Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (25 page)

"I guess that she’ll welcome staying put for the winter."

"Yes, we just have to make sure the house we rent can be well heated… But are you afraid of the Sanguanero? They got all your land, as they wanted, so what more could they want?"

"Blood vendetta."

"Would you rather stay somewhere else? It would only take us a few days to go to Florence."

"No, I want to stay here. I have plans."

"Oh no, Chiara. You aren’t planning revenge yourself. Please, don’t. I don’t want to lose you."

"I’ll keep safe, and I’ve no intention of letting anything happen to you,
mamina
, but I will make them pay, even if it takes me several years."

"I still wish you wouldn’t. I fear for you, and we could have it so good. The way we make money, we’ll be able to buy a house and retire in a year or two."

"Wouldn’t you rather like to retire in a little castle on Elba?"

Alda replied with a smile.

"But talking about money reminds me. I plan to invest some of my savings with one of the Florentine banking houses. Do you want me to do the same for you? It would be safer than always carry it on you. No more worries that it could be stolen. Pepe will sleep better."

"I don’t understand anything about that, but if you do it, we might as well. We can get it back again, can’t we, if we need it?"

"Yes, and you’ll earn interest. Not much, maybe one florin for every ten invested for a year."

"Chiara, you remember one of the first things I said to you when we met? … That it would be good to have another intelligent woman with us."

Chiara smiled and hugged her. "Yes, I remember. What I a naive girl I was then."

"You know, you’ve changed so much and not just in your looks. Few people will recognize you who didn’t know you closely."

"That’s what I’m counting on. With a slight change in the hair color and long tresses around my head, no Sanguanero will know who I am. That’s why I think it will be safe to stay here." Chiara sat down on her bed. "Are you looking forward to play house? When has it been the last time that you had your own house?"

"Oh, I can’t even remember. Not ever since I met Pepino. He dragged me along."

"What did your parent say? Did they give their blessing?"

"No, they said I wasn’t allowed to ever see him again, so when Pepino left town, I went with him without telling them."

"A bit like me. And have you seen them again?"

"I tried twice, but they refused."

"How sad. Are they still alive?"

"No, they died years ago."

"I’m so grateful that my father accepted me back. It would have been hard if he hadn’t… How old were you when you left your parents?"

"Over twenty. You know, people like us don’t get married as early as your kind."

"I think that forcing a girl of fourteen or fifteen to marry is sad. Getting pregnant at that early age is bad; she’s still a child herself then. Twenty makes more sense."

"The way you’re going, you’ll be more than twenty, but then what happened to you has turned you against men."

"I’m not against men."

"I mean in that way."

"I don’t know. Maybe I simply haven’t met the right man yet."

"Have you ever been in love?"

"That’s hardly a relevant consideration for a girl of noble birth where marriages are arranged for financial or status reasons. If love happens, it’s a real bonus."

"But nobody can force you any longer to marry somebody you don’t want. So, have you ever been in love?"

"Oh, on Elba I fancied the son of a land owner, but that wasn’t love… Alda, to tell you the truth, I don’t know." She could not prevent herself from blushing.

"I think there is somebody. The truth, Chiara."

"I met this sailor on the Santa Caterina."

"Did he help you escape?"

"No, I just saw him three times for a short moment."

"And he’s still on your mind… Yes, that’s the way love starts. But a mere sailor would be well below your station."

"Oh, the hell with station."

"Chiara! I have never heard you use such language."

"That’s your bad influence," Chiara chuckled. "I guess he’s actually a slave and hence he could be the son of a king."

"Oh, poor child, there’s little hope for you then."

 
Yes
went through Chiara’s mind, as she rose. "
Mamina
, hold me."

It felt good to be held by Alda. She felt understood.

