1636- the Flight of the Nightingale

by David Carrico

  “And for a quick change if you ever need it,” Barbara said as she wrapped the apron around the now standing Francesca, “you take off your coat and throw it to the boy, take the scarf off your head, pull a bit of your hair out of the bun or braid to fly around your face, take both cheek pads and put them in one cheek, and put this on. A little creative swearing as you march down the alley or street, and no one would believe it was you.”

  Sabatini goggled a bit at the thought of Francesca creatively swearing, but there was no doubt that the apron really changed her appearance.

  Francesca looked at Sabatini. “Really?”

  He nodded with a grin. “Everything she says changes the way you look and the way you move. I think she’s right.”

  Francesca quirked her mouth. “All right.” She smoothed her hands down the apron, and paused halfway through the motion to peer at the fabric. “Paint?” She looked up with a quizzical expression on her face.

  Barbara nodded with a smile. “Only the best artistic work in our costumes,” she said. “Heavens, if we’d used real meat juices and kitchen dirt, the mice would have consumed that years ago.”

  “Are you going to get in trouble for giving me these things?” Francesca asked about a half a beat before Sabatini started to ask the same question.

  “No,” Barbara said over another cackle from Renata. “The shoes are mine, so no problem there. As for the apron, Renata is our costumer. She’ll just conveniently ‘lose’ it.” She shrugged. “Merda happens, and it wouldn’t be the first time. By the time we might need it again, we can replace it.”

  “And besides,” Renata contributed in a reedy voice, “that cloak you’re leaving behind is worth more than everything you’re taking. The velvet, the color of it…” She kissed her fingertips.

  “Truth,” Barbara confirmed with a nod.

  Francesca got a worried look. “That might be recognized…”

  “Pfaugh,” Barbara said with a wave of her hand. “Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs. Renata will have that reworked into a costume or a gown in a couple of days. Nobody will ever see the cloak in it.”

  Sabatini watched as Francesca relaxed and removed the apron. Barbara took it and rolled it up with a practiced motion, then stuffed it in the bag on the floor.

  “Now,” the actress said, “coat or cloak?”

  Sabatini saw Francesca hesitate. “Coat,” he interjected. After a moment, Francesca nodded in agreement.

  “Going north, eh?” Barbara remarked. Sabatini saw Francesca start, and Barbara laughed. “Dear, if you’re going to run, it’s either go south or go north, and if you want a coat, you’re probably going north. And for what it’s worth, I agree. If you need to get out of the reach of the court, go north.”

  Renata offered a coat to Francesca. She stood and pulled it on. Barbara reached out to tweak the collar and opening, buttoning the top button, then stepped back to examine the effect. “A bit old-fashioned, a bit frumpy, definitely out of style…perfect. Nobody will look at you twice in that.”

  Renata came forward and folded one of the front panels of the coat back. “This is fully lined with a different material, so it can be turned inside out and worn that way to change your look as well.”

  While Francesca was examining her coat, Renata handed one to Sabatini. “Here, try this on.”

  Sabatini slipped it on. It was a bit large on him…he could feel the extra room in the shoulders, and the sleeves hung almost down to his knuckles. He held his hands out before him with a grin.

  “Perfect!” Renata exclaimed. “You look like you’re wearing your older brother’s hand-me-down. And no one will take you seriously when you look like that.”

  Even Francesca had a smile on her face at that. Sabatini pushed the sleeves up his arm, and put his hands on his hips.

  Barbara hoisted the worn bag off the floor and set it on the table. “There are two more blouses, a reversible vest, and another skirt in here, plus the limping shoes and three or four scarves. You need to look at those, so you’ll know what you have. And when you arrive at a new town, look at the poor women in the streets to see what kind of scarves they’re wearing on their heads and how they’re wearing them and with what kind of knots they’re tying the ends down, and switch yours to as close a match as you can make. It’s a little thing that will help you blend in and not be as obviously an outsider.” She went to close the bag, and stopped to pick a small clay pot off the table and add it to the bag. “And your goose grease with ash mixed in is in here as well.”

