Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (11 page)

For in instant, panic gained the upper hand before she caught hold of herself and murmured the phrase her old confessor had said to her so many times: "My child, confess and repent and the good Lord will absolve you."

"Padre, I’ve met Giovanni in secret and I let him kiss me."

As the girl spoke, shouts and the noise of boots on the cobblestones outside the church distracted her. The front door opened, creaking loudly, and she could distinguish individual voices. Summoning up all her wits, she responded to the girl.

"Child, do you love him?"

Quick footsteps resounded down the main aisle.

"Yes, Padre."

"Then you have done no harm. But be strong and remain pure until you are wedded."

The footsteps came to a halt.

"No penance is needed," she added after a pause.

"Thank you, Padre. May I go now?" The girl’s voice sounded joyful.

"Yes, my child. God bless you."

The footsteps resounded once more, the door creaked again, and then silence. She started breathing deeply and slowly and let her pulse calm down, silently thanking the unknown girl.

She remained sitting another while before she mustered the courage to abandon her hiding place. In contrast to earlier, the street was busy with folks of all ages and walks of life. She almost retreated again into the church when it occurred to her that the more people around the less she would be noticed. Holding her bible to her chest, she joined the crowd. The sun was close to setting, and she welcomed the anonymity bestowed by the dim light filtering down from the thin strip of sky between the tall buildings. Sticking to narrow alleys, she went past Monte di Pietà and reached the main street leading to the Porta a Lucca, the northern city exit. She hastened her step as the gate came into view.

Guards were pushing the huge doors closed while she was still more than three hundred feet away. She was not going to make it and started running, almost dislocating her hood. Out of breath, she reached the gate just as the guard wanted to give the door a last push.

She called out: "
Messer
officer, I have to get outside to administer the last rites to a dying man." For once her quick wit did not let her down.

"Padre, you came just in the nick of time. I’ll open it enough for you to get through, but you’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning to come back in again," the guard replied, chuckling, and added: "You’re mighty young for such an onerous duty."

"
Grazie
," she said, bending forward to hide her face, as she slipped through the narrow gap.

7

On the road to Lucca, early July 1347

Looking back, I still marvel at how simple it was to deceive people — the young priest, the woman attendant, the multitudes in the street, and particularly the guards who are supposed to protect us against the likes of me or worse. Was I not a thief? Didn’t I steal a precious book from my father? And now I was carrying away a valuable crucifix, a bible, and a cassock, all belonging to a naive, young priest. I am convinced that I ruined his opinion of women for the rest of his life. If I, an unsophisticated girl from Elba, could fool them, how much more easy it must be for the real crooks and scoundrels? Oh, at that moment, as I hurried away from the city that almost delivered me a fourth time into the clutches of Sanguanero, I was glad that it was that way. What disturbed me, and still does, is that I did not feel any guilt, just an immense gratitude that I had not relinquished control over my life, and a smug sense of victory. Maybe I was born wicked. Had it not started with playing tricks on my brother, leading to disobedience of my father’s wishes and escalating into defying the authority of those who govern us?

I also wondered whether the Podestà had already dispatched the letter summoning my father to Pisa and hoped he had not. What would he think now of his "precious" daughter? He must despair over my behavior and blame himself for having failed in raising me to an obedient young woman who knew her proper place. My throat constricted and tears welled in my eyes. How I despaired that each day the gulf between us was widening because of my actions! Deep down I still longed to be his daughter, but I feared that I would be too ashamed to face him again.

Thinking of his little book reminded me of Niccolo Sanguanero’s reference to a ‘treasure’. What was this all about? It made no sense, and I was as puzzled as before.

But whenever I thought of that young girl whose confession I had heard, I could not help smiling. How fortunate that I had been her confessor rather than some old and embittered priest who would have chided her severely for an innocent act. I wished her good luck. Nor did it bother me in the least that I had usurped that sacred role. There definitely was a streak of wickedness blackening my soul, and I was making no effort to atone for it. For almost a full moon now I had not prayed a single time nor gone to confession.

