Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (46 page)

He looked at her surprised, and Alda began to protest, but she did not give them a chance. "No arguments. Alda has a fever. Pepe, drop what you are doing and take her, now!"

She wrapped a shawl around Alda shoulder and pushed her to Pepe.

"Is Alda sick?"questioned Veronica. "Should I go and help?"

"Yes go, and help her keep warm. We’ll finish here."

She helped Jacomo with the board, while Orlando packed up the various utensils they had used. When everything was ready, she waved over two of the lads who had lingered around and watched, and offered them a
denaro
each to help carry the board to their inn.

Alda was sitting near the fire, a cup in her hand. In spite of the warmth, she was shivering. Chiara again checked her forehead. The fever seemed to have risen even more in the short time. Right then, the woman was shaken by a hacking cough and only Chiara quick action prevented the cup from spilling over her. Alda closed her eyes, seemingly in pain whenever she coughed.

Chiara did not like what she saw. "Do you have pain in the chest?"

Alda nodded, pointing to her right side.
Pneumonia?
Chiara wondered and wished old Antonia were with them. She knew that pneumonia was a dreaded illness that quite often ended in a painful death for those afflicted. The death of her favorite chambermaid on Elba, now almost ten years ago, was still vivid in her memory. Her grandmother, in spite of not being herself at full strength anymore, had labored for three days to no avail. But it triggered her into action. She found out that there was one guest room that had its own fireplace and immediately arranged for it to be prepared for Alda — a fire, a good mattress, clean sheets, soft cushions, and woollen covers. Then she ordered Pepe to carry Alda up, and she and Veronica got the woman into bed. She remembered her grandmother keeping the room of the maid steamed up and that she administered to her milk with honey, chamomile tea with honey, chicken broth and other easily digestible soups.

That night, she did not leave Alda’s bedside, sponging off her forehead with cool wet towels and giving her warm drinks that Veronica fetched from the kitchen, and doing all to make the sick woman comfortable, while Pepe looked after the fire and made sure that the steam of the vessel near the fire was keeping the air in the room humid. When Alda complained about severe chest pains, Chiara remembered another thing her grandmother had done — cold towels put on the side of the hurting chest. So Pepe regularly brought her cold towels. It seemed to bring some relief to Alda.

* * * 

Next day, Orlando arrived with the only medical doctor in town, a man in his forties, smelling unwashed, black fingernails encrusted with what looked like dried up blood, scratching himself constantly all over his body. She took an immediate loathing for the man. He confirmed that Alda had pneumonia.

"The best help I can offer is to bleed her now and maybe again tonight," he said, getting his utensils ready.

"Why bleed her?" Chiara asked.

"To relieve the pressure on her heart. It is what the Greek physicians order." While he said that he removed a small dirty bowl from his tattered bag and placed it on the floor next to Alda’s bed. Then he partially uncovered Alda and stretched her arm over the vessel.

"Wait," said Chiara sharply. "Why should bleeding help her?"

"Young woman, I know what’s best for the patient. Just be calm and let me do what I know is best." He took out a small knife and wiped it on the stained sleeve of his tunic.

"Bleeding her will only weaken her."

He went down to his knees and held Alda’s arm flat, squeezing it above the vein at the wrist, ready to cut into it as it swelled. Chiara grabbed the hand holding the knife and pulled the man up.

"You are not going to cut that woman with your dirty knife."

He struggled, trying to free his arm, but her grip was firm.

"Young woman, you don’t know what you are doing. I’m a renown physician and have attended illustrious persons of high standing in this town."

Yes, and you probably killed most of them with your quackery.
She almost said it aloud.
"In fact, you’re leaving this room right now before any lice and fleas drop off you."

"You better beware who you insult like this. I’ve powerful protectors in this city and I’ll make you responsible if this gravely sick woman dies," he cried as she pushed him from of the room, while Pepe collected the man’s stuff.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Orlando asked. "He was recommended to me by several people."

"I don’t know whether it’s wise or not, and I might have trusted him if he had looked halfway clean and respectable and not swarming with lice. You could see them running around on his scalp. Please, leave. This commotion is no good for Alda."