  Renata brought a smaller bag over and set it on the table. She looked at Sabatini. “A change of clothing for you, plus a scarf and some gloves. You go far enough north, it will start getting cold.”

  It alarmed Sabatini that the women knew that much of their plans. He looked at Francesca, and he knew his eyes were wide, but he couldn’t help himself. She held a hand out and patted the air.

  “They know nothing, Sabatini, and what they might guess they will never tell.”

  Barbara nodded firmly, and Renata pulled a shiny cross on a thin necklace out from under her blouse and kissed it. Sabatini still wasn’t comfortable with it, but he nodded anyway. He stripped off the coat and rolled it up. It just barely fit in his bag on top of the clothes already there, but that was good. It was too warm to be wearing it now, and he wanted the freedom of movement as long as possible. He touched the hilt of his belt knife just for a moment.

  Francesca went to pick up her bag, and Barbara held up her hand. “Your earrings, dear.”

  Francesca’s hands went to her ears, and Sabatini saw the disgusted expression she got. “Stupid me, I forgot about them.” She very carefully took them out of the holes in her ears and laid them on the table. Then she pulled a thin wooden case out of her pocket. After she worked it with her fingers for a moment, a piece of it slid up, exposing a small flat compartment. The earrings were carefully picked up and laid in the compartment, which was then closed up. “My daughter will want these.”

  She turned it over and slid a piece on the other side up. That exposed two sewing needles stuck through a wisp of cloth. “My mother’s etui,” Francesca said with a sad smile. “I’m not sure where she got it, but she used to hide little things in it from time to time.” She closed the case again and handed it to Sabatini. “Here, you hide this.”

  Sabatini took it and tucked it in an inner pocket of his jerkin.

  “Now,” Barbara said, drawing their eyes back to herself. “At dawn, you need to be in the Piazza di San Sabatini, where you will meet with Giulio and his cart. He will take you, dear, out of the city and to the nearest village. You, lad,” she looked at Sabatini, “will have to walk by yourself until she gets out of the cart. But there’s usually enough traffic that you can keep close to the cart without seeming odd.”

  “Dawn. Piazza di San Sabatini. Giulio,” Francesca repeated.

  “Sounds like you have it,” Barbara said. She looked around. “You’re probably safe enough here. No one is supposed to be here until almost noon today.”

  “You can rest here,” Renata said. “I’ll make sure you awaken in time. I’m always up with the roosters.”

  “She is that,” Barbara said. “Disgusting.”

  She turned and picked up a cloak from a chair that stood behind her, to swirl it around and settle it on her shoulders. “I’m off, dear. Be very careful, and when you get where you’re going, please send us word.”

  Francesca reached under her vest, and fumbled with something for a moment, then pulled out a gold florin and held it out. “Here. You deserve this.”

  “I can’t take that, dear,” Barbara said, aghast. “How in the world would I be able to explain having one of those? And besides, we didn’t do that much.”

  Francesca laid it on the table. “Take it for the help you’ve provided, and to provide help to the next person who comes to you.”

  Barbara looked at her solemnly. After a moment, she picked up the coin and made it disappear into her
own layers. “All right, dear. On those terms, I’ll take it.”

  “Go to old Mosè the moneychanger,” Francesca said. “He’ll change it for you and keep it quiet.”

  “Aye, he would,” Barbara said. She reached out and laid a hand on Francesca’s shoulder. “Go with God, and be careful.”

  “We will.”

  A moment later, Barbara had slipped out the door they had entered by. Sabatini looked around.

  “Sorry, no beds here,” Renata said. “But you can stretch out on the floor. We swept it earlier, so it’s pretty clean.”

  Sabatini looked at the floor with a frown, but a yawn suddenly split his face. He was tired…more tired that he’d realized. He looked at Francesca, who had sat back down on her stool. She waved a hand. “Sleep if you can. The morning will bring another long day.”

