Secret of the Song

by Cathie Hartigan

  Was I afraid? Certainly, and even more so when I heard another noise. Fearful of taking my eyes from the snake for long, I glanced down the lane. A wagon approached, heavily laden I thought by the slow pace of the horse. I hoped the snake would slither away when it felt the clip-clop of hooves rattle its belly? Would it be startled and strike out if I moved?

  The wagon came closer and closer. Still the snake did not move. Had they no ears? I felt the dart of something down the back of my neck and hoped it was a bead of sweat and not a spider. Why had I sat on the ground? What a foolish thing to do! I wasn’t a girl anymore who could jump up with ease.

  The snake shifted, its head reared up. Fear raced through me but I became as the stone on which I was seated. The wagon drew nearer until beneath the brim of my hat, I saw the horse. Perhaps the snake did too, for it shifted from the warm rut in which it lay towards the shrine and the place where I sat.

  Over my shoes it slithered. The patterning of its skin rippled; a marvellous horror to see so close. Then, like a sinuous rope being drawn across my toes, I felt the solid weight of it. I watched as if from a long way away, even though I was not.

  And then it was gone, and the wagon was almost upon me.

  ‘Holy Mother of God!’ said a voice. ‘You were lucky there. Have you any idea how poisonous that snake was?’

  For a moment I could not move. Perhaps, as serpents are wont to do, I had been tricked by it. The whole of Gesualdo was under a spell, not just Don Carlo. If I had been disbelieving of charms and spells then I was wrong. I was sorry.

  The voice was too familiar.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  Two boots appeared in my view, jumping down and landing with a thud that sent up a little cloud of dust. They began walking towards me.

  This was more terrifying than even the snake. Please … please … had my heart stopped? My breath would not come, nor my voice.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Let me help you up. You must have had quite a fright then. It’s a miracle you weren’t bitten.’

  A hand appeared and I reached towards it, knowing the grasp at once. In another moment, I was on my feet and thankful of my hat, for I couldn’t bring myself to look at his face. But he saw mine.

  ‘Silvia,’ he said, his voice barely audible. ‘Silvia, is that really you?’ With a finger he lifted the brim of my hat and peered beneath.

  I nodded and risked a glance. ‘Yes, Salvo, it is.’ Then I raised my eyes and looked at him directly.

  Many things had changed in the twenty years since I’d seen him last, but not the way he looked at me then. Slowly, he raised my hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly, as if it were fragile.

  ‘A miracle,’ he said. ‘This is a miracle.’

  I had to laugh then. It was that or start sobbing like a child. ‘Two miracles in such a short time, Salvo! After all these years. I must leave flowers at this shrine more often.’

  Agnola thrust a baby in my arms as soon as I got back.

  ‘If you keep this one quiet for half an hour,’ she said, ‘you can invite ten extra people to dinner.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I said, doubting my abilities would manage five minutes. ‘But one extra guest is all I beg for.’

  ‘Wasn’t he…?’ she trailed off, but searched my face as if all my secrets were written there for the reading. I blushed, which made her laugh.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ I said. ‘It was a surprise to see him again, that’s all.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  Of course, that wasn’t all.

  My sister shooed her family to bed earlier than I suspect they wished to go, which left Salvo and I sitting out under the stars. He asked me about my days at the convent and spent much time praising my success now that I was making robes for the cardinals.

  ‘I always knew you were special, Silvia,’ he said. ’I’m glad for you. My mother would have been very proud too.’

  ‘She taught me all I know,’ I said, almost truthfully, ‘and I have only happy memories of those early days.’

  ‘As I do,’ he said. ‘As I do.’

  In the flickering light, I thought he could be the young Salvo I knew then. He was slim again and although the little birds had marched many times all over his face, still his eyes twinkled when he laughed and I loved him all over again.

  But we had dark topics to discuss before love could be aired.

  ‘It was a young man’s folly, Silvia,’ he said, ‘and I was weak.’ His jaw tightened as he talked about it. ‘The money was the main thing. Not the women, although I know that’s what you thought.’ He sighed. ‘Of course, you did.’

