Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (9 page)

Although apprehensive, more of the person than the skills, I begged Carlo to teach me acrobatics, tumbling, cartwheeling, juggling. He consented reluctantly, I felt, after Lorenzo agreed that this was a good idea, that it would be useful to have another young female trained, besides Anna, and that clever acts by the two of us would be more impressive. I came to dislike Carlo’s censorious remarks about my abilities, but rather than being discouraged — I guess he hoped that I would give up — it only fired me on to greater efforts. I had a point to prove.

I soon had most of the troupe figured out. Lorenzo — even my inexperienced eyes could recognize that he was a fine corago. He kept strict control of the finances. As an actor, he came across as convincing, except when he played the lover where he lacked flourish. Maria, quiet — I never managed to get close to her — going along with whatever Lorenzo said, but a completely different person on stage, where she shone as the seducer. Carlo, always trying to wheedle out secrets, even from his colleagues — the only one I never felt fully at ease with. But I admired his way with the crowd, how his lazzi — antics and jokes — got them into stitches. Giovanni, never missing a single opportunity to look for his reflection on any shiny surface, easy going, flimsy, but mainly harmless — I guess he would be the better lover on stage and not only because of his good-looks. Pietro, a fine musician, but not much else behind his serious façade and jealously guarding pretty Anna. I came to agree with Carlo that he complained about everything and everybody, except Anna. Anna, scatterbrain even after giving up being the target, easily envious of others. Antonia — she will always remain a puzzle to me, unpredictable, sometimes wise, at other times obstinate. And you already know Alda and Pepe, or Pepino for you, as dear members of our household.

To me Alda became the mother I never had. I wondered whether she had children of her own and learned that two boys died in infancy and her only girl, Carla, last year married the son of a successful cobbler in Prato. In the evenings I would often sit next to her, feeling safe and loved when she put her arm over my shoulders. During the first week with them, I woke almost every night to my own cries, haunted by bad dreams. Twice Alda held me, rocking me back to sleep. I was even able to unburden my heart to her and the nightmares ceased.

During these first few days my thoughts occasionally strayed back to the blonde sailor, and I could not explain why. Except for the fleeting touch of hands and the exchange of a glance, we had nothing in common.

My outlook toward life became hopeful and positive. Only when my thoughts strayed to my father — often it was an older, dignified gentleman who reminded me of him — did deep sadness fill my heart. I sometimes pictured him reading a book in the library or riding out to visit his tenants, and at such times I longed that I were at his side, that things were back as they had been when we could be happy together. I wondered what he would say if he happened to see me perform with the troupe. Strangely, I did not miss the comforts of our castle. Life was filled with excitement, and I was not sure that I would have been willing to give it up and go back to being the lady of the castle.

The size of Pisa staggered me. I had never seen such large crowds, so many people at one place. The Lungarno on both sides of the river was always teaming with sailors, merchants, fisherman, and loiterers from dawn to dusk. Over thirty thousand people, I was told, lived here, and it is said that Florence was three times that size. How tiny Rio nell’Elba with its two or three dozen houses now seemed to me.

It is, though, strange how our lives are so often ruled by coincidences. Being at the right place at the right time, like meeting up with the players in front of the Florentine gate. Or being at the wrong place at the wrong time, as happened on our last day in Pisa when I was recognized by one of the sailors of the Santa Caterina and denounced to the Podestà who ordered me incarcerated in the Palazzo Comunale to await trial upon the return of the old Sanguanero from Siena. Or that the priest sent to my cell to save my soul became the instrument of my escape, and I learned another important life lesson, that even a priest may lust for the body of a young maiden. Nor was I the same innocent girl as on the Santa Caterina.

