Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (20 page)

"What he said is correct. I killed a bandit who set his dogs on us and wanted to rob us."

His face revealed surprise, as if he had expected her to deny it.

"So what do you want,
Messer
Baglione?" Although she looked relaxed, her whole body was tense like a loaded spring, ready to jump up.

"A death can only be expunged by another death."

"So you want to kill an unarmed woman?"

"The honor code of revenge doesn’t exempt women, nor does it say how the duty is repaid."

"What honor is there in revenge,
Messer
Baglione, except more revenge? I killed your cousin in a fair fight, a fight he started. Your sense of honor is misguided." Seeing his indecision, she added: "I suggest you abandon your quest as any wise and just man would do and leave. It’s late."

That was her mistake. Rather than push him into leaving, her words enraged him. "Ha!" he cried, as he pulled the sword and rushed toward her, raising the blade.

Springing upright, she flung the lamp at him, spilling the oil over his face and front, a knife already in her right. He screamed, dropped the sword, his hands reaching for his scourged face. The other man now rushed forward and then tumbled to the ground, an arrow sticking from his temple. Suddenly, flames spread over her first assailant’s face and clothing. He screamed, thrashing around, lost his balance and rolled on the floor. Chiara watched in horror as the flames consumed his hair, peeled away the skin on his face, and then came the nauseating stench of burned hair and burned skin.

She could not stand it and threw her knife. It struck his throat. The screams changed into a gurgle and stopped. Only then did she look up to the top of the stairs. Jacomo was standing there, the longbow in his hand, his face filled with terror.

Pepe and Alda came rushing out, and Alda took him into her arms, murmuring: "Oh my poor boy. Don’t look, don’t look."

"Chiara, are you hurt?" shouted Pepe, running down the stairs.

She only shook her head, too much in shock herself, her gaze drawn back to the shriveled eyes peering from their bloody lidless sockets. Pepe took one of the pails of water, placed inside the arch as a precaution, and threw its content over the burning body.

He bent over and checked the second man. "Dead," he muttered.

Chiara sank back onto the bench, covering her face with her hands.

Three other guests appeared at the top of the stairs, asking questions.

"Nothing, nothing, people, just a small accident, nothing for you to worry about," exclaimed Alda, pushing them back into the corridor. "Go to bed. We’ll take care of it."

They left. It was prudent not to ask questions or get involved.

Alda called out: "Pepino, look after Chiara."

He came to her, pulled her up and took her in his arms, patting her back. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she murmured. "Oh, Pepe, I didn’t want it to end like this. I thought that if I remained strong he would back down and leave."

"Chiara, I don’t understand. Who? What did he want?"

"A cousin of the Baglione … he wanted revenge."

"But how did he know?"

"Carlo told him."

"Carlo? Who?"

"Carlo, our former clown."

"Oh, the miserable scoundrel. Why would he betray us?"

"Because he was robbed by Baglione bandits and he would do anything to save his skin."

"Yes, you’re right. He always was out for himself… Is he here?"

"I don’t know. Oh, Pepe. It’s horrible."

He held her more tightly.

The innkeeper arrived in his nightgown and nightcap.

"What happened?" He stared at the two bodies. "I’ll call the guards."

Chiara let go of Pepe and said, trying to regain a calm voice: "No, don’t. There’s no need for it. These two men came in here, I guess to rob us, and in the fight, one caught fire and the other was killed."

He took a more careful look at the two corpses with a mixture of sick curiosity and horror. "Are they both dead?"

"Yes. Tell us where we can get rid of the bodies. It’s better that we remove them quickly before their associates come looking for them."

"Yes, Signorina, you’re right, especially if they belong to the Baglione. I’d rather they weren’t found in my house. It’s best to dump them in one of the vineyards outside town."

"But the gates are closed!"

The innkeeper removed his nightcap and scratched the side of his head. "You could throw them over the city wall below the Church of Santa Maria. It’s only a few feet high there inside and not far."

While Pepe and Jacomo made two trips to carry the bodies between them through the dark night down to the wall, Chiara told Alda what happened.

