Chiara – Revenge and Triumph (72 page)

"My Lady, I have not given up on taking possession of what belongs to me, but I do not want to run the risk that Niccolo makes good on his promise to burn down my little castle. So I will for the time being return to my friends — I fear they are worrying about me — and return when I either hear from you about his Lordship’s actions on my behalf or discover a way to evict Niccolo. I will leave the day after tomorrow and tomorrow I will visit Messer Mercurio in Populónia. I promised to see him before I leave."

"Oh, why are you always so stubborn… You also deprive me and Beatrice of your company."

"I promise to be back soon, my Lady."

"But I insist that this time you go to Populónia with an escort."

"Thank you, my Lady, gladly."

Not that she thought there was any danger, but she did not mind having company. It would keep her mind off her sailor.

She really wished to see Mercurio. He had become dear to her. But her true reason was that she wanted to find out whether a fisherman from the fishing port would take her to Elba, thereby avoiding the risk that Niccolo was warned by any possible spy he had in Piombino — Chiamora, in spite of denouncing him vehemently in front of the Count, could well be that spy.

After spending two hours with Mercurio telling him the events over the last few days, she took leave, asking the escort to be ready in about an hour, that she would be back from the port by then. She struck up conversation with several fishermen about fishing in the straits, casually inspecting their boats. All but one were rowboats. That one had a single lateen sail. Its name, Santa Sophia, was carved into the top rail at the bow. She asked the fisherman working on it if he ever sailed as far as Elba.

"Yes, depends on winds and currents," he replied, "was there yesterday; maybe again later this week; wind favorable." He waved his arms to show the direction.

She decided to leave it at that and try her luck over the next few days.

Back in Piombino, she wrote letters to Alda and Veronica, informing them of the Tribunal’s final verdict and telling them that she would now briefly visit Elba to set things in order before returning to Chianciano.

That evening she thanked the count and countess again for their help and generous hospitality and said her goodbyes. Beatrice cried and made her promise to be back soon.

* * * 

She rode out of Piombino as the first rider when the gate opened, again in her disguise as a priest. About a league north of the town, she took the turnoff to Populónia, rather than continue inland toward Massa Marittima. Last time she had taken that path with the escort, she had seen a fortified farmhouse about half an hour’s walk from the fishing port. That was her destination. She needed a place to leave her two horses.

Two silver
grossi
convinced the farmer to look after the horses for two months. By midmorning she was in Populónia’s fishing port. She must have been a strange sight. A young priest, the hood hiding part of her face, a bow and quiver with six arrows on her back, two knives stuck under her belt, and a brown bag over her shoulder.

 The Santa Sophia was still on the beach. Ever so often a wave lifted its stern. The fisherman she had talked to the day before and a young man were working on it.

"Going fishing off Elba?" she called out in her lowest alto.

"Yes, when tide high. Good day."

"I’ve to go to Rio nell’Elba to see my ailing mother," she said, putting on her strongest Elba accent. "Could you drop me off near Cavo?"

He pondered this for several seconds.

"It’s no more than a short detour for you… I’m willing to pay you for the inconvenience."

"Don’t know," he finally answered. "Delays us an hour; less fishing."

"A silver
grosso
?" She held up a coin.

"All right. Come aboard; tide soon high."

She waded into the water and the young man held out a hand to help her on board. The old man eagerly took the silver
grossi
, checking it carefully.

A few minutes later, the boat was free and the two men rowed it into open waters where they set the sail. A stiff breeze quickly caught the cloth and the boat pointed out to sea, a bit to the north of Capo della Vita, the northernmost tip of Elba. Chiara enjoyed the experience. Tomaso Tomasini and his son, Pietro, worked the boat with skill.

Once set on course, Tomaso asked: "Away from Elba long?"

"Yes, I left half a year before the plague."

"Bad there, the plague. Half of Rio gone, cousin said. Know Luca Gianluca."