* * * 

Next day Chiara visited the offices of the Podestà in Palazzo Pubblico to learn about Siena’s regulations on traveling players. On her way back she made a detour through the old city and saw an empty narrow three-storey house in the Via delle Cerchia, only a ten-minute walk from the Campo. She inquired with the neighbors and was told that the previous owners had died and that it now belonged to a distant relative who lived in the Terzo di Camollia. That afternoon, the new owner showed Chiara, Alda, and Pepe the house which still contained all the furniture of its previous occupant. It had two rooms on each of the two top floors, a windowless kitchen next to the entrance and a sizeable hall behind it with a window overlooking a fairly steep valley. Chiara immediately saw herself in the third-storey room with the south-facing view. Pepe’s concern about the animals and storage of their cart was solved when they discovered stable facilities at the lower end of the street that also gave access to grazing in the valley inside the walls. Next morning they moved in and spent most of the day cleaning the house, its kitchen utensils and replacing the old straw mattresses with new ones. Chiara cherished her little room under the roof.

They were in no hurry to take up performing. Alda and Veronica seemed to enjoy taking charge of the kitchen. Chiara was pleased about the close mother-daughter relationship between the two.

With Antonia’s advice, she managed to lighten the color of her hair to a natural reddish tint. She found a shop that sold hair pieces and purchased a set of full plaits that matched her new color. Only an experienced eye would be able to spot that they were not her own. She also deposited a large portion of her own and Pepe’s savings with the agent of a Florence banking house. But Antonia kept her full purse. She did not trust the bankers, not after several had gone bankrupt just a few years earlier.

The old woman seemed to have lost much of her zest. She did not want to go out and, instead, preferred to sit in the sun next to the window of the hall, letting herself be pampered by Veronica and Alda. Often she dozed in her chair.

Pepe and Jacomo worked on a lighter target board that could easily be carried on a hand-pulled cart through the city streets.

Chiara had a need to get to know the city intimately. She explored the streets on foot, usually in the mornings, and always disguised in the young priest’s cloak, a crucifix dangling on her chest and a bible in her hand. It allowed her to strike up conversations with local people and show a curiosity that from a young woman would have been frowned upon. Many people felt flattered being addressed by this youthful, pious-looking priest whom they guessed to be of noble birth. All she had to make sure was to avoid getting into conversations with other priests. She quickly discovered that the younger or the well-dressed ones avoided more than a polite nod or curt greeting. Only older monks seemed keen on talking.

Disguised as a priest, it was only natural that she spent hours admiring the works by Duccio di Buoninsegna and Simone Martini in Siena’s famous churches. While examining the fine details of Ambrogio Lorenzetti’s fresco
Allegorie del Buono e Cattivo Governo
in the Hall of Peace of the Palazzo Pubblico, a crackling voice startled her.

"Yes, my young brother, may God give you the insight to recognize good government from bad."

She turned and faced an old priest, his bent back held upright by a carved walking-stick, the black habit almost slipping from his bony frame. His eyes were fixed on the ten dancers and his face was glowing with serenity. He took a step closer, and she realized that he must be almost blind.

He chuckled and continued: "Yes, brother, I may need help in the streets, but I see this picture in my mind in all its finest details. If you are willing to listen to a rambling old man, I shall explain it to you."

"Padre, I am eager to learn from you," she replied in her lowest alto.

Over the next half hour, she listened to his lecture, equally fascinated by his poetic language as by the insight into both the meaning of the allegory and detailed features of the work. "And this is me," he said with a chuckle, pointing at a figure lecturing from a pulpit. "You know, I watched Ambrogio Lorenzetti paint these frescos when I could still enjoy its colors."

When he was finished, he begged: "And now, my brother, may I lean on your arm while you will guide me back to my house?"

"I would be honored, padre," she replied, taking the risk that this might blow her cover. It did not. On the steps of his house, she thanked him again.

"Oh, I should thank you. It is one of my few pleasures to relive that picture with people willing to listen. Maybe, we will meet again, if not here then in front of our Lord. God bless you, my young friend."

On her third outing, she discovered where Casa Sanguanero had their mansion near the church of San Stefano in Via di Camollia, part of Via Francigena, the main road along Siena’s dominant ridge from north to south. She lingered around for a while, watching merchandise being loaded and unloaded. There was a constant coming and going of all sorts of people, notaries, well-dressed people that must be other merchants, people from guilds in their typical uniforms, and laborers.