"I didn’t want it to end that way," she repeated time and again.

Alda held her, stroking her back. "Chiara, it’s not your fault. You only defended yourself."

But it did not sooth her inner turmoil. She let herself be taken to her room, and Alda lay down with her. She found no sleep. Her inner eye was constantly replaying the horror of the burning face, while her mind repeated
‘I don’t want to kill anymore.’
After she finally fell into a restless slumber, she woke up screaming, and then sobbed in Alda’s arms. But in the morning she took charge again with a somber determination.

They all agreed that it would be prudent to leave Assisi right away and quickly get far away from the town. On the road, she talked with Jacomo, thanking him for his help, telling him about the burden of having killed. Although she knew that her knife would have stopped the second man, she was grateful for this proof of loyalty.

As they made their way to Perugia without stopping for performances, she became aware that his gaze constantly sought her out. When their eyes met, he often averted his eyes as if she had caught him in an illicit act. He tried to anticipate her every demand. She guessed that he had a crush on her. She did not want to hurt him, but neither did she want to encourage him. As she often did when facing a personal dilemma, she turned to the woman who had become her mother. Alda confirmed her observations, and she decided to take her advice and talk to the boy.

Rather than let him take care of the animals alone after they had taken quarters at a comfortable inn in Perugia, she stayed behind.

"Lady Chiara, you don’t have to help. I can do it alone."

"Jacomo, we need to talk. First, I already told you before that I’m Chiara for you, no lady."

"But you’re a lady. I heard you say it to the men we killed."

"I may be a lady, but not when I’m with I Magnifici. Then I’m only Chiara, the corago and a colleague and, I hope, also a friend. You can still respect me even if I’m only Chiara. Will you let me just be Chiara?"

He lowered his gaze and murmured: "Yes, Chiara." Then he looked up with pleading eyes. "I more than respect you."

"I know, Jacomo, and I want to talk about that also. I think that you feel something very special for me and I’m honored." He blushed deeply and looked down. "Jacomo, there is nothing wrong with that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. It’s a feeling that comes by itself, and we can do little about it. Jacomo, I want to be your friend. I like you. In fact, I’m very fond of you, like I would be of a younger brother, like I’m fond of Veronica too. And as long as you understand this and don’t expect more, I’m happy if you admire me and my skills, the same as I admire your skills as
arlecchino
… Please, look at me, Jacomo."

He raised his eyes to meet hers trustingly.

"Let’s shake hands on that, shall we?"

He pressed her outstretched hand. His eyes were moist and shiny.

* * * 

Chiara spotted Carlo during the tumultuous applause that followed their first performance in Perugia. He was leaning against the wall of a house, chewing a twig, as had been his habit. It was that feature which let her recognize him. As they were packing up, he ambled over. When Pepe saw him, she did not need to guess what his intentions were. She intercepted him. "No, Pepe, no fighting. I don’t want you in prison. Let me handle it."

"
Salve
Pepe. I was hoping to see you. In fact, I’ve been looking for you these last three months, and I’m glad you’re still drawing big crowds."

"Carlo, how do you dare to show your face here?" asked Chiara.

"Oho, I forgot you had a sharp tongue. I’m just saying hello."

"Maria and Lorenzo both died after you and Giovanni ran away."

"Sorry to hear that, but isn’t a man allowed to look after his health?"

"There’s a difference between that and sneaking away. Nobody would have prevented you from leaving if you had told us."

He shrugged his shoulders. "For what it’s worth, Giovanni died too, in Cagli, and I heard that Pietro and Anna were also taken by the plague."

Antonia’s prediction has come true. She died rich.

"You know, Chiara, that young lad shows promise. All he needs is a good teacher. I’d be willing to train him. I’m free right at the moment."

"I can see that, and you don’t look too good either," Alda exclaimed, having joined Chiara. "You’re a bit down, aren’t you?"

