that a ledger is missing, since there is no apparent gap in the dates, Messer Chiamora?"
"The last entry on the 30th is at the bottom of the very last page."
"So? Messer Chiamora, I do not understand the significance of that."
"There must be another ledger with entries for that date and the first three days of November, your Honor."
"You want us to believe that notary Faranese would have opened a new ledger just for additional entries of the 30th?"
"Yes, your Honor, it could be possible that he has done that, since the entry for the document in question is missing from either ledger."
"Messer Chiamora, I submit to you that the reason there is no entry is the same as for the absence of a copy of the document, namely that Messer Faranese was never involved in it. In blunter words, the document signing the property of the late Seignior da Narni over to Signor Sanguanero is a forgery, and your client forged the signature on the document."
Chiamora protests were drowned by the laughter in the hall.
"Messer Chiamora, you may sit until I call you again," said the judge, his voice laced with anger.
Chiamora literally collapsed in his chair. The judges conferred for a bare few seconds and then the senior judge spoke again.
"Claimant, defendant, and counsel rise."
Chiara stood up. Chiamora tried to rise, but fell back onto his chair. He had to be helped up by the clerk, who remained standing beside him.
"This tribunal declares that the contested document is a forgery and rescinds its previous judgement in favor of the defendant. It now declares Lady Chiara, as the sole heir of the late Seignior da Narni, the rightful owner of the property in question on the island of Elba. The defendant is ordered to relinquish forthwith all rights and cease occupation of said property. This tribunal also requests that Lord d’Appiano immediately indicts Signor Sanguanero for fraud."
I’ve won, I’ve won, but it felt like a pyrrhic victory. She had debased herself to the same level as Sanguanero.
28
Elba, February 1351
Niccolo had failed in his attempt to kill me and fled. The proofs he needed to rebut my claim of having forged my father’s signature I had long ago turned into ashes. The judges had reinstated me as the legal owner of my inheritance, but legal ownership does not imply possession.
Lord d’Appiano summoned Niccolo’s lawyer to the palace. There was no need for threats. The man immediately volunteered all he knew, fearing that he will never be paid for all his work. Niccolo had returned to Castello Nisporto on Elba, he claimed. His last words to the lawyer were that he will burn it to the ground, rather than hand it over to me.
I did not expect Lord d’Appiano to get Elba back for me by sending a group of soldiers to evict Niccolo, in spite of Lady Chiara’s pleas to him, nor was I willing to risk having my little castle destroyed by Niccolo out of spite. I was sure that at the first sign of soldiers being sent over, he would do it. Who was to tell if he did not have spies in Piombino who would inform him of any move along that line?
No, if I wanted my land back, I had to do it by stealth and cunning, my strongest weapons. I had to wrench it away from him before he knew what was happening, and I counted on the loyalty of my father’s tenants to help me and thereby get rid of their oppressor. Also, I figured that his greed would hold him from doing anything as long as I did not make a move to take possession, but that he would continue squeezing the tenants even more mercilessly, not realizing that this would be working to my advantage.
So, disguised as a priest, I went to Elba, to mobilize in all secrecy a group of tenants, the aim to overpower the steward and his men at Castello Nisporto before they could damage my home, but it was not to be.
* * *
The countess did not want to let Chiara go. She insisted that in time Lord d’Appiano would give in to her pleas and evict Niccolo Sanguanero by force if he did not hand over the property as ordered by the tribunal. But she feared that if Chiara left now, all he would ever do was to send a notice to Niccolo ordering him to heed the verdict of the tribunal.
She also seemed puzzled why, after all the efforts of having her inheritance reinstated by the tribunal, Chiara would now return to her people in Chianciano rather than see the whole affair to its end.
"Chiara, I sense that you are hiding something from me. I fear that you are again plotting one of your dangerous schemes. Confess!"
&nb
sp; "My Lady, I have not given up on taking possession of what belongs to me, but I do not want to run the risk that Niccolo makes good on his promise to burn down my little castle. So I will for the time being return to my friends — I fear they are worrying about me — and return when I either hear from you about his Lordship’s actions on my behalf or discover a way to evict Niccolo. I will leave the day after tomorrow and tomorrow I will visit Messer Mercurio in Populónia. I promised to see him before I leave."
