“Carlo, I must explain.”
“Explain?” he sneered. “Now? After all these years? There is no possible explanation to help me understand. You callously gave away our child. Worst of all, you kept her presence from me and deceived me all these years. Nothing can justify your actions, not to me, not to our daughters, and certainly not to God.” His harsh tone shattered the tranquil night.
“I did it to preserve our good name. After all the troubles that befell the Venturas when Felicia birthed twins, I could not risk the same happening to us.”
“Whatever ill luck befell Enrico and Felicia happened because you caused it.”
“I cannot change the past, but I can alter the future. It’s not too late to accept the girl and her infant into our lives. Trust me and you’ll see how happy we can be.” She reached for his hand, but he snatched it away before she could touch him.
“The girl? Her infant? She is Olivia and he is Giuda and they are both our flesh and blood.” He strode to the window, turning his back to her. “It’s too late for us.” For several long moments, he stared into the night. By the brazier’s dim light, she saw his jaw twitch as he ground his teeth.
The silence was unbearable. Finally, he faced her with an expression icy with antipathy. He withdrew a leather bag from the pouch at his waist and tossed it to her. “I want you gone. Today. Pack your belongings. There are one hundred gold florins inside the pouch. It will provide a generous dowry to a convent somewhere.”
The blood drained from her face. “But Carlo…you, you cannot mean that. You have had a shock.”
“I do mean it. You alone are to blame for destroying our marriage, for devastating our daughters’ lives, and that of our friends and their sons. You think it is easy to recover from all that? Trust is a fragile thing, Prudenza. Once broken, it can never be recovered.” He looked at her with scorn. When I look at you, all I see is a stranger. Behind your flawless façade, your soul is black with rot. I do not know you and doubt I ever did. All I want now is to be rid of you.”
“Please, Carlo, no, you’re angry. Do not decide anything until you have had time to think matters over. Per favore, I beg you.” She had never seen him so stalwart, so angry, and it shook her confidence.
“Go contemplate your sins in an abbey somewhere.” He went to the door and reached for the latch.
“I will not go.”
He swung back around. “You have no choice.”
“I refuse.” She crossed her arms.
“Then may the devil take you where he might. You cannot come home. Fend for yourself. I don’t care what you do as long as you don’t come anywhere near me or our daughters again.”
Prudenza rushed to him and clutched his sleeve. “Do not do this. Let me make amends.” She could no longer see him clearly through her tears.
“It is too late.” He shoved her clinging arm away and stepped back. “I hope you will someday find God’s forgiveness, for I can never give you mine.”
“Do not do this. You are angry and don’t mean what you say.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I do mean it – every word. All these years, I never saw beyond your outer beauty to the ugliness that lay within. What you’ve done sickens me. You are selfish and care for no one but yourself, and how you appear to the world; I despise you for it. The sooner I am rid of you, the better!” He stalked from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
For a brief instant, in the aftermath of his heated words, silence haunted the room. Then she wept. She wept until no more tears remained. Numb, she made her way to the window where she stared out into the midmorning light. A mist had fallen, muting the sunlight. Where had the morning gone? To despair! The stark reality that Carlo would force her from his life and home, from their family, from all her possessions, and the comfortable world she had always known, struck her so hard, she could barely stand.
Olivia’s image came vividly into her mind. Every word they had exchanged resounded with clarity. She should never have confronted her; one more transgression they would all hold against her. A misfortunate chain of events had forced her to reveal her secret. She cursed the fates that had brought Luca and Olivia together in the first place.
Her envy for Felicia had been at the heart of all her troubles. It did not help that Carlo had always been fond of the woman. Prudenza resented the easy rapport between them. Hatred for Felicia stirred within her. Like a cat, the woman seemed to always land solidly on her feet. Felicia may have luck on her side, but not against her own powerful ability to wield the evil eye.
