The Falconer's Knot (21 page)

Chiara was shivering with cold and fear. Since the Abbess had told them about the latest murder, she had repented her decision to stay in Giardinetto. The friary seemed cursed and she was frightened for Silvano as well as herself. Now she had absented herself from the colour room and was looking out of the grille towards the brothers’ chapel. No one had come to reprove her; discipline in the convent seemed to be breaking down.

She had seen the arrival of the relics from Assisi and noticed the painters riding behind. From here too she could watch while another coffin went into the ground and the friars dispersed. It was agonising not knowing what was going on. At any minute she expected to hear the bell toll to announce another death. Or to see another corpse carried into the chapel.

But what she did see was even more terrifying. The dead merchant Ubaldo riding back into Giardinetto on his horse! Her heart was beating fast and she wanted to cry out to warn the brothers that the world had turned upside down and the dead walked again. But gradually she got hold of her senses and remembered that Ubaldo had a younger brother. Peering as hard as she could, she thought she could discern differences between them after all.

This one was taller, though he had the same slumped posture on his horse as Ubaldo when the sisters had met him on the road from Assisi the night he was murdered. Chiara guessed that he had drunk too much. But what was he doing in Giardinetto? The sight of him filled her with dread, even once she had realised he was a living man. She wondered whether to go and tell the Abbess, but what could Mother Elena do?

Night was beginning fall in the friary of Giardinetto. Candles were burning at the head and foot of the casket of the Blessed Egidio. The evening meal had been consumed in silence, to the clear annoyance of Umberto, the unexpected visitor. Michele da Cesena was much stricter than Abbot Bonsignore and expected the Lector to read at every meal while the friars ate in silence, even when visitors were present.

When Umberto had arrived, loudly demanding to see Brother Anselmo, he had been told that the Colour Master was closeted with the Minister General. This confused Umberto, who thought that the Minister had handed over the task of retribution to him. But he could do nothing but fume.

Anselmo had not come to supper after his meeting with Michele da Cesena. The Abbot had told Umberto frankly that there was no room for him to lodge at the friary that night. He had not been best pleased to see Ubaldo the merchant’s brother unannounced and the worse for drink on such a difficult day. Now Umberto had to decide whether to ride on to an inn in Assisi or turn back to Gubbio. And he still didn’t know how to get Anselmo alone.

The friars went to bed early, a practice that Silvano still found irksome. He went for a few minutes into the chapel and knelt before the casket. There were another one or two friars there, silently praying. He didn’t stay long. He couldn’t raise the enthusiasm for the holiness of these relics that seemed to come naturally to the real friars.

He wondered whether to go in search of Brother Anselmo but it felt too uncannily like the night Ubaldo had died; he didn’t want to tempt Fate by repeating his actions of that day. So Silvano went back to his thin straw mattress and turned restlessly for a few hours before falling asleep.

No one rang the bell any more for the services that took place in the hours of darkness; the friars moved automatically to the chapel to say Matins and Lauds.

But somewhere between Lauds and Prime, Silvano was woken by the unmistakeable whinnying of Moonbeam. He got up immediately, casting his cloak round him against the early morning air and ran to the stables. Moonbeam was restless and frightened, his eyes rolling. And he was not the only one. The other horses in the stable seemed infected with the same fear.

‘What is it, boy?’ asked Silvano, stroking his horse between the ears. But even that familiar caress did not soothe the animal. Celeste too was fluttering on her perch, though whether alarmed by the horses’ behaviour or her by own fears was impossible to tell.

Silvano went out into the yard. The sky was light and there were flocks of birds wheeling erratically, as if they didn’t know what direction to take. There was an eerie quality to the light and he suddenly felt afraid. The ground under his feet began to tremble and he fell to his knees. Immediately he knew what had been frightening the animals.

‘Earthquake!’ he cried, as loudly as he could, running towards the house to waken the brothers. Soon they were all out in the yard, clutching on to each other and to any bit of wall or tree they could find as the ground seemed to slide beneath them. A fissure opened between the chapel and the friars’ house – about six inches wide. A hot blast came from the vent.

And then all was still and silent again.

Michele da Cesena took charge and ordered the brothers into the chapel. Many of them had to step across the gap that had opened in the earth.

‘It is a sign from the Lord,’ he said severely as soon as they were all inside. ‘Nothing has been damaged but a great rift has opened between your dwelling and the House of God. It symbolises how the evil of the murders has separated every man here from the love of Our Creator. On your knees, Brothers! And pray as you have never prayed before that the culprit comes forth.’

But again no one stood up to admit the crimes. No one had been moved by the bones of the Blessed Egidio to confess anything and even God’s wrath rending the earth brought no admission now.

Silvano cast his eyes warily round the chapel. It had become a routine to check the friars against his mental list and they were all there, even Brother Anselmo. Silvano breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed ridiculous to be glad that no one had died in the night. No one injured by the earthquake and no new murder.

Michele da Cesena and his party were going back to Assisi after breakfast. And the painters had already gone the day before, taking more packages from the colour room in their saddlebags. Silvano liked to think that life would go back to normal in the friary but he knew that couldn’t be.

‘How is it with you?’ he asked Brother Anselmo as they left the chapel together.

‘I have been better,’ said Anselmo, with a wintry smile. ‘The Minister General made it very clear that I am the chief suspect for the murders here – even though I had no reason for violence against Brother Landolfo or Valentino. My history with Ubaldo is enough to darken my name.’

‘Did you see his brother last night?’

‘Umberto was here?’

‘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

F
or 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.