The Falconer''s Knot: A Story of Friars, Flirtation and Foul Play by Mary Hoffman
‘Yes. He was looking for you. And he was drunk.’
‘I’m glad I didn’t meet him,’ said Anselmo. ‘Has he gone?’
‘I think so,’ said Silvano. ‘Father Bonsignore said there was nowhere for him to stay.’
The two went into the refectory and broke their fast with a good appetite. Anselmo had missed the evening meal the night before and Silvano was always hungry. While they ate their porage and coarse black bread with honey, they saw the stableman come in and speak to the Abbot. Bonsignore’s brow creased with concern.
‘Has anyone seen Umberto from Gubbio?’ he asked, breaking the silence in the refectory. ‘His horse is still in the stable.’
Silvano and Anselmo looked at one another with apprehension. The Abbot too had his fears. He immediately asked the Minister General if he would let the four friars who had come with him from Assisi search the friary for any sign of Umberto. All the Giardinetto friars were to remain in the refectory.
It was an awkward hour. No one wanted to eat or drink much, in case it looked heartless in view of Umberto’s possible fate, but the shock of the earthquake had made all the brothers hungrier than usual. Brother Gregorio resumed the lectern and read to them from the Acts of the Apostles. Conversation was impossible.
Eventually, the Assisi friars returned. They had been into every cell and storeroom, even the infirmary, stable and bell tower, but there was no trace of Umberto.
‘We shall return to Assisi,’ said the Minister General, ‘and take the bones of the Blessed Egidio back for burial. The sin is so thick on Giardinetto that not even those holy relics have been able to clear it. And as a safeguard, I shall take Brother Anselmo back with me. He can travel in the carriage with the casket – it might do his soul good.’
And with that he whirled out of the refectory, clearly disappointed with Giardinetto and everyone in it.
Silvano rushed to say goodbye to Anselmo.
‘Don’t worry,’ said his mentor. ‘The truth must come out. I can’t be judged for what I didn’t do. And nor can you. One day we shall both be vindicated.’
Silvano felt more wretched than he had since the night he arrived in Giardinetto. He wished more than anything that he could visit Chiara at the convent, but that was out of the question. It seemed a very long time since he had cared about a pretty blonde in Perugia. And then, as if by thinking of his home town he had conjured him up, he saw a messenger ride into the yard, wearing the Montacuto livery.
It was only minutes before Silvano was called to the Abbot’s cell.
‘You are free, my son,’ said Bonsignore, delighted to have some good news to convey. ‘Another man has been convicted of the sheep farmer’s murder and you are completely cleared.’
‘Who?’ said Silvano, too dazed to express any gratitude.
The Abbot consulted his message. ‘A young man called Gervasio de’ Oddini. Do you know him?’
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
A Burial
For Silvano, still reeling from the earthquake and the removal of Anselmo, this new turn of events was like being hit by a shovel.
‘Gervasio?’ he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard the Abbot correctly.
‘Yes,’ said the Abbot. ‘Apparently he planned to kill the farmer and marry the widow.’
‘Gervasio is going to marry Angelica?’ asked Silvano, still dazed.
‘Well, he was. Their betrothal had just been announced when he was arrested. But look, here’s a letter to you from your father explaining it all.’
Silvano took the package. ‘So I am free to go back to Perugia?’
‘You may leave whenever you wish,’ said Bonsignore kindly. ‘I am very happy for you.’
Silvano could not take in such double-edged news. He was free of suspicion at last but his freedom was bought at the cost of the loss of his best friend and of his idealised view of Angelica. And at the same time every sinew of his body and thought in his head was tensed towards the drama at the friary; he could not just wrench them back to his old life at a moment’s notice.
‘I don’t want to leave Giardinetto,’ he said. ‘At least, not for Perugia. But with your permission, Father, I should like to go to Assisi, to see if I can help Brother Anselmo.’
