“In here,” he called out. He looked up from the ledger as his attendant entered the room. “Well? Tell me you have good news.”
“I could tell you that,” Paolo said, taking his plumed hat off and lodging it on a peg in the wall near the door, “but I’d be lying.”
“Merda,” Roberto muttered.
“That and more,” Paolo agreed.
“So what is the news?”
“Margherita Signorini was indeed lodged with the sisters of the convent for a period of time. She was receiving tutoring in several subjects, as well as singing as one of their choir and occasional soloists.”
Roberto held up a hand. “I know the sisters and their reputation for music. She was that good?”
“From what I could gather,” Paolo replied, “she was. Not surprising, perhaps, when you consider whose child she is.” Roberto waved his hand to continue. “Maestra Caccini would visit the convent often to provide lessons to the lay students and the younger sisters, and she would always spend time with her daughter when she did. But about six weeks ago, she withdrew her daughter from the convent and took her away. No one there knew why it was done or where she was taken. The abbess was actually somewhat unhappy that that had been done, I think because she had hoped to convince the girl she had a vocation.”
“Six weeks ago,” Roberto mused. “One wonders what might have occurred about then or right before the time that would have brought the maestra to the point of leaving Firenze.”
“You are sure she has left the city?”
“Oh, yes,” Roberto said. “If this had only been about leaving the court, there were other ways to go about it. Not least of which would have been joining the convent herself. No, something occurred that pushed La Cecchina to abandon everything she knew. I wish we knew where her daughter went. That would help us track them down.”
More footsteps sounded, and Alessandro and Cesare appeared in the doorway together. Cesare’s face was grim, but Alessandro had a small smile on his face. Roberto pointed at that smile, and said, “Tell me what you’ve found.”
“Well, I found the maid servant who usually cleans and straightens Maestra Caccini’s chamber,” Alessandro began. “She looked over the contents of the wardrobe, and stated that it looks to her like all of the maestra’s court dresses and shoes were there. She didn’t know about any plain clothing, but she did say that there were two pair of outdoor shoes that had been there before that aren’t there now.”
“Confirmation of that much, at least,” Paolo muttered. Roberto waved him silent and pointed at Alessandro again.
“She also was shocked at the state of the outer room. She said that every time she had been there before there were pages and pages of music scattered around, and that the maestra had cautioned her to leave the music wherever it was, even if it was on the floor, if she valued her life. The sight of the straightness of the chamber almost caused her to faint. She definitely paled, and I had to assure her that she had nothing to do with it, and if the maestra were to lodge a complaint against her, I would defend her. She was almost pitiably thankful after that.”
“Anything else?”
Alessandro’s smile widened a bit. “I took young Antonio with me, and he made a discovery. He examined all the paper and parchment in the boxes, and as you might expect, none of them had any writing on them. He did, however, discover a piece that had been below another piece of paper that had been written on, and he was able to find this.”
He withdrew a folded piece of paper from inside his jerkin and handed it across the desk to Roberto. The palace-major unfolded it and laid it out on the desktop. At first glance, it looked like nothing but a smear of charcoal on the paper, but as Roberto studied it he began to perceive the faint traces of symbols. He looked up at Alessandro.
“Antonio apparently had a sideline in learning how to send invisible messages while he was in school,” Alessandro said. “And one of the simplest ways is to simply stack two pieces of paper, then write on the top one with a pen or pencil or stylus, pressing hard enough to leave faint indentations on the second sheet. Once received, you rub the sheet with charcoal, and behold!” He waved at the page.
Roberto looked at the page again, and this time could follow the chain of symbols well enough to determine:
F → F → B → M → M → C → B
“But what is it?” he muttered.
The smile slipped from Alessandro’s face. “I don’t have the faintest idea. Do you?” He looked at the other two men in the room.
