Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga

by Patzer, Mirella Sichirollo

  Felicia sat on the wooden bench outside the door and leaned against the cool wall of the villa. The sky above her beckoned and she gazed up into its vastness to await a falling star. Since receiving the advice to wish on one, she had spotted three. Once more, her eyes roamed the innumerable stars that sparkled against the indigo sky.

  She ran her hands over her belly again. With a sigh, she prayed for her luck to change soon. Like weeds that reappeared in a fresh bed of flowers, her courses arrived with frustrating regularity.

  A cramp developed in her neck, so Felicia lay on a patch of grass to watch the heavens. Soon, the morning sun would rise on the horizon. The stars would fade and she would face another day of hope, of expending more effort in cultivating their land, and keeping a house void of children.

  Only one solution to her dilemma remained – she must visit the healer, Cosma Furio. Some believed her to be a strega, but Felicia did not care. She was desperate to conceive a child and it mattered not who helped her.

  When the first rays of dawn broke through the darkness, Felicia rose from the grass, chilled by the dew that dampened her robe. She re-entered the kitchen and reached into the kindling basket next to the hearth. After two strikes of the flint, she succeeded in starting a steady fire.

  Felicia would bake bread for Cosma. After retrieving the ingredients from the cupboard, she carefully measured out the flour, salt, honey, and water. Her mother had taught her the recipe, a family secret passed down through the women of her family over many generations. Unless she bore a daughter of her own one day, the recipe would forever disappear. Her eyes misted over at the realization.

  While the fire in the hearth crackled, Felicia kneaded the dough and formed it into a large ball. With a knife, she cut the sign of the cross into it and whispered three blessings over it. Then she dropped the dough in a bowl, covered it, and set it to rise on a small trestle next to the fire. A sweep of her forearm mopped the sweat from her brow. Humming a tune, she wiped the remnants of flour from the trestle and swept the kitchen. The knowledge that Cosma might have an answer to her problem brought her a sense of calm.

  When the dough had adequately risen, she divided it into three equal portions and dropped them each into a well-oiled pan. One at a time, with a paddle, she slid them into the hearth and waited.

  Before long, the smell of baking bread filled her kitchen. When the loaves turned golden, Felicia removed the pans from the hearth and examined each one, inhaling their delicious aroma. Pleased with the results, she left one loaf on the trestle and put the other two in a basket. After covering them with a new linen cloth, she set out for the cottage in the chestnut woods where the healer lived.

  Her skirts swayed as she walked through newly seeded fields of wheat, groves of olive trees, and vineyards not yet ready to yield the first signs of their rich fruit. Lush meadows suffused with partial sunlight made the long walk pleasant. She glanced up at the sky. To the west, dark, ominous clouds moved quickly to chase away the sun. The air smelled of rain, so she hastened her steps.

  The cottage stood in a small clearing. A wisp of smoke escaped through the hole in the small, stone structure. To the right, a tidy herb garden soaked up the fast-fading sunshine. Felicia approached the oak door and hesitated. There was still time to turn back, but then what? No, she needed to do this. She knocked and waited. Nothing happened at first. Then the door creaked open slowly.

  Cosma stared at her with piercing, sapphire-colored eyes set in a face so seamed with age that it resembled crumpled parchment. She wore a simple tan colored gown, her grey hair confined in a neat bun at the back of her head. To Felicia, the woman who stood in the shadow of the doorway looked wraith-like, almost invisible.

  “So, you have come to seek the assistance of la strega.” A touch of sarcasm tainted the old woman’s voice when she emphasized the title. “Don’t look so surprised. I know that is what they whisper behind my back.” She released a gravelly laugh then her countenance became serious and her eyes narrowed. “But it’s not true. Only those most jealous of my healing powers dare call me a witch.”

  Shocked, Felicia remained silent in response to the woman’s bluntness.

  Cosma peered beyond Felicia into the sky. A crack of thunder boomed and the first raindrops spilled onto the earth. Cosma stepped back. “Hurry, you’d better come inside.”

