As memories resurfaced, so did terror as she recalled the two men who had accosted her: fists that slammed into her face; a stiletto glinting against the sun; stinging pain as blade cut flesh; the loss of her florins.
All of it flooded back with full clarity. Remembrance of her rescue followed: the man who had brought her here, and the woman who had tended to her wounds. Where were they now?
She must go home, but then recalled she could not, at least not yet. Her husband had cast her away like a stray dog. Raw anger renewed itself, coursing through her blood.
Then the wooden door creaked open and a woman stood in the doorway.
“You are finally awake.” The woman’s voice rasped as she approached.
Her ragged grey gown with long, tight sleeves and narrow belt was tattered and filthy. With the cool, discerning detachment of a healer, she peered down at Prudenza. Grooves and wrinkles lined her weather-hardened features. The woman looked oddly familiar.
“So, we meet again,” the woman said. “Just as I said we would.”
Prudenza struggled to recall how she might know her. Then she sucked in a breath. Memory of a day many years ago resurfaced. Could this be the same beggar woman who had cursed her on the day of Giustina’s baptism?
Prudenza stared into the deep-set eyes, the thin face, dark and sallow, with its hooked nose. It was indeed the same woman! She tried to sit up, to escape.
The woman stared back. “Ah, I see you recognize me, just as I recognized you.” Her lips curled into a wry smile, revealing missing and brown-rotted teeth. She laid her hand on Prudenza’s shoulder to nudge her back down. “You are in no condition to go anywhere, at least not yet.”
The familiar, gravelly voice sent chills down Prudenza’s spine. “I’m warning you, stay away from me, you old hag.”
“You speak so unkindly to me, yet it is I who cleansed your wounds and stitched your face back together.”
Prudenza raised her hand to her cheek. She recoiled with horror at the crude stitches that pinched her swollen flesh together.
“Try not to grieve over the loss of your beauty, for it is a fleeting gift, easily destroyed by the hardships of one’s life. There are many such lessons I can teach you. I have waited for this day for a very long time. Surely, you have not forgotten our first encounter when you denied a starving woman an alm or two on the day of your baby’s christening? I can assure you that I have not.”
“I should have cast the evil eye on you then and there,” Prudenza hissed.
She laughed. “But that is impossible. To cast the evil eye you must envy something about me.” She gestured at her body with both arms. “As you can see, I have already lost everything of value. Life has not been kind to me, a widow with her children all dead from hunger or plague.”
Prudenza swallowed. She too had lost her family, but hers remained within reach. She could recover her position one day. This old woman could not.
“Do you also recall the words I spoke to you that day?” The beggar woman’s eyes narrowed. “They have come true, have they not?”
Of course, she remembered. The curse had haunted Prudenza every day since the woman had uttered it. The words danced in her mind like dust motes in an abandoned corridor.
Daughters to you were born.
Joy from your heart shall be torn.
Such is the cost of the secret you keep.
You will not rest. You will not sleep.
Pangs of anger. Pangs of hate.
Discord shall always be your fate.
The curse had lived in the recesses of her mind ever since, taunting and threatening. Even so, she denied it. “Your curse failed. I’ve always been blessed with an abundance of wealth and beautiful possessions,” Prudenza said.
“Yet, it has not been without its troubles, has it? I have the gift of sight. You cannot hide the truth from me. Your family and friends have all abandoned you, have they not? Your life will continue to be troubled. The road back shall be long and fraught with impediments. There is doubt as to whether you will succeed.” The woman adjusted her dirty mantle tighter around her and stepped close enough for Prudenza to touch. “And now you live your life like me, without home or hearth.” She broke out into an abrasive laugh.
118
Felicia hurried into the dining hall to join the others and meet with Bishop Donnino. Sitting at the foot of a long table, Enrico greeted her with a wary smile. Everyone was present except for Prudenza. How strange, she thought. Prudenza rarely missed an important occasion, especially if it pertained to her family. After her revelations, however, Prudenza’s presence would only bring tension and Felicia wanted her sons’ marriages to be happy, unmarred by the woman’s manipulations. Better for everyone that she was not here.
The bishop arrived and positioned himself at the head. He listened as Carlo relayed the tale of their two families, a history that swept back to a blood oath sworn between two friends, to the birth of two sets of twins, and the aftermath of secrets, lies, and devastation. By the end, when he had spoken his piece, the bishop rose to his feet and paced the length of the room, his hand stroking his chin.
Finally, he swung around and returned to the table. He remained standing, fingertips steepled in assessment. “By all that you have told me, you have cause for an annulment to the marriage by proxy as long as there was no consummation.” He raised a brow and glanced first at Giustina and then at Luca.
Giustina blushed and Luca responded with an emphatic shake of his head.
“And this annulment can be made swiftly, so both my daughters can wed as soon as possible?” Carlo asked.
The bishop paused. “Since the terms of the contract are in contention, and it was I who gave the initial blessing, and the couple did not consummate their union, it can easily be annulled. As for these new marriages, it should be a simple matter. Banns must be read for both couples, but in a month’s time, all requirements should be met.”