Old Luca, so rough looking, yet so gentle.
She had forgotten about him. He was well respected. A useful first contact, she reminded herself. "From Nisporto? I think I met him when I was a boy. A tall man with a wild mane of black hair?"

"Yes, him, grey now. Bad times, they have."

"How come?"

"New master, somebody Sanguanero, very rough, not like old master."

"Is Seignior da Narni not there anymore?"

"No. Left Elba suddenly. Nobody knows why. Lost both son and daughter."

"In the plague?"

"No, before. Three years before, son, then daughter. Lost will to live after she gone."

It felt like somebody was turning a knife in a wound deep inside her that had not healed yet. It took all her acting skills to prevent it from reaching her face.

"New master runs merchantman, fast boat." He lowered his voice, leaning closer to her, as if to prevent anybody overhearing him. "Pirating, they say. Bad, very bad. My cousin … would leave if younger."

She noticed that he repeatedly looked at the two knives stuck under her belt. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind. "You a priest, armed like a bandit?"

"The roads through the mountains are not safe yet."

He looked skeptical. "Not much protection if you don’t know how to use them." The first complete sentence so far. He had come closer and so had his son. "Show me."

He reached for the knife and his son rushed her, but stopped short a hand width from the blade that suddenly pointed into his face, while the old man cried out in pain and pulled back a bloody hand.

"Yes, Tomaso Tomasini, I know how to use these blades, and you’re not the first to test how sharp they are. And in case you have other stupid ideas, I assure you that I’m also highly practiced in throwing them. So back to your tiller, and you, my boy, keep a safe distance, will you?"

Both withdrew to their usual position on the boat. The old man repeatedly licked the cut at the base of his thumb, casting her a glance full of hate every time. Neither spoke for the rest of the journey.

About midway toward Elba, they tacked to go farther south. She told Tomaso to make for the beach west of Capo Castello. Once close enough, she ordered the son to carry her bag ashore.

"Pietro, stay," shouted his father.

The boy looked uncertainly from him to her, and seeing the two knives in her hands, decided to obey her, ignoring his father’s swearing. She heard his litany for a while longer while she walked away from the shore straight into the hills. This way, she avoided the small settlement of Cavo farther south. She soon found the path along the ridge that she had taken years before with her brother. It would take her over Monte Serra and Monte Strega to Rio nell’Elba, about a two-hour walk.

Although it was well past noon and she had not eaten since morning, something drove her on. By the time she reached the heights, she was out of breath, but she continued at a fast pace along the ridge until she caught the first glimpses of her land. Shortly before reaching the top of Monte Strega, she spied Castello Nisporto, partially hidden behind trees. Her throat tightened and she could almost hear the pounding of her heart. There, far below her shone the little castle where she was born, which had been her home for seventeen years, which would one day soon be her home again, she promised herself.

Hunger finally made her take a rest. She stilled it with a good-size wedge of cheese, a bit of dried sausage, and several slices of bread, all washed down with a few swigs of wine from a leather flask, while feasting her eyes on the land. Many fields seemed neglected. She wondered why. Still the effects of the plague? Or Niccolo’s harsh rule? Here and there flocks of sheep and goats were grazing. A few fishing boats sat in the waters off the coast. Just past the tip of the island, she spotted a sail. The Santa Sophia? Way north, Isola di Capraia loomed dark in the light blue sea. It reminded her of the interchange with Professor Gomez, and she could not help smiling. That time already seemed so long ago. So much had happened since then.

* * * 

She needed to firm up her next move, something she had not given much thought yet, except for how to get to Elba. With the sailors on the Santa Caterina, Niccolo could have well over thirty people with him, all used to fighting. And fighting was exactly what she needed to avoid. Too much of that had happened already, too many people dead by her hand. There were two ways to avoid it. One was to confront Niccolo with such an overwhelming force that he would see the futility of fighting, but he might still make good on his threat to destroy Castello Nisporto. And how could she assemble such a force, except if the Governor of Elba were to put his entire garrison at her disposal? Count d’Appiano had made it quite clear that he was not willing to contemplate that yet, and she doubted he ever would.

