The Falconer's Knot (15 page)

‘So you prefer a doddering old friar who gave you a few sad smiles to a member of your own family?’

‘If he did smile at me, that is more than you have ever done,’ said Isabella.

‘And what is there to smile at? A vain, arrogant, stubborn woman, who thinks that because she ensnared a man once with her looks she can play on them for the rest of her life? Believe me, the days of your beauty are fast approaching their end.’

‘Are you accusing me of seducing the Abbot of Giardinetto?’ said Isabella coldly, though a hot rage flowed in her veins.

‘Anything is possible,’ said Umberto sourly. ‘I shall certainly investigate the Abbot and friars of that house now that you have put your business in their hands.’

Isabella could not help herself; she felt the colour leave her face. And Umberto noticed.

‘It seems you do have something to hide at Giardinetto,’ he said with bitter satisfaction. ‘Trust me, I shall get to the bottom of it.’

And with that he stormed out of the room.

Father Bonsignore agreed with Anselmo’s idea of mounting a guard on the convent and asked him and Silvano to take the first watch.

The artists rode back to Assisi, deep in conversation.

‘We cannot expect much ultramarine from Giardinetto in the near future,’ said Pietro.

‘No, nor much of any colour,’ said Simone. ‘At least not until they have found their murderer.’

‘Well, it’s not the Colour Master, I’ll wager,’ said Pietro. ‘I’m with Mother Elena on that.’

‘And I,’ said Simone.

They travelled in silence for a while.

‘I saw you looking at the little novice,’ said Pietro.

‘Isn’t she perfect?’ asked Simone.

Pietro had been his friend for a long time and he knew that Simone was a confirmed bachelor, who took little interest in women unless he had an ulterior motive.

‘And what character does she suggest in your cycle?’ he asked.

Simone laughed. ‘You know me too well. I have to fill the entrance wall, in the archway to the chapel, and I want to put some saints there. I think she would make a perfect model for Saint Clare.’

‘Too pretty for a saint,’ said Pietro. ‘Especially one who lived such an ascetic life as the friend of Saint Francis.’

‘I disagree,’ said Simone. ‘Clare was a rich lady from a distinguished family. And she chose to renounce the world. Why should she not have been pretty? Surely there would have been less merit in closing herself away if she had been ill-favoured?’

‘But a saint might have a beautiful soul without having a beautiful face,’ suggested Pietro.

‘As might someone less holy than a saint,’ agreed Simone.

‘And perhaps a pleasing countenance might conceal a wicked heart?’

‘You are thinking of the friary, Pietro,’ said Simone. ‘We seem to come back to that, whatever we do to escape it. It is a festering sore and we must help them to heal it.’

Anselmo and Silvano kept guard on the convent gate but each knew that if the murderer of Brother Landolfo came from inside the friary they would not know how to recognise a danger to the sisters if one of their brothers asked for admission.

They used the time alone to go through all the members of their house and pool any information they had that might throw light on the murders.

‘We can leave out the Abbot, I suppose,’ said Silvano.

‘No. We cannot leave out anyone, not even ourselves,’ insisted Anselmo. ‘We must look dispassionately at what we know about each brother. Separate facts from feelings.’

‘Well, I know that Father Bonsignore is an old friend of my father’s,’ said Silvano. ‘And he has been kind to me. He never doubted that I was innocent of the murder in Perugia.’

‘That is something else we should consider,’ said Anselmo. ‘Whether that murder can be in any way linked to the ones here. But to return to the Abbot, he knew about your situation and also about my history, though not all the details until after the merchant Ubaldo was dead. These are facts. But like you, I have never had anything but kindness from him.’

‘So perhaps he told someone? Or maybe someone overheard him talking to you or me?’

‘It is possible. But let us move on to ourselves. I had a motive to kill the merchant and I know how to get hold of arsenikon. I do use a little in the colour room to make colours for Brother Fazio. These are bad marks against my name.’

‘And I came here fleeing from the charge of stabbing so that makes me a good suspect for Ubaldo. But not for Brother Landolfo. Why would I want to kill the Guest Master?’

‘Why would anyone? I have no motive either, even though I could have found the means.’

‘What about Brother Fazio? He uses the orpiment and realgar,’ said Silvano.

‘Indeed, he has as much access to arsenikon as I do,’ said Anselmo. ‘More perhaps. But no reason to carry out either of the killings here.’

‘As far as we know,’ said Silvano.

‘That is the point,’ said Anselmo. ‘The killer’s reasons might be hidden in his past. Or as I said before, he might be lacking in reason altogether, completely insane.’