She replaced the cold towel on the woman’s chest and noticed that she wanted to say something, but was too weak. She approached her ear to Alda’s mouth and felt vindicated when she heard the faint "Thank you."

Over the next few days, she hardly ever left Alda’s side, resting occasionally, when Alda was asleep. Veronica had strict instructions to wake her the moment Alda stirred. She continued administering the treatment her grandmother had done.

On the fourth day, she was afraid that Alda was slipping away. For periods at a time, she was delirious. At other times she looked completely spent, her face gaunt, her eyes sunk in deep cavities. Toward evening, while she was sponging her burning forehead, Pepe came back to the room with wood for the fire. He saw her crying, sitting on the floor, next to Alda. He put his hand on her head. She looked up, searching his eyes.

"Pepe, I think she is dying." She burst out sobbing. "You better get a priest."

He stroked her hair once more and nodded. When he returned, Chiara asked him to hold her. It did not take long before the priest came and administered the last rites. After the priest had left, both she and Pepe cried. She desperately wanted Alda to live. She could not let the woman who had become her mother die. Bending over the prostrate Alda, she started talking to her.

"Alda, please hear me. Alda, I love you, and you must not die. I need you. Pepino needs you. Veronica needs you… Please, Alda, don’t leave us… You must hear me. You must fight. You must get well again."

Tears were rolling down her cheeks, dropping on Alda’s face. The woman stirred and moaned faintly. "Alda, do you remember when we met and you said to Pepe: ‘Pepino, she’s a girl!’ and then called out to me when I wanted to run away: ‘Ahi,
figliola
, don’t be afraid, we mean you no harm!’? You called me ‘daughter’, and that’s what I am, your daughter. Don’t leave me now without a mother again." As she spoke softly, she started stroking Alda’s hair. She put all her will and conviction into her voice, into her heart, as she repeated: "Alda, don’t leave. We want you to stay with us." Then she starting humming one of Alda’s favorite tunes. At the second round, Pepe joined in. At that point Veronica came back to the room, bringing a fresh cup of honeyed camomile tea, in the faint hope that Alda might be able to drink. She joined in with her clear, unformed soprano voice, and the three continued humming for several minutes.

Watching Alda, Chiara had the impression that her breathing was more quiet, that it seemed freer. She checked her forehead. It was still hot, but not as burning as a when she had touched her earlier. The flame of hope that had almost extinguished was kindled again. She continued talking to Alda, reminding her of all the things that they had done together, how they had laughed together, how they had been sad together, how they had made plans for the future together.

After a while, Pepe murmured: "Chiara, I think you have done all you could. You must now look after yourself and take a rest. We’ll wake you if there’s any change."

She felt exhausted, almost at the end of her own strength. "But, Pepe, you must talk to her. You must let her know that you want her to live, that Veronica and I want her to live."

He nodded and helped her to the second mattress in the room. She listened to his low, calming, but insistent murmur, as she slowly sank into a deep sleep.

When Veronica woke her in the morning of the fifth day, the girl was smiling. "I think Alda is getting better," she whispered. "The fever has dropped and she hasn’t coughed for quite a while."

Chiara jumped up and went over to the sick woman. She had her eyes open and there was life in them.

"
Mamina
, I love you," she said, gently stroking her forehead, feeling it cool. "And now you must eat, so that you get strong again."

She raced down to the kitchen, passing Pepe, Jacomo, and Orlando, who were eating breakfast in the tavern. Pepe stood up, alarmed.

"Has anything happened?"

"Yes," she called over her shoulder, "Alda is on the mend."

She saw him run upstairs.

* * * 

Alda’s recovery was slow. Either Chiara or Veronica were always with her. Chiara often read to her, and so did Veronica. It took her almost two weeks before she had the strength, with Pepe and Chiara’s help, to get up and take a few steps. Afterward, exhausted, but smiling, she closed her eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

After watching her for a while, Pepe embraced Chiara and murmured: "Thank you,
figliola
, for saving her."

She looked at him surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I know deep in my heart that she’s only alive because of you. You made her fight against death. He had her, I saw it, and then you pleaded with her, no, it was more than pleading, you ordered her to fight, and that’s when he lost his grip on her."

