The Falconer's Knot (10 page)

Chiara was in the sisters’ garden when the carriage came down the Gubbio road. She was carrying out one of her favourite tasks, because it brought her out into the fresh air. Sister Veronica needed fuller’s herb for a special yellow she was working on and Chiara was deft and neat at picking the plants. But she dawdled, always hoping to catch a glimpse of the handsome Silvano or at least see something to vary the monotony of life in the convent.

She had thought that, after the murder next door, everything would be different but, after the washing of Ubaldo’s body, the sisters had gone back to their old routine. Chiara shuddered as she thought of the task she had helped to perform the day before. And then she was rewarded by the sight of a carriage heading towards the friary.

It was drawn by two bay horses with rosettes of black ribbon on their harness and she knew immediately that this meant the arrival of Ubaldo’s widow. Rumour had already circulated that Monna Isabella would be coming herself to fetch him home. I wonder if her heart is broken? thought Chiara. She tried to think of the thing she had seen the day before as a living, breathing man, loved by his wife.

Someone else had seen the carriage from her window. Mother Elena, the Abbess, realised as quickly as her youngest novice, that it signalled the arrival of the merchant’s widow. Poor woman, she thought. What a dreadful journey for her to make! She made up her mind instantly to offer her condolences in person. Father Bonsignore is a good soul, she thought, but he will not know how to conduct himself with a woman of the laity, particularly one of her station.

As she swept through the courtyard, the Abbess found Sister Orsola standing open-mouthed in the garden, with a forgotten basket of plants at her feet. She had seen little of the girl since her admission into the convent and on impulse she decided to take her to the friary with her.

‘Come, Sister Orsola,’ she commanded. ‘Let us go and offer our sympathy to the widow of Ubaldo. She will appreciate the presence of other women in that house of bachelors.’

Chiara couldn’t believe her luck: two days running a visit to the friary! All the grisly business was over now and she was burning with curiosity to see the merchant’s widow.

They walked the short distance to the brothers’ house and were in time to see the footman help a very elegantly dressed woman out of the carriage and hand her ceremoniously to the Abbot, who had come out to greet her.

Monna Isabella would take no refreshment nor wash the traces of her journey from her before seeing the body of her husband. It had been moved to the chapel and was already in a plain coffin. The small procession of Abbot and Abbess, widow and novice, walked slowly towards the trestles on which the coffin lay.

The elegant woman gave an involuntary gasp when she saw the body and she pressed a lace handkerchief to her mouth.

What on earth would she have done if she had seen him the way he was yesterday? thought Chiara but, remembering the blood and the staring eyes, she wouldn’t have wished that on Ubaldo’s widow. How she must have loved him!

‘I will take that wine now, Father,’ said Isabella. She was struggling to compose herself. She glanced at the women, glad to have them near. ‘Perhaps your novice might attend me, Mother,’ she said to the Abbess.

Chiara took Isabella to the guest room, where Brother Landolfo had set a pitcher and bowl of water and a rare looking-glass ready for their lady visitor. Isabella looked round the room and shuddered while Chiara poured out some water.

‘It was in here, wasn’t it?’ she asked, putting back her black veil. ‘This is where he died.’

‘Yes, Madama,’ said Chiara, struck by the woman’s composed beauty. ‘I attended to him myself.’

‘Really? And . . . and were his wounds very terrible?’

‘Not too terrible, Madama,’ lied Chiara.

Isabella gave a short laugh. ‘You are a kind girl but there is no need to spare me. I have no idea who hated my husband enough to kill him but whoever it was has released me from a man I did not love.’

Chiara was astounded. She said nothing but encouraged the widow to splash water on her pale cheeks and white hands. Then she proffered the towel and saw that Monna Isabella expected Chiara to dry her hands and face for her. She submitted to the novice’s care like a small child or helpless imbecile.