Carlo leaned forward and with a nod said, “Then let it be done!”
“Not quite yet. There is the matter of the infant, and the sin that brought him into this world.” The bishop stared sternly at Luca. “Despite the unusual circumstances of your two families, I believe God’s hand brought you and Olivia together. Nevertheless, you have sinned against God.” His eyes shifted to Olivia. “And you too, young woman. You must also confess your sins, ask God’s forgiveness, and accept your penance.”
“Here? Now?” a stunned Luca asked.
“There is no better time than the present. Is there a room where I can hear the confessions in private?”
Luca nodded.
“You first, then,” the bishop said, pointing to Luca.
Luca guided him out of the room and across the corridor into a receiving room. Long moments passed while everyone waited nervously. Before long, Luca returned to the hall.
Felicia noticed the frustration on Luca’s face, but when she saw no signs of anger, she breathed with relief.
“The bishop will see you now,” Luca said to Olivia.
“How did it go?” Olivia asked, with a touch of anxiety.
“As well as can be expected,” Luca grumbled. “Penance is penance, not always pleasant or desirable, but it shall pass.”
Olivia frowned. “I don’t understand. What penance did he give you?”
“I suspect you will receive the same penance as I did. Don’t worry. Go now. All will be well.”
Her steps wary, Olivia left the room.
Again, everyone retreated into their own thoughts as they waited anxiously for her return. Felicia fought back the urge to ask Luca any questions. Confession was a private matter between the clergy, the sinner, and God.
Before long, Olivia returned, her expression pensive. “I am to go back to the abbey tomorrow and live there until the wedding.”
“After which we must abstain from –” Luca interjected.
“Luca!” Olivia raised her hand to stop him.
But it was enough for Felicia
and the others to understand exactly the nature of the penance.
The bishop returned. “After I confirm the annulment, and everything is in order, you are free to marry. The cathedral is free between Sext and Nones on most days. When you have chosen the wedding dates, please let me know.”
They all rose and bowed their heads in acknowledgement as he left them.
Olivia and Giustina squealed with delight, clutching each other in joy. As if shocked by their sudden familiarity, they pulled away, their gazes fixed on each other. Then they broke out in simultaneous laughter.
Felicia could see their resemblance clearly now – the same shaped eyes and oval faces, but Giustina’s hair shined with tawny highlights while Olivia’s was the color of chestnuts. Strangers since birth, the two women were already forming a bond.
“Rosina!” Carlo called out. “Wine to celebrate!”
“Not for me.” Enrico gestured with both his hands, glancing at Felicia for approval.
She smiled with understanding.
From the pouch at his waist, Carlo withdrew two scrolls: one bound by a ruby ribbon, the other with a ribbon of sapphire blue. He handed them both to Enrico. “I had new marriage documents drawn up between your sons and my daughters. It is in keeping with all that was promised between us and the dowry exchanges we have made over the years. I trust you will find them acceptable.”
Enrico slid them towards Felicia and together they read. When they finished he turned to her. “Are you satisfied?” he asked.
“I am more than satisfied,” she answered, pleased that he had sought her approval.
Enrico slid the documents to Luca and Lorenzo, who sat across the trestle. Luca had already produced ink and plume from a small writing desk in the corner of the room.
Felicia smiled broadly as she watched her sons sit side by side, one fair, one dark, to read the documents. They each signed their names with an eager flourish.
Then Olivia and Giustina signed, both without hesitation. How rare for marriages to be entered into with such enthusiasm!
Carlo slapped the table and grinned. “Now all that remains is the blessing at the church!”
119
“You beg for alms on this side of the cathedral, and I will work the other side,” the beggar woman said.
“I can’t do this.” Prudenza held her headscarf tightly across her face, leaving only her eyes exposed. More than forty days had passed since her assault. In that time, her wound had begun to heal, but the scar left behind remained hideous and red.
The woman’s countenance hardened. “You will if you want to eat today. There is no choice for those like us. People coming from or going to confession are more apt to be charitable.” She began walking away but then spun swiftly about. “And stop hiding your face behind that scarf. Pity at your plight will beget greater generosity. Make good use of your scar.”
How had her life come to this? For the first time, Prudenza suffered dire poverty. She endured the sharp sting of hunger scraping at her belly from morning until night. She bore the humiliation of filthy, ragged clothes, and the lack of a comfortable, warm bed.
And, of all the people in the world, the beggar woman was her sole means of support. The animosity between them at first had developed into an uneasy accord. The woman, unfailingly and quietly, had tended her wounds. What little food she acquired, she had shared willingly. Prudenza learned the tiny room at the back of the stable where they slept was attached to an inn. The innkeeper’s wife allowed them to remain, giving them first choice of slops before feeding the hulking pig in one of the stalls. The humility, compassion, and munificence of both women chastened Prudenza. Without them, she would have fared far worse.
Cheeks burning with shame, Prudenza sat on the church steps, unable to release the scarf that masked her marred countenance.
