Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (52 page)

"I would like to stay here with Jacomo."

"It would be better if you were rested tomorrow when we need you."

"I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Please, Chiara, let me stay."

Chiara guessed that she was right and might as well stay if it gave her comfort. "All right, get all our other blankets down and the cushions and spread them out next to Jacomo. You might be able to sleep a bit anyway."

She wetted a towel and put it on Jacomo’s forehead. He opened his eyes. There was fear in them. She stroked his cheek. "Jacomo, you will get well; you must want to get well, do it for me, will you?" He nodded. "I’ll be right beside you all night. If you need something, tell me. And now, try to sleep. I’ll have another cup of willow bark ready, when you wake."

Veronica brought the blankets and lay down next to her brother, watching him.

Chiara again took his left hand. He opened his eyes, looking at her. She smiled at him. Almost imperceptibly, his eyelid began to droop, the slits of his eyes becoming smaller and his breathing regular — the willow bark having its effect. Then she let go of his hand. She looked at his sleeping face, relaxed now, except for the occasional frown, she guessed, caused by pain. It was a rugged face for one so young, with its own beauty, a high forehead, thick straight eyebrows, full lips and a strong chin, covered by blonde fuzz that he had tried to shave rather unsuccessfully. How dear this young man had become to her. Somehow her love for him was different from how she had loved Roberto, her brother. She could not even remember not having loved him. He had been there and so had her love. Jacomo, she had consciously chosen to become her brother. Her love had grown by appreciating him as a person and had been nurtured by his loyalty, by his trust in her, by his daily actions. She was going to do all she could to make him well again.

She replaced the towel on his forehead.

Sitting there alone in the quiet of the house, Jacomo’s breathing and the occasional crackle of the fire the only sounds — there was not even the rushing of the wind — the horror of the encounter with the Baglione party suddenly sank in fully. She had killed again, ruthlessly and without the slightest hesitation. At the time, her survival, Jacomo’s survival had been the only driving force. How many people had died by her hand? She did not even want to count. She was overcome by grief, tears flooding her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She did not even try to wipe them, nor did Veronica hers.

20

Chianciano, early December 1349

Quick thinking and decisive action, or was it another instance of my now almost proverbial good luck, saved us. Three Baglione retainers were dead and a youth of eighteen, Master Luigi, the son of Lord Baglione of Perugia became my prisoner. But the cost had been too high. Jacomo got seriously injured, and I feared that he might succumb to his wound.

That night, as I sat at his bedside, watching over him, ready to do whatever I could to ease his pain, hoping he could sleep, I fell into deep despair. I blamed myself for being the cause of his injury. "Why is life full of violence?" I asked.

"But violence came to you, you did not seek it," I tried to justify myself.

"But you chose to kill. And what about the notary, Messer Faranese? Did you not seek him out?" an inner voice reminded me.

"I did not seek him out to kill him. He died of a heart attack, as many old people do," I tried to placate my conscience.

If the incidents with the robbers near Lucca and those with the two Baglione bandits had come to me by chance — I was at the wrong place at the wrong time I told myself — the Sanguanero vendetta was different. It was aimed specifically at me, searching for me. What I had done to the old Sanguanero on the Santa Caterina had been to save my life, and forcing Casa Sanguanero into bankruptcy had been to punish them for stealing my inheritance. It was to restore justice, I tried to convince myself, although I had to admit that revenge had been part of it. But what was happening now, was revenge for the sake of revenge, regardless of the rights and wrongs. But that is the law of the vendetta. It does not care about how it gets started. It does not care about right or wrong. It feeds on itself. Each new act has to be paid back in kind.

