by Mary Hoffman
The Baron cursed the day Silvano had ever set eyes on the comely wife of the sheep farmer. With the farmer’s death, the Baron’s family had been shattered at a stroke. The sentence still hung over Silvano’s head; it would be death for him to set foot in Perugia again until the real killer had been found. And until Silvano could return, the Montacuto family was a shadow of its former self.
A servant came in and announced the arrival of the Abbot of Giardinetto. A light flashed in the Baron’s eyes but he quickly suppressed his elation.
‘Show him to my study and bring him refreshment,’ he ordered. ‘Excuse me, my dear,’ he said to Margarethe. ‘I have eaten my fill and Bonsignore is one of my oldest friends.’
‘Of course,’ said his wife listlessly. ‘It will give you pleasure to see him.’
But the joy that Bartolomeo felt in clasping his son’s protector in his arms soon turned to alarm.
‘He is well and he is safe – so far,’ said Bonsignore cautiously.’
‘What do you mean “so far”? Is his secret out?’
Bonsignore sighed. ‘That is the least of our worries, but yes, somehow Silvano’s history is now known in the friary.’
‘Tell me everything,’ said the Baron.
In the de’ Oddini household a more satisfactory conversation was taking place. Vincenzo had a most unusual commission to convey to his son.
Gervasio had always been a mystery to him. The family had too many children for their father to know them all well but he had a better sense of all his other sons and daughters than he had of this youngest boy. ‘You have become friendly with the widow Angelica these last weeks?’ he began.
‘Yes, father,’ said Gervasio meekly, trying to keep the excitement out of his face. He knew what was coming. ‘We are on good terms.’
‘Well it seems as if Monna Angelica would like to be on even better terms,’ said Vincenzo drily. ‘She has asked me to enquire whether a marriage would be acceptable to you.’
‘A marriage to her?’
‘Of course to her! What do you think she is – a professional matchmaker?’ said Vincenzo.
‘What do you think of the idea, father?’
Vincenzo tried not to shudder. He thought it would be a terrible come-down for a son of a noble family, however impoverished, to marry a common peasant, however wealthy. But he could not advise Gervasio against it. There would not be enough patrimony to support him after Vincenzo’s own death and this was a great opportunity to get his hands on considerable wealth. And the widow was pretty, there was no arguing about that, if a bit coarse. As long as Gervasio liked her, his father could raise no objection. He had made enough money himself out of advising her and could not afford to offend her.
‘I think, if you like the lady, I should be happy to give my blessing to your union,’ he said, through gritted teeth.
‘Thank you, father,’ said Gervasio. ‘Then I am happy to become her second husband. Let us announce the engagement immediately. We would like to have the ceremony as soon as decently possible, considering her status as widow.’
‘As you wish. Now, would you like me to visit her or shall you take your answer yourself?’
‘I shall go myself, father, if that is agreeable to you,’ said Gervasio.
‘Perfectly agreeable,’ said Vincenzo. ‘I shall tell your mother.’
And as his son left the room, he felt as if he had, in some indefinable way, been the victim of a conspiracy.
‘Two more murders!’ thundered Bartolomeo da Montacuto. ‘Under the same roof as my son?’
‘Well, two murders,’ said the Abbot. ‘I doubt they are connected to the one in Perugia.’
‘What have I done?’ the Baron moaned, his head in his hands. ‘All I wanted was to protect my boy and it seems I have sent him into the lions’ den.’
‘We are doing everything possible to protect every member of the community,’ said Bonsignore and his old friend noticed for the first time how haggard he looked. ‘The Minister General is coming on a visitation and will interrogate every brother.’
‘But meanwhile, Silvano is under suspicion again?’ asked Bartolomeo. ‘If his history is known and the first victim was stabbed, surely the other friars would think of him as the most likely assassin?’
‘I can’t deny it,’ said Bonsignore. ‘But his mentor, Brother Anselmo, is also under suspicion since he wooed the first victim’s wife in their youth.’
‘And this man is looking after my son?’
‘He is our Colour Master. Silvano works under him in the colour room, grinding pigments for the painters in Assisi. He seems to like the work.’
‘But do you think this Brother Anselmo is the murderer?’
‘No,’ said Bonsignore. ‘I would stake my life he is not. But it must be someone in my care and I can’t bear the thought that any of the friars would do such a thing.’
The Baron sat back in his chair, mollified. ‘Do you think Silvano is still safe with you?’ he asked. ‘Should I try to find him sanctuary elsewhere?’
‘I think it would be very dangerous to move him now. But I cannot promise that I can keep him as safe as I should like. After all, I could not save Brother Landolfo.’
The two men were silent.
‘I almost forgot,’ said Bonsignore. ‘I have brought letters from Silvano, for you and for the Baronessa.’ He took rolled parchment from the scrip at his belt.
The Baron took them eagerly. ‘I shall wait to give Margarethe hers,’ he said. ‘She must not know it came with you. It is vital that she shouldn’t know where Silvano is hiding. I’d better read it myself first, in case he gives anything away.’
‘Shall I go out with Celeste to hunt meat for the Minister General?’ Silvano asked Bertuccio the cook.