"And the Baglione didn’t leave much in your purse, I guess," added Chiara and noticed with satisfaction his scowl. "Carlo, this lad is a natural and will surpass you within a few weeks. We owe you no favors, and it should be abundantly obvious that we don’t want you. Good-bye."

She turned away.

"You the corago now? You were always too big for your shoes," he shouted after her with a sneer.

She did not respond and helped Veronica clean up. Pepe glowered at Carlo until he disappeared in a narrow alley off the square.

Next day they heard that somebody was bad-mouthing them, claiming they were cheats who had stolen their act and name from another troupe when it perished in the plague. Pepe was irate, but Chiara and Alda simply laughed. Carlo had twisted the truth only a bit.

11

Monte Pulciano, late September 1348

After a successful two weeks, we left Perugia, stopping in the many small cities along the hills of the Val di Chiana — Cortona, Castiglion, Asina-lunga, Lucignano, Torrita, Monte Follónico. We reached Monte Pulciano by the end of September. I fell in love with these little hilltop cities, centered around a big piazza where we showed off our knife juggling act and short skits, some funny, some sad, from our increasing repertory, with Alda or me in the leading role. Even Pepe got short parts, usually as the cheated husband or merchant, while I donned masks as the silly Latin-spouting dottore or notario, the sly thief, even the lover. Jacomo had no difficulties fitting in. I was more and more impressed by his natural ability for the theater, whereas Veronica, lacking confidence, needed a lot of coaxing, but her sweet smile made up for it. Her innocent face always stirred up the pity in the audience. The girl had blossomed, her figure filled in. I envied her proud bosom. Gone was the subservient peasant bearing. Her posture would have given pride to a noble maiden. She invariably attracted the admiring glances of the men who were doubly generous when she took the collection.

I was also surprised how quickly the two shed their Cagli farmers’ accent and adopted my Tuscan vernacular. Even their vocabulary seemed to expand daily. There was no doubt that both were highly intelligent and quick learners, in fact, more than that, like sponges absorbing any new knowledge hungrily, making up for the years their brains had been starved for stimulation.

Reluctantly, I also came to agree with Alda that it would be prudent to attend mass regularly. As traveling players with a fortune teller, we were always vulnerable to being denounced as profane or even accused of witchcraft, of Maleficium. Being seen in church might stop the tongues from wagging. I even went to confession, coming away feeling like a cheat rather than rejoicing in the lightness of having cleansed my soul.

Early one evening after our show, Alda, Veronica and I walked leisurely through the narrow streets of Monte Pulciano. I was surprised that even in such small towns, girls touted for business from doorways or windows. Veronica was upset when an older woman approached and told her that such a pretty face as hers could make good money in her establishment.

We lingered in the little piazza, next to the Franciscan monastery, that opened a vista over the broad expanse of rolling hills to the southwest, our gaze repeatedly drawn back to the dark silhouette of a mountain twice as high as any other — Monte Amiata as I learned later. Below us, peasants were still busy cutting fat bunches of grapes from the vines.

"I’m so happy," I exclaimed. "I’m so glad to be with you."

"So am I, Chiara," said Alda, giving me one of her big smiles. "I’ve never had it so good."

"I didn’t know life could be so good," murmured Veronica, "and I thank the Madonna every day that you took Jacomo and me in. I think we would be dead now."

I put an arm over her shoulder and hugged her. "You are one of us."

"Thank you, Chiara."

The main portal of Palazzo Benincasa to the right of the piazza opened with a big clang and a dozen soldiers in colorful uniforms formed an honor guard. We all watched as a group of nobles walked across the piazza toward the monastery, where the bells of the chapel were ringing for vespers. With a shock, I recognized the splendidly dressed woman next to the dignitary in whose honor the guard stood — Maria d’Appiano, the second wife of the Lord of Piombino, whose guest I had been on my only visit to the mainland with my father four years before.

Too late I turned away. I could see her surprise. She said a few words to the girl attendant walking behind her. When they entered the impressive oak doors of the monastery the girl stayed behind and then approached. I noticed that both Alda and Veronica had retreated a few steps.