  Felicia crossed the threshold just as the sprinkle turned into a downpour. Large droplets beat down on the trees that surrounded the cottage, shaking branches and newly sprung leaves. The wind slammed the door shut behind her.

  When her eyes grew accustomed to the gloomy interior, she took stock of the tidy one-room house. Pots and pans hung from hooks on either side of the hearth. A rickety trestle, its surface scarred with use, and two chairs sat beneath a window. An old, neatly patched blanket covered a straw-filled tick and pillow on the floor in the corner. Leather pouches and clay jars of various sizes lined shelves that spanned an entire wall. Felicia glanced up at the numerous herbs and plants hanging from the ceiling that discharged a pleasant, but pungent aroma.

  “I brought you something.” Felicia held out the breadbasket.

  Cosma took the wicker vessel, peered beneath the cloth, and grinned with delight. After shifting a mortar, pestle, and bunches of various herbs, Cosma placed the bread on the trestle and motioned for Felicia to approach.

  “Sit down, Signora. Do not be afraid.” Cosma took her seat and pointed at the other chair for Felicia to sit. She regarded her with a pointed stare. “I know why you are here, but I want to hear the reason from your own lips.”

  Felicia fidgeted. “I have come for your help. I have tried everything to have a baby. Carrots and chickweed, a string of amber, celery, which I have to grind into a pulp for my husband’s soup otherwise he won’t eat it, and even wishing upon falling stars, yet I remain barren.”

  Cosma rubbed her chin. “Only the powers of a mammetta made from mandrake root can truly promote conception.”

  “Where can I get one?” Felicia looked down. She had heard of the powers of a mammetta before and feared such a potent charm would cost dearly. She wanted to ask the price, but had to honor the protocols of polite conversation first and not appear too anxious.

  “I can make you such a fertility puppet, but I charge a silver coin for it.”

  Her hopes flared. Felicia removed the leather purse at her waist and loosened the string. She drew out a shiny coin and handed it over.

  The woman bit it to verify its authenticity then tucked it between her thin, sagging breasts. “First, we must search for a mandrake root.”

  “Where?”

  “Patience, Signora. You will find out very soon. We can do nothing for a few weeks. You must return on the night of the next full moon.”

  “A mammetta. I must admit, the thought frightens me a little.” Felicia clenched and unclenched a fold in her gown.

  “Do not fear it. If you want a baby, it is powerful enough to grant it to you.”

  “But the Church - it is a sin, is it not?”

  “Bah, the Church. They know nothing of the healing arts. They believe everything that is not sanctioned by them is evil.”

  “It is said the mammetta can bring evil.” Felicia’s voice trembled.

  “Only if the person is weak, and you are not weak, are you?” Cosma peered at Felicia with an unwavering stare.

  “I am strong.” Felicia swallowed then nodded. “I want a child more than anything.”

  “Then there is nothing to fear.” Cosma’s tone softened. Her big smile revealed several missing teeth.

  A roll of thunder cleaved the air and a window shutter blew open. Rain and wind buffeted through the cottage, sending herbs hurtling to the ground. Cosma rushed to the window and battled the gusts to pull the errant shutters closed. She shook her head. “It’s not safe for you to go yet. You will have to wait out the storm. Share some honeyed wine with me until the storm abates.”

  While Cosma heated the wine in a small caul
dron over the fire, Felicia picked up the fallen herbs. Their tasks complete, they sipped the warm liquid at the trestle. Their conversation strayed to the many herbs and bottles of potions stored in the little house. Felicia rose and fingered a bowl of dried yellow flowers.

  “Those are buttercups. When worn in a bag around the neck, they cure insanity,” Cosma explained.

  Felicia touched a worn leather pouch stained with age.

  “It is an amulet of sienna, mint, and rue. Worn close to the body, it averts evil, but so does primrose if it is picked on the first of May and twined into wreaths.”

  For every item Felicia touched, Cosma described its use.

  “Mustard and garlic wards off a strong fever.”

  “And this?” Felicia asked as she raised a dried bundle.

  “Nettles. Mix them with the whites of eggs to cure insomnia.”