The second way was to use stealth and cunning — her weapons — and for that she needed detailed information on where the Santa Caterina was anchored, where his people slept, their movements and numbers. She also had to make sure that Niccolo would not get wind of her presence on the island. It was not beyond him to have spies among his tenants, as a precaution against any revolt.

Was it even safe for her to go to Rio nell’Elba, spending one or several nights in the only tavern there? It was more than likely that some of his men would drink there occasionally. Not that she was afraid of being recognized, but the very presence of a young priest, a stranger, without any obvious reasons to be there, might raise suspicions that he too was a spy, sent from Piombino. Maybe she should look up Luca Gianluca first, but even that would be more prudent once dusk was falling. Sundown was still an hour to two away, more than enough time to go down to where she remembered Luca’s house to be at the edge of the village of Nisporto.

The sun was ready to dip behind Monte Capanne when she reached the open plateau where the path she had followed along the spur down from Monte Strega leveled out. The animals she had seen grazing earlier must have moved on. She planned to hide in the underbrush of the trees and wait until dusk was creeping up from the valley below before continuing. As she searched for a comfortable spot from where she could see Nisporto without being seen, the pounding of hooves alerted her to the approach of riders. She cowered behind a bush and saw two riders tear down the track she had just left a few minutes earlier. Niccolo’s men, she wondered? And then she heard the screams of a woman and the shouts of men.

Without a conscious decision, she grabbed her bow and two arrows and ran toward the screams. Maybe fifty paces farther down, two men were holding a woman to the ground. She was struggling and screaming at the same time, her skirt half thrown over her face. While one held her arms, the other forced open her legs.

"Hold still, you bitch!" shouted the one holding her arms, slapping her face with his right.

Both were so intent on what they were doing that they did not see Chiara approach. When she was about fifteen paces away, she skidded to a halt, aimed and let fly. The arrow hit the man’s back, just as he was opening his cod piece. He fell forward with a hoarse grunt. By then Chiara had her second arrow ready. The other let go of the girl and jumped to the side. Chiara tracked him and when he hit the ground, her arrow shot away, embedding itself in the man’s bottom. He cried out and tried to get up, but faced Chiara’s knives. In the meantime, the girl, still screaming, had freed herself from Chiara’s first victim and was about to flee.

"Girl, don’t run," shouted Chiara, "I need your help."

She did not disguise her voice, and the girl turned while still retreating, looking at her confused.

"Yes, girl, I am a woman. Please, come to me. These two won’t hurt you again."

Her revelation must have encouraged her second victim. He now rose, while at the same time twisting out the arrow, and shouted: "I’ll show you, you bitch!"

She had not let him out of her sight and when he jumped, intent on bringing her down, she feigned moving to the right, and, as he adjusted his jump, she moved to the left, while the knife in her right sliced his throat. The girl’s renewed screams tore through the air. He crashed on his face, jets of blood spluttering out of his artery with every beat of his heart, slowly growing weaker.

The girl started running once more.

"Wait! Come back! You have to help me," Chiara shouted again, but the girl kept fleeing.

A quick glance told her that both men were dead. Without a moment’s hesitation, she mounted the nearest horse and raced after the girl. She overtook her just before she reached the forest.

"Please, listen, I need your help. I won’t harm you. I am a young woman like you. You have to bring a message to Luca Gianluca."

That name seemed to bring the girl to her senses. She stopped looking around for a way to escape like a frightened animal. Chiara jumped off the horse and approached her, ready to grab her should she attempt to run away again. But she did not move, and Chiara took her into her arms, stroking her hair, murmuring: "My poor frightened little thing. You’re safe now."

The girl’s tense body relaxed and sobs welled up from deep in her chest. After a while, she raised her head and murmured: "Thank you, Signorina."

"It’s all right. Were they Sanguanero’s men?" Chiara asked, letting go.

The girl nodded.

That could mean trouble.
"What’s your name?" she asked.

"Angela Gianluca, Signorina."