The Road to Damietta (12 page)

Not forever, I said to myself.

Raul turned to the bench where a candelabrum stood and selected the largest of the candles. "Destroy the letter," he said, "lest it add fuel to this awful fire."

I shook my head and, thinking that he would burn the letter himself, hid it away.

I waited for Palm Sunday to give Francis the letter,
knowing that on that day he would be at San Rufino. I carefully rewrote it. The Gothic script I changed to Carolingian, it being more feminine and easier to read. The capitals I re-painted in blue and gold, and instead of mere decorations I showed Christ entering the city of Jerusalem in a bower of olive branches.

I counted the hours, the days, the long nights, until that holy celebration. They moved maddeningly slowly. I could have gone looking for Francis in the countryside, but Palm Sunday seemed the best time to see him again, less bold than if I went to search him out.

There was conflict in Assisi, as usual, between the rich and the poor, merchants and nobles. Rumors spread that there would be strife on the holy Sunday. Our enemies in Perugia even threatened to disrupt the day. I lived in fear that warfare would break out and close the cathedral.

My fears proved groundless, but something I had not foreseen did upset me greatly.

The day dawned peaceful and clear. By midmorning the streets were crowded with worshipers, bright in velvet mantles and silver corselets, on foot and on horseback, on their way to the cathedral of San Rufino, the poor and the noble. Hidden beneath my mantle I carried the letter to Francis Bernardone.

The portals were decked with olive branches, pine boughs, and sheaves of early flowers, so thick that it was difficult to pass through them.

Nicola said, "It's like walking through a forest."

And so it was, but inside the cathedral clouds of incense obscured the nave and the kneeling worshipers. Far off through the clouds there was a glimmer of candles. Bishop Pelagius was praying in his golden voice: "Oh God, who by an olive branch commanded the dove to proclaim peace to the world, sanctify, we beseech Thee, by Thy heavenly benediction, these olive branches, that they may be serviceable to all Thy people unto salvation."

I stood on tiptoe while the bishop prayed, craning my neck to find some sign of Francis amidst the restless crowd. I searched until my eyes stung, but to no avail.

Echoes of the bishop's elegant voice were dying away when Clare appeared out of the clouds of incense and clasped me in her arms. She was all in white. She wore a diadem in her coiled hair and gleaming pearls at her throat.

"You look like a bride-to-be," I said. "But where is the shining knight who will take your hand in his?"

She raised a jeweled finger and pointed toward the window at the far end of the cathedral, where a patch of blue sky showed. "There," she said. "There! Don't you see?"

Clare's mother and her three sisters, a gathering of aunts, uncles, and cousins, and the seven knights of the family, resplendent in their shining breastplates, stood nearby.

"But when do you wed?" I asked, thinking she was making a joke.

"Soon," she said.

"Will I be your closest friend and stand beside you, my arms full of pretty flowers, and support you if your legs grow weak? And how, please tell me, does he look? Is he tall? Is he knightly? Is he—"

Clare frowned and interrupted me, saying a word that I lost in the triumphal chorus of "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts" that went roaring through the church. Her frown passed quickly, but it proved to be the foreshadowing of events to come, events that between dusk and dawn were to shake Assisi.

The first sign came when everyone, including myself and Nicola and all the Scifis and their cousins the Favarones, went to the altar and received the blessed branches from the hands of the bishop. Clare stayed behind. When I returned she was still standing at the portal, but now her eyes were downcast and a trance had come upon her.

A strange thing then took place. Quiet fell upon the kneeling crowd as Bishop Pelagius walked down the altar steps, carrying a sacred olive branch. The crowd started. What was this powerful, arrogant, short-tempered bishop about to do? He might do anything. The hush deepened. All eyes were upon him as he stopped in front of Clare and handed her the sacred branch.

I was startled. What did the gift of the sacred symbol mean? Surely it marked the sealing of a pact. But what pact could it be? There was no sign from Clare as she accepted the gift. Curtsying to the bishop, she waited calmly until he had turned and started down the aisle. Then she grasped my arm.

"Come," she whispered and dragged me through the portal and down the long flight of steps, Nicola running along behind us.

