Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (15 page)

As in turned out, even this was a stroke of good luck for some of us. Late afternoon on that miserable February day, we left through the Porta San Leonardo, the southern gate of the city. Even the weather had conspired against us and wanted to add misery to injustice. An icy drizzle from a bleak, grey sky was mercilessly soaking us to the skin. We took quarters in the first roadside inn we found half a league south of Fano and offered to pay extra to have a roaring fire dry us out.

When the weather cleared two days later, Lorenzo sent me back to Fano to find out why we had been expelled, but as I rode up the Porta San Leonardo I found it closed. The authorities had decreed that nobody was allowed to enter. Near the gates, an old man was making a brisk trade selling cooked chestnuts to a score of travelers who had also been turned away. He told me that there was an outbreak of pestilence, that sick people died within hours, that the disease could even be caught by simply looking at an affected person. Several other towns in the Marches had also quarantined themselves and it was said that even Venice had not been spared. It did not take much intelligence to deduce that the same scourge which had been rumored to ravage the eastern Mediterranean had now reached our shores.

This was a severe blow since for our livelihood we depended on easy access to large gatherings of people. "If people are afraid of catching a disease, they will not welcome us or come to our performances. Even worse, if they believe that a mere look may cause them to become ill, they might chase any travelers away," I thought. I still had to learn a lot about the callousness and cruelty of our fellow beings — even of those who preach love and peace and should know better — and how little it takes to turn friends against friends and drive friends to abandon each other.

Lent, rather than leading to spiritual reflection and atonement, became a time of fear and death, of heinous selfishness and vicious persecution, and I Magnifici? We thought that we could save ourselves by hiding in the mountains, but were sucked right into it.

A few of us found safety in the hills east of the Apennines — safety not only from the plague but also from a misguided priest who accused Antonia of having used witchcraft, but it was a hollow safety, bought at a terrible price. Deserted by four of the players, Maria and Lorenzo struck down by the disease, there were only four of us left as spring arrived in the little pasture valley high above Via Flaminia where we had taken refuge: Antonia, Alda, Pepe, and myself.

* * *
 

Consternation reigned among the players when Chiara brought back the news. Then they all shouted at the same time: "No!", "What are we going to do now?", "Lucky, we got out!", "We must get away from people!", "Let’s flee into the mountains!", "But where?"

Lorenzo shouted above them all: "Quiet! Let’s not panic now. We have to think this over carefully."

"Yes, maybe it’s a disease that only affects city people, and if we stay in the countryside we may be safe," said Alda.

Chiara shook her head. "Alda, this must be the same pestilence that we heard was ravaging the ports in the eastern Mediterranean. If it got up into these northern parts so quickly, no place may be spared. The chestnut seller claims that just seeing a sick person is enough to get it."

"Yes, then Chiara may already have it," cried Pietro and turning to her added: "You may have seen somebody without knowing it. You shouldn’t have come back to us." Then he noticed that he was looking at her and backed off, taking Anna with him closer to the door, looking away.

"Pah Pietro, don’t be silly," exclaimed Antonia. "People always claim this for pestilence. I’ve seen, even spoken to people who later died of pestilence, and I’m still alive, and so has my mother and she lived to a ripe old age. I don’t believe this, but it’s best to stay away from anybody who has the disease."

"How do you know it isn’t true this time?" countered Pietro, his face showing his annoyance at being contradicted. "Didn’t Chiara say that people die within hours of catching it? I still think Chiara shouldn’t have come back. She always gets us into trouble, first with Casa Sanguanero in Pisa, then the Baglione bandits in the mountains, and now this."

Half a year ago, Chiara would have been mortified if another player had attacked her in this manner. Now she simply shrugged her shoulders that a grown-up man like Pietro would argue in such an illogical way.

Ignoring Pietro, Lorenzo turned back to Antonia. "But how can we know when a person has the disease? They may show no signs yet."

"You see," cried Pietro triumphantly, "she may already have the disease but show no signs. I say again, she shouldn’t have come back. She doesn’t care for our safety."

"Shut up, Pietro," exclaimed Lorenzo. "Antonia, how can we know."

