The Falconer's Knot (19 page)

Michele da Cesena pondered what to do for a long time. At last, he sent a message to Abbot Bonsignore at Giardinetto.

‘The friary needs cleansing of the devils within it. I am sending to Giardinetto a most precious relic. There have come to me at Assisi the remains of the Blessed Egidio, one of the first companions of Saint Francis, and I wish to see them buried with due honour and ceremony. The brotherhood will pay for an appropriate casket and I shall myself accompany the blessed bones to Giardinetto before they are interred here in Assisi.

This will go some way to purifying the friary of the evil within. I should also like to interview Brother Anselmo again. This visit and the arrival of the casket will take place within the next few days. No time must be lost in exorcising the devils from Giardinetto.’

The Abbot was overwhelmed when he read this letter. The Minister General was doing them a very great honour in letting the bones of the Blessed Egidio rest at Giardinetto even for a few hours and he did not doubt their effectiveness in ridding the friary of the evil that had taken up residence there. But he was worried by the reference to Anselmo. It seemed as if the Colour Master’s problems were piling up.

Monna Isabella was getting better at hiding her feelings; she did not give way to them until she was alone in her private sitting room. She had been to see Chiara after her interview with Brother Anselmo and even then had managed to appear calm and in control.

‘Have you thought any more about my offer, Chiara?’ she asked. Isabella never called her Orsola; that was one of the things the girl liked about her.

Chiara had indeed thought a lot about going to live with Isabella. Silvano had not asked her to stay, not to leave Giardinetto. How could he? For, if she were to stay it would have to be as a sister, eventually a professed one, and such a person could not be subject to the whim of a sixteen-year-old boy, no matter how big his grey eyes or how long his black lashes.

No, she must decide her own fate without reference to whatever might happen to Silvano.

‘I think I should like to come and live with you very much, Madama,’ she said.

‘But that is wonderful!’ said Isabella. ‘The best thing that has happened today.’

‘Only . . .’

‘Only?’

‘Not just yet, if you will forgive me,’ said Chiara impulsively. ‘I don’t want to seem ungrateful but I should like to stay here until I know that everyone is safe. I mean Mother Elena and the sisters.’

‘And the brothers, of course,’ said Isabella with a wan smile.

‘Yes, the brothers too,’ said Chiara, suddenly very interested in her feet.

‘I understand, child,’ said Isabella quietly. ‘I too fear for the safety of those I love at Giardinetto. Come to me in Gubbio when the murderer has been found and dealt with and we shall be women of business together. You shall find your brother in my house from time to time. He has agreed to be my business manager.’

‘Bernardo?’ said Chiara, amazed. But already she could see herself, dressed in fine gowns giving orders to the brother who had abandoned her to the grey sisters of Giardinetto. It was a mean thought and she repressed it; it just showed how unsuited she really was to life as a nun. But Isabella’s news certainly gave an added piquancy to her offer.

It was not until Isabella was alone that the effort of the day’s scenes fell with all their weight on her and she wept as she had when she and Domenico had first been separated. She still loved him just as much; the white hairs among the brown and his thin drawn face excited only compassion and tenderness in her. If he was not exactly as he had been, then neither was she. And they both knew who was to blame for that.

She did not really believe that Domenico, Brother Anselmo as she must learn to think of him, had ceased to love her either. That was what made their separation even harder to bear. She felt, as she often had in dreams, that something exquisite had been dashed away from her lips at the moment of its enjoyment.

Her body ached as if a carriage had run over her bones and her head hurt. She sent for vinegar and got her maid to bathe her temples but it gave her little ease. In vain did she try to rest that night; sleep would not come.

In some ways it would have been easier if Ubaldo still lived. If they had found out that her old love now lived nearby, it would have made no difference; Isabella would still have been bound to the merchant. But – now that her long years of servitude were over and she would be free to marry again after a decent interval – to find him now! It was too cruel.