These were some of the things that went through my mind as I walked into the gathering dark, hoping to find the players in San Giuliano, a leisurely half-day walk north of Pisa. Would they still welcome me after this? I fervently hoped so. They had become my life. Although I had always thought that my previous life on Elba had been free of compulsion, real freedom was life with the players.

After a brisk walk of two hours I reached San Giuliano, still wearing the priest’s black cassock which I figured hid me well in the darkness. I pulled its hood again firmly over my head and searched the houses for an inn. One of the last buildings along the street north had a small sign with the inscription ‘Taverna S. Giuliano’. I saw no lights. Like in the rest of the village, everything was dark. I had to knock twice before a middle-aged man in a night cap and holding a thick stick opened the door. My inquiry about Lorenzo’s troupe brought disappointment. They had already left early the day before, and he thought that they had gone north to Ponte al Serchio or even further to Vecchiano, on the other side of the river. Seeing my attire, he offered me a place for the night, warning that it was not safe to be out alone at night, but I declined and instead asked for direction to Lucca, figuring that the players might already be back on that road. I knew that Lorenzo planned to perform two or three weeks in that famous city, and I was eager to catch up with them before they reached it. I wanted to be part of their first performance. Besides the night was balmy and pleasant and I preferred the fresh air to the stale odor of the inn and the likely prospect of being bitten by fleas.

The road skirted along the foothills of Monti Pisani, the obstacle placed there by God himself, as the Pisans claim, so they would be spared the unpleasant sight of Lucca. It was past midnight when the Pisan fortress of Ripafrappa loomed dark on the banks of the Serchio which here had carved out a wide gorge. Again, all was dark and I continued.

I began to wonder whether I had been wrong. They might have spent more than a day at Ponte al Serchio and I could then be ahead of them. I pondered if I should go back when I spied a glow through the trees. Could that be their camp? Alda had said that they occasionally slept in the open when caught between towns, particularly in summer when it was warm. But why would they still have a fire going that late at night?

I cannot tell you why I suddenly felt that something was wrong and, rather than follow the road, entered the cover of the forest and approached the fire soundlessly on the soft ground. As I got closer, I spotted the donkey cart, but its contents were strewn all over the small clearing. Two men I did not recognize were searching through it, occasionally picking something up. Another two, sword blades gleaming in the fire, stood over the players who cowered on the ground in a tight group.

Thinking now about it with hindsight, what I did next was outright foolhardy and dangerous, so foolhardy in fact that I will not recount it here since it may only entice you to imitate it should fate, God forbid, ever put you into a similar situation. Although at that time I did not yet believe that I am favored by luck, luck or the factor of surprise were on my side. Maybe the bandits believed that the black-hooded figure that burst into their midst was Satan himself. Two ended up with arrows stuck in their buttocks, ane was dead, and the other two fled in terror.

After that incident, there was no question that I had become a full member of the troupe. Carlo never treated me flippantly anymore, while Giovanni redoubled his efforts to entice me under his covers. And ’Il Spettacolo Magnifico’? It went from success to success, everywhere, Lucca, Pistoia, Prato, and I dare say, without boasting of undeserved pride, that I played no small hand in it.

* * * 

Chiara saw Lorenzo looking toward her. For a moment, she was afraid he might have spied her and could give her away inadvertently. Maria sat next to him, sobbing silently. Anna was holding on to Pietro, hiding her face on his chest. One man lay sprawled on the ground. Antonia bent over him. Giovanni held a hand to his shoulder, as if hurt there. Pepe was facing away from her. She could not see Alda which worried her. Close to her left, on the very edge of the small clearing, a lad of fourteen or fifteen stood guard over five horses, while he observed the two rummaging through the props and clothing. Each horse had a longbow and quiver attached to the saddle.

