Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (32 page)

There was no question that they would do shows in Prato and they departed for Florence the next day.

* * * 

"Welcome to our most illustrious city, I Magnifici," the innkeeper at the Angelo Benito greeted them. "Travelers from Siena and Monte Pulciano have already sung your praise. I will let it be known that you are honoring my establishment."

Chiara was again struck by the effect of the plague. Many houses stood empty, shops shuttered. Some quarters were more affected than others. Although there was much activity going on — the water wheels along the banks of the Arno that provided the energy for the spinning wheels and powered the fans to dry the cloth in the dyeing shops were turning day and night — but the streets and squares looked deserted. There were no throngs of people as there had been a year and a half earlier on her first visit to the city. Only the number of girls offering their bodies seemed to be the same.

One of the first things she did was to write a letter to Lady Maria d’Appiano, as she had promised.

In view of their success in Siena, Chiara decided that they would give a single public show of the knife-throwing act and two comic skits. After that they would only play by private invitation. It took a mere four days before they received their first from Casa Buondelmonti, requesting the play
Phormio
a week later. Chiara hesitated to accept, since she was not sure whether Alda was up to it. To her surprise, the woman insisted that throwing herself back into work would be the best remedy for her grief.

So she went to visit the inns and meeting places frequented by itinerant players in search of an actor to fill the leading male role. She interviewed half a dozen, but there was always something wrong — arrogance, a lack of maturity, a voice that did not carry without shouting, unpleasant facial features, too small, a vague sense that she could not trust the man. She was getting worried and wished she could simply summon
Ser
Mario, only appreciating now how lucky she had been to find him.

Four days before their first private show, she returned to the inn late after another frustrating search. The others were already eating. A man in his early forties was with them. She took the seat at the end of the table, next to him.

"Chiara, this is Orlando," said Pepe. "We once belonged to the same troupe. How many years ago was that?"

"More than ten," remarked Alda before turning to Chiara: "Any luck?"

Chiara shook her head.

Orlando acknowledged her with a brief smile, murmuring "Signorina" and then continued talking to Pepe. She listened, studying him, fascinated by how both his face and his graceful hands gave expression to what he said. He modulated his voice for emphasis. His diction was clear and refined. He could not be said beautiful, but rather distinguished.

She interrupted him in the middle of a sentence. "Do you want a job?"

"And who are you that you can offer me a job?" he replied, startled.

"Chiara, the corago of I Magnifici, and we need an actor with your skills."

"How do you know my abilities? You’ve never seen me act."

"I watched you just now and that was all I needed."

He turned to Pepe. "Your corago a woman? I bet she isn’t even twenty, Pepe, and you told me that you were successful." His voice went quickly through three different emotions, disbelieving, disparaging, mocking.

"Orlando, you better watch your mouth," exclaimed Alda. "Chiara is a dangerous woman, and yes, she isn’t yet twenty and it’s because of her that we’re so successful."

Orlando’s outburst, rather than offend her, reinforced her favorable impression.

"You haven’t given me an answer. I offered you a job," she repeated with a smile. "The leading actor in a serious play, translated from Latin, not simply short skits. And no masks."

"Alda, is she real?"

"Yes, I’m real," Chiara answered instead. "We do mostly private functions, usually no more than two a week. In fact, in Florence, we will only give one public performance, but we wouldn’t need you for that. So, will you give me an answer?"

"What do you offer?"

"The normal share of the purse. One month trial period."

"He won’t need that, Chiara," said Pepe.

"Oh, I doubt he’ll need that for his acting, but he may need it to have his wings clipped a bit."

"Oho!"

"Orlando, don’t be a fool," cried Alda. "Accept."

Chiara locked eyes with him. "I like you, Orlando."

He met her gaze for a while, and then looked away.

"Yes or no."

He turned his eyes back on her. "Yes."

"Good."

She held out her hand, and he shook it.

"I suggest that you move in with us tonight. Jacomo, are you willing to share your room with Orlando?"

