The Contessa's Vendetta

by Sichirollo Patzer, Mirella

  For the rest of the day I remained very much alone except to share my meals in the cabin with Santina and Paolo. The captain spoke pleasantly to me whenever our paths crossed, but nimble opposing winds made it necessary for him to attend to the management of his vessel instead of yielding to the love of chatter inherent in him.

  The weather was wonderful, and despite the shifting and tacking about to seize the unpredictable breeze, the brig sailed rapidly over the shimmering Adriatic, at a rate that promised our arrival at Pescara by sunset of the following day.

  As evening arrived, the wind blew a bit stronger, and by the time the moon soared high into the sky, we were scudding along at a tilt, the edge of our vessel leaning over to kiss the waves that gleamed like silver and gold, flecked here and there with flames from a brilliant sunset.

  We skimmed near the bows of a magnificent ship. An English flag fluttered from her mast. Her sails glittered white in the moonbeams. A man, with a tall athletic figure stood on deck, his arm around the waist of a young woman beside him. It took only a minute or two to pass the vessel, yet I saw this loving duo with clarity. I pitied her. Men’s unfaithfulness tears apart the hearts of women.

  Later that night, I returned on deck and stared up at the countless stars that sparkled in the restful indigo sky; my gaze lingering till it seemed that our ship had also become a star, and was sailing through space with its iridescent companions.

  The world was filled with men and women who lived and loved and lied to one another. Vague ideas and strange opinions fluttered in my thoughts. I relived the anguish of my burial in the crypt. I forced myself to recall the scene I had witnessed between Dario and Beatrice. I meditated on every small detail. And my desire for vengeance grew ever more powerful.

  There was no remedy for a woman betrayed and whose pride was sullied by a cheating man. No law existed to punish him. So therefore I must seek justice on my own. I must be counsel, jury, and judge, all in one and render justice so there could be no appeal. But I took it a little further. I would also be the executioner for the unique penalty I had devised.

  So, I mused with my face upturned to the sky, watching the light of the moon shining down on the sea like a shower of silver, while the waves slapped gently against the sides of the ship. Lost in such thoughts, a long time passed before I turned away and retired to my quarters where Santina waited to attend me.

  Chapter Ten

  The brig sailed into Pescara’s harbour an hour before sunset. It had scarcely reached dock when a band of guards, heavily laden with matchlock muskets and swords, boarded the vessel. Their sergeant produced a document authorizing them to search the brig for Cesare Negri.

  In his usual gregarious manner, the ship’s captain smiled and welcomed the military emissaries as though they were his dearest friends. While his aides distributed cups to the unexpected visitors, he uncorked a flask of wine. “In my opinion, Cesare Negri is somewhere in Vicenza.”

  The sergeant cocked his head and stared at him doubtfully.

  “I speak the truth.” The captain filled the man’s cup. “There is a reward for Negri’s capture, is there not? And I am not a wealthy man. Therefore I will do everything I can to assist you.”

  The sergeant’s gaze narrowed. “We received information that Negri escaped from Vicenza. His escape was assisted by a man named Ernesto Paccanini, owner of the coasting brig Laura Bella who ships goods between Venice and Pescara. You are Ernesto Paccanini and this is the brig Laura Bella.”

  “Ah, I see you are a very astute man!” With exuberance, the captain slapped the sergeant on the back causing the wine to spill from the cup he held uncomfortably in his hand. “You are correct about my name and that of my brig, but you are wrong about Negri.” He wagged his finger back and forth in denial then broke out into a laugh. “But I do not wish to quarrel with you. Have some more wine. Hunting for thiefs is thirsty work. Let me refill your cups, my dear friends. I have plenty more below deck!”

  The officers drank the proffered wine. The youngest-looking of the group, a brisk, handsome fellow raised his cup. “Bravo Ernesto! Let us all be friends together. Besides, what harm is there in accepting a thief and murderer as a passenger? No doubt he paid you better than most.”

  It was evident to me that the man’s deliberate levity was a means to trap the captain into an accidental confession.

