Commedia della Morte (11 page)

“We’re bound for Provence,” said Photine, studying the map. “I thought we would go from Padova to Verona, to Milano, to Torino, and from there, cross the French frontier on one of the three roads leading to Avignon. That is much closer to Montalia, isn’t it, than going over the mountains into Switzerland, and then back south into Provence?”

“It is a short distance beyond Saint-Jacques-sur-Crete, which is east of Avignon,” da San-Germain said as he pointed to the location on the map.

“There—you see? It is closer.” Photine studied the map, her lower lip caught in her teeth as she thought. “It might also be faster still to go from Milano to Genova and along the coast, enter France at Nice, and take the road to Saint-Andre-les-Alpes. That could bring us quite near to Saint-Jacques-sur-Crete. It looks possible to me.”

Donat shrugged. “Then you’d best talk to Campo. He went to Avignon; I was sent farther north.” Donat wiped his eyes again.

“Wait a moment,” said da San-Germain, and went down the room to an old red-lacquer chest. He took out a small jar and brought it back to Donat. “Put some of this on your eyelids. The itching should stop.”

Donat took the jar, opened it, and smelled the ointment, then took a little of the substance onto his finger, closed his eyes, and smeared it on. “It feels … cool.” He handed the jar back to da San-Germain, who screwed the lid back in place.

“It should do,” said da San-Germain. “If you want more, you have only to ask.”

“You’re most … most considerate, Conte.” He turned his attention to the map. “I went through Grenoble on my way to Lyon, and the place was in turmoil. There were many travelers seeking to leave France, and trying to reach Switzerland, or Italy, for that matter, and the officials in Grenoble are charged with the task of making sure no enemies of the French Revolution are allowed to escape. In France the people may be filled with Revolutionary zeal, but there are many who are afraid of what may become of them now that the Revolutionary Courts are meting out justice as they see fit. Everyone says that all that’s needed is an envious neighbor to inform the Committees for Public Safety, and it’s as good as a death sentence.”

“Tell me, would it be safer to go through Switzerland and turn south, or enter France through Italy, and travel west? I have more remounts stabled on the northern road than the western one.” Da San-Germain indicated the long road through the Maritime Alps. “Or should I ask Campo?”

Donat shifted uncomfortably, finally saying, “Yes. Ask Campo. He’ll know better than I. All I have to offer is rumors for the south.” He clicked his tongue. “Having your own horses along the way may speed your travel—it did mine.” Then he blinked twice. “My eyes are improving. The itch is nearly gone. What did you give me, Conte?”

“The ointment is an anodyne mixture.” It was one he had learned in China, more than twelve hundred years ago; he looked over at Photine. “So, what is your preference?”

She continued to stare at the map, saying as she did, “Well, if this Montalia estate is your goal, I think going to Torino and west toward Avignon would get us where you want to be more quickly than using the Swiss roads, although they’re better, and probably safer. But there are hazards everywhere, aren’t there? Would Savoie or Piedmont make a better point of entry, do you think?” Her face brightened. “If we come down from the north, we’ll have more chances to perform, of course. There are more towns along the Rhone than in the mountains. It would mean inns and market-towns, which gives us more opportunities than camping in open fields.”

“True enough,” said da San-Germain. “And it is still my hope that we can leave tomorrow. What do you say?”

“The day after would be better. I realize now that we’ll have to carry more than I thought we would. We may even need a fourth wagon.” She beamed at him. “That’s provided for in our agreement, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he said.

“Splendid,” she declared. “A fourth wagon, with the necessary horses, driver, feed, and anything else that I can determine we may need.”

Da San-Germain nodded, saying, “But we will have to leave early on that day. You understand that, don’t you?”

She stood a little more stiffly. “I do grasp the terms of our agreement, Conte, and I know what I must do. Never doubt it, and never doubt that I will fulfill my obligations. But it would be injudicious of me not to take into account the conditions we will encounter, at least so far as we can determine them, and prepare accordingly.”

“An excellent point,” said da San-Germain. “Very well, you may have your fourth wagon and one extra day.”

“Merci bien,” said Photine with a slight curtsy.

Donat sneezed again. “Do you need me any longer, Conte, or may I—?” He gestured toward the door.