"Yes, Chiara. I would like that."

"Can you read?"

Orlando nodded.

"I’ll give you a copy of
Phormio
. Our first performance is at Casa Buondelmonti."

"Casa Buondelmonti?" He turned to Pepe. "Is she pulling my leg?"

"No, she isn’t," replied Alda. "Pepe told you that we are successful."

"We’ll have our first rehearsal tomorrow morning," continued Chiara, "and we stick absolutely to the lines, word for word, no improvisations. You’ve four days to memorize the play."

Later that night, when she and Veronica retired to the room they shared, the girl said: "Orlando seems to be a nice man. Are you pleased that he joined us?"

"Yes. He’s a bit too cocky, but we will fix that, and I think he’s a very expressive actor. Watch him. We all can learn from him."

* * * 

Chiara was right. Orlando was an outstanding actor, better than any she had seen, except for Maria. She had to remind him twice that she did not want any improvisations. There was little need for active directing. He fitted naturally into the play, as they had given for Casa Salimbeni.

Alda, having tasted playing house in Siena, urged that they again rent a house. They found a small furnished one, this one with a small enclosed garden, not far from their lodgings, and moved in. As had become the rule since Antonia left them, Chiara and Veronica shared a bedroom. Veronica had a real need for talking before going to sleep, eager to learn anything Chiara could offer, and she enjoyed introducing her to literature, or telling her about the history of the Italian peninsula. The girl had become the younger sister she never had. Often Jacomo joined them before turning in, as eager as his sister to learn.

Back at their house after the play at Casa Buondelmonti, while Alda fetched wine and served each a cup, Jacomo as usual counted the purse — thirty florins. Chiara gave each his or her share. She noticed that Orlando took his three gold pieces repeatedly from his pocket, as if to make sure that they were real.
He must have gone through hard times
, she mused.

She raised her cup. "Let’s drink on a rich stay in Florence."

Orlando too raised his cup. "Let’s drink on our corago." And then he added: "I owe you an apology, Chiara, for what I said when we first met."

"No apology needed, Orlando. I’m glad that you are one of us."

"May I ask whether today’s purse was exceptionally large?"

"Oh no," laughed Alda. "In fact, it was rather on the small side."

His expression clearly showed that he did not believe her.

"True, Orlando, in Siena, and even Monte Pulciano, we got thirty florins several times."

* * * 

Within a few days, they had half a dozen invitations. Chiara was keen to try out Sophocles’
Electra
, the Greek tragedy she had translated from the Latin. They began rehearsals. She quickly discovered that its staging presented a number of challenges. While the ancient Greeks used no more that three actors, who changed masks to impersonate different characters, she did not want to use masks. Similarly, she had no choice but to replace the Greek chorus that consisted of a dozen or more voices by at most three, the three players not used in a given scene. The chorus was the only time the players wore masks.

Chiara enjoyed working with Orlando on how to stage it. His long acting experience proved useful. She was also bemused by the change in his behavior toward her. Gone was the flippant and sometimes condescending tone. It felt like being treated with kid gloves.

They performed the play for the first time for Casa Medici, which had also been the first to see
Phormio
. In contrast to that comedy, the Greek tragedy was demanding on the audience, and it was received with mixed success. True lovers of the theater praised it, while those wanting to see lighthearted comedy found it hard going. However, new invitations came, some with the specific request for
Electra
. They were even asked to repeat the play alone without the knife throwing act.

With all this activity, Chiara made only slow progress on her real reason for being in Florence. She did though one thing that she felt was important. She took Alda and Pepe to Casa Albizzi, the merchant banking house where they had their savings and had a will drawn up by their notary that made the two her heirs, much to Alda’s anguish.

While the notary drew up the will, she asked about whether they had an agent in Naples, which she guessed they had, and learned that their escorted courier went south at the beginning of each month, stopping in Arezzo, Perugia, Assisi, Terni, Viterbo, Rome, and Gaeta on the way, and usually stayed no more than two days or so in Naples before the return trip. Assuming other merchant banking houses had similar set-ups, this meant that if she timed things right, she would have at most three months before any testimonials she presented could be discovered as forgeries — one month between courier trips, and a bit less than two months for an answer, since any request to verify a testimonial would take more than just the two days the courier stopped over in Naples.