  But the captain was smarter than he looked and would not be caught. Instead, he raised his hands and eyes with feigned alarm. “May the saints forgive you for thinking that I, a simple seaman, would accept one scudo from such a bandit. I would be cursed for the rest of my life. You are mistaken, sergeant. I know nothing of Cesare Negri, and I have never encountered the lout!”

  He spoke with such sincerity that the officers appeared perplexed, yet it did not deter them from thoroughly searching the brig. They questioned everyone on board, including myself, but did not learn any further information. Though they glanced curiously at my white hair, they seemed to think there was nothing suspicious about me, a woman and her servants travelling alone for a brief vacation.

  After more of the captain’s pleasant cordialities, the guards departed with puzzled expressions over the incorrect information they had received that Negri may have been on board.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Ernesto cavorted about the deck like a child in a garden, and snapped his fingers defiantly. “Those idiots. How dare they think to force me, Ernesto Paccanini, to betray a man who has given me good cigars! Let them hunt in every town and city! Cesare may rest comfortably without the gendarmerie to disturb him!”

  I advanced to bid the captain farewell.

  “Ah, dama, I am truly sorry to part company with you! I hope you will forgive me for not betraying poor Signor Negri who trusts me.”

  “I wish there were more men in the world like you. Arrivederci.” I handed him the fare for our passage. “Please accept my sincere thanks. I shall not forget your kindness. If you ever need a friend, send to me.”

  He gave me a curious look. “But how can I do that if the dama does not tell me her name?”

  I had pondered this during the night. I knew I must assume a new name, and I had decided to adopt that of an old school-friend, a girl to whom I had been profoundly attached in my earliest youth, and who had drowned before my eyes while bathing in the Venetian Lido. So I answered Ernesto’s question at once and without effort. “Ask for Contessa Giulia Corona. I shall return to Vicenza shortly. Seek me there and you will find me.”

  The captain doffed his cap and bowed. He straightened with a grin. “I was correct that the dama’s hands were those of a woman of noble rank. I know a lady when I see one. Arrivederci, dama! Command me when you will. I shall be happy to serve you again.”

  I gave him my warmest smile and Santina, Paolo, and I stepped from the brig onto the dock.

  “Mille grazie!” I called out to him.

  And thus I left him, standing bareheaded on the deck of his small vessel, waving good-heartedly as I walked away. His ideas of right and wrong were odd, and he lied better than many people who told the truth. I could not dislike him.

  We went immediately in search of a place to stay. I engaged three rooms for several weeks at the finest inn I could find.

  My second need was to purchase clothes. I found a quaint dressmaker’s shop where I ordered numerous gowns to be made in the finest materials - brocatella, gold cloth, silks, damasks, brocades, and velvets. Santina was also to receive several gowns, not as fine as mine, of course, but appropriate enough for a lady’s personal maid. By the look of delight on her face, I knew her new gowns of linen and lace pleased her. I did not forget Paolo either, who received new shirts, doublets, and jerkins.

  I gave the dressmaker my new name and the address of the inn. She served me with flattering humbleness and allowed me the use of her private back-room, where I discarded the drowned woman’s gown for a ready-made gown constructed in an elaborate brocade, its bodice embellished with embroidered ro
ses and foliage with colorful beading. The main skirt was in a deep cream silk, opening at the front to show a brocade panel, enhanced with pearls.

  Thus arrayed, we returned to the inn where I would spend the coming weeks preparing for the act of retribution that lay before me.

  I needed to find a safe place for the coins and gems I kept hidden on my person. I sought out the leading banker in Pescara. After introducing myself with my fake name, I explained how I had recently returned to Pescara after several years’ absence. He received me with utmost cordiality. Despite his astonishment at the vast wealth I presented to him, including the bag of jewels, most of which, because of their remarkable size and lustre, seemed to daze and impress him, he accepted it all and arranged for its safe keeping,

  As payment, I gave him a fine sapphire and two rose-cut diamonds, all unset. “Please have a ring made for yourself,” I said as I placed the gems into his sweaty palm.