"What if I refused to play that part?" I argued. But how could I refuse? Simply defending myself was enough to engage another round. Still, I continued to ponder on that. What would happen if I confronted Lord Baglione in person, showing him that I had only killed in self-defense, unaware of who my opponents were, pleading with him to stop the killing? Taking Master Luigi with me as proof of my goodwill, would that not be a strong gesture that could not be easily refused? That possibility excited me. I felt that for once I was doing the right thing, and even now years later I am glad I did and proud of it. But I was also enough of a realist not to enter the lion’s den unprotected. What I needed was someone of high status who would accompany me, somebody who was beyond reproach, somebody who Lord Baglione would not dare to defy by taking his revenge on me while I was under their protection. Lady Maria, she was the right person for that. I had to enlist her to my quest.

There was one pleasing outcome of my deadly encounter with Lord Baglione’s retainers and his son. During his short stay with us, Luigi, Jacomo, and Veronica developed a close friendship.

* * * 

Veronica finally fell into a restless slumber too, while Chiara kept watch over Jacomo, exchanging the towel with a cold one from time to time, putting new wood into the fire to keep the room warm. His forehead felt hot to the touch. It did not soothe her anguish.
He must not die!
she pleaded silently. She would never be able to forgive herself if he did. It was her fault. She had taken her revenge without fully considering the consequences for the other players. For the first time in more than two years she wished she still believed in the power of prayers. But she had made one resolution in the hope of stopping this senseless killing. She would write to Lady Maria and beg for her intervention.

A couple of hours must have passed when Jacomo began to stir. She quickly boiled water and prepared another honeyed chamomile tea with a large dose of willow bark. When she returned, he was throwing his head from side to side. She did not want him to move his shoulder violently and gently held his head between her palms.

"Jacomo, wake up," she whispered.

He moaned and opened his eyes. They were burning coals. He was disoriented, and it took him a moment before he remembered what had happened.

"Come, drink more of this tea. It will soothe the pain."

She lifted him into a sitting position and held the cup to his lips, letting him sip it in small swallows. Then she lowered him again. She renewed the poultice. Thank God there was yet no reddening at the edges of the wound. But why did he then have a high fever? Had he picked up pneumonia? A tear ran down her cheek, as she replaced the cool towel. It dropped on his face. She wiped it and tried to answer his questioning look with a smile.

"Because I want you to live. Jacomo, I want you to live," she whispered, not fighting her tears anymore. She covered him up again and took his left hand. He pressed it lightly, not letting his eyes stray from hers.

"Is the pain still bad?"

He nodded. After a while the drink seemed to have its effect and his eyes closed slowly. When she was sure that he was asleep again, she went upstairs with another cup of the tea to check on Luigi. He woke, when the light of the candle touched his face, and tried to raise himself into a sitting position, crying out softly as the pain shot into his wound.

"Master Luigi, I brought you another soothing tea and I would like to renew your poultice."

He managed to sit and drank the tea. She removed the poultice.

"This wound looks clean, no redness. I think that within a few days it will be healed."

His anxious mien relaxed a bit.

"Do you need anything? Hungry?" He shook his head. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes, Lady Chiara. Thank you."

"Then try to sleep again. The drink should help."

She covered him up, briefly searched his eyes, and then left.

Veronica was up when she came down. She had just changed Jacomo’s towel. "He still has a high fever," she whispered.

"Yes, I know and can’t find a reason why. His wound looks clean. Maybe it will go down by tomorrow. If you believe in prayers, Veronica, pray for him."

* * * 

She must have dozed off. Pepe putting wood on the fire woke her.

"How is he?"

"I don’t know, but he slept a lot. I’ll check his wound shortly. Pepe, will you go to the ravine and bury the three men, before anybody discovers their bodies, please."

"Yes, I thought I would go first things this morning."

She described how to get to the ravine.

A bit later, Alda came down. She did not ask about Jacomo, simply went to renew his poultice. "Why does he have a fever when the wound looks clean? Is he injured inside?"

"No, I don’t think so. He didn’t fall. I can’t explain it either, except that he may be sick of something."

Alda looked alarmed. "Pneumonia? Could it be pneumonia?"

"I don’t know. We may know more when he wakes."