"I won’t shut up," shouted Pietro. "You always side with her —"

"I side with her because we owe our success largely to her, don’t you forget that, and certainly not to your music."

"I will not let you insult me because of her. I want her to leave us right this minute, or I and Anna will leave. I will not put our lives at risk because of her." He pronounced each word with great emphasis.

His outburst was greeted by angry muttering.
This is getting ridiculous
, went through Chiara’s mind, but Lorenzo’s reaction completely floored her. He glared at Pietro for several long seconds and then said coldly: "Fine. You already got your share from what we made in Fano. You can leave anytime."

The players were stunned to silence. One could have heard a pin drop. Finally, Carlo exclaimed: "Pietro, don’t be silly. You’re an excellent musician, and we need you. Isn’t that true, Lorenzo?"

When Lorenzo did not answer immediately, Pietro shouted again: "See, our corago thinks that we’re less valuable than this young hussy who puts on airs, pretending to be of noble birth, and behaves as if she had more rights than the rest of us. Ever since she joined none of you has given proper credit to Anna. Chiara has even taken her roles."

Antonia took Chiara’s words from her mouth. "Yes, she stepped in when Anna complained that she couldn’t do it because she had her monthly curse. And it was Chiara who relieved precious Anna from having to face Pepe, and we all know that it is her act with Pepe and Carlo that draws the big crowds."

Lorenzo raised his voice. "Pietro said that he wanted to leave. I am corago and I repeat, he and Anna are free to go."

"We’ll go, but I’ll take the music box along."

"No, you will not. It’s mine."

"But I’m the only one who can play it, so by right it should go to me."

"You came to us with no musical instruments and you leave with none. This is final."

"You’ll regret this, Lorenzo." Pietro shouted.

He took Anna’s hand and stormed out of the room.

Chiara felt bad about the turn of events. Although she had often wished that Pietro would not constantly complain, she did not want to be the reason for breaking up the troupe. It must have shown on her face. Alda put an arm around her back and said: "Chiara, don’t blame yourself. This isn’t your fault. It has been simmering for quite a while."

Chiara pressed her hand and whispered: "Still, it’s sad. I didn’t want this to happen."

They stood or sat around, bewildered by the sudden finality of it. Nobody talked. Lorenzo sat, downcast, his hand stroking his beard.

"Order us some wine, Lorenzo," muttered Antonia who sat next to him.

After sipping the wine for a while, Lorenzo got up. "We need to make a decision on what to do. Antonia, and she has the knowledge in medicines, she recommends that we avoid people who are affected. But how do we know if a person is affected? Can you recognize the signs?"

Before Antonia could answer, Chiara replied: "If they show no signs, there is no way of telling. However, if we stay in an area where there are few people living and they haven’t had any contact with people from the city, then we should be safe, isn’t that so, Antonia?"

The old woman nodded.

"So going into the mountains, as Antonia said earlier, may protect us," argued Alda.

"Yes," replied Antonia, reluctantly, "but where in the mountains … it will be so difficult in the cold and snow."

"I have an uncle in Urbino," ventured Giovanni. "He may be willing to take us in."

"The Count of Montefeltro will surely close the gates of his seat too, like other towns in the Marches," answered Lorenzo, "and there are only mule tracks over the mountains from Urbino. We’ll do better to stick to Via Flaminia which will get us to Gubbio or Perugia and then we’re back on our old circuit through Tuscany."

Via Flaminia, the road the Romans built to connect Rome to the north, was still the best way across the mountains and passable by carts.

"But you just said to avoid towns," interjected Carlo.

"We stick to the road, but don’t enter any towns, at least not until we’re safely in the mountains. I also think that it’s better if we don’t offer any shows. We want to get to safety as quickly as possible. Do you agree?"

He looked around, and most players nodded.
Nor do we want to be accused of witchcraft or sorcery in this climate of mistrust and uncertainty,
Chiara argued silently to herself.

 "I suggest we leave tomorrow. We may find an abandoned farmhouse somewhere between Fossombrone and Cagli."

 "We need to buy enough food for several weeks," remarked Chiara, "including oats or barley for the horse."

"We can do this on our way. Let’s pack the carts tonight, so we can get an early start."

Chiara caught up with him as he left the room. "Lorenzo, I’m sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about."