"Let's go before the family comes," she said. Her face was drained of color.

"Go where?"

"Anywhere."

"Why, for heaven's sake?"

The first of a long procession began to file down the steps and into the square.

"I must hide," Clare said. "Now, somewhere."

"Hide from what?" I asked, annoyed with her.

She didn't answer. In the procession filing out of the church I caught a glimpse of her mother and her two sisters and behind them the seven knights of the family, towering over all in their feathered caps and shining armor.

I shook her by the arms, not gently. "You're acting like a child. Whatever is wrong? What are you hiding from?"

She seemed puzzled that I didn't know. "From my family, of course," she said. "They've been suspicious for weeks that something is about to happen. The bishop's gift only increases their suspicions. If I go home now, they'll gather round and question me. There'll be a terrible fight. The fight will end with the doors closed and bolted and me a prisoner. There's nothing I can do except hide until the vows are taken."

"What vows?" I stammered. My head reeled at the sound of the word, although from the day we had stood together beside the palace steps and watched Francis renounce his father, from that day to this moment, I should have known. I raised my voice. "Vows, what vows?"

"The vows of the Friars Minor."

"You're taking vows? Where?"

"At Porziuncola. In the chapel."

"When?"

"The day after tomorrow, at vespers."

The bells of San Rufino, high against the heavens, began to toll the hour. The procession had broken up and the crowd milled around us.

"Hide me," Clare said. "Please, until the morning comes."

Clare, the beautiful Clare di Scifi, was taking the vows, thinking to run errands for Francis Bernardone, to collect stones for
him and beg for bread, to be close to him, to breathe the same air he breathed. What a little hypocrite!

The gaze of Manaldo Scifi, the tallest of the seven knights, was moving back and forth over the silent crowd. I was tempted to shout, "Lord Manaldo, your sister Clare is here. Look, she is here!"

"If you hide in our home," I said to her, "and they come for you, what does my father say? Does he lie? The Scifis are vengeful men. You do not lie to them or to their cousins, the Favarones, who are with them."

Clare made a sound. It was like the noise a stricken animal makes when caught in a trap. Turning away from me, she fled through the square. She was fleeing toward the poorest part of the city, where she could find someone willing to hide her. I ran wildly through the crowd. When I caught her, there were tears in her eyes.

"Hurry!" I said, taking her hand.

A crossbowman was on guard at the Door of the Dead, astride his bench. He opened the door, and the three of us, Nicola and Clare and I, slipped in and took the steep stairs to my tower.

The letter I had written to Francis was still hidden in my cloak. Tomorrow he would be at Porziuncola, waiting for Clare. I would deliver it, place it in his hand with a curtsy and a discreet smile.

Meanwhile, as Clare watched San Rufino Square from the balcony, I wrote another missive, a short one, to Ortolana di Scifi, informing her that her daughter was on the way to Porziuncola, there to take the Franciscan vows. I signed it "Pacifica Primavera, a friend," and gave it to a servant to deliver the next day as the San Rufino bells rang out for tierce.

Barely an hour after I had given these instructions, Nicola reported that horsemen were on the street. I hurried to the balcony. The big, tuneful bells of San Rufino rang, followed by the booming bells of Santa Maria Maggiore. Watchmen's lanterns showed in the square. People were scurrying home, for the law prohibited loitering in the streets after dark, even on Palm Sunday.

The horsemen stopped at our gate and I heard them arguing with the guards.

"I'll send them away," Nicola said. She ran to the balcony and shouted down to them, "Varlets, be off!"

Shouts came back, a torrent of them. As I left the room and hastened down the stairs, I heard the rasping voice of Manaldo. I opened the door in his face. Taken aback, he bowed and muttered an apology.

He loomed in the doorway, a tall man, his corselets worn tight to reveal bands of bulging muscle. He moved his mouth in an unfriendly smile to let me know that he knew that I would answer him with a lie.

I hesitated, sorely tempted to tell him that Clare was hiding in the tower and thus bring the escapade to an end. But I clung to the belief that by hiding her, by taking her to Porziuncola myself, by giving her over into the hands of Francis Bernardone, I would gain immense favor in Francis's eyes.