Roberto spun the page and pushed it toward the edge of the desk for them to view it. Cesare shook his head after a few moments. Paolo, however, stood with creased brow for a moment, then turned without a word and walked over to a large cabinet against the side wall, rummaged around inside of it, and pulled out a roll of parchment, which he brought over to the desk. Roberto rescued the piece of paper just before Paolo plopped the parchment down on the desk and untied its ribbon to unroll it.
The parchment turned out to be a map, one of Italy north of Roma. Paolo spun the map to make it orient to Roberto’s eyes, then plucked the paper out of his hand and laid it on top of the map. His blunt square-tipped forefinger stabbed the map.
“Firenze,” he said, “being F. To Fiesole, another F.” His finger traced that line. “To Bologna.” His finger traced farther. “To Modena…”
“To Mantova,” Roberto interjected as Paolo’s finger moved again.
“To Cremona,” Alessandro added, making the next jump as the finger continued to move. “But where’s the B?”
They all looked at the map, until Paolo’s finger stopped moving. “Here.”
“Where’s here?” Cesare demanded. “I can’t read that scrawl.”
Alessandro leaned over to peer at the map closely. “Brescia? That’s the B?”
“Has to be,” Paolo said. “There’s not another town with a B name anywhere close to that line.”
Roberto picked up the paper and angled it around in the light. “There are no other letters. Why would she go to Brescia? I could understand Milano. I could understand Venezia, definitely, although I would have gone via the Ferraro road for that. I could even understand Genoa, although I think that’s too close for her purposes. But Brescia? Why Brescia? That’s almost in the mountains, for the Heavens’ sake.”
There was a long moment of silence, then Paolo said, “Look beyond Brescia, Capitano. It is but the gateway, I would wager.”
“The Swiss? The Austrians? Why would the maestra go to them?”
“No, Capitano. The Germanies.”
“She is a good Catholic,” Alessandro remonstrated. “She would not go to the Swede. She would not join with the Protestants.”
“Gustavus Adolphus is not the only power in the north these days,” Paolo said.
Roberto looked at the map, and imagined what lay north of the Alps and the Swiss cantons. “Grantville,” he said slowly. “You think she means to go there.”
“The only reason for one like her to go that direction,” Paolo said. “To the northeast or northwest there are other large cities to provide refuge, but to go to Brescia…there is nothing north of there in Italy for her. So…”
Roberto considered his attendant’s words. He and Paolo had worked together for years, and he trusted the other man’s knowledge of both strategy and tactics and how people worked. It certainly made sense. They still didn’t know the why, mind you, but the what and the where seemed to be pulling together.
“Grantville.”
Chapter 10
“Keep hold of that thought,” Roberto said. He looked to Cesare. “You look like you have unhappy news.”
“With what you now consider, perhaps less unhappy and more confirming.” And the guard commander’s expression had indeed eased a bit. “The short tale is that most of the guards have no recollection of seeing Maestra Caccini in the last several days. Given what you now suspect she has done, that comes as no surprise. But…”
�
��But?” Roberto arched his eyebrows.
“Two of the guards claim to have seen her a few nights ago. But I don’t know that I believe them.”
“Which guards?”
“Giuseppe and Ercole.”
“Of course,” Roberto said, sitting back in his chair. Alessandro rolled his eyes, and Paolo gave a snort but said nothing else. “It wanted only those two to be involved to make this a matter of earthshaking importance.”
“Now, Roberto,” Alessandro said, “you know that Vesuvius has been quiet for several years, but there is no need to tempt fortune.”
Paolo made the signs of the horn with his off hand to avert the ill luck. The palace-major pointed at him. “Paolo, bring those two here.”
“With pleasure,” the attendant said with a grim smile. He looked at Cesare.
“They were caught asleep on night duty a few nights ago, and are in the holding room at the back of the stables,” the guard commander said. He pulled a key from his belt and tossed it to Paolo, who nabbed it one-handed in midair and stalked out the door.
“I can almost feel sorry for them,” Cesare said.
“Almost,” Roberto replied.