‘It shocks you, I am sure,’ continued Isabella. ‘To hear the sacrament of marriage spoken of so slightingly. I should have felt the same at your age, before I had experienced love and had it snatched away from me.’

She paused and took a brush from her small carrying-case, then unpinned her veil. Chiara saw with admiration the glossy hair underneath.

‘But I am forgetting, child,’ said Isabella. ‘You are married to the Church and must have no thoughts of earthly love.’

‘Only against my will,’ said Chiara, unable to help herself. She couldn’t bear to have this elegant woman thinking of her as a nun with a vocation. Seeing Isabella’s surprise, she plunged on with her explanation. ‘My brother brought me here without my consent,’ she said. ‘And the sisters are very kind to me but I have no calling. I am here because there was no money for a dowry. Otherwise I should have been allowed to think of love as much as I might wish.’

It was the woman’s turn to be astounded. ‘But do not imagine you would have been able to choose your own husband, even if there had been dowry enough,’ she said bitterly. ‘It was my father who decided on Ubaldo for me, even though my heart was already given to someone else. We women have no choice but to do as our fathers or brothers – or husbands,’ she spat out the word, ‘decide for us.’

Chiara was brushing the widow’s hair by now with soothing strokes. How she had missed having her own long curls to tend!

‘And what happened to him?’ she felt bold enough to ask the back of Isabella’s head. ‘The man you really loved?’

‘Domenico?’ said the widow. ‘I don’t know,’ and, putting her face in her hands, she wept for the first time since the news of her husband’s death.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Widows

I
sabella and Chiara talked for a long time before Chiara led the widow to Father Bonsignore’s cell. She felt very different now that she knew Isabella’s secret. But, although the merchant’s death had not grieved his widow, Chiara could not doubt that it had shocked and surprised her.

Now for the second time in two days, the novice found herself taking wine with the Abbot. The widow seemed reluctant to let her go and leant heavily on the young girl’s arm. Father Bonsignore poured liberal measures of the best red wine his Cellarer could provide and looked relieved that Isabella had someone to look after her.

Isabella was having a whispered conversation with the Abbess about the funeral arrangements for her husband. Chiara heard the words ‘Requiem Mass’ and ‘Cathedral’. But the Abbot had another pressing practical matter to discuss.

‘Forgive me, Monna Isabella,’ he said, ‘for bothering you with such a matter at this time but what are we to do with your husband’s belongings? His baggage and clothes can, of course, travel with you in the carriage but I was wondering about his horse . . .’

Isabella looked like someone who had just swum up to the surface of a deep lake. ‘His horse? Yes, to be sure. We must make some arrangement,’ she said distractedly.

Then as if she had realised this for the first time, she suddenly said with anguish, ‘Am I to travel in the carriage with his body?’

Bonsignore was nonplussed. There would be plenty of space for widow and coffin alike and he had assumed it would be the arrangement but now he saw that the idea filled Isabella with horror. He looked to the Abbess for advice.

‘Can you ride a horse, Madama?’ Mother Elena asked.

‘I can,’ said Isabella doubtfully. The journey home had become something enormous to accomplish.

‘Forgive me, Mother,’ said Chiara. ‘But I don’t think that Monna Isabella is well enough to ride alongside the carriage unaccompanied.’

‘You are right, child,’ said the Abbess. ‘But Father, is there not a young novice here who can ride? Could he not accompany the lady and see that she travels safely on Ser Ubaldo’s horse?’

‘Excellent idea,’ said the Abbot. ‘I shall send for Brother Silvano at once.’

Silvano was back in the colour room, diligently grinding celadon rock into a dull green powder. He looked up from his porphyry slab when Brother Ranieri came into the room and whispered to Brother Anselmo. He saw the Colour Master turn pale and they both looked at him.

‘Brother Silvano, come here a moment, will you?’ said Brother Anselmo. ‘Leave the green earth.’