However, what really held back progress was that she did not know the city and its places where she would find mountebanks, crooks, and forgers, or people who knew about such things. So she again took up wandering through the streets disguised as a priest. It had become almost second nature. She automatically adjusted her voice and made her steps bigger and heavier when she wore those robes. Starting from their house in Borgo Frediano on the left bank of the Arno, she walked through Borgo San Jacobo just south of the Ponte Vecchio, into the older quarters behind Palazzo Vecchio, and along the right bank of the river, watching, observing, striking up conversations with the locals, learning. In Borgo Santissimi Apostoli, a quarter of narrow streets and old houses, a shady tavern in Via Bonbarde caught her curiosity. The first time she passed by it, two rough-looking men looked up and down the alley, as if checking who saw them, before entering the narrow doorway. An old woman sitting in the entrance of a nearby house told her that it was no place for a young priest.

That evening, she asked Pepe to accompany her. Both were armed.

"What do you want there?" he asked. "Are you really planning revenge on Sanguanero, as Alda fears?"

What could she say? She was not willing to lie to Pepe. "Yes, I want my inheritance back."

"In your shoes I would probably too, but Alda is afraid for you. Are you sure it’s a goo idea? We have it good."

"Pepe, I can’t help it. I’m not afraid for myself, but only that I might involve you, although I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe."

"Hmm, that might be difficult."

The sour smell of spilled wine hit her nose. It took her a moment before she could make out things in the dim light of two small oil lamps. The dozen or so men and three women, one of them sitting on a man’s lap and being groped by him, stopped talking. Squinting eyes met them. A big man in an apron got up from the nearest of the two trestle tables.

"Accommodate yourself." He pointed to the seat he had vacated. "Wine?"

"Yes, your best," replied Chiara. The four fellows at the table looked her over from top to toe. It felt like being slowly undressed.

"First time here?" one of them asked.

"Yes," said Pepe. "We just arrived in town."

"Looking for something?"

"Always looking," answered Chiara winking. "What do you offer?"

"That depends on how much you can pay."

The innkeeper brought a jug of wine and poured two cups.

"Fill up theirs too," said Chiara.

The fellows quickly drained their cups before holding them up to the innkeeper. She guessed that they were not drinking his best. She took a sip and almost spit it out again. Pepe’s face was comical.

"A knife for a guild’s man costs you ten florins."

"We are good at that too." She noticed Pepe’s surprised look. "I need a seal copied."

"Forgery? Not my line. "

"Know somebody who knows?"

"I might." He looked at her speculatively, as if assessing her worth.

"A
grosso
?" She put a five-
solidi
silver piece on the table.

He left it there and scratched his beard.

"Another one when I get the name and where he lives."

He put his hand on the coin, saying: "Done. Come back tomorrow evening. If I’m not here, ask for Felipe."

"Ah,
Ser
Felipe, and what does a stranger need to know in this city?" she asked.

They were told the best ploys to avoid the guards after curfew, which quarters of town were more heavily patrolled, and the current rates for bribes. Chiara paid for a second jug of wine before they left.

They were back at the inn next day. As she approached the table where their contact sat, he nodded. For an instant, she thought he greeted her, but when she saw two fellows get up, she immediately was on the alert.

"Watch out," she whispered to Pepe and then asked aloud: "
Salve
,
Ser
Felipe, got me a name?"

"Yes, Signora, in Borgo dei Greci." He held out his hand. "The other
grosso
you promised."

She put her hand into her pocket to retrieve her purse. From the corner of her vision she saw the two fellows edge closer to Pepe. So, instead of the purse, she pulled out a knife. Before Felipe knew what happened, its tip was pressing into the soft flesh under his chin.