Something made me look up. I saw a glint of silver hair, like an echo of the fishes’ metallic brilliance—and then a swing of a dark cloak. The figure disappeared into an alley between two buildings flanking the marketplace. I pushed through the crowd as quickly as I could and stumbled into the alley but found the little street empty. I made my way back through the market, clutching the basket in my hand, and with an ache in my chest.
* * *
Pisa’s port was a few hours’ ride from the center of the city. I stood beside our ship in the bustling port, recording the cargo in a logbook as the company loaded bound trunks, casks, baskets, bolts of cloth, and clay jars into the hull. The load made my enormous trunk look insignificant. The nave didn’t appear particularly fast with its stubby proportions and blunt prow, but Cane, appearing at my side, pointed out that stability would be more important than speed. There’s no point in a fast ride if you don’t survive it.
Our ship, Il Paradiso, was large, with triangular fore and aft lateen sails and a double rudder for steering. The two rudders were so far apart two people would need to operate them, which didn’t seem like an efficient use of nautical personnel. But I assumed medieval shipbuilders knew what they were doing.
Five shabby pilgrims joined Lugani’s party. We also took on a group of eight female slaves under the command of a trader who was taking them to sell in Sicily. The slaves looked barely old enough to be called women and sounded like they were speaking Arabic. Cane marshaled the human cargo down a hatch in the aft of the ship. I started to follow them, but he stopped me with a motion of his hand.
“Slaves and pilgrims will take the lowest accommodations in the storage hold. You and your servant have quarters near the aft hatch.” He made sure I acknowledged his command.
A crew of weather-beaten sailors moved about the deck working the sails and lines. Lugani checked the passenger list and the tabulated steerage fees I’d compiled for him.
“There is room in the storage hold for a few more, and we’ve need of the gold,” he said with a frown. “I shall send Cane out to find other parties seeking passage. You may retire to your quarters with your able servant.” His slight emphasis on “able” made me suspicious, and I got even more suspicious seeing the rhapsodic look on Clara’s face as Lugani left us.
“He called me able—he is so manly, is he not?”
“He’s certainly a man,” I said, edgily, but Clara didn’t notice my tone.
Clara quickly found our tiny windowless cabin with its narrow berths one above the other, and got one of the burly sailors to lug my trunk into it. It took up most of the floor space but provided a convenient way to get to the upper bunk. I was glad Clara took the top; the only time I’d ever slept in an upper bunk I’d stayed up all night worrying I might fall out.
In the cabin, Clara insisted that she redo my hair, which hadn’t ever had this much attention in my thirty-something years of having hair. I let her rebraid and coil it all around my head, enjoying the gentle tugging. We were still belowdecks when I heard the squealing of the anchor rising on its winch. Clara and I went up to the deck to watch as we sailed out of the harbor with an auspicious breeze at our backs.
On our second day, the waves got choppy, and I learned Clara was prone to seasickness. The side-to-side sway combined nauseatingly with vertical motion each time we crested a wave and came down hard on its other side. A cold driving rain pelted the decks, making attempts to seek fresh air bitterly unpleasant. Clara was not alone in her misery; wooden buckets provided for motion-sensitive passengers were soon in use. She took one of them downstairs and used it steadily in our tiny, increasingly rank accommodations. I climbed the ladders to the deck to empty the bucket between bouts. Somehow, I managed to avoid joining Clara at the bucket.
After two more days, the wind died down and the sea settled. The sun rose watery and pale, drying the wet decks and rigging. Clara had a gray tint to her skin, but she was able to sit up and drink. When she was done, I tucked her under a cleanish blanket to sleep off the previous day’s misery and I escaped for a welcome breath of air.
The change in weather helped the motion-sick passengers, but it did not please Lugani or the crew. The seamen had trimmed the sails to get the most out of the breeze, but it was barely strong enough to ruffle anyone’s hair, let alone drive a fat-bellied nave to Messina. Lugani paced the deck like a caged animal, and Cane prowled the ship, keeping an eye on the passengers, who were cautiously starting to appear. I found a secluded nook on the starboard side behind a row of olive oil barrels and sat, listening to the creaking of the ship’s boards and the clanking of the rigging.
Something about traveling—when I’m suspended between what I’ve left and where I’m going—transcends time. At sea that sense is magnified—the water stretches to a flat horizon where the dark water meets the lighter blue of the sky. The ocean goes on and on with a relentless, rhythmic power, as it has for centuries, and people sail their little boats on it, thinking they are getting somewhere. Leaning back in the sun I had the sensation that if I closed my eyes for a few seconds I might open them to find myself on the deck of a modern ship instead of a medieval one. But I wasn’t on a pleasure cruise to Sicily—I was a hired scribe bound for a medieval trading port. My imagination wasn’t strong enough to move me forward six or seven hundred years; I had yet to figure out what combination of factors might do that. And now I was heading away from the home I’d found in this century, leaving behind almost everyone I knew as the Plague’s arrival loomed larger and larger. And even worse, I was headed straight into its path.
* * *
After a few hours, the wind picked up again. Lugani stood grimly on deck, deep in conversation with the ship’s captain. I made my way to where they stood and pulled up alongside them to listen.