* * *
 

On the eve of their departure from Pisa, Lorenzo declared that this had been the best season ever in Pisa, and Alda whispered to Chiara that it was to a large extent her theatrical antics as the target that drew the large crowds. In fact, after two days, Chiara dispensed of the mask and stretched both arms to her side. Everybody in the troupe, except Antonia, tried to talk her out of such a foolish gesture. The first time, her smile remained rather forced, as she watched the knives fly toward her. Next day, her smile was radiant and she fully enjoyed the added tension the show raised in the crowd. After the last knife had embedded itself next to her head, she ran over to Pepe and kissed both his cheeks and then bowed deeply to the tumultuous applause of the spectators. A few days later, she added another twist. Prior to stepping up to the wall, she knelt facing the crowd, folded her hands piously for a short prayer and then crossed herself. The crowd went completely silent, not even the babble or crying of a child could be heard, and then Pietro started beating his drum in an ever rising crescendo. After she took a rather fuller basket of coins to Lorenzo, he squeezed her cheek and said: "That was quite a display. You’re a natural. I’m glad you are one of us." And she would have kissed him, had Maria not been there to see it.

On the morning of their departure for San Giuliano, an old Roman thermal spa two leagues north of Pisa, Antonia sent Chiara to Casa Gianini on the far end of Via San Paolo to deliver a tincture to the
padrona
of the house. For the trip and coolness and convenience, she was again wearing her boy’s outfit, except that sturdy boots replaced the hose whose soles had worn through, and she had a colorful cord as girdle. Rather than take the shortest way back to the taverna, she walked along the Lungarno, enjoying a last look at the many small boats and loaded barges plying the river.

Suddenly, she was grabbed from behind. Her training in tumbling and juggling had sharpened her reaction. She instantly kicked the shin of the sailor who was holding her. He yelled and let go.

"Hold her, you idiot," somebody across the street shouted.

She started running, but the second man intercepted her, and then both held her like in a vice. There was no point to struggle further and get hurt.

"Yes, it’s her all right."

She looked at the speaker and recognized Moro, the sailor of the Santa Caterina.
Not again
, cried her mind, but in contrast to that other time, there was no panic, only anger and tense alertness. Why had she forgotten that Casa Sanguanero had a house along the Lungarno?

Several people, men, women, and children converged on them, shouting questions. She immediately realized its advantage for her. It limited what her two assailants could do. The crowd might even compel them to let her go.

"Help me," she appealed to the crowd. "I’m a girl and these sailors are trying to force me."

"Let her go," came shouts from all over.

Maybe her ploy might have worked with two ordinary sailors, but not with Moro. He stood his ground and said with an authoritative voice: "We are holding this girl because she is the one who attacked and viciously injured our padrone, Signor Sanguanero. Make room!"

"Ah, this is the girl who blinded him."

The crowd moved back.

"Call the guards," Chiara cried. "These sailors have no right to hold me."

"She’s right," several men shouted.

"Hand her over to the guards."

Moro tried to push his way through the people, but found it blocked by the rapidly multiplying crowd.

"Here come the guards," a woman called out, as three uniformed men issued from the bridge near Porta a Mare and jogged up the Lungarno.

Whatever Moro’s intentions had been originally, he had no choice but to hand Chiara over and accompany them to the Palazzo Comunale to face the Podestà. She found is wiser not to make another attempt to escape.

* * * 

They were made to wait in a small antechamber, watched by two different guards in even more impressive uniforms. Moro’s angry expression, whenever she met his gaze, left no doubt that he did not like letting her slip from his grasp, and she was glad for the protection of the guards.

 Anxiety about what was going to happen seeped into her bones, threatening to paralyze her. She reminded herself that she was now on known ground, a world familiar to her from watching her father several times present claims and other official matters to the governor of Elba. With that, her resolve returned. Rather than react, she would take the offensive and therefore carefully rehearsed what she was going to say. She would not let her quick wit fail her again. She intended to do all in her power to keep a measure of control over what was going to happen. Her main worry was how to keep Lorenzo and the others from getting dragged into this. She fervently hoped that they would leave Pisa, as planned, and that their aversion to getting involved with the authorities would keep them away.