Alessandro said nothing, but gave an evil-sounding chuckle.
The guards of the palace were all somewhat leery of Paolo Gagliardi. He was by far the hardest, toughest soldier any of them had ever met, and he wasn’t shy about demonstrating that on some hapless guard who happened to rouse his ire. Consequently, when the door to their holding cell swung open in a few minutes to reveal Paolo standing there, it was certain that the two miscreants would suddenly realize that their lives had just gotten more complicated.
The three of them observed the map and discussed the virtues and shortcomings of the path that La Cecchina had apparently mapped out. They had pretty well decided that for two people on foot, it was perhaps the easiest way to take once they got over the Apennine Mountains to Bologna. That stretch would be a hard hike, once they got past Fiesole. But after that, relatively easy walking, perhaps two days between each of the major stops noted in the path.
“Of course, if she has the money to buy horses, it could be done faster than that,” Cesare said.
“Don’t remind me,” Roberto replied. “But if she had that kind of money, would she have taken off on the sly like that?”
“Since we still don’t know why she ran, maybe.” The guard commander’s voice was matter-of-fact.
“And she may have more money that anyone knows,” Alessandro said. “Remember, Tommaso Raffaelli was a nobleman with property in Lucca. His family may have forced her out, but who knows what she came away with?”
“Thank you for making the picture even darker than before,” Roberto said dryly.
“My pleasure,” Alessandro said with a smile.
Paolo appeared in the doorway, turned sideways, and waved a hand toward the inner office. “In,” he said brusquely.
Giuseppe and Ercole slunk into the office, and bunched together to one side of Roberto’s desk, opposite where their commander and the assistant palace-major stood, both with their arms folded and matching glowers on their faces. Ercole tried to edge behind Giuseppe, but Paolo cleared his throat, and both of them jumped forward and stiffened.
“Commander Falconieri, tell me what is pertinent in this matter, please.” Roberto leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together, resting the steepled index fingers on his chin.
Cesare cleared his throat, causing the two guards to flinch. “These two had the night duty on the garden gate three nights ago. They were found sound asleep in the middle of the night with an empty wineskin between them. I’ve had them stored away, waiting for some little task to come up that they can undertake, some little punishment detail that can put them in the proper frame of mind for the next time I put them on duty somewhere.” The guard commander’s voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it that caused both Giuseppe and Ercole to flinch when he said “punishment detail.” “Oh,” he said almost as an afterthought, “the gate was also unlocked. We found the key on the piazza beside Ercole’s slumbering body.”
Roberto raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn’t heard about this…not that he necessarily would. It was up to the commander to control his guards and handle the day-to-day operations and infractions. Yet Cesare usually told him of anything serious. He tilted his head a bit toward the commander, and Cesare did quirk the corner of his mouth up in a rueful acknowledgment.
The palace-major stood and walked around his desk, then leaned back against it and crossed his arms, keeping the two miscreant guards in his gaze all that time. He let the silence build. Giuseppe and Ercole both wilted under the gaze, and began to fidget.
“Messere,” Giuseppe began, only to stop when Paolo slapped him on the back of the head with one of his very calloused palms.
“You were not told to speak,” the attendant snarled. Giuseppe ducked his head, and stared at the floor. Ercole kept his mouth shut, and tried to edge away from his companion in whatever mishaps they were guilty of. Roberto knew they were guilty of something. It was just a question of what.
“Asleep on guard duty,” Roberto finally said in a musing tone. “Tsk, tsk. A signal failure of responsibility. Ah, in the old days, that would have been grounds for some serious punishment. What did we do to the last detail that slept while on guard, Paolo? Did we flog them?”
“No, that was the detail before last, the ones who fell asleep on the night before the battle and were supposed to be guarding the camp.” Both the miscreants gulped at that pronouncement. “No, the last detail were the ones in that garrison we posted in that little village in Bavaria. Them we just slapped around a little bit and put to permanent stable duty for the duration of the time the garrison was there.” He gave a remarkably evil grin. “And I made sure they took care of their work. Nothing like swinging a hay fork and a manure shovel for over a hundred horses to keep them too busy to fall asleep.”