  His eye widened with surprise. “But I cannot possibly accept such a gift.”

  “But I insist,” I said in my most commanding voice. “It is the least I can do to compensate you for protecting my riches.”

  He did not argue any further. His covetous desire to possess the exceptional stones prevailed. He swiftly tucked them into his waist pouch then inundated me with his gratitude.

  I could not help but smile. My bribe had worked. Not only had I secured his services, but he either forgot or saw no need to ask me for personal references, which would have been impossible for me to provide.

  With this matter attended to, I turned my attention to my next dilemma – how to disguise myself so that no one would ever recognize me, either by appearance or gesture, as the late Carlotta Mancini. Already, my face had filled out and I looked young again. The spark of life and freedom glimmered in my eyes once more and I knew it would give me away to anyone who once knew me. What should I do about my tell-tale eyes?

  An idea immediately came to mind. I decided to feign weak eye-sight made worse by the sun’s brilliance. A pair of spectacles would cover my eyes and cover much of my face. From a small shop specializing in Venetian glass, I purchased a hand-held mirror and a pair of dark-tinted spectacles. Ribbons attached to the silver frames kept them looped over my ears so I would not need to hold them in place with my hands. When I returned to my room at the inn, I examined myself in the mirror. The eye glasses disguised my most distinguishable features perfectly. Together with my white hair, I looked like a woman in her mid fifties with an eye impediment.

  The next thing to do was to change the brisk, but clear diction of my voice and eliminate the expressive hand gestures those from the Veneto area are prone to. I trained myself to speak in a different voice, hardening my accent and speaking with forethought and detachment. I injected sarcasm and curtness while taking care to keep my hands and head still.

  This all took much time and effort. As luck had it, a middle-aged English woman had taken a room at the same inn as myself. Her reserved indifference never wavered. Like a human block of ice, she carried herself with a permanent air of gloom. With practice, I learned to imitate her almost to perfection. I kept my mouth shut in the exact manner of her pig-headedness, walked with the same erect stiffness, and looked at the world around me with similar haughty condescension. When I overheard a waiter refer to me as ‘the white viper’ I knew I had succeeded.

  Another idea came to mind to help me prepare for my journey home. I wrote a courteous letter to the owner of Vicenza’s newspaper, which we had always received at Villa Mancini. Enclosing fifty scudi, a very generous amount, I requested that he insert the following words in his next issue:

  Contessa Giulia Corona, who has been absent from Vicenza for many years, will soon return. Possessed of fabulous wealth, she intends to make her home here once more. There is little doubt that society’s leaders will welcome the distinguished dama into their brilliant social circles with much enthusiasm.

  The owner printed it word for word and sent me a copy of the newspaper with a note of thanks.

  My plan was now complete. All that remained was to return to Vicenza and set it in motion.

  * * *

  On the second last day of my stay in Pescara, Santina and I sat in two padded chairs beside an open window in the inn’s dining hall. I had sent Paolo to purchase several trunks for our return journey. She embroidered a handkerchief while I read a book. I had grown used to Santina’s reserved, but agreeable manner. A comfortable bond existed between us. Eager to please, she seemed happy with her new life as my maidservant, just as I was with her silent efficiency. More importantly, she watched the changes I underwent, quietly accepting them with nary a challenge.

  Church bells tolled the call to Vespers. Although the gorgeous colors of the sunset lingered in the sky, a cool breeze blew in from the Adriatic sea.

  My new persona of a somewhat callous and churlish woman who had experienced life and hated it, had already become second nature to me. Hourly practice had made it so. In fact, I doubted I could easily return to the carefree mannerisms that had once belonged to Carlotta Mancini.

  As I read quietly, a loud clamour caused by the shouts of a crowd floated in through the window and startled me. I leaned out and looked up and down the street, but could see nothing. As I pondered what the noise could mean, an excited waiter entered the room. “Cesare Negri! They caught him, poverino! They have him at last!”