‘You have my blessing,’ said the Abbot. ‘And you had better have this too.’ He went to a deep chest in the corner of the room and drew out a bundle.
Silvano took it back to the empty dormitory and unpacked the clothes that belonged to his former life. As he drew the fine muslin shirt over his head, the soft touch of the material felt sensuous and unaccustomed. He saw a red stain on it and started with horror; was that the sheep farmer’s blood, shed by Gervasio? No, it was all that was left of Angelica’s flower, and almost as repugnant to him. There was a sword in the bundle too and it felt strange in his hand.
His father’s messenger was waiting to take a response back to Perugia but Silvano asked him to wait at the friary. The messenger had ridden hard from the city to Giardinetto and was quite happy to cool his heels for the rest of the day. He stretched out in the sunshine by the cemetery gate, quite untroubled by being near the fresh graves or the rift in the earth that gaped like another.
Silvano almost ran down the stairs and out to the stables. Stopping only to ask the stableman to feed and exercise Celeste, he saddled up Moonbeam and turned the horse’s head towards Assisi.
From her station at the grille in the convent door, Chiara watched them go. Apart from sleeping and eating, nothing had removed her from her post. Seeing Silvano leave in his nobleman’s clothes cast her into despair. He must be going back to Perugia and she would never see him again. And he hadn’t even come to say goodbye! But then two thoughts consoled her.
First, if he was no longer dressed as a friar, he no longer needed sanctuary. He must have been cleared of the murder he had been accused of. And then she realised that he didn’t have his hawk with him. Surely he would not leave without his hawk? It was agonising not knowing.
‘Sister Orsola,’ said a quiet voice. It was the Abbess. ‘Come away from the door. I think it is time you left us. It has been clear to me for a while now that your heart is not with us in the convent. The outside world is calling you and I think it is time for you to go to Monna Isabella.’
Mother Elena led Chiara to her cell. There she gave her back the clothes she had arrived in and took off her white veil.
‘Your hair grows fast,’ she remarked, smiling. It had not been cut again since Chiara’s arrival in Giardinetto and was a profusion of dark brown curls.
Chiara hung her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’
‘What for? For having healthy hair?’
‘For being no good as a nun. It wasn’t my wish to be professed.’
‘I know,’ said the Abbess. ‘And now, thanks to the kindness of Monna Isabella, you have the opportunity to leave the convent with honour and live a life you are more suited to.’
‘What must I do?’ asked Chiara. ‘How will I get to Gubbio?’
‘The widow will come for you; I have sent word to her. But put your secular garments on and do what you will till she gets here.’
There is nothing to stay for, thought Chiara, bleakly. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get away from Giardinetto, although she had been happier there than she had ever dared to hope.
‘Do not grieve,’ said Mother Elena. ‘You have not disgraced yourself here. Sister Veronica thinks highly of your work in the colour room and I have seen myself that you are a good-hearted and willing girl. In my own opinion, I think your brother was wrong to send you here. But we have enjoyed having your youth and energy in our house.’
‘I have enjoyed my time here too, Mother,’ said Chiara, and meant it. ‘And I shall never forget your kindness. Or Sister Veronica and the other nuns.’
Chiara could scarcely see her way out of the room for tears. She went back to her dormitory and changed back into her old clothes. They felt strange and restricting after the loose grey habit. She unpicked the hem of her petticoat and removed the ruby cross and gold earrings she had sewn in when she left her family home.
As she put them on, she felt that Orsola the grey sister was gone for ever and that Chiara had returned. But then she felt overdressed and gaudy and almost took them off again. She was vigorously brushing her hair when she heard the sound of carriage wheels clattering in the yard.
It was only a minute or two before Isabella burst into the dormitory, flushed and agitated. She was pulled up short by the sight of her young protégée in her secular clothes.
‘Chiara,’ she said, taking the girl’s hands in hers. ‘You look lovely.’
‘What is the matter?’ said Chiara. ‘You seem upset.’