"Oh, I pray it’s only a cold. I’ll prepare a hearty breakfast. We still have much of the barley and meat soup from yesterday. Did you ever eat?"

Chiara shook her head.

"Then you better eat a big breakfast too. How is Master Luigi?"

"He was fine when I checked him in the night." She turned to Veronica who had woken and was sitting next to Jacomo. "Veronica, will you please go and rouse Master Luigi and ask him to come down for breakfast?"

"I will, after I’ve washed."

Chiara joined her at the fountain, washing her hands, splashing water into her face, not her usual thorough wash.

When Luigi came downstairs, Chiara asked Veronica to check his wound. There seemed to be no need for another poultice, which anyway was difficult to hold in place.

"For a few days, do not use your right arm," Chiara told him, "and make sure you do not strain yourself, and you will be fine. Also avoid getting any water or dirt into the wound when you wash. We will give you a fresh shirt. And now I want you to meet the people you will live with for a while. This is Veronica, my adopted sister. If you need anything, ask her. The brave young man over there is Jacomo, my adopted brother, and these are Alda and Pepe, the two people who have assumed the role of our parents. And since we do not use titles, you will be Luigi for us."

He nodded, uncertain, blushing slightly, and then his gaze sought out Veronica, almost pleading. It was now her turn to blush.

"Let’s eat breakfast," invited Alda, "I guess, Luigi, you must be hungry."

Again, he only nodded. Chiara surmised that he was still in shock and in a state of utter confusion. While the others sat around the table — she noticed that he took the seat next to Veronica — she put additional cushions behind Jacomo and then started to feed him.

"Chiara, I can do this myself," he protested weakly.

"Oh yes, I know, but I don’t want you to move anything except your mouth. There are only three things you may do for a few days. Eat what I give you, drink what I hold to your mouth, and wanting to get well, and that’s the most important. No arguments. Got that? And besides, I like to pamper you. You didn’t get much of that in your life yet, did you?"

He smiled painfully. "I know there’s no use arguing with you. You always win."

"I’ll not get into an argument about that with you now. Open your mouth."

He suppressed a chuckle. After the meal, he drank the chamomile willow bark tea. The effort seemed to have exhausted him.

"Why don’t you try to sleep again?" she said, caressing his hair lightly. She had decided to forget about her resolution for the time being. It was more important right now that he felt loved.

"I’m going now," Pepe said, standing under the door, with Alda tying a scarf around his neck.

"Wait, please," Chiara called out and went over to them, talking in a low voice. "I would like you to take Luigi along. A bit of riding won’t hurt him."

"Why? He’s in no state to help me."

"He can show you the way —"

"Oh, I remember where that track down to the river is."

"Fine, that’s not the real reason, but we’ll tell him that. I want him to see the dead men. I want him to see the senseless result of vendetta."

"Hmm."

"Aren’t you a bit hard on this young man?" murmured Alda.

"Maybe, but as I said, it will be a salutary lesson if he sees the gruesome consequences of a vendetta, of healthy men who could still look forward to many years of a useful life reduced to rotting corpses."

"Oh, Chiara, how can you talk like this?"

"I think she’s right," said Pepe, "and he can say a proper prayer over their graves. I’ll get his horse ready."

Chiara went over to Luigi, who had just finished a second helping. "Luigi, Pepe is going to bury your retainers. I want you to show him where they are, and you may want to say a prayer over their graves. He is getting your horse ready. Just watch that you keep your right shoulder still."

Terror opened his eyes wide for just a moment, then he lowered his head and said: "Yes, Lady Chiara."

"It’s just Chiara. There is no lady in this house. Veronica, please get him one of Jacomo’s shirts and help him put it on, and his coat, and maybe also a scarf so that he keeps warm."

She went back to Jacomo, watching Veronica help Luigi into a clean shirt, button up his coat and then tie the scarf and, not being satisfied with the result, retie it, giving him a sweet smile when she was finished.

After the two had left, Chiara asked Jacomo: "Does it hurt when you breathe?"

"A bit."