"Oh, why are you always so stubborn… You also deprive me and Beatrice of your company."
"I promise to be back soon, my Lady."
"But I insist that this time you go to Populónia with an escort."
"Thank you, my Lady, gladly."
Not that she thought there was any danger, but she did not mind having company. It would keep her mind off her sailor.
She really wished to see Mercurio. He had become dear to her. But her true reason was that she wanted to find out whether a fisherman from the fishing port would take her to Elba, thereby avoiding the risk that Niccolo was warned by any possible spy he had in Piombino — Chiamora, in spite of denouncing him vehemently in front of the Count, could well be that spy.
After spending two hours with Mercurio telling him the events over the last few days, she took leave, asking the escort to be ready in about an hour, that she would be back from the port by then. She struck up conversation with several fishermen about fishing in the straits, casually inspecting their boats. All but one were rowboats. That one had a single lateen sail. Its name, Santa Sophia, was carved into the top rail at the bow. She asked the fisherman working on it if he ever sailed as far as Elba.
"Yes, depends on winds and currents," he replied, "was there yesterday; maybe again later this week; wind favorable." He waved his arms to show the direction.
She decided to leave it at that and try her luck over the next few days.
Back in Piombino, she wrote letters to Alda and Veronica, informing them of the Tribunal’s final verdict and telling them that she would now briefly visit Elba to set things in order before returning to Chianciano.
That evening she thanked the count and countess again for their help and generous hospitality and said her goodbyes. Beatrice cried and made her promise to be back soon.
* * *
She rode out of Piombino as the first rider when the gate opened, again in her disguise as a priest. About a league north of the town, she took the turnoff to Populónia, rather than continue inland toward Massa Marittima. Last time she had taken that path with the escort, she had seen a fortified farmhouse about half an hour’s walk from the fishing port. That was her destination. She needed a place to leave her two horses.
Two silver grossi convinced the farmer to look after the horses for two months. By midmorning she was in Populónia’s fishing port. She must have been a strange sight. A young priest, the hood hiding part of her face, a bow and quiver with six arrows on her back, two knives stuck under her belt, and a brown bag over her shoulder.
The Santa Sophia was still on the beach. Ever so often a wave lifted its stern. The fisherman she had talked to the day before and a young man were working on it.
"Going fishing off Elba?" she called out in her lowest alto.
"Yes, when tide high. Good day."
"I’ve to go to Rio nell’Elba to see my ailing mother," she said, putting on her strongest Elba accent. "Could you drop me off near Cavo?"
He pondered this for several seconds.
"It’s no more than a short detour for you… I’m willing to pay you for the inconvenience."
"Don’t know," he finally answered. "Delays us an hour; less fishing."
"A silver grosso?" She held up a coin.
"All right. Come aboard; tide soon high."
She waded into the water and the young man held out a hand to help her on board. The old man eagerly took the silver grossi, checking it carefully.
A few minutes later, the boat was free and the two men rowed it into open waters where they set the sail. A stiff breeze quickly caught the cloth and the boat pointed out to sea, a bit to the north of Capo della Vita, the northernmost tip of Elba. Chiara enjoyed the experience. Tomaso Tomasini and his son, Pietro, worked the boat with skill.
Once set on course, Tomaso asked: "Away from Elba long?"
"Yes, I left half a year before the plague."
"Bad there, the plague. Half of Rio gone, cousin said. Know Luca Gianluca."
Old Luca, so rough looking, yet so gentle. She had forgotten about him. He was well respected. A useful first contact, she reminded herself. "From Nisporto? I think I met him when I was a boy. A tall man with a wild mane of black hair?"
"Yes, him, grey now. Bad times, they have."
"How come?"
"New master, somebody Sanguanero, very rough, not like old master."
"Is Seignior da Narni not there anymore?"
"No. Left Elba suddenly. Nobody knows why. Lost both son and daughter."
"In the plague?"
"No, before. Three years before, son, then daughter. Lost will to live after she gone."
It felt like somebody was turning a knife in a wound deep inside her that had not healed yet. It took all her acting skills to prevent it from reaching her face.
