The Contessa's Vendetta (13 page)

This all took much time and effort. As luck had it, a middle-aged English woman had taken a room at the same inn as myself. Her reserved indifference never wavered. Like a human block of ice, she carried herself with a permanent air of gloom. With practice, I learned to imitate her almost to perfection. I kept my mouth shut in the exact manner of her pig-headedness, walked with the same erect stiffness, and looked at the world around me with similar haughty condescension. When I overheard a waiter refer to me as ‘the white viper’ I knew I had succeeded. 

Another idea came to mind to help me prepare for my journey home. I wrote a courteous letter to the owner of Vicenza
’s newspaper, which we had always received at Villa Mancini. Enclosing fifty
scudi
, a very generous amount, I requested that he insert the following words in his next issue:

Contessa Giulia Corona, who has been absent from Vicenza for many years, will soon return. Possessed of fabulous wealth, she intends to make her home here once more. There is little doubt that society’s leaders will welcome the distinguished dama into their brilliant social circles with much enthusiasm. 

The owner printed it word for word and sent me a copy of the newspaper with a note of thanks.

My plan was now complete. All that remained was to return to Vicenza and set it in motion.

* * *

On the second last day of my stay in Pescara, Santina and I sat in two padded chairs
beside an open window in the inn’s dining hall. I had sent Paolo to purchase several trunks for our return journey. She embroidered a handkerchief while I read a book. I had grown used to Santina’s reserved, but agreeable manner. A comfortable bond existed between us. Eager to please, she seemed happy with her new life as my maidservant, just as I was with her silent efficiency. More importantly, she watched the changes I underwent, quietly accepting them with nary a challenge. 

Church bells tolled the call to Vespers. Although the gorgeous colors of the sunset lingered in the sky, a cool breeze blew in from the Adriatic sea. 

My new persona of a somewhat callous and churlish woman who had experienced life and hated it, had already become second nature to me. Hourly practice had made it so. In fact, I doubted I could easily return to the carefree mannerisms that had once belonged to Carlotta Mancini.

As I read quietly, a loud clamour caused by the shouts of a crowd floated in through the window and startled me. I leaned out and looked up and down the street, but could see nothing. As I pondered what the noise could mean, an excited waiter entered the room.
“Cesare Negri! They caught him,
poverino
! They have him at last!”

Though powerfully drawn by this news, I refused to allow my interest or excitement to show. I held taut to the new personality traits I had worked so hard to ingrain.
“Then they have caught a great scoundrel indeed. I congratulate the authorities. Where is Negri now?”

“
You need only walk around the corner, and you will see him bound and fettered in the piazza, may the saints have mercy on him! The crowds have flocked there like vultures. I am going there myself. I would not miss it for a thousand lire!” He ran off excited.

I tossed my book onto the chair.
“Come, Santina. Let us see this infamous rogue for ourselves.”

Her
eyes widened, the name now familiar to her from our time on the brig, but she gathered our belongings and followed me out the door.

We strolled to the piazza. At the centre of a muttering crowd were a troop of mounted
guards with drawn swords flashing in the pale evening light. Men and horses stood as motionless as bronze statues. They were stationed opposite an office of the guards, where the chief officer had dismounted to make his formal report regarding Negri’s capture and sentence before proceeding further.

Encircled by the vigilant guards, with his legs strapped to a robust mule and his hands manacled behind his back, I caught a glimpse of the
notorious Cesare Negri; a man as dark and fierce and thunderous as a storm.

A mane of long, thick, dishevelled
curls hung in a tangled mess upon his shoulders. His bushy black mustache and beard covered his sinister features. I caught a glimpse of yellowed teeth as he gnawed his lip in helpless rage and misery. From beneath busy brows, his eyes blazed with wrath. He was a huge, brawny man, barrel-chested and muscular. His manacled hands were huge, formidable enough to kill a man with one blow.

He was dressed unremarkably in a shirt of plain linen tucked into black
breeches, and tall narrow boots with turned-over tops. His throat and chest heaved with the pent-up anger that raged within him. His menacing form was set off by a peculiar effect of color in the sky. A lengthy band of pink and maroon clouds burned on the olive-tinted faces of the multitude who stared with misguided admiration on the brutal face of the notorious murderer and thief who had so terrorized the country. Everything about him was hideous and dreadful. I could find no redeeming feature about him.

I pressed my way through the crowd to get closer.

I saw Negri move his bound upper body abruptly.

The
guards pointed their swords at him with warning.

The scoundrel laughed and tossed his head back.
“
Porca miseria
! Do you think a man tied hand and foot like me can escape? I am trapped, you fools.” He tilted his head in the direction of a man in the throng. “Tell that man to come forward. I have a message for him.”

The
guards looked first at one another, and then at the crowd with bewilderment, unsure which man to call out to.

Impatient,
Cesare elevated himself as much as he could in his awkward trussed up posture, and shouted, “Filippo Barocco! Capitano! You think I cannot see you? I would know you even in hell! Come and show me your face. I have a parting word for you.” His gravelly voiced echoed over the crowd who fell into a shocked silence.

There was a sudden commotion as people made way for a young man to pass. He was a lanky, feeble
-looking fellow with a pasty complexion and eyes that glimmered with aloofness as well as scorn. Dressed meticulously in his guard’s uniform, he elbowed his way to the front with the ease of a spoiled dandy. He came to stand beside Negri and stared at him scornfully. “So they caught you at last, Cesare! You called me and here I am. Say what you have to say!”