‘Well, let’s carry on,’ said Silvano. ‘What about Brother Rufino? He found the merchant and treated Brother Landolfo. Could he be the one?’

‘If we continue to look at the facts, yes. But you saw how he tried to save Landolfo. I can’t believe it’s the Infirmarian.’

‘The Herbalist then,’ suggested Silvano. ‘Valentino. He would have access to poisonous plants, wouldn’t he?’

‘Probably, though not arsenikon. He’d be more likely to poison with belladonna.’

‘Do you know anything else about him?’

‘No, not really. He’s a quiet, pleasant companion and I believe him to be a devout friar.’

‘This is hopeless,’ said Silvano. ‘They – we – are all devout friars and friendly people. Perhaps we should start with the least pleasant?’

‘Well, Brother Nardo can be a bit surly,’ said Anselmo dubiously.

‘The Cellarer? Yes, I’ve noticed that. And Brother Gregorio, the Lector, is very strict. Though he has been good to me.’

‘And I think Monaldo, the Librarian, resented me when I arrived,’ said Anselmo. ‘He is a scholar, like Gregorio, and I think they both feared I might intrude on their territory. But there has been no difficulty with them since.’

‘We’ve left out Brother Ranieri,’ said Silvano. ‘Though I can’t think that the Novice Master would be a killer.’

‘We are treading in circles,’ said Anselmo. ‘The killer must be one of us yet none of us seems like a killer.’

‘Then we must start at a different end,’ said Silvano. ‘We’ve agreed that we know of no one with a reason to kill either Ubaldo or Landolfo . . .’

‘Except possibly me in the first case,’ objected Anselmo.

‘All right, but leaving you aside . . . I think we should look at opportunity. Ubaldo first.’

‘Well that’s me again,’ said Anselmo. ‘I was out walking in the garden. But I could be lying.’

‘I was out of bed myself, coming to see you. Then there’s Rufino.’

‘Almost any brother could have been out of his cell.’

‘But no one was missing from the dormitory except me,’ said Silvano, excitedly. ‘So that rules out all the younger brothers and the novices.’

‘We hadn’t begun to consider them anyway,’ said Anselmo. ‘That still leaves about a dozen, including you, me and the Abbot.’

‘Well, let’s for the time being rule out those three and we are down to eight or nine. We could try to investigate them.’

‘What about Brother Landolfo’s murder? Who had that opportunity?’

‘You, Brother Fazio and perhaps Brother Valentino, if it was a plant poison instead of arsenikon,’ said Silvano. ‘But that’s only the people who we know could get hold of poison. What about putting it in Landolfo’s dish?’

‘Then Bertuccio is the obvious person,’ said Anselmo. ‘As cook, he had the best opportunity.’

‘Brother Nardo could have put it in the wine,’ said Silvano. ‘And Brother Fazio sits next to Landolfo so he could have put poison in his dish.’

They had been discussing the crimes so intently that they had not noticed Chiara coming up to them with a basket of food.

‘Mother Elena sent me with some refreshment for you,’ she said, unpacking bread, cheese and a flask of wine.

‘Thank you, Sister Orsola,’ said Anselmo. ‘You must think us very inadequate guards since we didn’t hear you approach.’

‘You were talking about the murders, weren’t you?’ said Chiara. ‘There is no other topic of conversation in either house tonight, I should think. Do you really think we are in danger here?’

‘We have been going through all the brothers and have come to no conclusion,’ said Silvano, smiling at her in spite of the question. ‘Except that Nardo can be grumpy and Gregorio and Monaldo are fond of their books.’

He was not going to tell her that Anselmo had the most marks against him as a suspect.

‘I am sorry to say,’ said Anselmo, ‘that however vigilant we may be, it might take another murder before we can find the killer.’

.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Onlooker

A
fter two murders, the Abbot of Giardinetto had no choice but to send for the head of the Franciscan Order. He felt deeply worried about what was going on and ashamed that these things were happening in a house under his charge. Pray as he might, he could see no clear way out of the morass of sin that threatened to engulf the friary.

Several brothers had come to him to ask that Silvano or Anselmo or both should be expelled. One was known to be a murder suspect, the other had a past as the lover of the second victim’s wife. Even though the two men were liked and had been welcomed into the brotherhood, it was believed they were more likely to be responsible for the two murders than any of the other friars.

Father Bonsignore sighed heavily. And now he must take on the additional burden of guiding the merchant’s widow in her business affairs. Strictly speaking, he could refuse but the guilt he felt that the merchant had died while under his protection made that an impossible choice.