‘My brother-in-law Umberto sent me a disturbing message yesterday,’ said Isabella. ‘He said he was coming to Giardinetto to avenge Ubaldo. When I spoke to his servants, they said that he had been drinking heavily when he set out and had told his steward where to find his will. I came as soon as I could but there isn’t a moment to lose. We must visit the friary before I take you home.’
Even as she felt the contagion of fear from her patroness, Chiara felt her heart leap at the word ‘home’. Together they went to the Abbess and told her where they were going. For the first time Chiara stepped out of the convent without feeling self-conscious.
But that soon disappeared when they arrived at the friary. All the brothers looked at her the same way: one brief glance of spontaneous admiration, swiftly followed by a downcast look at their feet. Both women were appalled when they saw the vent made in the ground by the earthquake. It seemed as if the wrath of God had fallen on the friary of Giardinetto.
The Abbot was surprised to see them and even more so when he knew why they had come.
‘I’m sorry to tell you that Brother Anselmo has been taken away for further questioning in Assisi,’ he said.
‘But he is unharmed?’ asked Isabella. ‘My brother-in-law hasn’t hurt him?’
The Abbot sighed. ‘More bad news, I’m afraid. No, not about Anselmo – he is physically safe. But your brother-in-law has disappeared. He turned up unexpectedly last night, the worse for drink and asking for Brother Anselmo. This morning he had gone but his horse was still here. We searched the friary but there was no sign of him. Everyone fears the worst.’
‘But Anselmo is in Assisi?’ pressed Isabella, unconcerned about Umberto as long as he had not carried out his implied threat. ‘Then we shall go there, Chiara.’
Silvano stabled his horse near the Basilica and hurried into the Lower Church. He found Simone at work as usual in the Chapel of Saint Martin.
‘Good heavens!’ said the painter admiringly, looking down at him from the scaffolding. ‘I wish I’d had you as a model when I was painting Saint Martin as a knight. What a pity I’ve nearly finished the cycle.’ He was gilding the elaborately punched halo of the Saint in the picture of Martin renouncing arms for the religious life, on the right-hand wall.
Silvano looked round the chapel. It was true. The round platform had been lowered to not much higher than ground level and Simone was working on the last picture in the sequence, even though it told one of the early stories. The artist had to work backwards so that visitors to the chapel could read the pictures from the bottom upwards, eventually raising their eyes to the starry heavens on the ceiling.
‘Brother Anselmo has been brought back here for further questioning,’ Silvano said dully, unable to concentrate on art today. ‘The Minister General thinks he killed Umberto.’
‘Umberto? There was another killing after we left?’
‘No. I mean they don’t know. But Umberto has disappeared and Michele da Cesena has really taken against Brother Anselmo.’
Simone jumped down lightly from the platform and wiped his gilding brush carefully before joining Silvano. The painter put his arm round the young man’s shoulders.
‘Try not to worry. They can’t do anything to Brother Anselmo if he is innocent. And I’m guessing you’ve had good news about your own case, since you are no longer disguised as a friar?’
‘Yes,’ said Silvano, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘They have found the real killer.’
‘But that’s wonderful news!’ said Simone. ‘Congratulations.’
Silvano decided not to tell him why it wasn’t such good news; Anselmo was more important. The two men went out into the sunshine, where they bumped into Teodoro, the goldsmith.
‘Good day,’ said Simone.
‘Good day. I hear that the Blessed Egidio made nothing better at Giardinetto.’
‘No, I’m afraid not. There were no confessions.’
‘They are burying him today,’ said Teodoro.
‘Who?’ said Silvano, suddenly scared.
‘The Blessed Egidio, Monsignore,’ said Teodoro, looking curiously at the young nobleman and wondering who he was. ‘They’re putting him down in the crypt. But I reckon they’ll have trouble getting the casket down the stairs. It was heavy enough when I made it but the friars who took it to Giardinetto reckon it’s heavier now. They say it’s because of the load of sin piled on it there.’
