Chiara – Revenge and Triumph

by Gian Bordin

  For the show, Chiara took extra care to apply enough face paint to hide her features, just in case Niccolo Sanguanero might also be invited.

  The five of them — Antonia remained at home, content to sit by the window — arrived at the palace half an hour before the first guests and set up their props. A corner of the spacious high-ceiling ground floor loggia next to the entrance had been discretely curtained off as a changing and waiting room. The heavy red curtain displayed the Tolomei code of arms in gold and silver threads. She watched the arrival of the guests through a small crack in the cloth. The attire and adornments of the ladies and the dashing clothes of the gentlemen easily matched every bit what she had seen in Florence, except that it did not overwhelm her anymore.

  Suddenly, she heard a familiar male voice, and when its owner came into view, she recognized Niccolo. At his arm was a grey-haired old man who put one foot ahead of the other in small, tentative steps. Only the black eye patch let her guess that it was his father. She was deeply shaken to see the man who had been full of vigor less than two years before reduced to such a pitiful ruin. Although his other eye was not covered, its shattered pupil was proof that he was blind. She began to breathe deeply to calm her pulse.

  They were followed by a young couple. Fascinated, Chiara stared at the intricate gold necklace — her mother’s. So this was Niccolo’s younger sister and her husband.

  The host, his back to the curtain, greeted them. After a brief exchange of flowery and banal compliments, Niccolo remarked: "Distinguished Signore, I look forward to seeing this spectacle again. The last time we saw it, I was quite impressed." He turned to his father. "Messer Father, did we not have a group doing a clever knife-throwing act two years ago?"

  "It was less than that. It was shortly before I lost my good eye to that witch of a girl. May God curse her."

  "My dear Signor Sanguanero, you may have seen something similar," replied the host. "But I have it from two reliable sources that this group is unique. Averardo di Bicci of Casa Medici told me about them a year ago, and just the other day Lady Maria d’Appiano, who you will certainly agree is a most astute observer, impressed on me that they were not something to be missed. She told me to watch out particularly for the young woman in the knife-throwing act. She claims that it cost her over thirty florins, which I am loath to match. It is twice as much as I have ever paid for any performing troupe, but I can hardly do less than your new master, Signor Sanguanero, our friend and Lord of Piombino. And how are your affairs going?"

  "Oh, splendidly. One of our merchantmen just returned from Spain, loaded with wool."

  "Good to hear. Are you still planning to get into the spice trade? It certainly offers the highest return."

  Spice trade, she wondered, would there be a way to trap them with that?

  "We are still looking. The Venetian galleys only leave in May."

  "I have it from a reliable source that the Venetians are very jealous of their trade and that the Doge has issued directives that only established Venetians belonging to the Great Council are permitted to participate."

  "We are trying to do it by way of a proxy."

  "Ah, as silent partners. Let me know how you fare. So, Signori, enjoy the evening."

  He turned to greet another group of arrivals.

  "You will have to tell me what you see, son."

  "I will, father, I will," Niccolo murmured, leading his father along.

  "You should not have told Tolomei about our spice plans," was the last she heard.

  Alda whispered into her ear: "Were these the Sanguanero?"

  "Yes."

  "But he is an old man."

  "He is only in his mid-fifties and he was in his prime then."

  "Chiara, you took a terrible revenge. Please, leave it be … for me."

  She is right. Should I? Chiara pushed these thoughts away. "Did you see the necklace on the young woman?"

  "Yes, I can’t remember ever having seen anything as exquisite."

  "It’s mine. It was my mother’s. They stole it from me."

  "Oh, Chiara, don’t think revenge. It’s only a piece of shiny metal."

  Again, she did not respond to Alda’s plea. Will Niccolo recognize me? she wondered instead, torn between a strange wish he would and the need he did not.

  Their performance equaled the flourish of the one for Lady Maria. The spectators begged for the knife juggling act to be repeated. And her patience with Veronica paid off. The girl won all the hearts with her sweet portrayal of the maiden wrongly accused of betrayal. Chiara, as usual, played the role of the would-be seducer.

  After the show, she briefly watched the Sanguanero group through the crack in the curtains. From their behavior, it seemed clear that Niccolo had not recognized her.

  The purse she received was indeed heavy. Back at their house, she emptied it on the table and let Jacomo count. It contained thirty gold coins. She pocketed the customary half as the corago and gave four florins to each of the other players, adding one of her own. Veronica clutched her share to her bosom. It was more than twice what a maid earned for a whole year of service.

  While they sat in the hall over a jug of wine, Chiara argued that they should cut back performing in the Campo to maybe once a month, that this was more likely to get them private invitations, that a single private invitation would bring in more than two dozen public performances.

  "I knew it was wise to let you be our corago," chuckled Pepe.