It seemed as if his thoughts had taken human shape when Ubaldo’s brother arrived at the friary. Umberto resembled his older brother but had an even grimmer countenance. He pointedly refused all refreshment and said he would ride on to an inn in Assisi. ‘Excuse me, Father Abbot,’ he said, ‘but I do not feel secure in the hospitality of the friars of Giardinetto. I hear there has been another death since my brother’s. A poisoning?’

Bonsignore could not deny it.

‘I am sure the deaths are not connected,’ he said with as much composure as he could manage.

‘Not connected?’ said Umberto, his black eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. ‘You have so many murders here that you can afford to say that? Giardinetto must be a charnel-house indeed!’

‘It is just that the means were so different,’ said the Abbot. ‘I still believe that your brother was attacked by an intruder. The poisoning of a brother does look bad for all the rest, but this is a matter to be dealt with internally. The head of our Order, the Minister General, is on his way to investigate the case. Until then I can say nothing to you, except to repeat that I am sure your brother was not killed by a friar.’

‘But how much do you know about your friars?’ asked Umberto. ‘I mean before they joined the Order?’

Bonsignore was very conscious of what he had recently found out about Brother Anselmo but he answered as confidently as he could. ‘It is not I who admitted them to the Order,’ he said. ‘They would have applied to the Minister General of the time and each man’s life and vocation would have been examined.’

‘Then it looks as if your Minister General has overlooked at least one murderer,’ sneered Umberto.

The Abbot made no reply.

‘I am not satisfied that you are taking this seriously enough,’ said Umberto. ‘But, leaving aside the subject of my brother’s murder for a moment – and I don’t care whether the rest of you kill each other off till there is only one man standing – what is this nonsense about your acting legally for my sister-in-law?’

‘Monna Isabella has done me the honour of asking me to represent her in legal matters, yes,’ said the Abbot. ‘I took it as an act of trust, to let me know that she did not hold this house responsible for her husband’s death.’

‘The woman is a fool,’ said Umberto.

‘She struck me as very intelligent,’ said Father Bonsignore.

Umberto glared at him.

‘And you will accede to her request?’

‘I can see no reason not to.’

‘Then there is nothing to detain me here. I see I can make no headway with you, Abbot. Perhaps your Minister General will be more interested in listening to me.’

He left abruptly. The Abbot drew a deep breath and walked over to the window. He watched his unwelcome visitor walk towards the stable. But Umberto stopped to talk to a couple of friars he encountered on the way. The Abbot frowned. His eyesight was not good and he could not make out which of the friars were talking to Ubaldo’s angry brother. But since most knew of the rumours about the Colour Master, Bonsignore now had a new complication to worry about.

Monna Isabella was surprised when she read the Abbess’s message about Chiara – Sister Orsola, as she insisted on calling her. Isabella had thought that Chiara would accept her offer in an instant. She had made inquiries in the town and found that the girl’s brother, Bernardo, was making a poor fist of handling the little of his patrimony that remained. Rumours were abroad that his debts were mounting.

On the other hand, the townspeople could not praise enough the wealthy widow from Perugia who was setting up as a trader in Gubbio. It was regarded as a daring venture, even though Angelica had appointed a man to manage the business. People treated Isabella with respect and deference and even some warmth; she was more popular than her husband had ever been. But they were wary of talking to her directly about Angelica, fearing that she might be anxious about the competition.

Isabella had not thought much about what would happen after her husband’s death apart from certain hazy dreams about finding Domenico again. Now that she had found him she dare not dream any more. She must have a plan for the future that didn’t involve him. And why not do the same as the little widow from Perugia? If a slip of a girl, not yet twenty, could run a business, and from another city, why should Isabella herself not continue with Ubaldo’s successful trade here in Gubbio? She already had a procurator in Abbot Bonsignore, who had accepted her request. All she needed to do now was appoint a manager.

It would certainly take her mind off a middle-aged friar living in Giardinetto. But she would go there again soon to see the Abbot and try to have a private audience with the man they now called Brother Anselmo. She needed to resolve that question once and for all. She wished that she had a woman friend to confide in; it was a pity that Chiara was not coming to her, at least not yet.

While the friars waited for the visit of their new Minister General, Michele da Cesena, they went about their business as usual. They said the Office, tended the garden, visited the sick, preached in the local parishes and heard confessions. Brother Anselmo ran the colour room as he always had and had soon produced their first batch of ultramarine. In spite of the cares and worries oppressing him, Silvano was enchanted by the heavenly colour. It seemed to promise a better time.