“
Hey,
faccia di merda
! Shit face!” Negri looked like a feral lion ready to spring upon its prey. “You betrayed me. You followed me. You hunted me down. Teresa told me everything. She is yours now. You won. Go and take her. She waits for you. Make her tell you how much she loves you, if you can!”

Something threatening in the ruffian
’s glare startled the young man. “What do you mean, you bastard?
Dio!
You haven’t killed her, have you?”

Negri broke
out into a savage laugh. “Me? I had nothing to do with it. She killed herself! She snatched my knife out of my hand and stabbed herself with it, preferring to die rather than see your lying white face again or endure your foul touch! Try to find her if you can. Her body lies dead up in the mountains, but her soul smiles down upon us from Heaven. Her last kiss was for me. Me – only me! Now get out of my sight.” He coughed and spat in his face. “May the devil curse you!”

The
guards rattled their swords and Negri received a blow to the chest from the butt of a musket. He curled forward momentarily. Slowly he straightened and resumed his furious scowl and fake indifference.

The man whom he had cursed staggered and seemed about to fall. His pale face became ashen. He disappeared into the crowd catatonically, as if he was unsure whether he was alive or dead. The news he had received had brought about his shock, wounding him deeply.

I approached the nearest guard and slipped a silver coin into his hand.

“
May I speak with Negri?” I asked, cautiously.

The man
hesitated. He glanced about and eyed the office. Then he nodded. “For an instant, but keep it brief.”

I approached Negri.
“Have you any message for Ernesto Paccanini? I am a friend of his.”

He stared at me and then a smirk arose on his face.
“The captain is a good man. Tell him that Teresa is dead and I am worse than dead. He will know for certain that I did not kill Teresa. I could never do such a thing. She shoved the blade into her breast before I could stop her.” He shook his head. “It is better this way.”

“
She killed herself rather than become the property of another man?” I asked.

Cesare
Negri nodded. I had to look twice at him, for I could swear I saw tears glistening in the depth of his sinful eyes.

The guard gestured for me to come away, so I withdrew. Almost at the same moment the
troop’s commanding officer exited the office, his spurs clinking against the cobblestone road. He mounted then shouted a command. The crowd moved back as horses were put to a quick trot. In a few moments the entire band, with the hulking form of Cesare Negri swallowed in their midst, disappeared down the street.

The people broke up into little groups talking excitedly of what they had witnessed. They returned to their homes or work. In a very short time, the piazza was empty.

I sat with Santina upon a bench near the center of the piazza. In my mind I pictured the beautiful Teresa lying dead and alone in the mountains with a self-inflicted wound that had freed her from the love and persecution of men. There
were
some women who preferred death to infidelity. How strange. Common women must be capable of killing themselves for such a reason. Daintily fed, silk-robed women like me would never stab themselves with a vulgar stiletto. Rather, we might retaliate by choosing a lover, or a score of lovers. Or, as in my case, launch a diabolical vendetta.

As I sat, I found myself glancing at the
guards’ office. On an impulse, I rose and entered the building determined to ask for the details of Negri’s capture. I was met by an intelligent-looking man who greeted me cordially.

“
Oh,
si!
” he said, in answer to my inquiries, “Over the years, Negri has given us a great deal of trouble. But we suspected he fled Vicenza for Pescara, where he went into hiding in the nearby mountains. A few stray bits of information gleaned here and there led us right to him.”

“
Was he caught easily or did he put up a fight?”

“
He surrended like a gentle lamb,
signora
. One of our men followed the woman named Teresa who lived with Negri. He traced her up to the corner of a narrow mountain pass where she disappeared from his sight. He returned to report this and we sent out an armed party in the middle of the night to find him. Two by two, they surrounded the location where we thought he was hiding. With the first beam of morning light, they rushed in upon him and took him prisoner. They tell me he showed no surprise. He merely said, ‘I expected you!’ They found him sitting next to the dead body of his mistress; she was stabbed and still bleeding. There is little doubt he killed her, even though he swears he is innocent. The man lies as easily as he breathes.”

“
But I thought he was the leader of a large band of men? Where were they?”

“
We captured three of his men two weeks ago, but we can find no trace of the others. My guess is that Cesare dismissed them and sent them far and wide throughout the entire country. At any rate, they are disbanded. When criminals are separated, there is no danger.”

“
What will happen to Negri now?” I asked.

“
A big strong man like him? It will be leg irons, the whip, and the galleys for him, for whatever remains of his sorry life.”

I thanked him and returned to the piazza where Santina awaited me. Based on what I had just learned, I was reassured that the treasure I had discovered in my family vault was safely mine. A grim smile curled my lips. If Negri knew how I had been wronged, I had little doubt he would be happy that his hidden riches were destined to help me carry out
an elaborate vendetta.

Any difficulties towards my goal had been smoothed out. The path before me was clear, without obstacles. God himself seemed to be on my side, and why not? Is He not on always on the side of the just?

Oh, Dario. I will be home soon
. Those who are un

faithful should never let down their guard. Just because one goes to church and prays, God is not deceived. My husband attended church regularly, kneeling before sacred altars, his
eyes upturned to Christ, but each word he uttered was blasphemy.

One day soon, all his lies would turn on him like a curse. Prayer is dangerous for liars. And he was the biggest liar of them all.

Chapter Eleven