‘Not a bit of it,’ said Bertuccio. ‘I have strict orders from the Abbot. Michele da Cesena is a stickler for poor living. He has just written a paper about how all Franciscans must go back to the original rule of the Saint – no luxury, no property, no self-indulgence. It’s going to get him into trouble, mark my words.’
Bertuccio was a lay brother, so Silvano didn’t know how much he really knew about Franciscans. Ever since he had arrived in Giardinetto, Silvano had found the rules relaxed for him but he could still tell that some brothers were more abstemious than others. Brother Landolfo, in spite of his jolly appearance and role as provider of hospitality, had eaten and drunk very little, while some other brothers clearly enjoyed the pleasures of the table.
The brothers’ attitudes to property were hard to tell. All friars had the same coarse grey robes and maybe a psalter or breviary. No one wore any ornament, except for the Abbot’s plain pectoral cross. The brothers wore sandals only if they had to undertake a long journey; usually they went barefoot.
But Silvano had not been into any of the senior friars’ private cells, except the Abbot’s and Brother Anselmo’s. Could some of them have chests full of sumptuous cloths and jewels? It seemed very unlikely. Silvano knew the story of how the wealthy young Francis had renounced all his possessions, even down to the clothes he wore, and turned away from his noble family to found an order based on poverty, to try and get back to the life of Christ.
He remembered how his old friend Gervasio had feared and dreaded the prospect of becoming a friar but Silvano had not found it hard to fit in. It helped, of course, that he knew he had another life to return to. It would have been different if his entire future lay in the Order.
Silvano found himself dreading the visit of this grim-sounding Minister General. He was anxious too for Abbot Bonsignore to return from Perugia. Not only would he have seen Silvano’s father and delivered his letters, he might have news of the sheep farmer’s murderer, something that could clear his name in Giardinetto.
Anselmo and Silvano now worked in silence in the c
olour room. The atmosphere was heavy with suspicion. Simone had advised them to look for signs of lunacy in other friars, so they had started to treat the other brothers with the same caution they were experiencing. It made Silvano feel closer to the Colour Master but the more they scrutinised their fellow friars, the harder it was to say who was sane and who not.
Brother Fazio was definitely a little eccentric about his illumination colours but that didn’t make him mad. Gregorio the Lector was strict – Silvano thought he was the kind of friar the Minister General would approve of – but he was a fair man and not mentally unstable. Brother Rufino, the Infirmarian, and Valentino, the Herbalist, were a bit territorial with one another. But really neither Anselmo nor Silvano could single out one of the brothers as any madder than any man outside the Order. They had their quirks and peculiarities, but no more than other groups of men and it was still fantastic to think of one of them as an insane assassin.
‘It is settled!’ said Gervasio, lifting Angelica in his arms and twirling her round. She laughed with relief and when he put her down, he was a little out of breath. Surely she hadn’t always been so heavy?
‘We are to be married at your convenience, my love,’ he said.
Angelica regarded him complacently. Now this was more what a husband should be like! He was young, slim and good-looking – and he came from a good family. He wouldn’t scrape her face with an unshaven cheek or belch over his food. Gervasio would be as elegant an ornament to her house as any tablecloth or vase she might order.
She did not deceive herself that he was more in love with her than with her money. She knew that she could please him, though, and that was enough. She wasn’t in love with him either but he brought to the match what she had brought to her first marriage – youth and looks and pleasant ways – and she was ready to make the bargain.
For his part, Gervasio was light-headed with relief. He would not have to fear the life of a shoeless religious; his future was assured. And Angelica was a lovely creature. A bit plump and perhaps more so since being widowed, but it suited her. She was fair and rosy and a most attractive armful. He would not find his marital duties at all irksome.
But best of all, she was rich! He would no longer have to worry about his mounting debts, his bills at the tavern, his gaming losses. Angelica could write them off with a stroke of the pen.
They kissed passionately, each so filled with relief that it served just as well as real ardour.
‘My darling,’ murmured Gervasio, caressing her shoulder, surprised by the warmth of his own feelings.
‘Dearest,’ she replied, her eyes closed in ecstasy. How delicate and exciting his touch was! Oh, she could be a real wife to this one! She had a fleeting recollection of another young man with big grey eyes and a poem. But she put him out of her mind.
Gervasio was thinking of Silvano too. He still had that poem in his jerkin. He didn’t know where his friend was now but he hoped he was safe. He hadn’t really meant him to suffer when he stabbed Angelica’s husband. But it had been very handy his coming along the street at that moment.
‘He’s here, he’s here!’ said Brother Matteo excitedly. He was at the door of the colour room when the Minister General and his chaplain rode into the yard at Giardinetto.
‘He’s stabling his horses,’ Matteo continued his commentary. ‘And now old Gianni is pointing the way to the Abbot’s cell. Oh no, that’s too bad. One of us should go and escort him. No, it’s all right. Father Bonsignore must have seen him from his window – he’s come down to greet him.’
‘He’s back then?’ asked Silvano, surprised.
