Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (19 page)

* * * 

Chiara watched the two youngsters devour the coarse bread and cut more slices from the big loaf.

"Here, there is lots more," she said with an encouraging smile, taking a bite herself. "Take some sausage too."

She shoved the wooden board with the sausage pieces to them. The boy looked at the pieces longingly, while the girl lowered her gaze.

"Go ahead. It’s good."

He looked at the girl and then took two pieces, putting both into his mouth. The girl also took one and murmured: "Thank you."

"Do you live alone?"

The girl nodded.

"Did your parents die?"

Again a nod.

"Here, have some more." Chiara pushed the board all the way over to them. "Where do you live?"

Both took more sausage, but neither answered. Even the smudged face did not hide the girl blushing deeply.

No matter how Chiara tried, she could not get the two to talk.

Alda joined them and put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. "You’ve had a hard time, haven’t you? Are you willing to tell me about it?"

Something about Alda’s motherly features seemed to win the girl’s trust. It transpired that their parents had been tenants in the countryside and both, as well as all their younger siblings, were carried away by the plague three months before. Since then they had lived from handouts and begging and often had gone hungry, spending the nights wherever they could find shelter.

"Would you like to help us while we’re here?" Chiara asked and for the first time got a response of more than a nod.

The girl’s eyes lit up and she said: "Would you really let us?"

"Yes, we would," replied Alda, "but we’d have to give you a thorough scrubbing first and then some new clothes. If you work for us, you have to look neat and handsome."

"And we’d get to eat too?" questioned the boy.

"Yes, and it would also be better if you slept here with us."

The girl blushed and murmured: "We’ve no money."

"Oh my sweet child," exclaimed Alda, pressing her against her ample bosom, "you don’t have to worry about that. We’ll pay. I’m sure Antonia would like it if you shared her room. She doesn’t like to sleep alone."

"You’ve your own rooms?" asked the boy, as if it were unheard of.

"No, I share one with Pepe, my husband, but Chiara and Antonia each have their own."

He only looked from one to the other in wonder and awe.

* * * 

Alda and Chiara took it upon them to wash, delouse, and clothe Veronica, while Pepe looked after Jacomo, the boy. Chiara was pained when she saw that the girl was only skin and bones. But the transformation was surprising. Veronica had beautiful dark blonde hair, and when she smiled she was pretty. The boy showed already the beginning of a handsome ruggedness. Alda had a hard time to get them away from the mirror. Neither could get enough of admiring their new colorful garments, nor of the novelty of the mirror.

"This dress will fit you well," said Alda, "you only have to fill out a bit and that can easily be arranged."

The girl blushed and averted her gaze.

It goes without saying that Alda ordered extra portions for dinner. Chiara guessed that the two had not eaten a proper cooked meal for several months.

While Alda took the girl under her wings, Pepe took charge of the boy. There were plenty of little jobs to be done. It was always more effective to have a young and pretty girl or boy collect the money. Both were rather solemn about that task and initially overwhelmed by the number of
denari
and the occasional silver coins in their little baskets.

They needed training in many things. Both tended to look to the ground when talking to people, refusing to meet their eyes. Veronica even did it when she encountered people in the street, as if she wanted to make herself invisible. So Chiara taught both to show a proud, upright posture, shoulders straight, chest out, a flowing gait with a spring in it — something that had been natural to her — to look into people’s eyes, to smile winningly when they offered the basket to the spectators and to say a hearty thank-you, when they got something. As she had guessed, both were quick learners and, encouraged by Alda’s generous praise, shed their shyness and became in turn generous with their smiles. It took a few days more before their appetites abated to a level normal for their age.

There was no question that they would not come along when the players departed from Cagli. Their gleaming faces reminded Chiara of her own joy, back in Pisa. They arranged that each would initially get one
denaro
a day, as well as food, lodging, and new clothing as needed.