“Hmm,” Roberto said, his hand on his chin. “Do we have a hundred horses, Falconieri?”
“Sadly, we do not,” Cesare replied. “And even if we did, I’m reasonably certain I would not want these two caring for them. I’m sure I can find a couple of village idiots who would do the work just as well, and cause less trouble while they were about it.”
Ercole nodded strongly at that, causing Roberto to smile just a bit. Giuseppe’s eyebrows started to draw down in an incipient frown…until Paolo spoke up.
“You can leave that to me, Capitano.”
Both Giuseppe and Ercole were now looking a little sick. Ercole looked up and said, diffidently, “Please, Messere…”
Roberto raised a hand in time enough to prevent Paolo from administering a correction to the second of the two miscreants. “Yes, Ercole?”
“We didn’t mean to fall asleep. And we can’t figure out why we did. I mean, we’ve had night duty lots of times, and never fell asleep before, even when we’d had lots of wine before going to the gate.”
Roberto looked to Cesare, who nodded in confirmation of Ercole’s assertions. He picked up on something Ercole said. “So were you drunk? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, Messere,” Ercole raised his hands in protest. “That was the night there was no wine with supper, only bad beer. We were ready to drink water, we were, when Maestra Caccini brought us a sack of wine.”
“Oh?” Roberto’s ears perked up at that, but he kept his tone level. “And just why would she do that? What would the court’s leading musician have to do with the like of you?” He let a bit of scorn edge his voice.
“But she did,” Giuseppe interjected. “She said she owed it to us, and she brought us a skin.”
“But it was a small skin,” Ercole continued. “It might have gotten one of us drunk if he drank all of it. But not enough to pass out. And split between the two of us, no. That could not have happened.”
“This wineskin,” Cesare said. “Where is it? I don’t remember seeing it, and it
wasn’t with you in the holding room.”
Roberto tensed a bit as Giuseppe stuck his hand inside his jerkin, then relaxed as he pulled out a flattened wineskin. Paolo pulled it out of his hand and stalked over to stand beside the palace-major. He held the wineskin up, commenting, “It’s not very large, at that. Nice piece of work, though.”
“’S why I kept it,” Giuseppe muttered.
Paolo pulled the stopper out of the mouth of the skin and took a sniff. “Wine. Probably cheap wine, because it’s been mixed with honey.” He stuck a finger in the opening, then pulled it out again and licked it. His eyebrows drew down, he frowned at the wineskin, and stuck his finger back in. He tasted the result again, and smacked his lips a couple of times. Still frowning, he looked up to Roberto. “They may be right, Capitano.”
Roberto was surprised at that. “How so?”
“There’s a taste there, one that’s not wine or honey.” Paolo repeated the finger taste a third time, and this time he nodded afterward. “Poppy.”
“Opium?” Roberto asked sharply. “You’re sure?”
“Sure there’s something there not wine, and pretty sure it’s poppy. That one field surgeon that was with General Piccolomini a few years ago liked to use that with the badly wounded, and he would mix it with cheap wine.”
“I remember,” Roberto said. He also recalled that Paolo had taken a saber cut in a skirmish that had been intended for him, so had reason to remember that surgeon. He looked back at the two miscreants, eyes narrowed. They stiffened at that. “What hour of the night did this happen?”
“Does this mean you believe us?” Giuseppe asked, only to receive another slap on the back of his head.
“Idiot!” Paolo snarled. “Don’t blather. Answer the question, and otherwise keep your mouth shut.”
“It was about second hour of the night watch,” Ercole offered. Giuseppe nodded sullenly, hand on the back of his head.
Roberto leaned back again. After a moment, he said, “Return them to their holding space.”
1636- the Flight of the Nightingale Page 7