“You may go. And, if you would, ask Campo to come up.” He watched Donat leave the laboratory, then said to Photine, “Are you willing to take the road to Avignon?”

“I believe we must,” she said, still contemplating the map. “If time is pressing, we would do better to take the straighter course. I can see the advantage of going as far as Grenoble, to make ourselves known as entertainers and lessen any reservations about the company, but it would mean we wouldn’t reach Provence until the autumn was upon us. For the sake of our mission, we should keep to the south. Unless,” she went on in a more speculative manner, “what we learn from Campo informs us that that would be too dangerous.”

“On that we are in accord,” he said, moving to the other side of the table. How many times he had crossed from Italy to France, and France to Italy! How many different names had been used on borders that rarely remained the same for more than half a century! With a little shake of his head, he banished his memories, intent on choosing the most expedient road for them to travel, he put his attention on the map. “How are your preparations coming?”

She stepped back from the table. “Giorgio has been most helpful in our planning. He has provided us with cheese and sausage and pickles enough to feed us for a month, I think, and has given me a list of items to purchase as we travel.”

“How practical of him. For you may yet tire of cheese and sausage and pickles, you know, and want a chicken or lamb,” said da San-Germain, doing his best to decide what she expected him to say about their plans.

“Oh, we certainly will. And when that happens, you will purchase meals for us, or a goose or two for our cooking pots.” She offered him a kind of smirk. “Do you intend for most of us to sleep in or under the wagons?”

“That will depend upon the weather. There are four drop-beds in three wagons, and we can bolt another two or three into the fourth wagon.” He paused. “I can provide tents for up to eight, if that’s necessary. In hot weather, the tents are more comfortable than the enclosed wagons are.”

“That’s so.” She might have said more, but Salvatore Campo knocked on the door.

“Enter,” da San-Germain called out.

Salvatore Campo came in promptly; he was brown-haired and blocky of build, with a large nose, big hands, and heavy brows that would one day be shaggy; he moved with a steadiness of purpose that gave him the same demeanor as many military men possessed. He nodded to da San-Germain, saying, “You wanted to see me, Conte?”

“I do. Madame d’Auville and I are trying to decide which way her commedia troupe should go into France; there are a great many options, and we must choose one by tomorrow. We will leave the day after.” Da San-Germain saw Campo nod, and Photine offer a grateful smile. “We want as little fuss as possible, so we would like to know what you encountered on your trip to Avignon, what problems you observed, and what caught your attention.” He put his hand on the map. “Anything you tell us will be most useful.”

“Well,” Campo said as he came over to the table to examine the map. “The coast road is dangerous—robbers and pirates and smugglers and who-knows-what in every bay and inlet. I spoke to three merchants who had been robbed on that road in the last two months. If you go that way, go well-armed.”

“We’re going here,” said da San-Germain, putting his finger near the spot that marked Saint-Jacques-sur-Crete.

“Then, were it me who was making the trip, I’d go from Milano to Cuneo and take the road west from there, the one that goes through Barcelonnette. There’s been some trouble in the region—peasant uprisings, for the most part—but that area of the mountains is so remote that there shouldn’t be much to contend with, except the occasional robber, and you ought to be able to deal with such fellows. The people in the region are weary of fighting and might be glad of seeing a commedia troupe.” He stood in thoughtful silence. “Two nights ago—I mentioned that the killing is increasing in Marseilles, didn’t I? I’d stay away from there.”

“You did, in your preliminary report,” said da San-Germain.

“Thought so; I wasn’t tired enough to forget that,” Campo said. “The border will be the most risky place in your tour. The men at those posts have strict orders to stop all those who might be against the Revolution.” He addressed Photine. “You will want something very captivating and new to perform, or they’ll be likely to forbid you permission to enter France. It can be outrageous, maybe shocking, so long as it’s new. Anything old-fashioned, no matter how trivial, or how grand, for that matter, is considered dangerous, or reactionary.”

“My players aren’t trivial,” Photine announced.