He took the young man outside and said, ‘Father Bonsignore has something to ask of you. Monna Isabella, the widow of Ubaldo, is here to reclaim his body. The Abbot wishes you to accompany her back to Gubbio on your horse. She will ride on her late husband’s beast.’

Silvano was more than willing to go. It would be good to see Gubbio again and a ride in the fresh air, even with a grieving widow, would be more exciting than spending the rest of the afternoon grinding colours and praying.

And surely this meant the Abbot did not still think him involved in Ubaldo the merchant’s death? He would hardly send a suspected murderer to accompany the victim’s widow home.

He was surprised to see the pretty novice from the convent when he entered the Abbot’s cell. It was as well that Brother Anselmo had already told him of his commission, because Silvano found it hard to concentrate on what Bonsignore was saying, under the young girl’s scrutiny. She seemed always to be crossing his path nowadays and he more often found her features floating into his mind when he tried to remember Angelica’s face.

He tried not to look at her, or at Ubaldo’s widow, after the introductions. He was willing enough to ride with her to Gubbio but he didn’t want to think about what she must be feeling.

The Abbot sent him to saddle up both horses. They were to borrow an ancient ladies’ saddle from the convent, left over from Abbess Elena’s secular life, so Silvano accompanied the sisters back to the convent to collect it. He walked silently and as respectfully as he could but it was hard to keep his eyes from sliding sideways for a glimpse of the novice.

‘Sister Orsola’ the Abbess had called her, and the widow of Ubaldo seemed attached to her. She had said, ‘Please come back and say goodbye to me.’ And the Abbess had nodded slightly, to give permission.

So it was that the two young novices found themselves walking back across to the friary unaccompanied. Silvano was perplexed. Since he wasn’t a real postulant, he had no idea if he was allowed to address the sister but he didn’t want to appear impolite.

‘The lady seems grateful for your company, Sister Orsola,’ he said and was rewarded by a deep sigh.

‘I am not Orsola yet,’ she said, glancing up at him. ‘My name is Chiara and I like it a lot better.’

‘So do I,’ said Silvano impulsively. ‘It is a beautiful name.’

She gave him a radiant smile.

‘And it suits you,’ he added rashly.

‘Is Silvano your real name?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I have no other.’

‘But you are not really a novice, are you?’

He stopped and looked at her.

‘Does everyone know, in both our houses?’ he asked, uneasy about his safety from prosecution if his disguise became the subject of universal gossip.

‘No, I don’t think so. But I saw you arrive, with your horse and your hawk, and I knew then that you were no friar.’

Silvano smiled. ‘I remember,’ he said. ‘I saw you too and – forgive me, Sister Chiara – I thought that you too did not seem a very convincing novice.’

A shadow fell over her face. ‘I don’t know why you are here,’ she said. ‘But it is some kind of game to you and all in earnest for me. I cannot leave the grey sisters and one day I must be Orsola in reality for ever – a gruff and grim little bear.’

Silvano was moved by her sadness.

‘It is not a game for me either,’ he said seriously. ‘The reason I am here is that I am accused of stabbing a man in Perugia.’

Chiara started.

‘Don’t be scared,’ he reassured her. ‘I am innocent and seeking sanctuary here with the brothers. And I had nothing to do with the merchant’s death here.’

‘But why did anyone think it was you?’ she asked. ‘That had murdered the other man, I mean.’

‘Because my dagger was used,’ he said. And then resolved to tell her the whole truth. ‘And I had been paying attention to the man’s wife, Angelica.’

Chiara felt a stab of pure jealousy. She would have liked to ask him more – what Angelica looked like and whether he still had feelings for her. But as they reached the stables, they met several people at once.

The elderly lay brother, Gianni, who worked in the stables, was leading out the bay horses to harness them into the carriage. He nodded to Silvano to go in to his own grey stallion and the merchant’s brown mare.

The Abbot was leading the widow out to the stables and six brothers were carrying the merchant’s coffin, now nailed up, behind them. Unaware of this procession, Brother Anselmo came round the corner from the colour room and called out.