Chiara put the bible behind a tree and, flitting from tree to tree, sneaked up to the nearest horse. The rustle of the leaves and branches in the wind hid any sound of twigs breaking under her boots. She had no trouble removing a longbow and half a dozen arrows. To her right were several giant oak trunks that offered excellent cover. She put four of the arrows on the ground, inserted one into the bow, holding the other with her left hand so that she could shoot two in quick succession. Then she surveyed the clearing, only sticking out part of her hooded head from behind the trunk. The two fellows guarding the players offered the best targets. Why she aimed at the head of the man, she could not explain later, try as she might. But a second later, she heard the horrible gurgle of blood as the arrow stuck in his neck. The next arrow found the buttocks of the second guard just below his chain mail before he realized what was happening. He hollered like a madman, hopping around to see what was implanted in that soft part of his body. Anna and Maria screamed in terror, while Lorenzo looked around, bewildered.

The other two robbers jumped up, shouting and drawing their swords. Before they managed to discover where the arrows had come from, Chiara was already behind another tree, again closer to the horses. She readied two more arrows and then thought of drawing the attention of the robbers away from where she hid. She picked up a rock and threw it way over to her right. It ricocheted off a trunk and landed at the far end of the clearing. The effect was exactly as she had hoped. The two robbers immediately turned toward the noise, offering her their backs. She stepped from behind the tree and let go of the two arrows, aiming again at their buttocks below their mails. Only one found its target; the other landed too high and was stopped by the bandit’s mail, but he probably had enough of arrows coming out of nowhere and ran to the horses. So did Chiara. She rammed full force into the lad, taking him down. She was up faster and grabbed the reins of three of the shying horses. By then the last robber had jumped on one and galloped off. The only free horse cantered after him, while she kept a firm grip on the reins in her hand.

The lad only took one look at her black, hooded shape, screamed as if he had seen Satan himself and ran into the forest. By then, Lorenzo, Giovanni, and Pepe were on top of the two with arrows in their bottoms.

Chiara threw back her hood. Many years later, she would still relish the expression on the faces of the players, their mouths wide open.

"Is this really you, Chiara?" Lorenzo uttered. "I thought you in jail?"

"Do I look like a ghost?" she laughed.

"Are you a ghost?" asked Pepe unsure.

"Oh, Pepino," shouted Alda and came running to embrace her. "Chiara, how glad I am to see you," she repeated over and over, kissing her, and Chiara responded: "So am I, Alda, so am I."

Alda took a step back and looked at her from head to toe. "This disguise suits you, but where did you get it?"

"I seduced a nice, young priest."

"Chiara, be serious!"

"I did and walked out of prison. I even heard confession and absolved a girl from her sins."

"How wicked!" Alda cried and embraced her again.

And so it went on for a while. Carlo, who had been hit over the head by one of the bandits, regained his senses under Antonia’s care. She was the only one who said nothing, just occasionally shook her head.

Chiara learned that the donkey cart had broken a wheel, and while they were fixing it by the fire, the robbers fell on them. And what did they do with the three captured fellows? One had bled to death. Chiara cried on Alda’s bosom when she saw it. Pepe dug a shallow grave for him. After retrieving all the players’ purses, as well as the ones of the bandits, they let the other two go in the morning, minus the arrows in their buttocks, when they themselves took to the road again, well armed this time with four longbows, two dozen arrows and four swords and daggers. One of the horses pulled the donkey cart, its wheel fixed; the donkey pulled the music box; Lorenzo and Pepe improvised lashings for one other horse to pull the third cart, and Chiara? She was mounted on what she judged was a high-spirited mare that would have given credit to the status of the daughter of a small seignior.

Without the toil of pulling, they walked toward Lucca at a good pace. The first time they took a rest, Lorenzo asked Chiara: "Why didn’t you tell us about Sanguanero?"

"Would you still have accepted me, had you known?"

"Not likely."