Nothing had ever deterred her from doing what she needed to do; and she vowed it would not this time either. Time was no longer on her side. If only Carlo had forgiven her, if only he had listened, showed her that he still cared, her torment would not be so bad. She needed to clear her thoughts and come up with a strategy to regain, if possible, all she had lost.
Prudenza changed into her plainest gown. After gathering her favorite cloak and tucking the florins into a purse hanging from her belt, she left the bedchamber and went down to the main floor. The servants were not yet awake. Opening the rear door, she stepped out into the cool mist. Dew dampened her leather slippers as she crossed the grass to the front gate. With one blind step in front of the other, Prudenza stepped out onto the street.
Too much had changed. If she could not discover a way to repair this mess, she faced a bleak life indeed. Life in an abbey was far too austere for her. Deprived of all ornamentation, divested of all celebrations and social occasions, she would have too much time on her hands to ponder deeds best forgotten.
Carlo believed she needed to seek reconciliation and atonement. For what? She had done only what was necessary. It had not been wrong. She had acted to preserve herself and her family. Why couldn’t anyone understand? If she did as he asked, however, and temporarily found placement in an abbey, he might eventually set aside the past and allow her to come home one day.
As she strode through the fog-laden streets of Siena, Prudenza examined her whole life. Backwards from year to year, from engagement to engagement, from act of deceit to act of deceit, from lie to lie – each one stood before her with clarity. She owned them all; they had molded her into the woman she had become – strong and proud. If the same circumstances presented themselves, would she do it all again? She was only thinking of her family, so yes, she would. She had done nothing wrong and bore no regrets.
Wandering, she soon found herself at the gates of the abbey. She peered through the ornamental wrought iron bars to the building beyond. For many women, life in an abbey afforded a life free from child-bearing and the toils of marriage. One could spend their lives in contemplation and learning, sheltered from the hardships of life. Her soul could never find peace behind such smothering walls.
She had never allowed Carlo to command her before, and she refused to let him do so now. No, she must find another way. She wanted to hurt them as they had hurt her, make them all suffer just as she was suffering now. Perhaps she should disappear. Let them worry and wonder what had happened to her. With the florins and her skills as a jettatura, she could easily support herself. Carlo be damned! This abbey was not the home for her. She walked away.
In the piazza, several vendors were setting up tables for market. Her stomach rumbled and she decided to find somewhere to sit until she could purchase something to eat. She strolled without direction until she came to a wooden bridge over a fast-running river. Soundlessly, she walked to the bridge’s highest point and stopped. Her eyes stared down over the rails to the flowing torrent below. While she had been at the abbey, she had heard of a poor woman who had drowned herself and her infant in this very river. What would it be like to dive into the water head-first, to be dead, powerless, voiceless? What if she chose this path for herself? Would her family grieve or would they rejoice? Giustina would grieve for her, but Carlo? And what of Olivia?
It would be a simple thing, a mere moment in time, and then all torment would end. A
vision of her own bloated, disfigured corpse, lying motionless downstream on some shore, crept into her mind. Death presented a frightful image. What kind of person would choose such a horrific end? Someone too weak to overcome adversity or enemies. She was not such a person. She was strong, confident, resourceful. Never would she permit Felicia, or Carlo, or anyone else for that matter, to forget her existence or rejoice in her death.
How dare Carlo cast her from her home and prohibit her from seeing her children! She refused to let anyone cast her aside so easily. Instead, she would bide her time. Carlo would believe she had done as bid and entered the abbey. No one would discover the truth. With her florins, she would find a set of rooms and live comfortably for a while, free to do as she wished, until the day she could make a triumphant return. Her dreams and thoughts wandered as she stared into the water’s spumes.
A tug on her purse drew her from her reverie. Swiftly, her hand grasped it and she spun about prepared to slap away the hand that dared try to steal from her. A young girl, no more than seven or eight years, stood before her, bare-footed and dressed in the most ragged, dirty clothes she had ever seen. The child’s dark tresses fell over her shoulders in tangled chaos. The waif held up a wooden cross. “Signora, for two coins, you can buy this cross, hand-made from olive wood.” Set deep in a face caked with filth, the girl’s pretty, brown eyes gazed steadily and hopefully up at her.