  I didn’t say anything. We were opening an old wound, plunging a knife right into the scar.

  ‘Have you married since?’ I asked, barely able to work my mouth round the words. I had to know.

  There was a long pause. ‘Yes,’ he said, quietly, and in the torchlight his face was grim. The scar on the wound held. The flesh kept together somehow. ‘But,’ he said. ‘I still have some money left and of course, all that I have earned since she died.’

  ‘She died?’ I whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and although I was sorry for the loss of a life, I could not mourn her, Silvia.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Her family robbed me of all I had. Her brother was one of the men who paid … paid for those engravings. I was a fool, Silvia. She had no interest in me. But my money? That was a different matter altogether.’

  I did not know what to say.

  ‘After you’d gone,’ he went on, ‘I did not care much what I did. My work paid well but there were demands for more and more … oh, Silvia, once I saw it through your eyes, how it disgusted me! At first I blamed everyone else but myself for my stupidity.’ He nodded in the direction of the castle. ‘Especially him. He is a wicked man, there is no question of that, he was the at the root of all our troubles.’

  I thought so too, but when I thought of Donna Maria and all the nightdresses I’d mended, Laura Scala and her betrayal to Uncle Giulio, I didn’t blame him entirely. I couldn’t help but blame myself for not warning my lady more fervently, although in my heart I knew she would take no notice of a servant, however much she raised me up when it suited her.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘in some way, we are all to blame. If the fabric of a garment has weakness in one place, it will affect the rest sooner or later.’

  Salvo reached forward and covered my hand with his. ‘No, Silvia,’ he said. ‘I would not have it that you are at fault for anything. You have always behaved in the most proper way, whereas I …’ He shook his head and groaned. ‘There is something I must tell you.’

  Had the night darkened? Were the owls, late singing blackbirds and all the small scurrying creatures holding their breath too? I felt his grip tighten on my hand as I tried to withdraw it.

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Let me.’

  I nodded. I wasn’t young anymore and there wasn’t much that could shock me, but disappointment was another matter? Could I bear it?

  ‘There was a madrigal by Don Carlo, a single madrigal, not one of the collections. Perhaps it had got left out on purpose, I don’t know, but there it was at my uncle’s, moving from shelf to shelf. I think he was hoping the prince might die and he would be able to print it without any fuss.’

  My hand relaxed a little. Anything about a Gesualdo madrigal wasn’t likely to perturb me. I’d shut my ears to enough of them in the past.

  ‘In secret,’ he went on, ‘I began an engraving for a frontispiece. It would be nothing like anything else I had done before. At first I thought it would reflect Don Carlo. Instead of the cherubs I had etched for Marenzio and the … the other things.’ He coughed and brought his other hand up to cover his mouth. ‘I thought I would depict the Prince in Hell. That’s where he is going, I told myself. He will suffer all the torments of a
wicked man and with my chisel I will show the world.’

  His voice shook with anger and I pulled my hand away for fear he might crush it, but then he turned to face me and I saw it wasn’t anger at all. Tears fell down both cheeks and there was nothing but misery in his eyes.

  ‘Is that so very bad, Salvo? You did not actually harm anyone … did you?’

  ‘Oh, my darling, Silvia. Harm? I don’t know.’ He wiped his tears away roughly.

  ‘Surely—’ I began but he interrupted.

  ‘I cursed it, Silvia. The frontispiece. There was a woman in Firenze … it was stupid of me. Stupid! She was a witch, I swear it and I was possessed with hatred for Don Carlo We called upon all the elements to rise up against the sound of his precious madrigal. Instead of bringing joy into the world like music should, I cursed its performance, desiring only trouble and worry should enter the ears of the listener.’

  ‘But could you not destroy it, Salvo, if it was so very bad?’

  ‘Oh, I did. I put the engraving in the brazier.’

  ‘Well, then,’ I said, relieved. ‘Then there is nothing to worry about.’