In fact, the players were glad for their help over the Passo della Scheggia, the highest point on the Via Flaminia. They followed that road to Foligno, stopping for one or several days at each major village or town. At Foligno they went west to Assisi.

Jacomo turned out to be good with the animals and was assigned their care. Veronica formed a close bond with Alda. Chiara became aware that at first she felt a bit jealous. Reflecting on it, she admonished herself that the girl needed a mother even more than she. Sharing rooms with Antonia, it was only natural that Veronica also took over the daily task of giving the old woman each night a good shoulder rub.

Chiara guessed that Veronica admired her enormously. She wondered whether this was the reason why the girl seemed unable to overcome her shyness toward her. While she would naturally chat with Alda and Antonia, she remained tongue-tied with her. Chiara tried to share some of her thoughts with the girl, tell her a bit about how she came to be a traveling player, but rather than break down the barriers, it only seemed to increase the girl’s awe. Once she could not help overhear from the other side of the flimsy wall between their rooms how she questioned Antonia. Chiara was amused how the old woman experienced some of the events, but was also annoyed by her exaggerations.

Next day, Jacomo asked her: "Did you really kill a Baglione?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because they’re notorious bandits and everybody fears them."

"That’s hardly a reason to let them rob you."

"Did you kill one?"

"That’s what one of the robbers claimed, but I don’t know if it’s true."

"Aren’t you afraid that they’ll kill you in revenge?"

"No. They don’t know me nor do I know them."

"If you’d known that the man was a Baglione —"

"— would I still have shot him? Yes. Nobody steals things from me if I can prevent it."

He looked at her with big eyes. "Will you teach me the longbow?"

"Yes, that would be a good idea." It might be useful to have another experienced archer.

So over the next few days, whenever they had free time and she felt like it, they did target practice, and she encouraged him to do it on his own.

She also made it her project to teach both of them how to read and write, that this would give them an advantage in later life. It was though a complete surprise when Alda wanted to be included in that too.

One late afternoon after settling into the inn in Nocera Umbra, Chiara took the horse for a ride into the countryside. Sometimes, she felt the need to be alone, and galloping across fields was exhilarating and gave her a sense of freedom like nothing else. When she dismounted on her return, she heard funny noises and the braying of the donkey coming from the stable. She sneaked up to the door. Jacomo was strutting up and down in front of the animal, imitating and exaggerating the donkeys peculiar stiff gate, and she realized that it was the boy who made the braying sounds. It was so realistic that it had fooled her. When he discovered her, he went crimson and stopped.

"Jacomo, this is good. Show me again," she exclaimed.

Hesitantly at first, he did it again. When she laughed, he added other twists. She called Alda and Pepe. Alda immediately asked him to take over as
arlecchino
. They practiced together, and she gave him pointers of what worked and what did not. There was no doubt that he was a natural.
If Carlo taught him, he would soon surpass his skills,
she mused. That reminder of Carlo and his betrayal left a bad taste in her mouth.

Under Alda’s care, Jacomo soon played an ever increasing role as
arlecchino
. Naturally, this called for a change in the financial arrangements, with Veronica and Jacomo each receiving a part-share of their net take.

Chiara had slipped into the role of corago. It happened by itself and nobody questioned it.

* * * 

Assisi was overrun by pilgrims, come to honor Saint Francis who died there after a short life of extolling the virtues of humility, poverty, and peace. Chiara felt touched by the aura of spirituality that she saw in the faces of the pilgrims the moment she passed through the Porta Nuova.

They set up their show at the top end of the Piazza del Comune, not far from the Roman Temple of Minerva, which had been converted into a church, and but a few steps from their inn in Via Santa Chiara — she could not resist taking up lodgings in the street carrying her name. They drew large crowds.