Simone and Silvano looked at one another with the same thought.
‘Where is the casket now?’ asked Simone.
‘Back in front of the altar,’ said Teodoro, and scratched his head as his two interlocutors took off rapidly up the steps to the Upper Church.
Silvano and Simone arrived out of breath and had to compose themselves; they were going to have to ask someone to open the casket.
Angelica was not allowed to see Gervasio but the guards let his father go down to visit him. He was shocked to see how his son had deteriorated in just a few hours. His cheeks were stubbled, his hair unkempt and wild. His eyes were dull and he already looked like a prisoner. Vincenzo could not bear it.
‘I have been to Montacuto,’ he said.
‘How will that help me?’ asked Gervasio listlessly.
‘I think I can persuade him to help you get away,’ said Vincenzo under his breath. ‘I think it was Angelica who did the trick. She told him about the baby.’
The effect on Gervasio was impressive. He shook off his lethargy in a moment. ‘Baby?’ he said stupefied.
‘Yes, and that got the Baronessa on your side. I think she will be able to sway him.’ Vincenzo had decided to say nothing about Gervasio’s life depending on Silvano’s mercy.
He could not understand the wan smile that his son gave him.
‘Then thank God for the baby,’ said Gervasio.
Vincenzo left the prison with heavy heart. He had to get Gervasio out of there before he lost all will to fight for his life. He had gone beyond worrying about his son’s guilt, which now seemed certain. All he cared about was getting him out of prison and away to some distant place where he could be safe.
It was the Minister General who had to be fetched in the end. He came into the Upper Church with a brow like thunder followed by a friar with iron tools. He barely glanced at Silvano, obviously not recognising him dressed as a noble; he was focused entirely on what they were about to do. Michele da Cesena ordered the great doors to be closed; he did not want any pilgrims to witness the approaching violation.
‘Only the seriousness of this case and your reputation with my Order can justify this act,’ he said to Simone. ‘To open the casket of the Blessed Egidio is an act of desecration I agree to with the utmost reluctance.’
Simone inclined his head. ‘I would not ask for it, Father, in any other circumstances.’
The friar with the tools hesitantly approached the casket and crossed himself awkwardly before levering up the lid.
As soon as the young friar had pulled the lead lid back, they were all assailed by the smell of death. But it wasn’t the ancient and fleshless bones of the Saint’s companion that gave it off. The stiff body of Umberto had been squashed into the coffin on top of them and he lay there with a bruised and livid face and staring eyes.
Instinctively, the friar put his sleeve over his face and turned aside, choking.
‘So,’ said the Minister General, impassive. ‘There was another murder at Giardinetto. Brother Giovanni,’ he ordered the friar. ‘Fetch Brother Anselmo here.’
The young friar was happy to leave. But, as he opened the heavy door, Isabella and Chiara slipped in. He tried to stop them entering but Isabella was determined to see the Minister General and pushed past him.
Michele da Cesena was not pleased to see her; he indicated to Simone and Silvano to stop the women coming any nearer to the casket. It was with a shock that Silvano recognised Chiara behind the widow. For an instant they gazed as if seeing each other for the first time. And in a way they were, since they had both cast aside their grey disguises. Seeing the admiration on Silvano’s face, Chiara allowed herself to hope.
But the situation was hardly romantic.
‘It is him, Madama,’ said Simone gently. ‘Your brother-in-law’s body has been found in the casket. There is no need for you to see him.’
Isabella sat down on one of the benches. She felt only relief that Umberto was gone and had not succeeded in hurting Anselmo.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Brother Anselmo himself entered the Basilica. He walked slowly up towards the party by the altar.
‘Well,’ said the Minister General. ‘It will not surprise you to know that we have found Umberto’s body.’
Anselmo crossed himself. ‘I am sorry to hear it.’
‘Sorry that he is dead or that the body has been found? I imagine you thought this corpse would go undiscovered to the Blessed Egidio’s burial?’