"We all did that night, you as much as I… Oh Pepe, I’m so happy that Alda is getting better again. But we now have to make sure, she stays healthy. I think it would be foolish to expose her to the road again, especially in this horrible weather."

In fact, the weather had turned nasty, most days a cold rain, often driven almost horizontally by sharp north westerlies, whipped the windows. At night, the temperature plummeted below freezing, something they had not experienced in Chiusi for several decades before winter had even started.

"Do you mean, not go to Rome, but stay here?"

"Yes … maybe not in Chiusi, but I heard that half-a-day away are the baths of Chianciano. Not as famous as Rapolano, but maybe exactly what Alda needs to get fully healthy again. What do you think?"

"I’ll do whatever you say is best for Alda. She’s more important to me than anything, and if you think that the baths would be good for her, then let’s go there. But what if the others don’t want that?"

"I’m certain that Veronica and Jacomo will agree. Alda has become their mother too. If Orlando doesn’t want to stay, he’s free to leave. He can join us next spring again, if he wants to. Remember, he’s rich. And while we stay in Chianciano, you can teach Jacomo more of your knife throwing skills if he wants that, and I can translate another Latin play into the vernacular."

"And we can just be a family," they heard Alda’s whisper.

"Oh,
mamina
, did we wake you?" Chiara exclaimed.

"No, I wasn’t yet asleep when I saw you two embrace each other, thinking I wouldn’t know. I’ve to watch you more carefully, Chiara. You’ve tried to steal my bear before."

"Alda, it was completely innocent," protested Pepe. "I was just telling her …"

"I know, Pepino. You haven’t changed a bit. And I was only teasing you. Come lie down besides me and hold me. It has been such a long time since I felt your bear hug."

Chiara left the room, smiling. Alda had regained her humor — a good sign.

* * * 

Orlando decided to go to Rome alone. Since the troupe would not give any performances for quite a while, there was little to hold him in Chiusi or Chianciano. With more than fifty florins in his pocket, he could live in Rome comfortably for a year without having to work. And then there were the one thousand florins which he hoped to be able to touch when it became due by October next year. He insisted though that they should let him know when the troupe was ready to take up performing again, that he was keen to join them. He promised to check the Roman agency of Casa Medici at least once a month for a message from them.

Chiara was of two minds about him. On the one hand she respected him for his acting skills and had enjoyed performing with him. They worked well together and she knew they would again. On the other hand, she had not fully forgiven him his silent, but obvious reproach that she had dragged him into this whole matter with Casa Sanguanero and that her imprudence in Siena had put his own life in danger.

Four weeks after Alda fell sick, they profited of the first clear day to do the half-day trip to Chianciano. Just in case somebody might inquire on their whereabouts, they told the innkeeper that they were on their way to Orvieto. Pepe had arranged their things on the cart in such a way that Alda could rest on soft cushions, well wrapped in blankets and protected from the cold. She enjoyed the sun despite being rattled and shaken around by the uneven narrow road, more a mule track than a road for vehicles. It took them four hours to cover the three leagues.

In Chianciano, they took rooms in an inn that looked respectable. After settling in Alda, Chiara went through the little town on its small hill in search of a house that they could rent. There were several available — the little settlement had suffered badly in the plague, but none appealed to her. Most had only one big room that served for everything. Two had a separate outside kitchen, none had proper sanitary facilities. Disappointed, she resigned herself that they might have to stay at the inn where at least they had three separate rooms and could also use the dining room to sit together. The following day, she took her mare for a ride to explore the baths, a quarter league south of the town, and the hills west and south of it. toward the top of a gradually rising valley near the old Sillene baths, she spotted a small mansion. She had missed it on her way up and only saw it riding down at the edge of a meadow in the forest, a two-storey stone structure, looking abandoned. The ground floor windows were protected by iron bars; two small glass panes had broken loose. The upstairs windows were closed by heavy wooden shutters. Three chimneys hinted that each floor must consist of several rooms, each with its own fireplace. She peered through the iron bars of a ground floor window into a generous kitchen that seemed well equipped, including a separate bread oven. Next to it was a spacious hall, with a tile floor rather than simply packed earth.