"May I ask," Manaldo said, "have you seen my sister since you were together in Piazza San Rufino?"

I said, meeting his gaze, "No, I have not."

He showed no sign of believing me. He tarried on the doorstep, fingering the hilt of his sword, hoping no doubt that my father would appear. I thanked him for his brotherly concern, saying that I was sorry that my father was not at home, which was the truth, bade him a polite good evening, closed the door, and at once sent Nicola to the stables to order three horses to be saddled and ready at dawn. For whom she was not to say.

The night went slowly. Clare slept fitfully; when awake,
she whispered words that no one could understand. I lay fitful also, overwrought by fears of the portentous day to come. It dawned to the sound of rain and a clamorous south wind.

Horses were waiting, saddled and beribboned, but the stable-master was reluctant to send us off. "Where do you go?" he asked, scanning the wind-driven rain.

"To a wedding below Porta della Buona Madre," I said. Buona Madre was in the opposite direction from Porziuncola. "If the Scifi family comes looking, tell them this. And to my family, should they ask, which is not likely since they seldom rise before noon."

"There's a river to cross," he said. "You had best wait until the storm passes."

Clare answered him by climbing into the saddle. Nicola and I did likewise.

"When do you return?" he asked.

"Before noon," I said.

"It's best that you wait until then. Better yet, signorina, wait until tomorrow."

I told him that the wedding wouldn't wait and thanked him for his advice. We rode quickly out of the courtyard, quicker yet as we passed the Scifi castle. Not until we reached the Roman wall did we settle down to an even gait.

Clare, riding in the lead, head bared to the rain, happy as a bride on the way to her wedding, only stopped talking long enough to fling glances over her shoulder to make sure that we were not being followed. We had hours before my note to her mother would be delivered, before her seven brothers—armed, with black pennons flying and trumpets sounding—would take to the road.

By midmorning we were within sight of Porziuncola and heard the hour being tinkled out by its small, cracked bell, which would have fitted a cow much better than it did a belfry. Unfortunately, between us and the church was the river, running swiftly between its high banks.

I was faced with a crucial choice. The one way we could cross the river was to ride on for a league and a half to the bridge. Then, having crossed the river, we would have to ride the long distance back, which meant that unless I left Clare to make the rest of the journey alone, I would never reach home before noon.
But if I turned back, the favor I hoped to gain with Francis by bringing Clare to him would be lost. I decided to go on to the bridge, though now the wind and rain had increased, and I would be late getting home.

Night was falling as we saw the lights of Porziuncola, and a procession of men—a dozen or more, carrying torches—came out of the dark to meet us. We got off our horses and together went down a long aisle through the pines.

The portals of the church were decked with pine boughs. As soon as I had tied my horse I ran inside, not waiting for the others. Candles burned on the altar and Francis stood in their glow. I had made up a flowery speech as we rode along to give when I arrived. Suddenly it flew from my mind.

"Clare's outside," I said.

"Bring her in where it's warm," Francis said.

"She's nearly drowned. She's fixing her hair. We have been riding since dawn in a bad storm. 1 am nearly drowned also."

My face, dripping rain, bespoke the ordeal. Francis took a cloth from his robe and gave it to me. I wiped my face but didn't give it back. He thanked me, seemingly impressed by what I had done, by how devoted I was to Clare.

"We had word this morning that Clare's family isn't pleased about her taking the vow. They're out searching for her, we heard," Francis said.

"Yes, her brother Manaldo came to our door last night and
asked if I had seen her. I told him that I hadn't, though she was hiding in the tower, not a hundred steps away."

"Was he distressed?"

"Angry, not distressed."

"If they're angry and searching for her, they'll certainly come here. We had planned the ceremony for tomorrow, but perhaps it would be wise to hear the vows tonight."

"They'll come," I said, "but only after they have turned Assisi upside down and begun to comb the countryside."

Hours ago Clares mother had received my note informing the family where Clare could be found. By now the brothers would be on the road to Porziuncola and, since they rode fast horses, nearing the bridge. They might be nearer yet. Reckless as they were, they might ford the flooded river, in which case they would be less than an hour away.