She fell at last into an exhausted doze, worn out by grief and dry of all tears.

‘What are you making?’ asked Simone.

He had a rare half hour away from his frescoes and was wandering alone in the complex of buildings that made up the Basilica and its attached friar house. In a workshop he had come across Teodoro, a goldsmith whom he knew slightly from Siena.

The goldsmith was measuring sheets of crystal.

‘Good evening, Simone,’ he said. ‘It’s a commission at short notice. Michele da Cesena has ordered it himself for a coffin.’

‘The Minister General is dying?’ asked Simone.

‘No, no, certainly not. At least not as far as I know, Heaven preserve him,’ said Teodoro. ‘This is for the remains of the Blessed Egidio. I must have it ready within days so that the holy bones can be transported to Giardinetto.’

‘To Giardinetto? Why? Surely they will not bury such a sacred relic there?’

‘I have no idea. A humble craftsman doesn’t ask questions when the great Michele da Cesena gives him an order.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Simone. ‘But perhaps it is in order to cleanse and purify the friary. You know there have been murders there?’

‘Yes, I heard,’ said Teodoro. ‘You think Assisi will lend the bones of the Blessed Egidio to the grey friars? And that the murders will stop?’

‘I hope so,’ said Simone. ‘Perhaps when the brothers are in the presence of so much sanctity, the murderer will be moved to repentance and will confess. I should like to see the devils driven out of Giardinetto.’

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Death’s Head

A
ngelica’s father had made one rather feeble attempt to reassert his authority over her since her husband’s death.

‘You should by law come back to my house and bring your dowry with you,’ he said.

Angelica snorted. ‘And how much would that buy?’ she taunted him. ‘As I recall, you could scrape together very little to make your bargain with my husband. I was my own dowry and I shall revert to myself.’

‘But you have neither child nor husband,’ objected her father.

‘And soon I shall have both,’ she said. ‘I am engaged to be married to Gervasio de’ Oddini. By next year I shall bear the name of a noble house – and a child too.’

Her father looked both gratified and shocked. A child of his married to a noble, even a penniless one, was an elevation in rank that the family had not dreamed of. They had thought a sheep farmer a significant step up. But he didn’t like to think that his own daughter could be of such easy virtue as to be bearing another man’s child so soon.

Angelica cared just enough for her father’s good opinion to tell him the truth.

‘It’s not Gervasio’s,’ she sighed, patting her rounded stomach. ‘But he doesn’t need to know that. I can confuse him about the date the baby was made once we are married. Which had better be soon.’

But everyone will think Angelica was dallying with him while the husband was still alive, thought her father. What other reason could there be for such a hasty marriage? Out loud he said, ‘Well, we are agreed on one thing at least. Let de’ Oddini make an honest woman of you as soon as may be. You won’t lack for a dowry this time.’

‘I know,’ said Angelica. ‘And I’ll have a good business in Gubbio too.’

A servant came in, very agitated, and whispered in her mistress’s ear. Angelica clutched at her heart and looked as if she might swoon.

‘The Council have arrested Gervasio,’ she told her father. ‘They say that he is Tommaso’s murderer!’

The friars of Giardinetto were trying to lead as normal a life as possible, considering they had a murderer in their midst. The freshly dug earth over the grave of Brother Landolfo was a constant reminder every time they walked past the little cemetery on the way in to chapel.

Brother Anselmo had been preoccupied and uncommunicative ever since his meeting with Isabella, but he ran the colour room as steadily as before. Silvano felt cut off from the Colour Master’s thoughts though and this made him feel lonely, lonelier than he had since arriving at the friary.

He took to missing services and riding out more often on Moonbeam. In a novice it was disobedience; in a sanctuary-seeker, it was sheer folly. But no one tried to stop him. Abbot Bonsignore was too caught up with his own problems to take much notice.