Twice or so a week, she took her horse on a ride into the country and got to know all the gates and roads to and from the city.

* * * 

At the beginning of the second week they gave their first performance in the eastern corner of the Campo. Rather than announce their show by calling it out in the streets, their usual practice in cities, they simply set up their stage. While Jacomo did some
lazzi
, rather longer than usual, chasing Chiara around, Pepe practiced with his knives on the new board, creating several knife patterns. Soon several dozen people stopped to watch. By the time Chiara took her position, the crowd had swelled to more than a hundred and the intermittent loud applause drew many more.

That evening, rather than prepare their own meal, the troupe, including Antonia, went to a nearby taverna. While they were eating in a corner of the inn, they overheard a middle-aged man tell about the afternoon spectacle on the Campo.

"Primo, listen to yourself. You’re exaggerating, as usual. Nobody can throw knives with such accuracy," interjected an older man.

"I swear that the knives touched her clothing, and she just stood there, motionless and smiling all the time."

"Oh, come on, Primo. You don’t expect us to believe that she didn’t shield her face, do you?"

"No, honestly, she didn’t, and I bet that she’d have had difficulties to fit back between the knives."

"
Se non è vero, è ben trovato
, eh Primo," cried another patron.

Pepe winked to Chiara and everybody at their table smiled.

"Are you willing to bet on it, Primo?" the old man called out. "Two
solidi
against one of yours, that you are exaggerating."

"And who’s going to be the judge?"

"It has to be somebody neutral."

Chiara noticed that Jacomo was on the verge of intervening. She shook her head, and he sat again.

"That rules out all of you," exclaimed Primo.

"Ask one of those strangers in the corner over there… The tall fellow." He pointed at Pepe. "Would you be willing to be the judge?"

"No," Chiara called out. "I’m certain he would rather participate in the bet. How about my one hundred
solidi
against your fifty that Primo is right?"

"Woman, I don’t have that kind of money."

Primo stared at her, coming slowly closer. "But that’s her," he shouted. "She’s the one!"

"Which one? You don’t make sense, Primo."

"She is the one who …" He stood next to her. "It’s you, isn’t it? And he threw the knives, and this young girl collected the money." He turned to the other patrons. "That’s them. The ones in the Campo." He could hardly talk from excitement.

"Yes," replied Alda. "That’s why this stranger," she pointed at Pepe, "can’t be the judge. He’s even more biased than any of you."

Everybody congregated around them, asking questions.

"Will you give another show?"

"Yes, tomorrow at the same time," replied Chiara. "And if you people want to help, tell it to your friends and neighbors."

"We will, and I’ll be there."

"So will I."

"We’ll get you a crowd!" shouted Primo. "Now, Cesare, are you still willing to bet?"

Embarrassed, the old man chuckled. "I think I’ll pass this time."

When Chiara wanted to pay for the meal and drinks, the innkeeper said that it had already been taken care of. They thanked the patrons and returned to their cosy little house.

There was already a throng waiting by the time they set up their stage next day. It swelled to several hundred, and the applause thundered on for a long time. At one point, one of the Podestà’s guards came out to check why the crowd was so noisy.

As Chiara had predicted, they did not have to wait long for invitations to give private performances to noble houses and rich merchants. In fact, the first from Casa Tolomei arrived that same evening. She quickly wrote a letter of acceptance and sent Jacomo to Palazzo Tolomei before the hour of curfew, when nobody except guards were supposed to be on the streets without a valid reason — one of the measures Siena used for combating crime and skirmishes between feuding houses.

* * * 

Chiara was tempted to write a short skit of a young woman taking revenge on the father of her betrothed for shaming her. But sanity prevailed, helped by having to direct all her patience and Alda’s skills into calming Veronica’s nerves and try to keep Jacomo’s plans for all sorts of new
lazzi
in check.