“Keep your filthy hands away from me,” Prudenza snapped, waving her away.
Without flinching, the emaciated child boldly held her ground. “Please, Signora, I am an orphan, I am hungry. A coin to buy some bread is all I ask in exchange for this cross that has been blessed in the new cathedral.”
The child’s persistence surprised her and she studied the young beggar closer. Dirt disguised her olive complexion. Her slightly upturned nose and full lips foretold of great beauty in later years. Something about her fascinated Prudenza. Then it suddenly struck her. This young girl bore a striking resemblance to Olivia as she might have looked at the same age. She did not know whether it was because the girl was alone in this world, as she herself was now, or because she stood so audaciously before her, but a spark of empathy came to life inside her. She realized that if not for Cosma, who had brought Olivia safely to a convent, Olivia might have suffered a similar fate as this child. Prudenza rummaged inside her purse, pulled out a coin, and tossed it to her. The urchin caught it with her free grubby hand, and with the other offered up the cross.
“Keep the cross,” Prudenza said softly. “You need it more than I.”
“May God keep and bless you.” The little orphan offered her a grand smile then skipped away.
Prudenza watched her until she disappeared into the growing crowd filling the piazza for market. In all her life, she could not recall one instance when someone had offered her a blessing. The words acted like a salve on her aggrieved spirit, sending a jolt of warmth and a pang of guilt simultaneously through her.
The day she had given Olivia away, she had been so desperate to save her good name and prevent scandal, she had disposed of the infant, believing her dilemma resolved. Never once did she believe the child might fall into dire circumstances. It was foolish to dwell in the past. She must remain focused on the here and now and resolve more immediate problems, like finding food and temporarily lodging until she could purchase a small house somewhere.
Prudenza returned to the piazza. Merchants had already transferred items from wooden carts to trestles. The Sienese market was a spectacle of color, aromas, and vibrancy. Rows upon rows of wooden tables and carts were laden with all manner of goods – vegetables and fruit, spices and wine, fur and silk, capons and swine, jewels of gold and silver, and fresh bread, pasta, and stews.
Prudenza purchased a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, an apple, and a flagon of wine. She then headed away from the piazza in the direction of the river where she would sit and enjoy her meal. The morning mist had faded and a gentle breeze swirled and buffeted the air around her gown while she walked. At this, her favorite time of day, the radiance of the late morning sun cast a golden hue over the streets. The sun’s rays comforted her. She found a secluded spot amid some bushes and trees on the riverbank near the bridge where she had encountered the child, and sat. Ravenous, she took a bite of cheese and bread and settled back to ponder her future.
From behind the bushes, she heard a rustling. Two men suddenly broke through the foliage and stood watching her. The taller of the two cleaned his fingernails with the tip of a stiletto, its blade glinting in the sunlight. His companion, dressed in a brown tunic, stood with arms crossed. They exchanged a quick glance, and with a nod, approached her.
Prudenza rose to leave, but heard their advance behind her. She scuttled up the bank, but stumbled over a rock and fell. Since she could not escape, she had no choice but to turn and confront them. In a cold sweat, Prudenza rose. She swallowed, her mouth and throat so parched, she could not speak.
“Well, well, what have we here?” The tallest of the two stepped in front of her and peered at her with dark, close-set eyes. He chewed on a long blade of straw. The other man stood behind her, effectively blocking any avenue of escape. “It looks as if we’ve captured ourselves a pretty little bird.”
Fear slowly turned to anger. Prudenza met his look. “Please let me by.”
The tall man removed the straw from his mouth. His upper lip rose in a sneer. He took a step forward. Prudenza could smell wine on his breath. “A woman should not be alone in such a secluded spot. It isn’t safe,” he said in a deep, authoritative voice.
Prudenza swallowed the terror wedged in her throat. “If you are hungry, please take my food.”