On one of his unofficial outings, he ran into Brother Valentino, the Herbalist. The friar had been almost invisible in his grey robe against the rocky hillside and it was the horse who saw him first, pulling up short to avoid running him down.

‘Hello there, young Silvano,’ said Valentino good-naturedly. ‘You gave me a scare.’

‘I’m so sorry, Brother,’ said Silvano, dismounting. ‘I didn’t see you. What are you doing?’

‘I am gathering wild thyme,’ said Brother Valentino. ‘My stocks have been rather depleted. I want to dry as many herbs as possible because the Abbot has asked me to take over from Landolfo as Guest Master.’

‘He wants you to do that as well as grow and keep the herbs?’

‘Yes, but it is not ordinarily a demanding job. We don’t have many visitors in Giardinetto. But now we are to receive quite a party from Assisi. They are bringing the relics of the Blessed Egidio and will leave them in the chapel overnight, before taking them back to Assisi for burial in the tomb our Minister General is having built.’

‘I’m not sure I understand about these relics. I know it’s a great honour but what exactly will they do?’

‘They are the bones of one of Saint Francis’s early companions. Someone who passed his daily life with the Saint. They are so holy that they will surely drive out the evil that has lodged in our house. And I think the Minister General believes it will cause the Devil to come out of whichever brother killed Landolfo and he will confess his crime.’

‘I hope he’s right,’ said Silvano. ‘Will you ride back with me? You can ride Moonbeam and I will walk beside you.’

Valentino looked at the grey horse and the hooded hawk with some apprehension.

‘No, thank you. I have not found all I need yet. But it is a kind offer.’

He waved to Silvano and the boy got back on his horse and rode away thinking that he had never had a conversation with the Herbalist before. And then he thought, suppose Valentino was not harmlessly collecting wild herbs? Maybe there was some kind of naturally growing plant that contained arsenikon?

He dismissed the idea as soon as it came. Brother Valentino was a kind and gentle man, who used his herbs for healing. He couldn’t imagine him deliberately poisoning anyone, let alone stabbing anybody.

Silvano stabled Moonbeam himself and put Celeste back on her post. He had missed Nones, and suddenly realised that Brother Valentino must have missed it too. Silvano hurried to the colour room, where an acrid smell met his nose.

‘Ah, Silvano,’ said Anselmo. ‘We are making caput mortuum.’

‘Death’s head?’ asked Silvano. ‘What is that?’

‘It is an ochre rich in red mineral deposits, but when ground and mixed with water, it makes a wonderfully dark purple, suitable for robes.’

Anselmo seemed almost his old self, happy to be explaining and demonstrating the colours that he loved. Silvano smiled at him. They worked till Vespers, then walked to the chapel together, stopping to cross themselves by Landolfo’s grave.

‘Did you know that Brother Valentino is Guest Master now?’ Silvano asked Anselmo.

‘Yes, I heard that,’ said Anselmo.

They both looked round the chapel for the Herbalist but there was no sign of him.

‘Perhaps he is still out collecting herbs?’ whispered Silvano.

But the Abbot came in and they began to say the Office.

Valentino was not present at supper either and Silvano felt uneasy. It was most unusual for a brother to miss a meal. He saw Anselmo speaking to Bonsignore and the Abbot beckoned him over.

‘Brother Anselmo tells me you had some converse with Brother Valentino this afternoon?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Father. I was out in the hills exercising my horse and I found him gathering herbs.’

‘Did he come back with you?’

‘No. I offered him my horse but he said he hadn’t finished his task.’

‘When was this?’

‘About mid-afternoon, at the time of Nones,’ said Silvano. ‘I noticed he wasn’t at Vespers. Has he not been back at all?’

The Abbot shook his head. ‘He came to me after the midday meal and asked to be excused Nones. He said he wanted to pick herbs. Perhaps we should go to his storeroom and see if he became so absorbed in putting his plants away that he missed the Vespers bell?’