  * * *

  Next morning she was again on the prowl in her priest’s disguise. Before she realized it, she found herself in front of the Casa Sanguanero mansion. She joined a group of people watching the unloading of a heavy cart. The aroma of spices, cloves and cinnamon, tickled her nose. It reminded her of Niccolo’s remarks about wishing to enter the spice trade. A tall blonde man issued from the wide entrance door. It’s my sailor. Her insides suddenly turned liquid. Part of her wanted to run, other parts held her glued to the pavement. While he waited for the fellow on the cart to fetch a bag, his gaze casually observed the crowd. It felt like a stab when her eyes briefly locked with his a moment before he hoisted the bag onto his bare back. She was fascinated by the play of his muscles. How would it be to touch them? An unknown heat spread from her groin, and she felt moist. What’s happening to me? It was disconcerting, like losing control over her body.

  People began drifting away. Something kept her back. By the time he came out again, only two children were still watching. Again his eyes met hers. A smile was in his, there was no mistake, and she could not help responding. Had he recognized her, she wondered? She found it prudent to leave, regretting it the moment she did. In vain, she turned her head several times in the hope of catching another glimpse.

  Without a conscious decision, her feet took her back to Via delle Cerchia. She felt slightly light-headed. As she came through the door, she found herself humming.

  "Already back?" exclaimed Alda. "You look happy. What happened?"

  "Oh Alda, I saw my sailor. He’s in Siena."

  "I see. You went near Casa Sanguanero again. Did you talk to him?"

  "No, we just briefly looked at each other, and he smiled."

  "So, what are you going to do?"

  "Nothing."

  "That’s not like you."

  "What else can I do? I can hardly ask for an assignation with a slave of Casa Sanguanero. I would first have to buy him and set him free."

  "You know, I wouldn’t put that beyond you."

  In fact, it was not true that she did nothing. Over the next week she strolled repeatedly into Via di Camollia but never saw her sailor again.

  * * *

  Their success at Palazzo Tolomei brought in five more private invitations prior to Christmas. Chiara was keen to perform Phormio, the Latin comedy she had translated into the vernacular, for at least one or two of them. She even felt confident enough to take the lead female role herself. However, neither Pepe nor Jacomo could fill the main male role. An experienced ac
tor was needed to carry it convincingly. But where could she find one? Her problem got solved when, while visiting a book shop, she overheard snippets of conversation between the shop owner and a distinguished gentleman whom the former pompously addressed as ‘his illustrious Messer Mario’. She immediately guessed that the man was an actor and approached him. Although initially somewhat suspicious, he was willing to read the script. A day later he came to their house, and announced haughtily that the play merited his talent.

  She assigned the roles and all memorized their lines, which for Chiara took little effort. She remembered everybody’s lines after one reading. On their first rehearsal, she also recognized Ser Mario’s other talent, that of directing. Although she found his snobbish manners rather ridiculous, she let him do the directing and enjoyed observing and learning from him.

  They presented the play on their last two performances before Christmas. It was such a success that Palazzo Tolomei sent them a second invitation for early January, with the specific request to present Phormio.

  She used the ample idle time to complete the translations of Sophocles Electra. Veronica and Jacomo got additional reading and writing practice, making clean copies. Both enjoyed their new skills and Veronica started reading Dante’s La Comedia.

  * * *

  Her plans for revenge gradually firmed and took shape. To trap Niccolo, she needed to understand more about notaries, how they worked, and how contracts between two parties were drawn up.

  As part of this quest she went to the Palazzo Pubblico to inquire where Sanguanero’s notary lived — Messer Aldo Faranese, whose name she had found on her marriage contract. On the spur of the moment, she also asked for names of marriage brokers and was given three. She planned to check them out later.

  Faranese’s abode was only two streets from Via delle Cerchia. She had to pass through Casato di sopra several times before she caught sight of him, as he came out of his house, a narrow three-storey building wedged between two more substantial mansions. She followed the elderly man at a discreet distance and was reassured that he still did business for Casa Sanguanero when his errand took him there. She went back to his house and studied it carefully. It had only one window on each storey, all with glass panes. Its roof line matched the house on its left, while the one on its right was one storey higher. The neighbors across the street told her that he lived alone, having lost his wife and children to the plague. A woman came daily to clean and cook for him.

  She was at a loss of how to learn more about legal contracts, except through careful study of the few in her possession, but was that enough? Visiting a notary and asking lots of questions did not seem a good idea. It could raise suspicions. She thought her problem was solved when she discovered that Siena had a school of higher learning, called a university, where several illustrious philosophers who had studied in Padua and legal experts from Bologna were offering lectures on philosophy, science, and law. Since the troupe planned to stay in Siena until late April, she still had several months available to attend such lectures and gain at least a partial understanding of legal principles.

  In the second week of December, disguised as the young priest, she visited the university in Via di Sapienza. It felt strange and intimidating to be surrounded by dozens of young males, many in clerical robes like her. She watched and listened to the animated discussions, joining one group then another, always staying in the background, learning, and absorbing their manner of speech. The third group was talking theology and why reason could not be applied to theology, as that Frenchman Abelard had done. She had never heard that name, but his quest to apply reason to theology struck a chord. Reason should be applied to all things, went through her mind. She opened her mouth, before she fully realized what she was doing.