A false smile failed to cover the derision on the man’s face. “It’s not appeasing our hunger that we’re after.” He raised his stiletto and his countenance turned menacing. “Give me your purse.”
Prudenza clutched it tightly and glanced about. No one stood on the bridge. No one could see her. Why had she chosen such a secluded spot to eat her meal? The man behind her now stood so close, she felt his breath on her neck.
“Oh, but, Signora, we are good men. No harm will come to you if you obey.” His right hand rested on the grip of a large knife tucked into his belt.
Prudenza made a frantic dash. The man behind her grabbed her and yanked her back so hard she fell to the ground.
The tall man pulled on her purse. She screamed. With all her strength, Prudenza kept her grip on it.
The other man, his face reddened with annoyance, pummeled her face with his fist.
She raised both her hands to block the blows.
“Porca puttana!” His face crimson, the taller man sliced the purse’s leather straps with his stiletto. “And here’s a little something to remember us by. Next time perhaps you’ll learn to obey.” Blood spurted as he slashed her right cheek with the blade.
“Let’s go,” he urged his companion, who raised his fist one last time and brought it crashing down on her face with the force of a rock. Her world turned black.
116
“Signora, awaken,” a male voice urged.
Gentle hands nudged Prudenza. She tried to open her eyes, but the world spun and her vision was so blurred, she closed them again. Crushing pain pounded her head. Her entire body felt as if it swirled in a realm of blackness.
“Signora, do not be afraid. You are safe now. I will help you.” Concern echoed in the male voice.
Prudenza tried to speak, but could not, the throbbing in her head and face too great. She raised her right arm in acknowledgement.
He lifted her into his arms. Agony hurtled through every muscle in her body as he carried her up the riverbank and laid her down in the back of a rickety cart. He paused to catch his breath then disappeared out of sight as he climbed onto the driver’s seat. With a slap of the reins, the cart lurched forward. Where was he taking her?
Shortly, they came to a stop. She heard the crunch of footsteps approach the front of the
cart beyond her vision.
“This woman is in need of urgent help,” the man said.
“Carry her inside. I’ll do what I can,” a woman’s gravelly voice rasped.
The man lifted Prudenza and carried her a few short steps into a stable. The pungent odor of animal piss, sweat, and feces filled her nostrils, mingling with the scent of her own blood. He walked the length of the barn into a room at the far end. Straw prickled her back when the man finally laid her down again.
Light footsteps shuffled around her. From somewhere in the fog of her mind, she heard the tread of a woman’s uneven gait as she came to stand beside her, but with her vision so blurred, Prudenza could not make out her features.
The woman walked out of her line of vision. From several paces away, Prudenza heard the woman whisper, questioning the man.
“I heard moans coming from behind some bushes on the river bank,” he responded in a low tone. “When I went to discover the source, I found her and brought her immediately here.” He paused. “Will she live?”
“It is too soon to tell the extent of her injuries. Do you know who she is?”
Silence.
“Perhaps if the swelling in her face recedes, someone may recognize her,” the woman said. “For now, you have done all that you can in bringing her here. But it’s best that you go now.”
Prudenza heard him shuffle away.
The woman moved about the room with a quiet efficiency, and then returned to her side. “Here, drink this. It will help you sleep and ease your discomfort. Your face will need stitching.”
Prudenza opened her parched, swollen lips, swallowed the bitter liquid, and then lay her head back down. At least here, she was safe. As the woman gently dabbed her face with a warm, wet cloth, sleep slowly returned.
117
Prudenza awoke gradually from the oblivion of darkness, conscious of the uncomfortable hammering in her head. Her eyes took in a dim and musty scene. Diminished sunlight shone through the cracks of a solitary, shuttered window, revealing the stone walls of a tiny room. Despite the wool blanket covering her, she shivered in the chill. Her throat was still parched. She lay on a bed of straw, a rickety stool next to it. Confusion muddled her thoughts. Where was she?
Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga Page 36