  Though powerfully drawn by this news, I refused to allow my interest or excitement to show. I held taut to the new personality traits I had worked so hard to ingrain. “Then they have caught a great scoundrel indeed. I congratulate the authorities. Where is Negri now?”

  “You need only walk around the corner, and you will see him bound and fettered in the piazza, may the saints have mercy on him! The crowds have flocked there like vultures. I am going there myself. I would not miss it for a thousand lire!” He ran off excited.

  I tossed my book onto the chair. “Come, Santina. Let us see this infamous rogue for ourselves.”

  Her eyes widened, the name now familiar to her from our time on the brig, but she gathered our belongings and followed me out the door.

  We strolled to the piazza. At the centre of a muttering crowd were a troop of mounted guards with drawn swords flashing in the pale evening light. Men and horses stood as motionless as bronze statues. They were stationed opposite an office of the guards, where the chief officer had dismounted to make his formal report regarding Negri’s capture and sentence before proceeding further.

  Encircled by the vigilant guards, with his legs strapped to a robust mule and his hands manacled behind his back, I caught a glimpse of the notorious Cesare Negri; a man as dark and fierce and thunderous as a storm.

  A mane of long, thick, dishevelled curls hung in a tangled mess upon his shoulders. His bushy black mustache and beard covered his sinister features. I caught a glimpse of yellowed teeth as he gnawed his lip in helpless rage and misery. From beneath busy brows, his eyes blazed with wrath. He was a huge, brawny man, barrel-chested and muscular. His manacled hands were huge, formidable enough to kill a man with one blow.

  He was dressed unremarkably in a shirt of plain linen tucked into black breeches, and tall narrow boots with turned-over tops. His throat and chest heaved with the pent-up anger that raged within him. His menacing form was set off by a peculiar effect of color in the sky. A lengthy band of pink and maroon clouds burned on the olive-tinted faces of the multitude who stared with misguided admiration on the brutal face of the notorious murderer and thief who had so terrorized the country. Everything about him was hideous and dreadful. I could find no redeeming feature about him.

  I pressed my way through the crowd to get closer.

  I saw Negri move his bound upper body abruptly.

  The guards pointed their swords at him with warning.

  The scoundrel laughed and tossed his head back. “Porca miseria! Do you think a man tied hand and foot like me can escape? I am trapped, you fools.” He tilted
his head in the direction of a man in the throng. “Tell that man to come forward. I have a message for him.”

  The guards looked first at one another, and then at the crowd with bewilderment, unsure which man to call out to.

  Impatient, Cesare elevated himself as much as he could in his awkward trussed up posture, and shouted, “Filippo Barocco! Capitano! You think I cannot see you? I would know you even in hell! Come and show me your face. I have a parting word for you.” His gravelly voiced echoed over the crowd who fell into a shocked silence.

  There was a sudden commotion as people made way for a young man to pass. He was a lanky, feeble-looking fellow with a pasty complexion and eyes that glimmered with aloofness as well as scorn. Dressed meticulously in his guard’s uniform, he elbowed his way to the front with the ease of a spoiled dandy. He came to stand beside Negri and stared at him scornfully. “So they caught you at last, Cesare! You called me and here I am. Say what you have to say!”

  “Hey, faccia di merda! Shit face!” Negri looked like a feral lion ready to spring upon its prey. “You betrayed me. You followed me. You hunted me down. Teresa told me everything. She is yours now. You won. Go and take her. She waits for you. Make her tell you how much she loves you, if you can!”

  Something threatening in the ruffian’s glare startled the young man. “What do you mean, you bastard? Dio! You haven’t killed her, have you?”

  Negri broke out into a savage laugh. “Me? I had nothing to do with it. She killed herself! She snatched my knife out of my hand and stabbed herself with it, preferring to die rather than see your lying white face again or endure your foul touch! Try to find her if you can. Her body lies dead up in the mountains, but her soul smiles down upon us from Heaven. Her last kiss was for me. Me – only me! Now get out of my sight.” He coughed and spat in his face. “May the devil curse you!”