‘Oh yes, he got back last night,’ said Matteo. ‘He must be very tired.’
The Abbot was indeed far too weary to handle the Minister General’s visit as well as he should. Michele da Cesena was a terrifying person to entertain. His ascetic, almost fleshless face was dominated by fanatical, black eyes and he had no time for social niceties.
After the briefest of greetings and declining all offers of refreshment, which his chaplain looked a little wistful about, the Minister General asked to see the sites of the two murders. His chaplain sprinkled the guest room and the refectory with holy water, while the Minister General prayed long and fervently on his knees on the flagstones.
‘We held a service of purification,’ said Bonsignore, when Michele da Cesena eventually rose.
‘Good,’ nodded the Minister General. ‘Now, I shall need to use your cell and interview every friar from yourself to the youngest novice – lay brothers and servants too. I shall hear all their confessions.’
And one of them will freely confess to murder, I suppose, thought the Abbot, but all he said was, ‘I have of course heard confessions from them all since the deaths.’
The Minister General ignored him. ‘My chaplain will make some notes,’ he said. ‘In a matter as serious as this, the secrecy of the confessional may be waived.’
As the Abbot followed him to his own cell, he felt displaced from his own house and his position of authority. He sighed and squared his shoulders; he had had no choice but to send for his superior and the knowledge that he was in for a very uncomfortable fifteen minutes was in a strange way comforting. This harsh, uncompromising friar would take the burden from him and, if anyone could solve the terrible crimes at Giardinetto, it would be Michele da Cesena.
The tension in the friary was palpable. Everyone knew why the Minister General was there and everyone expected to be questioned. Work continued but no one was concentrating. As each friar returned to his task after his interrogation, he faced a second one from the brothers around him. ‘What was it like? Were you scared?’ asked the younger friars and novices, forgetting the normal deference they would show to their seniors.
Brother Anselmo was with the Minister General for a long time, causing much speculation in the colour room. The friars shifted uneasily and looked often at Silvano and he didn’t know whether it was because of his closeness to the Colour Master or because of their own suspicions about him.
When Anselmo returned, he looked grey and strained and they were all relieved when the bell rang for Sext. The midday meal came straight afterwards and the Lector read from the Book of Revelation, imposing silence on the brothers with a quelling look.
Michele da Cesena did not appear in the refectory and nor did the Abbot.
‘The man must eat surely?’ whispered Brother Taddeo at the lower end of the table.
‘Perhaps Bertuccio has taken something to the Abbot’s room?’ said Silvano.
‘The Abbot is not in his room,’ said Monaldo the Librarian, who had already been questioned. ‘I think he is praying in the chapel. The Minister General has taken over his quarters.’
The questioning lasted all that day and into the next. Michele and his chaplain appeared briefly at supper, eating and drinking a little of the deliberately plain fare provided by Bertuccio, and then went back to work. The Minister General was offered the guest room but chose to sleep a few hours in the Abbot’s cell. His chaplain joined the junior friars in the dormitory but would not be drawn on his master’s work.
And still Silvano had not been called.
Word got around quickly in Perugia that the beautiful widow Angelica was going to remarry. It wasn’t long before it reached the ears of Baron Montacuto. He experienced a rapid series of emotions: surprise, that his old friend de’ Oddini could sanction the marriage of even a youngest son to the widow of a sheep farmer; relief that this took the light of enquiry off his own son, since Angelica had clearly not been in love with Silvano and, finally, suspicion.
The most convincing reason for Gervasio’s marriage must be lack of money. And if he was short of money, perhaps he had been in debt? Bartolomeo da Montacuto decided that he must put his investigators on to young Gervasio de’ Oddini; a terrible misgiving was building in his mind.
He had read Silvano’s letters and was moved by how much the boy was missing his family. He had been careful too to keep his news neutral; no one would guess he was writing from a religious house. When Margarethe came into the Baron’s room, he hadn’t the heart to keep her letter from her any longer.
‘I have news my dear,’ he said stricken by her wasted look. ‘A letter from Silvano.’
Instantly the mother’s face brightened and she practically snatched the roll from her husband’s hand. She read breathlessly.
‘He is well; he is safe!’ she said, clutching the parchment to her breast as if the skin were her son’s own, for her to stroke and kiss.
‘I told you, dear heart,’ said the Baron, embracing her. ‘I promised you I would keep him safe.’
He was not going to tell her that Silvano was shut up with at least one and possibly two murderers; let her enjoy the happiness of the moment.
‘But when will we see him again?’ asked Margarethe, resting her fair head on her husband’s broad chest. ‘When will Silvano come home?’
‘Soon now, my dear, very soon,’ said the Baron, patting her shoulder. ‘I think I might have found out something that means he will be back with us before too long.’
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Colour of Blood
The Minister General called Silvano to the Abbot’s cell shortly before Nones in the afternoon of the second day of his visitation. The walk from the colour room to the main house had never seemed so long to him.
He found Michele da Cesena sitting sternly in the Abbot’s chair, the tired chaplain occupying a high reading desk.
‘You are not a genuine novice,’ was the Minister General’s opening remark; it was not a question.