  Sabatini hefted his pack, then dropped it on the floor and stretched out himself, rolling onto his left side and propping his head on the pack. Another yawn cracked his jaw. He closed his eyes, and the last thing he recalled was the thought that Francesca looked worried.

  Chapter 4

  Sabatini awoke at a nudge.

  “Marco,” he heard Francesca say as he was opening his eyes. “Time to go.”

  He shook his head to clear the cobwebs from his thinking, and rolled to his feet in a limber motion.

  “Oh, to be young again,” Renata murmured. She pointed toward a door. “Chamber pot’s in there.”

  Sabatini took advantage of it, making sure the door closed firmly and that he threw the latch. He was glad to see the latch, actually, but he figured that actors being both lively and often bawdy, everyone would insist on the latch for self-preservation. There was no candle or lamp in the cubby, but enough light leaked in under the door and from a gap in the outer wall just above the ceiling to let him see what was what. It didn’t take long before his business was done and he was back in the backstage area, checking his clothes to make sure that they were straight.

  Francesca was waiting, toe tapping. She had her new coat on and was holding the bag with clothes. The other bag, the one with the papers, must be under the coat, much as she had carried it under the cloak. Sabatini understood that. Those papers were more important to her than almost anything.

  “Ready?” she said. Sabatini nodded as he scooped up his own bag. “Let’s go.” She looked at Renata, and gave a nod that was almost a bow. “Thank you for your help, and thank Barbara again for me when you see her next.”

  “It was our pleasure, dear,” Renata said in what Sabatini thought of still as a reedy voice. “Santa Cecilia bless you, and go with God.”

  A moment later, they were outside the theatre in the predawn light.

  “Which way?” Sabatini asked. He knew about where the Piazza di San Sabatini was, but he wasn’t sure what the best way was to get there from the spot where they were standing.

  “This way,” Francesca said, turning and leading the way farther down the alley in the faint light. It ended abruptly in a cul-de-sac, which took Sabatini aback, but Francesca walked over to a door set in the left-hand wall. It opened at her touch, and Sabatini followed her into a rather dark hallway. He kept his hand on the wall as he followed almost blindly.

  Sabatini stumbled as they crossed a threshold into what seemed to be another building based on the brickwork. There were a couple of candles in the room, which seemed to be a small taverna. An older woman who was wiping down tables looked up and nodded as they walked by. Francesca nodded back, but said nothing as she walked to another door. That door also opened at her touch, and let them out onto a street.

  Three corners and several short blocks and they turned onto the large piazza before the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Flore. They crossed the piazza and entered Via de Martelli, which immediately fed into the Larga.

  Francesca was walking briskly in the slowly growing light. She said nothing, and gazed straight ahead, but Sabatini was certain she knew what was going on around her. There were servants and tradesmen on the streets, either hurrying to work or carrying loads for deliveries. In their common clothing, carrying their bundles, the two of them just seemed to blend into the crowds.

  Two long blocks and they entered Piazza di San Sabatini. Now at last Francesca stopped for a moment—or rather, hesitated to look around. Just as her eyes seemed to locate what she was looking for, a loud voice called out, “Aunt Maria!”

  A large and burly individual hopped down off of a cart and bounded toward them, arms spread wide. “Aunt Maria! Here you are! It is so good to see you.” He wrapped his arms around her, even though she stiffened for a moment in surprise. Sabatini stepped back a couple of paces, to create a little distance. Based on what they were supposed to be doing, he needed to not be a part of this scene. He turned to his left a bit, and walked over to gaze at the basilica, but keeping Francesca in the periphery of his vision.

  Giulio—that must surely be him—gave Francesca a resounding kiss on the cheek and released his embrace. “Oh, Aunt Maria, I am so glad Cousin Giovanni was able to convince you to come. Uncle Umberto needs tending badly, and he won’t accept anyone but you.” He took Francesca by the arm, and gently urged her toward the cart. “But please, he is hurting so badly, we must be on the way. The sooner you get there, the sooner he will listen to sense.”