“A bad storm is on the way; I can taste the bitterness on the wind.” The wizened captain, who looked like he’d seen more than his share of bitterness, spat onto the deck.
“Keep us off the bottom of the sea, shipmaster, and you’ll have extra gold for your troubles.”
“If gold could gentle the storm, sailing would be a different business,” the captain grunted, “but I’ll take your promise as extra incentive.” He smiled, showing a small number of peg-like teeth. “You see the dark clouds massing there on the sea’s edge? They’ll be here soon, and we’ll see how your gold holds up against them.” His laugh was humorless.
I stayed on deck as long as I dared, horrified and fascinated by the approaching storm. The sky grew dark, with a greenish tint that made it feel like we were underwater. The ship cut through the fierce wind, our starboard-side railings close enough to the water to be wet with spray. The merchant ship seemed impossibly tiny against the rising waves.
I wasn’t sure whether my ignorance made me feel better or worse. Were the sails in danger of tearing? Could a mast break? I doubted life jackets had even been invented. Was there something that could serve as a flotation device? I’d cataloged every item on the boat and couldn’t think of anything. The sailors swarmed on deck, pulling and tying lines. The most agile shimmied up the masts to handle the sails as the captain barked commands. The first raindrops spattered on the deck, and then within seconds the clouds opened up and a wall of water swept over the boat, soaking me and everything else in its path. As the captain sent two sailors to relieve the spent rudder men, he saw me at the rail.
“Get down below, madwoman, before the waves take you!” I took his excellent advice without arguing. The wind was so strong I could hardly make my way across the deck to the hatch. I slammed the trap above my head against the rising wail of the storm and descended to the cabin, bracing myself against the walls for support. There I found Clara hunched in a ball in the corner, knees to her chest and hands over her head. She looked up at me as I came in, tears coursing down her cheeks.
“Are we going to perish, Beatrice?”
“I hope not.” I stripped off my wet clothes, shivering. I found our warmest blank
et and draped it over Clara’s shoulders, then got another blanket for myself and sat next to her. She wrapped her arms about me as if I were a raft that might carry her to safety. We clung to each other in the dim cabin, feeling the shuddering of the ship each time a wave crashed against it, and the vibration from the pounding footsteps above. Every few minutes one end of the room rose up nauseatingly, then slammed down hard, throwing us against each other and the wall. The sickening rhythm continued for hours, like a horrible amusement park ride gone out of control. Clara and I reverted to a primitive state of waking and sleeping. We shared the bottom bunk, cocooned in each other’s arms and rocking together in a mirror of the water’s frenzy. What would happen if I drowned in this medieval ocean, hundreds of years from my own time? I fell asleep imagining my lifeless body appearing in Ben’s guest room bed, soaking wet with seawater-filled lungs, lying still as the linen curtains blew in the orange-scented breeze from the window.
A change in the ship’s movement woke me. Clara was still asleep—her head nestled between my head and shoulder. The rocking had subsided, and I hoped that meant something good. I had no idea what disaster might feel like. Would it be ferocious, a spinning, violent descent under the waves, or would it be swift and silent as the craft gave up its battle with the water? I gently disentangled myself from Clara. My dress was still too damp to wear, but my chemise had dried enough to put back on. I drew the blanket around my shoulders and pulled it closed. I picked up the bucket and Clara woke, her eyes wide in the dim light.
“Are we dead, Signora?”
That, at least, I was fairly certain about. “No, we’re very much alive.”
“I should hate to die, with my life just beginning,” Clara said. Just beginning. It was an odd turn of phrase, and her rhapsodic tone made me suspicious.
“Just beginning? You mean because you’re leaving Siena for the first time?”
Her response was surprisingly flustered. “Oh, I meant nothing. Yes, as you say, the voyage, a new beginning.” She laughed awkwardly. There was a long pause that she eventually broke. “Monna Trovato, what is it like to be married?” I didn’t say that I had no idea, since in theory I was a widow.
“I’m sorry it ended. Why?” I didn’t mean to be snappy, but it was a peculiar topic for discussion, at this grim, malodorous moment in a ship sailing through a deadly storm.
“I cannot keep it to myself any longer!” She beamed broadly and continued. “I am so glad to be alive today, with the promise of bethrothal before me.”
“Betrothal? To whom?” She hadn’t been out of my sight for more than a few hours—how had she managed that?
Clara looked heavenward and sighed rapturously. “Messer Lugani has shown me the ways of love.”
“He what?”
“He assured me that once we were safe on land, our intimacy would be blessed by the Church.”
My suspicions were unfortunately well founded; Lugani had seduced Clara, and even promised her marriage—this adolescent orphaned Ospedale assistant cook. There were many things I didn’t know about Lugani, but if he carried through on his promise I’d eat my logbook.
“I’m going above, Clara. Stay here.” I headed up the stairs with the bucket.