The Abbot, Anselmo and Silvano excused themselves from the refectory, leaving a buzz of speculation behind them. A heavy feeling lay in all their hearts. But there was no lifeless Brother Valentino in the storeroom. Still, he had been back. There were two baskets full of fragrant, freshly picked herbs. He had left them on a bench, as if in some hurry.

They went to Valentino’s cell, which was likewise empty.

‘Perhaps he is in the refectory now?’ suggested Silvano.

They went back and were met by the silent faces of the friars all turned towards them. The Abbot strode to the head of the table and rapped on it with his wooden cup. It was not really necessary; every eye was on him.

‘Brothers,’ he said, ‘we are concerned for the safety of Brother Valentino. Has anyone seen him since he returned from his herb-gathering?’

Silvano suddenly felt grateful that they had found the baskets. If anything had happened to Valentino on the hillside, it would look bad that he had been out of the friary at the same time.

‘It was his turn to ring the bell for Vespers,’ said Brother Taddeo. ‘I saw him hurrying across the yard.’

‘And did the bell ring?’ asked Bonsignore. Like all of them, he was so used to the sections of the day being portioned out by the ringing of the friary bell that he couldn’t say whether he had gone to Vespers because of its sound or because his body just knew it was the right time.

But there was general agreement that the bell had rung.

‘And no one has seen him since then?’ asked Bonsignore. There was silence. ‘Well, he was not at Vespers, so perhaps we should go to the bell tower. He might have collapsed.’

Silvano really hoped that was the explanation, even though he didn’t like the idea of Brother Valentino having some kind of seizure because he had hurried back and then rushed across the yard. He wished the Herbalist had accepted a ride on Moonbeam.

The evening meal was abandoned and all the friars followed their Abbot to the bell tower with a sense of foreboding.

It was a simple brick tower with only one bell in the open cupola at the top. Several flights of stairs wound up inside it to where the bronze bell hung, but it was rung by a heavy rope that hung down inside the tower. Silvano had been inside the tower only a few times since he was not allowed to ring the bell by himself and was not on the rota of friars that did it before services.

The little procession stopped outside the wooden door at the bottom of the tower.

‘Come with me, Brother Rufino,’ commanded the Abbot. ‘If Valentino has fallen ill, we may need you.’

But when they pushed open the door, it was clear, even in the gloom of the shadowy tower, that Valentino was beyond Rufino’s help, or anyone else’s.

He swung from a beam, his grey robe long and shapeless, obscuring his feet. The hem dangled only a few inches from the floor. His face was congested and purple, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. There was a bloody bruise on his forehead.

A collective gasp went up from the brothers as Bonsignore and Rufino rushed inside. Anselmo and Silvano were right behind them. The Abbot himself took the weight of the body while Rufino and Anselmo undid the cord. They lay Valentino on the flagstones. The Abbot closed his staring eyes and cast his own cloak over the corpse. He intoned a Latin blessing over the dead friar and all the brothers said, ‘Amen’.

The news was quick to reach Assisi. It ran round the Basilica and reached Simone and Pietro the next morning as they breakfasted with their assistants outside their workshop in the grounds.

‘Another murder?’ said Simone, while Pietro tried to remember which brother was the Herbalist.

‘The Minister General is taking the relics of the Blessed Egidio today,’ said Teodoro the goldsmith, who had come to bring them the story, knowing their interest in Giardinetto.

‘You finished the casket then?’ asked Simone.

‘It took me all day and all night for three days,’ said the goldsmith, yawning. ‘And that was with my assistants helping me. But I am pleased with it.’

‘May we see?’ asked Pietro.

Teodoro took them into the Upper Church, where the casket lay on two trestles before the High Altar. It was a magnificent piece of work. Sheets of crystal were let into the side and lid of the casket, which surrounded a lead coffin holding the sacred bones. It was made of polished pink-veined marble, and every hinge and corner was decorated with gold.