After more than an hour, they were led into a huge hall where the Podestà held his audiences. He was thin and tall and sat in a wooden, throne-like chair behind a large table. A fashionably dressed man — she guessed one of the dignitaries and advisors of the city — stood slightly to his left.

She took a step forward, bowed and, before the guard could present the case, she addressed the official, showing just the right balance of deference and assertiveness: "Your Excellence, I am Chiara da Narni, the daughter of Seignior Alberto da Narni of Elba. Please accept my apologies for the rather unconventional garments I wear. This sailor here and his companion prevented me from going after my lawful business as I walked along the Lungarno. They claim that I injured their master, Signor Sanguanero. If I did so, I did it in self-defense, trying to protect myself from being shamefully disgraced by Signor Sanguanero. I am certain your Excellence will agree that self-defense to protect one’s honor is every citizen’s divine right. Therefore, I respectfully appeal to your supreme sense of justice that I be released and this man be enjoined from further interference with my person." She bowed again and took a step back.

"Well spoken, young lady. I take it that you are the accusing party. However, to serve justice, I also need to weigh the arguments of the defense."

He looked to Moro whose red face betrayed his agitation at having the table turned on him. He stared at Chiara full of hatred.

"What do you have to say in your defense, sailor?" questioned the Podestà.

"The bitch is lying. We saved her from —"

"Sailor, watch your language. You are addressing the court and insulting a lady of noble birth. I warn you. Give us your name first."

For a moment, Moro looked bewildered and then caught himself. He bowed deeply and said: "I humbly apologize, your honor. My name’s Moro. This woman stabbed my master, Signor Sanguanero, in his good eye, and he’s now blind. We saved her from drowning and even gave her food. And that’s how she repaid my master for his kindness."

"I infer from this that you claim you acted in the name of Signor Sanguanero when you tried to detained Signorina da Narni. Is that correct?"

Moro nodded.

"And what did you intend to do with her?"

"We …" Moro hesitated.

"Yes? … Speak the truth, sailor."

"Ah … We intended to take her to you, your honor."

Chiara again stepped forward. "Your Excellence, may I be permitted to speak again?"

He smiled and said: "Yes, young lady, do so."

"From
Ser
Moro’s action, it is obvious that he had no intention of taking me to your Excellence. He and his accomplice tried to drag me away, and it was I who appealed to the people who surrounded us to call the guards because after my experience on the Santa Caterina I was afraid of what they might do to me."

"Mmh. So what he said about rescuing you is correct?"

"Yes, your Excellence. I was foolish enough to take a small boat away from the safety of the shore and got blown out to sea by a fierce sirocco that suddenly blew up. I drifted for two days before I was picked up by the Santa Caterina in what I thought would be my rescue. Instead, I was locked into the captain’s cabin and later assaulted by Signor Sanguanero. I defended myself as best as I could and jumped overboard."

"You jumped overboard? And how did you get rescued a second time?"

"I swam to shore along the Gherardesca coast, your Excellence."

"You swam ashore? How far from shore were you?"

"I don’t know exactly, your Excellence, but I guess about two leagues, I swam a whole night and most of the next day."

"This is hard to believe, young lady." He turned to Moro. "Sailor, is it true that when Signorina da Narni jumped overboard, the Santa Caterina was two leagues out to sea?"

Moro cast her a hateful glance and then uttered a sullen "yes".

"Remarkable… Young lady, you accuse Signor Sanguanero of a serious crime. Can you cite any witnesses who can testify to the truth of what you say?"

"No, your Excellence. Signor Sanguanero came into the cabin alone and locked the door, but what I said is true. Why would I reveal something that dishonors me unless it is the truth?"

"And you blinded him?"

"I defended myself with the first means that came to hand. If that deprived him of his vision, then that too must be true, your Excellence."

The Podestà shook his head and then directed his gaze to the ceiling, depicting angels floating in clouds over the sea.
How appropriate
, mused Chiara, wondering what was going on in his mind. Would he release her?

After several minutes, while Moro shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, the Podestà turned back to her.