Sister Veronica and the grey nuns next door had also made a batch and Anselmo proposed a joint trip to Assisi in the friary’s cart. It was what Silvano and Chiara had both longed for but they felt self-conscious when they were at last seated in the back of the cart. Anselmo was driving, with Sister Veronica beside him. She was a little deaf, so that it was safe for them to talk. Silvano doubted that Anselmo would mind but he spoke in a low voice anyway.

‘How are you, Chiara?’ he asked. ‘Are the sisters still afraid?’

‘I am not afraid for myself, Brother,’ said Chiara, uncertain how to address him but thrilled that he had used her real name. ‘And if I were to become so, I have a way of escape. But some of the younger women are nervous living next to a house which now seems so ill-augured.’

‘A way of escape?’ asked Silvano. ‘Are you leaving?’

‘I might,’ said Chiara. ‘Monna Isabella has offered that I should live with her in Gubbio, as her companion. Mother Elena has said I may go.’

‘But you are uncertain?’

‘I am still considering it,’ said Chiara in a way that closed the subject.

‘Have you heard we are going to have a visitation from the Minister General?’ asked Silvano.

Chiara nodded. ‘The Abbess expects he will come to see us too. Normally it would be a cause for excitement, I believe. But everyone is jittery now. Suppose he disbands the brothers’ house at Giardinetto? What would happen to the Poor Clares?’

‘Disband the house!’ exclaimed Silvano. ‘Surely it won’t come to that?’

Brother Anselmo turned slightly and put his finger to his lips.

‘We are all in fear,’ said Silvano quietly. ‘And some of the brothers fear myself and Anselmo most of all. You can see it in their eyes.’

They travelled the rest of the way to Assisi in silence but they became more and more aware of each other’s presence on the journey. They were sitting on opposite sides of the cart – anything else would have been indecorous – but that gave them ample opportunity to look at each other.

They kept catching each other’s eye and then one would turn away, embarrassed and develop an interest in the Umbrian scenery. But that gave the other a chance to study unobserved a curve of cheek or sweep of lashes. It only confirmed what they had both thought: that the object of their scrutiny was very pleasing to look at indeed.

And Silvano now had to think that Chiara might not continue to be as out of reach as he had always thought her. She was not wealthy, certainly, but she came from a good family and she would have a respectable home if she chose to live with Isabella in Gubbio. He couldn’t imagine that his father would put any obstacle in his way if he said he was going to pay court to a merchant’s ward. He checked himself from letting his thoughts run away with him. It was only a matter of weeks since he had thought himself hopelessly in love with another woman.

He looked into his heart to see how he felt about Angelica but had to admit that what he found there now was mostly hurt pride. If he was honest with himself, he found Chiara more attractive. And he was beginning to know her; they had exchanged far more words than he ever had with the widow of Perugia.

For Chiara, it was less complicated. She had never seen a man to her liking before Silvano and his face now seemed familiar and the very type she imagined when she thought of love and romance. She shouldn’t have been thinking about either but she had never really believed that she could be a nun and now that she didn’t have to accept that destiny, she let herself indulge those imaginings.

But something else was happening to her. Since living in the convent, contrary to what she had expected, her world had expanded. The riot of colour and form in the Basilica at Assisi had amazed her and meeting the painters opened her eyes still further. She had seen no art in her native city, except what was in the main church and had certainly never thought about how it got there.

And there were the murders. It was horrific, of course, but the notion that danger lurked so near was stimulating. It had broken up the routine of both houses and nobody knew what each new day would bring. She was not really afraid for herself and she didn’t want to leave the convent with the mystery unsolved.

Simone was surprised to see them and delighted with the ultramarine. As they visited him in the chapel devoted to Saint Martin, Chiara gasped. Her own face looked down at her from inside the entrance arch! The hair had been changed from brown to gold but it was certainly her face. It was a saint, with its halo already sketched in and waiting for Simone’s famous gold stamping. She stood holding a lily and separated from another female saint by a slender spiralled column painted so convincingly on the blue background that it was hard to believe it had no volume or substance.

‘I hope you will forgive me, Sister Orsola,’ said Simone, ‘for taking your likeness as my model for your patron, Saint Clare.’

‘She is not just the founder of our Order,’ said Chiara. ‘I was named for her. I was called Chiara.’ And shall be again, she thought.

‘Then you were well named,’ said Simone simply.

Silvano smiled at the painter; so that was why he had studied the beautiful novice so carefully! He wished he could have a copy of Simone’s portrait of Chiara. If it were a miniature, he could carry it around with him.