“I didn’t say they were.” Campo pulled at his short beard. “But to many of the Revolutionary Guards, a clown could be seen as a subversive if he was too classical in his style: the same thing for actors playing courtly dramas.” He coughed delicately. “I saw a juggler—an African—chased from the border-crossing by dogs. They said he was a spy because it was said that he’d performed for the Duc d’Orleans.”

Da San-Germain was not surprised to hear this, but Photine was appalled. “How do you mean, chased by dogs?”

“You know: guard dogs, big ones. The Revolutionary Guards let them savage the juggler before calling them to order. The juggler lost a hand and an eye, they say.” Campo shook his head. “Have something new to show the guards at the border or be prepared to be turned back. They will probably require you to perform without charge—you should expect many such demands. The Revolutionary Guards are not the only ones who expect favors from travelers.”

“Would it be wiser to choose a smaller town for crossing than a big one?” da San-Germain inquired as if the answer were not especially significant.

“It depends,” Campo answered after taking several seconds to frame his answer. “There are fewer guards at small crossings than larger ones, but they can be more peremptory than guards at more active stations.”

“So tell me,” Photine began archly, “if you were going to Saint-Jacques-sur-Crete, which way would you choose?”

“I would probably take one of the roads that goes from Cuneo to Avignon, and hope that the guards at the border are reasonable men. Or that you can bribe them handsomely. You will need to have money for that, or favors of other sorts.” His grin was mirthless, his smoke-colored eyes cynical.

“Do you think that we would be able to get there in good time? Some of the mountain roads are in poor repair,” da San-Germain observed.

“So they are,” said Campo. “The same can be said for the main roads in these days.” He rubbed the back of his neck as if easing strain. “Getting out might be more difficult than getting in. You’ll want to use a different route out than the one you came in by.”

“Why is that?” da San-Germain asked.

“The guards will be suspicious of a troupe of actors keeping to only one road coming and going, and that could mean being detained and questioned.” He shook his head twice. “Find a different road out.”

“Very well,” said da San-Germain, and added to Photine, “You may get to perform in more places than you thought you would.”

She curtsied, her face revealing only that she had heard. “Which way would you leave, Signore Campo?”

“I would depart by going to Digne, then following the Durance north until it reaches the Torino Road. There is a small garrison at Briançon, where you should have no trouble leaving the country. From there, it is simply a matter of following the road to Torino.” He paused a moment. “You should be able to cover eight leagues a day, if all goes well, and the weather is with you. Otherwise, you will need to find a place to wait out storms and landslides.”

“But Briançon is in the heart of the mountains,” Photine exclaimed.

“My point, Madame,” said Campo. “Most of those trying to escape France want to avoid the mountains, making instead for easy crossings and safe harbors, which is where the spies gather to find them, and where the Revolutionary Courts are most arbitrary.” He put his hand on the map. “The mountain towns are isolated, and will be glad of your troupe coming to play for them; you should not encounter too many questions.”

“Should not?” she echoed.

“There is always the chance that the mood of the people will change once more, and then, well, who can say?”

“Who, indeed,” da San-Germain said quietly. He stared down at the map. “I can see the wisdom of your advice, Campo. I thank you for what you’ve said.”

“And I thank you, as well,” said Photine.

Campo ducked his head. “Pleased to be of service,” he said automatically. “You’ve paid me very well.”

This candid admission made Photine smile. “Truly,” she said.

“If you will remain here in Padova until tomorrow, I’ll increase your payment: we may need to consult you again,” da San-Germain said to Campo. “For now, Donat may return to Venezia, if he wishes. Unless you’d rather travel together?”

“I’ll stay until tomorrow,” said Campo. “So will Donat, I’d guess.”

“As you like. For now, leave us to determine our actions.” Da San-Germain indicated the door. “Take your riposino; and when you waken this evening there will be a feast for you and the players.”

“Grazie,” said Campo, turning and leaving the room without any further comment.

The laboratory was silent for a few minutes while Photine studied the map, her brows drawn down in concentration. At last she raised her head and looked at da San-Germain. “Very well; we can agree on a plan, and an alternative.” She touched the map. “It seems to me that going north would only serve to slow us down in reaching Montalia, so traveling to Cuneo and learning which road west is the one that is likely to be the least trouble is probably going to bring us to the place more quickly.” She smiled in anticipation. “Would you agree?”