  ‘But not before I took a pressing.’ He sighed. ‘There is one copy which I dare not destroy.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because the pressing revealed to me my own wickedness. Once the ink had dried I could clearly see that the demons I had drawn were all my own. My face was on every one.’

  ‘If that is the case, Salvo,’ I said, slowly, ‘then all the more reason to destroy it.’

  ‘I’m sure I should not. It is a daily reminder of my sins. Gesualdo will not be tortured by my work, but innocent singers.’ He shook his head. ‘It is my penance.’

  I did not know what to say.

  ‘I’m fearful too, Silvia,’ he went on, ‘that if I destroy the frontispiece, I will soon be tortured by the flames of Hell.’

  I could not make light of such a thing. Curses were curses, although I thought that apart from Sister Caterina, everyone I had ever met made judgements on each other.

  ‘But that was a long time ago,’ he said, sitting forward and tipping the bench almost over. ‘Many years now and since then, all that I have earned has been honest, if not well paid.’ His laugh lacked humour. ‘And here I am, back working for Don Carlo. There is some mirth there although I am not sure where.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Well, now,’ I said. ‘I think we may be able to find a little.’

  He looked at me with surprise. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Look here,’ I said, and I fished from my pouch the frontispiece that he had given me all those years ago. I unfolded and placed it before him. ‘Do you remember this?’

  There we were: our younger selves in the Garden of Eden.

  Salvo gasped but neither of us said anything. He smoothed the paper, which was very creased from many unfoldings, and moved the lantern so that he could look at it closely.

  ‘You’ve kept it all this time,’ he said, softly.

  I nodded. ‘And you made it, Salvo Carlino. Just like you made the other. One bad and one good but both made by you.’ I took his hand. ‘Isn’t that how people are? We’re all both good and bad, not one thing or the other. Although,’ I said, gesturing up the hill, ‘we could be mad. I don’t know what that means.’

  Salvo laughed but not so grimly as before.

  ‘Here,’ I said, folding up and giving him the frontispiece. ‘Put this with the other. I think they belong together. Now, tell me. Are you here long?’

  For a while, Salvo didn’t say anything. I think he was struggling to find words but he did pick up my hand and press it to his lips. I could see tears again but they weren’t the unhappy sort, and I might well have been mistaken because of my own.

  ‘A couple of months, I think,’ he said, at last. ‘Two books of madrigals, that’s all, but it will be a great trial working for Don Carlo if he is so very mad.’

  I agreed but didn’t elaborate. The night air was too warm and sweetly perfumed for such thoughts. There were nightingales in the valley too, and their song was so clear and beautiful we stopped talking in order to listen. After a little while Salvo leant across the table and took my hand.

  ‘But if you are here,’ he said, leaning closer still, ‘then it will be no trial at all.’ He laughed and pulled me so close towards him that it seemed likely we might kiss. ‘And then, Silvia, I have an invitation from Mr Orlando Gibbons of London. I think he is more famous there than Signor Marenzio is here. At last, Silvia, to England! Do you remember how you wanted to go and see the Queen?’

  He was so pleased with himself I began to laugh.

  ‘But she died a long time ago now, Salvo.’

  ‘Oh, did she?’

  ‘I think you know she did, Salvo Carlino. There is a King there now, I’ve heard.’

  ‘Really? Oh, well.’ He laughed too and with a little tug pulled me close enough to kiss. But then he pulled away and the expression on his face was so serious suddenly that my heart almost stopped for fear of some further trouble.

  ‘Come with me, Silvia,’ he said. ‘I have so many regrets in my life but none of them are so great as not taking you with me to Denmark.’ He sighed. ‘But wait!’ He sat back and began looking through his purse. ‘Ah, here it is. Look, my dear. I still have it. Believe me, I have thought of you every day since we parted.’ He placed the carved swan in my hand. ‘Do come to England. We will be so happy together. Let us not waste more years… please say you will.’