  Francesca climbed up into the cart, boosted by Giulio, looking over her shoulder at Sabatini as she did so and giving a bare hint of a nod and smile. Sabatini relaxed a little. If this was indeed Giulio, then things were going according to what he knew of the plan, anyway.

  There was a sleepy little donkey standing before the cart, who looked around reproachfully when Giulio climbed up into the cart as well, took the reins in hand, and shook them.

  “Get along, Rosario, you lazy thing,” Giulio called out, shaking the reins again. The donkey faced forward, seemed to sigh, and leaned into his collar. The cart started moving with a hint of a squeak from the wheels. Sabatini’s mouth quirked at that—that kind of noise would drive Francesca mad.

  Giulio kept up a running thread of conversation, mostly on his own. Sabatini could see Francesca nodding as the cart pulled away. He waited for it to travel a distance, before following in its track.

  Giulio took Via degli Arazzieri out of the piazza, the Street of the Tapestry Makers, but the street was only a block long and its T was crossed by the larger Via San Gallo, where Giulio turned the cart to the right, to the north, and headed for the city gate. Sabatini followed, and he caught a glimpse of Francesca looking over her shoulder for a moment to make sure he was still in sight.

  It was a fair distance to the gate, and a grumble from his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything yet today. He kept an eye out, and sure enough, before long he saw a baker’s boy carrying a towel-covered tray the same direction he was going.

  “Got bread under that?” Sabatini asked.

  “No, I’m carrying rocks,” the other boy retorted. “Of course I have bread.”

  “Marco,” introducing himself.

  “Guido.”

  “Sell me one?”

  Guido looked around. “I don’t know…these are supposed to be going to…”

  “Tell them a dog jostled you and a loaf dropped off. I’m starving, and I’ve got a long way to go today.”

  Guido looked around again, and shrugged. “Show me the coin.” Sabatini reached into an inner pocket of his jerkin and pulled out a soldo. Guido looked horrified. “I can’t change that. I don’t have anything on me.”

  “Fine,” Sabatini said. “Give me two loaves, then. I’ll want something to eat this evening, too.” He was overpaying, but he didn’t care. He was hungry.

  Guido stepped close beside Sabatini as they walked. “Fine. Pick up the towel, put the coin on the tray, and take the two loaves on the edge.”

  Sabatini did exactly that, tucking one of the loaves inside his jerkin, and tearing a bite out of the other with sharp teeth.

  “Mmm,” he mumbled past the
wad of dough he was chewing. “Good.”

  “Should be,” Guido said. “My master is one of the best in Firenze. Good travels to you.”

  “Thank you,” Sabatini replied after he cleared his throat. “San Giovanni watch over you.”

  With that, Guido split away from Sabatini and headed toward an upcoming cross street. Sabatini continued on. He was lagging farther behind Giulio’s cart than he wanted to be because he and Guido had slowed down a bit while they exchanged words, coin, and bread, so he stepped up his pace.

  The bread was fresh, and even still had a trace of warmth inside it from the baking. The crust was dense, but the inside was light and a bit moist, which was good, as Sabatini didn’t have a water bottle. But he strode along with a will, enjoying the fresh bread, and watching as they drew closer to the Porta de San Gallo, the northernmost gate out of the city.

  Sabatini was close enough to the cart now to hear that Giulio was still talking. He must have been doing it on purpose. Sabatini had to admit it attracted attention to him, and as long as Francesca limited her responses to nods and the occasional quiet word, she was just background to Giulio’s performance. And performance it was.

  The gate was open today, and those guards in view stood to one side or the other, simply watching as people entered and left, but focusing mostly on the former. Sabatini saw that he had caught the eye of one of the guards, so he flashed him a big grin after he popped the last of his bread in his mouth. The guard returned the grin with a thumbs-up sign.