  "Dante asserts that humans are endowed with intelligence and hence with the freedom of the will. So is it then not a logical conclusion that humans should use that intelligence … to further knowledge … and truth?" As she heard herself, she turned red and her speech began to falter. How did she dare to enter into their discussion, she, a woman, a woman who had just set a foot into a place of learning for the first time in her life?

  Everybody turned to her.

  "What does this have to do with reason and theology?" a round-faced young man also in clerical garb asked.

  Chiara forced down the panic that suddenly seized her and took a deep breath. "How can new knowledge be discovered, except through reason, through applying critical discourse to all things? If we deny the validity of applying reason to any discipline, we imply that we know everything about it, … that nothing more can be learned."

  "Again I ask you what has this to do with reason and theology?"

  "It seems obvious to me." She paused briefly. "Does the church know everything there is to be known on theology?"

  He replied with a hesitant ‘No’.

  "A good reason to apply reason." She felt smug. She could match her intelligence to theirs. They were reduced to her level, or she had risen to theirs.

  "But the study of God and man’s relation to him has been revealed to us through the scriptures, not through reason," asserted the young novice.

  "I wonder why so many of our learned brothers in Avignon and before that in Rome wrote lengthy epistles about man’s relationship to God, if everything has already been revealed to us?" She was bluffing, but it was a fair assumption that part of their activity was in fact devoted to explore such matters.

  "Stefano, I think you found your match," interjected another young man in the dress of a noble.

  "He has, Gaetano, but from one of their own, not one of us. These black frocks are really clever fellows," shouted another.

  Stefano shot a hateful glance at both of them before he turned back to her. "So it is your thesis that reason should be applied to theology?"

  "Yes, at least to those aspects that are open to reason."

  "Do you imply that certain things are closed to reason?" another asked.

  "Yes, those parts that depend on faith and belief alone." She heard the bell of San Domenico toll for vespers and suddenly found it prudent to make her exit. "I have to leave. Maybe we can continue this discussion another time."

  She quickly started walking along Via di Sapienza toward the church. Halfway down the street, she heard somebody call out.

  "Brother, please wait."

  She turned around. The young novice pushed his chubby figure along in quick, small steps, wheezing heavily.

  "My name is Stefano da Prato. What is yours?" he said, while trying to catch his breath.

  For a fleeting moment she was at a loss and then said the first name that came to mind: "I am Anselmo Cavolta, from Fossombrone." As she said it the hypocritical face of Padre Anselmo rose in her inner eye. Why did I choose this name?

  "I do not remember seeing you before. Are you new here?"

  "Yes, I just arrived in Siena and was curious about the University."

  "I heard that several new students joined our abbey the other day. Are you one of them?"

  Chiara did not like the turn the questioning was taking. It could only mean trouble. She had the urge to run.

  "No, I’m just visiting Siena for a few weeks and stay with relatives."

  "Then I invite you to come and visit our abbey. I could introduce you to our prior."

  They had reached the steps to the church. "Oh, I would not want to impose," she replied, wondering whether she would be forced to enter.

  "It is no imposition. I would welcome it," he replied. "By the way, do not give any heed to Gaetano Salimbeni. He is not a serious student."

  Chiara nodded and had no choice but to go inside. She genuflected, while crossing herself, and entered the first row of benches, glad that the service started immediately. At the end, she deliberately walked behind the young cleric, intent on leaving the church in the opposite direction from him. They shook hands, promising to meet again at the university, and went their separate ways.

  *
* *

  She was back in Via di Sapienza the next day, armed with a small satchel that contained a book of blank paper, a small ink pot and a quill, for once without her bible. Before she entered the square in front of the university, she surveyed the people. If possible, she would try to avoid Stefano. But it was hopeless. At least a third of the students were in clerical garb and many were turning their back to her. She simply had to brave it.

  "Brother Anselmo, wait,"

  Only when she recognized Stefano’s voice, did it dawn that he was calling her. The training as an actor allowed her to fall instantly into her role. Rather than smile, as she normally would have done greeting somebody, her face remained neutral.

  "Buon giorno, Stefano." She forced her voice to a low alto.

  "May God protect you. Have you decided to take up studies here?"

  "No. I only thought that attending a few lectures would be good for my intellect. In fact, I’m curious about legal matters. They fascinate me."

  "From the way you reasoned yesterday, I thought that philosophy was your interest. Are you striving for a career in Canon law?"

  "It’s too early to say. In the meantime, I just want to indulge my curiosity."

  "Then you must attend the lectures of Professore Alessadro Barbarigo who studied law at the University of Bologna. I will accompany you."

  "Thank you. That’s kind of you, but wouldn’t you rather attend your own lecture?"

  "Oh, I intended to listen to Professore Barbarigo this morning. Come."

  He led the way to an adjacent building. The hall they entered had several tall, narrow windows facing the street. About five dozen men, mostly in their late teens or early twenties, sat in small groups on the four rows of rough benches, talking in low voices. Stefano aimed for a group at the front.

  Chiara briefly touched his shoulder and murmured: "Brother Stefano, go join your friends. I prefer sitting at the back."