  I thought of my white cell back at the convent, the gorgeous robes I was yet to sew and the serene singing of the chapel choir. I would never be hungry there, or afraid.

  But neither would I see England or laugh with my lover and feel his caress. Certainly, I would never know the act of love.

  I began to sigh, remembering how much I’d been afraid of lovemaking. But really, the night was so soft and beautiful it was absurd to think of anything but happiness. Besides, I wasn’t young anymore, and age had made me brave. I laughed then and although he didn’t know why, Salvo did too.

  ‘Here,’ I said, taking my swan from its velvet pouch and kissing it, ‘let them be joined.’

  Dear Salvo, in spite of being so deft, I saw his hands tremble as he fitted one to the other. ‘There,’ he said, placing the carvings on the table in the circle of lamplight. ‘Two hearts become one at long, long last.’

  How beautiful they looked together. I hoped our lives would be just as serene.

  But that was ahead of us. In the warm, scented evening there was much kissing and laughing to be done. It was quite a while before we settled side by side in companionable silence.

  A new moon was due to rise, and it seemed to me, in the burgeoning of its light, that from far across the valley, the song of the nightingales came to us more gloriously than ever before.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  I made it through the crowd to the door, but Jon was nowhere to be seen. I took a chance that he’d parked by the library so ran down the steps and took the cut through by the Phoenix.

  In the car park? No.

  But, yes … there! Out in the road.

  ‘Jon … Jon!’ I waved madly, both arms. Too late. The car turned the corner.

  He didn’t see me.

  Or perhaps he did, and didn’t stop. A cold gust hit me. It was December after all. I ran towards the High Street. I could get a bus to Jon’s from there. By a miracle there was one at the stop and I accelerated, running faster than I had for years.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, breathless and gasping.

  The driver looked me up and down, at my dress, my unsuitable shoes, my lack of bag, phone, money.

  ‘Please,’ I said. ‘I’m not drunk or mad, but I really need to get to the hospital.’

  ‘You want the H bus then. I’m not going all the way.’

  ‘That’s all right, I’ll get off at the nearest stop … and pay twice tomorrow. Honestly.’

  ‘Of course you will, love,’ said the driver, and
he shut the doors behind me.

  I gave him my best smile, then decided he thought I was mad after all. I glanced at my watch. Nine-fifteen.

  By the time I reached his flat my teeth were having quite a conversation and my right shoe squeaked loudly in the suburban quiet. Jon’s flat was the ground floor of a converted Victorian villa and the front garden had been turned into hard standing. The certainty of seeing his Golf parked there once I reached the end of the long yew hedge was so great, it never occurred to me that Jon might not have gone straight home.

  I rang the bell, but knew it wouldn’t be answered. The whole place was in darkness, even the flat upstairs. No cars were parked outside.

  Shit. Idiot or what? I hugged myself and began to run on the spot. Perhaps he’d gone to the pub for a drink. Or more than one drink. He could be drowning his sorrows.

  I wondered what the others were doing, back there in the warm, in their nice coats and comfortable cars. I hoped Mollie wasn’t too vigorous with Duncan’s bouquet of roses that I’d thrust into her arms. Mum would take charge. She was right, of course. If I’d only told Jon about Duncan. I groaned. Even though my lips were probably blue by then, I still felt the tingle of his kiss. Oh, Jon … had I blown it for good?

  Left, squeak left, squeak left, squeak. The porch was no shelter at all. I’d walk home even if it meant dying of exposure on the way.

  I was about to leave, when it occurred to me that Jon might have left a window open. It was about as unlikely as a pumpkin turning into a taxi, but I thought I’d give the handle on the side gate a go, just to see.

  It did open but I couldn’t see a thing, even the wheelie bins I walked into. Gradually, though, as I shuffled my way to the back, my eyes accustomed to the dark. Several times my heels squelched into something soft, but I remained upright. Only mud, I told myself, only mud. I was heading for the French windows and got to the corner without mishap, but one step on to the patio and a blinding security light came on.