  Felicia picked up a clay jar and raised the lid. It was full of raisins.

  “To heal an ague, press a spider into a raisin and make the ill one swallow it.”

  Felicia shuddered at the thought. The next jar she touched emanated such a foul odor that Felicia set it back down and passed it by.

  Cosma explained its purpose anyway. “To prevent baldness, rub those goose droppings on the affected area.”

  Felicia picked up another leather sack. Its contents jingled like broken shards of clay as she held it aloft.

  Cosma grinned. “That is my collection of teeth. Touch a dead man’s tooth to cure a toothache.”

  Felicia replaced the pouch so fast she heard the teeth clatter. She reached out for a sealed clay vial.

  “That contains bull’s blood. Do you want some? It can make your freckles disappear.”

  “No, thank you,” Felicia said, after exhaling the breath she had been holding. The mysterious items and various cures were interesting, but the thought of collecting and storing them disgusted her.

  With each explanation, Felicia noticed Cosma’s pride and realized the woman truly cared for her craft. Her success as a healer made sense. Tired, Felicia touched nothing more.

  “I think the rain has abated. I had best be going,” Felicia said with a twinge of regret. “You have been very kind.” Beneath the intimidating clothing, and despite everyone labeling her a strega, she sensed Cosma’s kind heart and superior wisdom.

  “Do not forget...you must return on the night of the full moon for your mammetta.” A warm smile matched Cosma’s gentler tone.

  “I won’t forget.” Felicia gave the woman a nod, and then made a hasty exit. She hurried away, holding her mantle’s hood tight so no one she might encounter would recognize her.

  4

  Several nights later, Felicia rose from bed in the middle of the night. A full moon lit the room. She took care not to awaken Enrico, who slept soundly. Dressed in her kirtle and over-gown, she descended the stairs to the kitchen. Pleased with the orderliness, Felicia slipped on her shoes and mantle, reached for the lantern and tinderbox on a shelf near the door, and stepped out into the night. Fearful that clouds might conceal the full moon, she lit the lantern. Its golden light would reassure her as she walked.

  The crisp air brought goose bumps to her arms as she trod the path towards Cosma’s cottage. A nightingale’s trill resounded in the distance. The scent of wild thyme and dew-dampened foliage wafted through the air. Mingled hope and nervousness accompanied her every step. Before long, Cosma’s ramshackle cottage came into view.

  Near the front door, a little white dog, kept in a wicker cage, wagged its tail at her approach. She stopped and squeezed her hand through the narrow slats to pet the enchanting creature. Beneath her touch, it rolled over to allow a scratch on its belly. Felicia gave the dog one last pat and straightened. She raised her hand to knock just as Cosma swung open the door.

  “I have kept the poor hound on sparse rations for two days in anticipation of our search for the root.” Cosma’s voice carried a tone of annoyance. She cast a wistful, worried glance at the little dog. “It must be kept hungry enough to fulfill its task tonight.”

  Even though Felicia did not fully understand the poor little creature’s purpose for the night’s work, a pang of guilt stung her. She watched as Cosma grabbed her well-worn brown woolen mantle from a hook by the door and wrapped it around her. The old woman crossed the threshold, picked up the cage with the tiny dog, and motioned for Felicia to follow.

  She led Felicia down a large path towards town. At night, the deserted thoroughfare stretched eerily before them. Felicia could hear her heart’s every beat. The only other sound was the crunch of dead leaves and twigs beneath their feet.

  Cosma halted at the foot of a large oak on the outskirts of the village.

  Felicia recognized the tree where executioners hung local criminals.

  “The mandrake root grows best beneath such trees.” Cosma bent, set down the cage, opened the door, and leashed the dog before releasing it. The creature sniffed the ground.

  “Why?” Felicia detested being in such a forbidding place, particularly at night. A wind whirled around them, stirring up leaves and debris and the scent of moss. An owl hooted in the distance. Felicia clutched her cloak tight in an attempt to retain what remained of her fading valor.

  “When a man dies at the end of a rope, in the seconds before he perishes, it is said he lets loose a final, uncontrolled ejaculation. This last semen is the richest. It fertilizes the ground beneath his swinging limbs and causes the mandrake root to spring up.”