A man dressed in a brown over-tunic, trimmed at hem and neck with a finely embroidered olive-colored band, walked down the street towards her. As he drew near, she let down her veil and held out her hand. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat, her shame too great.
He came to a stop, his sharp blue eyes assessing her with disgust as he reached into the purse hanging from the belt at his waist. Careful to avoid touching her, he tossed her a silver coin and hurried away.
Prudenza’s face burned with shame and tears filled her eyes as she quickly brought her scarf across her face once more. From wealth and opulence, she had fallen to insignificance: a nameless, faceless beggar amongst the dregs of Siena’s poorest. As she wept, someone tossed another coin in her lap. She looked up. A young mother with a little girl in hand looked down at her.
“Why is she crying, Mamma?” the child asked.
“Hush,” the mother said, grabbing the child by the hand before scurrying down the street.
She could not do this. Prudenza scrambled to her feet, the instinct to flee too strong. At that moment, two elegant chariots came to a stop on the street in front of her. The first one she recognized as one of her own! She nearly tripped over her filthy, torn gown as she staggered up the church steps. There were no columns to hide behind, so she clutched her scarf tightly against her face and stood in a shaded recess in the cathedral’s façade next to the right side doors, praying no one would notice her.
From the chariot, Luca and Lorenzo alighted. Her pulse ran fast.
Prudenza held her breath as she watched Lorenzo hold out his hand to help Giustina descend. Her daughter wore a luxurious red gown, heavily embroidered and adorned with gems at hem and bodice. Olivia stepped down next, her gown equally as fine as her sister’s, but in hues of green. Their faces were flushed with elation as Felicia emerged from the second chariot to help them adjust their gowns, all three smiling with excitement. Carlo and Enrico followed, coming to a stop next to the grooms as the women fussed.
Like a flash of flame, anguish tore at Prudenza’s heart. This was the day of her daughters’ weddings. She should have been there to help them dress. She, not Felicia, should be fussing over their gowns, fixing their hair, speaking the words of wisdom every mother shared with her offspring on the cusp of such a momentous event. Two families, soon to be united as one. Ostracized, excluded completely from the celebration, she was an outcast, an outsider. By their glad expressions, no one even missed her presence. That stung her the most.
They climbed the cathedral steps, with Carlo leading the way. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw him approach the doors near where she stood. Unable to flee, she remained rooted, breathless, desperate they not see or recognize her. But it was not to be. As she clutched her scarf so only a sliver of her eyes showed, Carlo stopped in front of her and offered her a gold florin.
“This is for you,” he said, his voice and eyes filled with compassion. “To thank God for our good fortune. I pray some of it may grace your own life.”
Prudenza accepted the alm with a filth-encrusted, trembling hand. The moment the florin touched her palm, she quickly hid it in the fold of her louse-infested gown. Her legs threatened to collapse beneath her. She could not even whisper her gratitude – her throat was so paralyzed.
She knew they had to wait at the doors for the bishop to appear for the prayer and invitation into the cathedral. To have them standing so near made the tension insufferable. She could not risk them recognizing her in such a horrendous condition. Prudenza fled down the steps to the other side where her sole friend had stationed herself to beg.
“What happened to you?” the woman asked. “You are shaking.”
Prudenza held out her palm. The pure gold florin glimmered in contrast against the blackened filth on her hand. “One gold florin. Enough to be accepted into the abbey for a few months.”
The woman’s eyes widened at the sight, but the light therein quickly faded. “I am happy for you,” she said.
“You are coming with me. I swear, I will pull us both from this dismal cesspool and see to it that we live in comfort for the rest of our lives.”
; One gold florin. One glimmer of hope. One chance to grasp hold of her life and change it. It was all she needed along with a little time to restore her life. Slowly, carefully, and with a little help, she would find a way to return to her family’s embrace. She would make them love her, accept her, and then she would resume her status in Costalpino’s community once more.
120
Pride filled Felicia’s heart at the sight of her sons standing beside their brides on the church steps. How handsome they both looked in their black velvet breaches and fitted jackets of silk brocade: Luca’s in golden hues that contrasted with his dark hair, Lorenzo’s in deep blue to compliment his golden curls. Their brides looked equally resplendent. Olivia had chosen an olive brocade gown trimmed in gold thread. Giustina adjusted her ruby silk gown, its hem embroidered with red roses. They emanated pure ecstasy with their every movement.
The sun beamed bright from a cloudless sky and a gentle breeze raised and lowered the delicate edges of their bridal veils.
At that moment, two clerics swung open the heavy entrance doors and the bishop stepped out. He made the sign of the cross and blessed the couples. With Prudenza absent, it was up to Felicia, the sole mother figure, to hurry forward and sew a final stitch in both bridal gowns, for tradition dictated that brides were not to have a completed gown until about to walk into the church. Her task complete, she stepped back. The bishop blessed them and invited them all into the church.
Semicircular arches and black and white striped columns separated the nave from aisles on either side. Above them, a vaulted roof, painted blue with golden stars, provided an impressive canopy.
Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga Page 37