‘A moment, Brother Silvano,’ he said. ‘I would have another word with you before you leave.’

Chiara saw Isabella come to a sudden stop at the sound of his voice. The coffin party nearly ran into her where she stood, a hand on her heart. ‘Domenico!’ She barely mouthed the name, but Chiara understood. In an instant she looked with new interest at Brother Anselmo, who stood fixed to the spot. So this was Monna Isabella’s first love!

It was a strange tableau, whose meaning few members understood. Chiara hurried to Isabella’s side, worried that this new shock would rob her of her senses. How was she to ride safely to Gubbio in this state? She persuaded the widow to sit down on a mounting-block.

‘Father Abbot,’ said Chiara, looking at Isabella’s white face. ‘I think that the lady needs a moment longer. The sight of the coffin might have been too much for her.’ She flashed Silvano a look into which she put as much meaning as she could, indicating that he should go to Brother Anselmo.

Silvano took the older man’s arm and led him aside, while the coffin was loaded into the carriage and the Abbot fussed around Isabella.

‘What is it, Brother?’ Silvano asked.

Anselmo answered through frozen lips. ‘I, I came to warn you to be careful in Gubbio,’ he said. ‘There might be someone there from Perugia, who could recognise you and realise you are in disguise. It is dangerous for you to go and you must come back as soon as possible.’

‘I shall take care, I promise,’ said Silvano. ‘But we must leave soon or I shall not be back before dark. Will you be all right? You seem upset.’

He looked towards the widow, who had recovered her composure. Brother Anselmo was looking at her too but she was turned away from them.

‘I shall look after the widow Isabella,’ Silvano said and was surprised by the pressure Anselmo put on his arm.

‘You are a good boy,’ said Anselmo. ‘Treat her as if she were your own precious mother. She is all that their children have now.’

And Silvano wondered at how familiar he seemed to be with the circumstances of the merchant’s life. He sensed that he was not the only one with a secret.

But now he must saddle the horses, help the widow to mount and escort her back to Gubbio. As the small cortège left the friary, Silvano realised with sinking heart that it was going to take hours to make the journey. A carriage carrying a man’s body must go at a respectful pace and he wondered how he would fill the time ambling along behind it, beside a woman in deep mourning.

Being a widow was not as easy as Angelica had hoped. For a start, she didn’t have full control of Tommaso’s money and property, even though she was his only heir. His nephews were very keen that she should appoint one of them as her ‘mundualdus’, the man who would act for her in all financial matters. She was fiercely against having such a procurator, but the law insisted that a widow without children should have a man to undertake all transactions on her behalf.

However, she could have a say as to who that man would be.

When Baron Montacuto sent the young Gervasio de’ Oddini to her, it seemed like manna from Heaven. He was too young to be her mundualdus himself but it took very little to persuade him to ask his father to act for her. So now she had an ally, who was himself rather pressed for money and would do as she asked if suitably rewarded. He also had no connection with her nephews-in-law and as intermediary, Vincenzo de’ Oddini could send his delightful youngest son.

This suited Gervasio as well as it did Angelica, of course. He had not asked her for Silvano’s poem, for the simple reason that he still had it inside his own jerkin. He reported his failure to retrieve it to the Baron, who said only, ‘I hope she has destroyed it.’ But it had given him the perfect excuse to visit Angelica for the first time and now, as his father’s representative, he no longer needed one.

And she did look handsome in her widow’s weeds. The black veil was often pushed back so that her blonde curls escaped from it and she was delightfully dimpled and plump.

Today he was to escort her to Gubbio where on the following morning his father would sign on her behalf a deed selling one of the smaller sheep farms. It was Angelica’s wish to move out of the smelly, animal husbandry side of wool production and to operate as a merchant. She had the makings of a shrewd businesswoman and had decided to use the money from the farm to establish a small trading post in Gubbio.