  A shiver ran through Felicia’s body. She raised her hood for added protection and kept silent watch as Cosma knelt at the foot of the tree, pulled an ancient trowel from the purse at her waist, and began to dig around a plant with whitish-green flowers and small reddish buds.

  A moment later, the old woman released an excited whoop and once more fished around in her mantle’s pocket. “Here, you will need this.” She dropped something into Felicia’s hand.

  Felicia examined a ball of brown wax. “What is this for?”

  “Soften it in your hands then divide it in two and put one in each of your ears. The mandrake root will shriek when I pull it from the ground. The wax will protect your ears from the sound.”

  Felicia shivered. Dio mio, what had she ventured into? Too late to turn back, she resigned herself to seeing this through to the end. She stuffed the first wad into her left ear and molded it to fit snugly. Then she did the same with the other piece of wax. The world fell instantly quiet.

  Cosma stuffed wax into her own ears and stripped a willow wand from a nearby tree. With its tip, she drew three circles on the ground where the root lay buried. Taking great care to keep the space between each circle even, she dug a small trench around the outermost circle with her trowel, murmuring an incantation as she worked.

  When she finished, Cosma reached for the dog. She gave it a hearty rub around its ears and a long lingering kiss to its head before tying one end of its leash to the partially exposed root. Cosma stepped back and pulled a piece of meat from her pocket, tossing it on the ground just beyond the dog’s reach. Hungry, the poor beast leapt for it, but the leash yanked him to a sudden stop. The animal could not reach the morsel. The dog tried again. This time, it leapt with such intensity that it pulled the mandrake from the ground.

  A hideous, tremendous sound cleaved the air. Felicia heard it even through the plugs in her ears. The dog came to an abrupt halt. It howled in agony, its paws over its ears. The delicate creature fell over, twitching and quivering, blood seeping from its ears, the meat in its jaws spilling to the ground. Then it lay utterly still.

  The root ceased its horrible shrieking. Cosma bent over the unmoving dog. “Brava,” she whispered as she picked up the animal and made the sign of the cross over it. “The world can never again hurt you.”

  Through her own blinding tears, Felicia noticed Cosma also wept.

  “Forgive us,” Cosma whispered to it. “Your life in exchange for another. We thank you for your sacrifice.” She removed th
e cord with the mandrake root still attached to it. Tenderly, she laid the poor creature back into the root's hole. With gnarled fingers, she covered the tiny remains with dirt.

  Too shocked to speak, Felicia’s tears cascaded down her cheeks.

  “It is indeed sad,” Cosma said, “but I warned you the cost would be high, didn’t I?”

  “Was there no other way?” The anguish over the loss of the innocent dog was almost too much for Felicia to bear.

  Cosma’s features softened and she shook her head. “It is difficult for others to understand the power of the healing arts, but in order for the charm to work, the sacrifice had to be made.”

  As if to guide the discussion away from the sorrowful topic of the dog, she raised the mandrake root. “An excellent male specimen! See, it is in the exact shape of a phallus. If it had been forked with two branches, it would be a female.” Cosma wiped off the dirt and held it up for Felicia to examine. “All parts of the mandrake plant are powerful. It brings protection, fertility, and prosperity into your home. Demons cannot abide in the presence of the mandrake. And if you keep it next to your money, you will see your fortunes multiply.” She wrapped the root in a cloth, and tucked it safely into her pocket.

  After collecting her lantern and the empty wicker cage, she led the way back to the cottage. A warm fire blazing in the hearth greeted them when they entered. Felicia rubbed her cold hands together, her mood too morose to carry on a conversation.

  Cosma dropped the root into a small wooden bowl on the trestle table. She poured white wine over it to wash away all traces of dirt. After wiping it dry, she inserted grains of millet into the upper part making it appear as eyes in a face, and wrapped the root in a silk cloth. After examining it for a moment, she nodded with satisfaction and passed it to Felicia.

  Felicia’s hand shook as she took hold of the odd, makeshift doll.