"I feel bad about Pietro and Anna leaving. Couldn’t we try to make peace with them?"

"You’re a strange one. He accuses you and you plead for them."

"His accusations were so ridiculous that I can’t take them seriously. He lost his head in the heat of the argument."

"That may well be so… No, I won’t change my decision. It was his choice. Nobody forced him. He has been a nuisance almost from the start, and Anna has little talent and even less willingness to learn. We’ll have no difficulties finding a better musician and we don’t need to replace her. But we can’t lose you. You’re a natural like there are few. And besides, you carry a head on your shoulders that I wish it were mine… and now you even have the decency to blush."

"Lorenzo, may I embrace you?"

"Why?"

"Because you believe in me."

He hugged her and murmured: "Oh, you sweet child. You’re such a contradictory mixture of innocence and wild courage."

* * * 

Next morning under a dark, leaden sky, they went north to the junction of the coastal road and Via Flaminia. They did not see Pietro and Anna, who must have left even earlier, nor did they know where they had gone. With no major settlements on the true left of the Metauro River before Fossombrone, they were unable to get any supplies, since even villages seemed deserted, except for an occasional face or shadow behind the rare small glass windows. Few people were on the road, and those that were made every effort to avoid each other. More than once, other travelers left the road when they saw their group and only returned to it after the carts were well past them. When darkness fell, they looked for a dry place to pass the night. The first farmhouse they tried, the farmer did not even open the door. The second one grudgingly offered the animal barn, but only after Lorenzo pointed out that they had not been in any town for four days and showed him a silver coin. However, they had to prepare their own meal, since the farmer’s wife refused to have anything to do with them. They spent a cold and miserable night in the filth of the barn. Its only saving grace was that they were out of the rain.

Late afternoon of the next day they were outside Fossombrone. It had drizzled all day long. Although entry into the city was still allowed, they debated long whether to stay inside for one night or only replenish their food supplies and find shelter elsewhere. In the end, the temptation of a dry night in a warm inn with hot food prepared for them proved too strong and they took quarters in the first taverna they came across.

"I guess you’ll be one of the last group of guests I’ll see for a long time," the host greeted them. "Urbino has locked its gates and I just heard rumors that Count Montefeltro’s governor has received orders to close the gates of our city by tomorrow. I advise you to leave early, or else you might be stuck here."

"Thanks for the advice," answered Lorenzo. "We’ll do that. We only need to restock our food supplies."

"That’s no problem. I can sell you almost anything you might need and at better prices than the grain and meat merchants. I get my supplies directly from the farmers."

"Good. I’ll have my scribe prepare a list for you." He winked at Chiara.

They relished the thick broth with big chunks of fatty meat and winter vegetables, which they shared with several other travelers who had arrived from Urbino the day before — just the kind of meal for a cold winter’s day. While they were sitting around the fire, enjoying a good cup of wine, the host’s young wife approached Antonia and asked whether she would read the cards for her. Antonia refused since they had agreed not to offer any services.

"Please, Signora, do it for me. I expect my first child and it would be a great comfort to know if all goes well," she begged, and her husband added: "You don’t have to worry. Nobody here will denounce you to the Inquisition. They haven’t heard an accusation for ages in this town."

Antonia looked at Lorenzo, who nodded. So she went with the young woman into the private quarters behind the kitchen. Chiara retired to their room and did not hear Antonia join her.

* * * 

Midmorning, they were on their way again, stocked up with food for themselves and feed for their animals. A league west of Fossombrone, they crossed the Metauro River just beyond its confluence with the Candigliano and followed that river southwest through the gorge it had cut into the hills. At Acqualagna, where the Burano joins the Candigliano, they crossed over the old bridge, one of several on Via Flaminia still surviving from Roman times. By then, they were again looking for shelter and spotted another farmhouse a few hundred paces off the road shortly after the bridge. It turned out to be abandoned, but provided shelter from the incessant rain. An old leaky barn protected their carts and animals from the worst of the elements. After taking care of the horse and the donkey, feeding each some oats, Chiara joined the other players around the fire to get warm and dry out while a soup of grains, cabbage, and cubes of fresh pork simmered in a big pot.