The sun had set while Clara and I were clinging to each other belowdecks, and a crescent moon rode high between rapidly moving clouds. A network of dark shadows cast by the masts crisscrossed the deck with lines. I emptied the bucket over the side rail and stood there, trying to calm my anger before acting on it. I had a vision of walking up to Lugani and slapping him—I could hear the sound of my hand hitting his smooth, self-satisfied cheek. If I’d had no respect for the man it would have been easier, but the way he balanced his power with gentleness made it harder to tolerate what he’d done. A little girl—that’s all Clara was, an innocent, impressionable girl who’d been saved once from an uncertain future and was now thrown back into uncertainty by a man who used his power to take everything he wanted.
“The moon does you justice, Monna Trovato.” I spun around to find Lugani standing a few feet behind me. “What brings you on deck tonight, Signora? I would hate to see you pulled overboard by an errant wave.” I wrapped the blanket more tightly around me, unpleasantly aware of how little I had on underneath it.
“I needed air.”
“I too, Signora. I trust you have no objection to sharing the air with me?”
“I certainly do.” I kept my voice quiet to keep the sailors from hearing, but there was nothing sweet about my tone. I saw Lugani’s left eyebrow lift quizzically. “You seduced my maid.”
“Would you rather it had been you, Signora? She is a flickering candle to your gleaming presence.”
“No!” My indignation made me reckless. “Clara thinks you’re going to marry her.” I hated the look on his face—as if he were indulging my chatter.
“She’s quite a lovely thing. So eager, but with the bloom of innocence upon her.” He smiled, remembering. “Motherhood will grace her nicely someday.”
I wanted to kill him. “Not as your wife, though.”
“Of course I have no intention of wedding a servant girl. You though, Signora, might be a better match.” Persistent bastard. He took my arms and leaned into me until my back pressed against the wooden barrels. The blanket fell from my shoulders, and I could see the gleam in Lugani’s eyes as he realized what I was wearing.
“Remove your hands from this woman, Ser, before I remove them for you.” The new voice made my head spin.
Lugani dropped his hands and turned to face my rescuer. “Do you fancy yourself her bodyguard? Monna Trovato and I were in the midst of a private conversation.”
Gabriele stood on deck, holding an unsheathed knife. “Signora, am I intruding, or can I be of assistance in protecting your honor?”
“I am chilled, Messer Lugani, and wish to return to my cabin. Thank you, Messer . . .”
“Accorsi,” Gabriele said, without a change in his expression. “Gabriele Accorsi, at your service.”
Lugani’s easy smile did not falter. “It seems your charms have attracted more than one man’s attention.” He wrapped his cloak about him. “We can resume our conversation in the morning. Please, do stay warm, and inform me if there should be any way I can facilitate that . . . warmth.” He gave a low laugh and walked away, matching his step to the nave’s swaying.
Gabriele sheathed his knife at his belt. The sight of him made me want to throw my arms around his neck, but I didn’t.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
He did not answer my question. “Was I correct in rescuing you, Monna Trovato? Messer Lugani’s parting words suggest the interruption was unwelcome.”
“Of course I wanted to be rescued.” I smiled, but he didn’t smile back.
“Your embrace, and the familiarity of Messer Lugani’s words, suggest you found a more compelling confidant than those you left in Siena.”
I imagined how it must have appeared to him—me wearing my underwear and a blanket, Lugani pressing me close against the wall of barrels. “Gabriele, he’s my employer, making inappropriate advances. What do I have to do to make that clear?”
Gabriele stared at me for a few seconds. “He should not have dared to lay his hand upon you.”
“How funny, I was thinking the same thing.”
Gabriele finally smiled—a sweet smile that made me feel like the sun was rising just for me. “Your capacity for humor in grave situations astounds me, Monna Trovato.”
Not back to first names but definitely an improvement. “I haven’t seen you smile in a very long time.”
“I have not had occasion to until now.”
It felt so natural to be talking with him again that I’d almost forgotten how strange it was that he’d appeared on Il Paradiso in the middle of the open sea. “So what exactly are you doing here?”
His smile broadened. “I have secured my next commission, in Messina, by the grace of the rector of Siena’s Ospedale. An artist tra
vels at the mercy of his patrons.”
“Oh, so you just happened to get your next job in Sicily? What a remarkable coincidence.”
“I could find no other way to follow you here, Signora.”
My heart gave an extra beat. “Follow me?”
“I had the good fortune to find Messer Cane seeking additional passengers just before Il Paradiso’s departure. It was not until I boarded that I realized he was Messer Lugani’s colleague. That may have been chance, as you say, or the hand of God acting on my behalf. I had planned to search for you in Messina, but did not imagine we would travel on the same ship.”
“Why didn’t I see you before tonight? The boat isn’t that big.”
“As I am sure you know, Messer Lugani keeps strict rules on board. I was not encouraged to show myself on deck, or to disturb the more esteemed passengers. I have accommodations of a sort, in the forward storage hold.”
I remembered Cane’s command to me to keep my place. “But you came up tonight.”
“I have attempted, within the limitations imposed upon me, to assure your safety.”
“So you traveled five hundred miles to be my bodyguard?”
“Beatrice, have I been so opaque?”
“You’re as clear as a brick wall.”
He laughed out loud. “Do you really have no idea of the regard I have for you?”
“I guess I’m as dense as you are opaque.”
The Scribe of Siena Page 23