"New master runs merchantman, fast boat." He lowered his voice, leaning closer to her, as if to prevent anybody overhearing him. "Pirating, they say. Bad, very bad. My cousin … would leave if younger."
She noticed that he repeatedly looked at the two knives stuck under her belt. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind. "You a priest, armed like a bandit?"
"The roads through the mountains are not safe yet."
He looked skeptical. "Not much protection if you don’t know how to use them." The first complete sentence so far. He had come closer and so had his son. "Show me."
He reached for the knife and his son rushed her, but stopped short a hand width from the blade that suddenly pointed into his face, while the old man cried out in pain and pulled back a bloody hand.
"Yes, Tomaso Tomasini, I know how to use these blades, and you’re not the first to test how sharp they are. And in case you have other stupid ideas, I assure you that I’m also highly practiced in throwing them. So back to your tiller, and you, my boy, keep a safe distance, will you?"
Both withdrew to their usual position on the boat. The old man repeatedly licked the cut at the base of his thumb, casting her a glance full of hate every time. Neither spoke for the rest of the journey.
About midway toward Elba, they tacked to go farther south. She told Tomaso to make for the beach west of Capo Castello. Once close enough, she ordered the son to carry her bag ashore.
"Pietro, stay," shouted his father.
The boy looked uncertainly from him to her, and seeing the two knives in her hands, decided to obey her, ignoring his father’s swearing. She heard his litany for a while longer while she walked away from the shore straight into the hills. This way, she avoided the small settlement of Cavo farther south. She soon found the path along the ridge that she had taken years before with her brother. It would take her over Monte Serra and Monte Strega to Rio nell’Elba, about a two-hour walk.
Although it was well past noon and she had not eaten since morning, something drove her on. By the time she reached the heights, she was out of breath, but she continued at a fast pace along the ridge until she caught the first glimpses of her land. Shortly before reaching the top of Monte Strega, she spied Castello Nisporto, partially hidden behind trees. Her throat tightened and she could almost hear the pounding of her heart. There, far below her shone the little castle where she was born, which had been her home for seventeen years, which would one day soon be her home again, she promised herself.
Hunger finally made her take a rest. She stilled it with a good-size wedge of cheese, a bit of dried sausage, and several slices of bread, all washed down with a few swigs of wine from a leather flask, while feasting her eyes on the land. Many fie
lds seemed neglected. She wondered why. Still the effects of the plague? Or Niccolo’s harsh rule? Here and there flocks of sheep and goats were grazing. A few fishing boats sat in the waters off the coast. Just past the tip of the island, she spotted a sail. The Santa Sophia? Way north, Isola di Capraia loomed dark in the light blue sea. It reminded her of the interchange with Professor Gomez, and she could not help smiling. That time already seemed so long ago. So much had happened since then.
* * *
She needed to firm up her next move, something she had not given much thought yet, except for how to get to Elba. With the sailors on the Santa Caterina, Niccolo could have well over thirty people with him, all used to fighting. And fighting was exactly what she needed to avoid. Too much of that had happened already, too many people dead by her hand. There were two ways to avoid it. One was to confront Niccolo with such an overwhelming force that he would see the futility of fighting, but he might still make good on his threat to destroy Castello Nisporto. And how could she assemble such a force, except if the Governor of Elba were to put his entire garrison at her disposal? Count d’Appiano had made it quite clear that he was not willing to contemplate that yet, and she doubted he ever would.
The second way was to use stealth and cunning — her weapons — and for that she needed detailed information on where the Santa Caterina was anchored, where his people slept, their movements and numbers. She also had to make sure that Niccolo would not get wind of her presence on the island. It was not beyond him to have spies among his tenants, as a precaution against any revolt.
Was it even safe for her to go to Rio nell’Elba, spending one or several nights in the only tavern there? It was more than likely that some of his men would drink there occasionally. Not that she was afraid of being recognized, but the very presence of a young priest, a stranger, without any obvious reasons to be there, might raise suspicions that he too was a spy, sent from Piombino. Maybe she should look up Luca Gianluca first, but even that would be more prudent once dusk was falling. Sundown was still an hour to two away, more than enough time to go down to where she remembered Luca’s house to be at the edge of the village of Nisporto.