She joined Alda and Veronica for mass in the new Basilica di San Francesco, built in celebration of the saint a century earlier. After the mass, she found herself praying, begging the saint to what over her father and to intervene on her behalf that he might forgive her. She could not explain why she had more confidence in the benevolence of the saint than in God. However, she still could not bring herself to go to confession. How could a priest, a mere mortal and just as much a sinner, absolve somebody’s sins? Only God had such powers.

Still in the grips of a inner sense of serenity, she recognized the scenes on the life of Saint Francis in the nave of the upper church as the work of the Florentine master Giotto. Spending hours to study and admire the precious frescos, she was moved to tears by the artist’s skill to convey emotions by a mere gesture or the glow in the eyes of his subjects.

Later, she wandered up through the narrow streets. Ahead walked a young man. His locks, their generous waves and their striking blonde, the spring in his gate, his proud body posture, all reminded her of the young sailor on the Santa Caterina. Her heart began to beat faster. Could it be him? It had been months since she last thought about him. She accelerated her steps, trying to catch up so that she could glimpse his face. She chided herself that it was silly, but could not help it. Something strange and unknown drove her along. He turned into a little alley and looked back briefly. A different face. For a moment, the depth of her disappointment dismayed her. She felt cheated and at the same time annoyed with herself. What would she have done if it had been him? She did not know.

One night at the end of their second week in Assisi, Chiara sat at a table in the corner of the taverna’s court. She had just finished making a good copy of the letter to Alda’s daughter, which Alda and Pepe had dictated to her earlier, and was adding the return address of the Siena subsidiary of a Florentine banking house. She was alone. All pilgrims lodging at the inn and the other players had already retired to their rooms. The noise of a spur on the cobble stones made her look up. Two men stood under the entrance arch.

"Are you a member of I Magnifici?" the shorter, stocky one asked in a peremptory tone, like somebody used to give orders. Chiara took an instant dislike for the man.

"Yes,
Messere
, that’s to say what’s left of I Magnifici," she replied, forcing herself to remain polite. "May I know what business you have with them?"

"My business? Ha, who do you think you are to ask me questions?"

"I am their corago, and it’s not my habit to request permission to ask questions that concern them."

"Ha, a woman corago? I was told that it was Lorenzo. Who are you?"

"
Messere
, where I come from, polite customs demands that the person entering a house gives his name first. Who are you?" She chose her words carefully and marveled at her own coolness. She was not going to be intimidated by this bully.

"Woman, no Baglione has ever bowed to a woman."

Chiara managed to suppress any outward sign that this name provoked. She put down the quill.

"So you are
Messer
Baglione. I am Chiara da Narni, and it’s not my habit to bow to somebody who’s not my equal."

She could see in quick succession a flicker of annoyance and then recognition of her name. His right hand went to the hilt of his sword. Her left shifted next to the handle of the oil lamp, while she dropped her right below the table to the knife in her belt.

"Ha, you’re the one I’ve my business with. Does the name Baglione ring a bell?" He came two steps closer.

"Yes, cutthroats and bandits."

"You’re a brazen one, but I’ll promise you will soon beg for your life."

"
Messere
, have the courtesy to tell me your business so we can be done." She was not going to give him power over her. Her unperturbed responses seemed to disconcert him. His whole stance changed subtly and the tone of voice became more polite.

"You killed my cousin and my honor calls for revenge."

"Who makes that claim?"

Did a floorboard creak above the outside staircase?
she wondered, but resisted looking up.

"Carlo, the
arlecchino
of I Magnifici. He swore that a girl named Chiara killed my cousin."

"And can you believe the word of a clown?"

"He volunteered this information without being forced —"

"— so that you wouldn’t rob him of all he had in his fat purse. Isn’t that so?"

"How do you know?"

"Because why would a Baglione have anything to do with a clown except to rob him—" He turned an angry red, the tight skin reflecting the shine of the oil lamp. "—and Carlo would sell his soul to Satan to save his purse."

He seemed to make an effort to control his temper. "Ha, his account confirmed what we heard from our cousins at the Giogo di Scarperia."