Rare Traits (The Rare Traits Trilogy Book I) Read online

Chapter 4 : 1492

  The six guards walked their horses slowly along the pitted, uneven lane to Luca di Stefano’s cottage, lighting their way in the predawn darkness with burning torches. Archpriest d’Angeli’s stern instructions were still ringing in their ears.

  “Seize all three of them, tie their hands and bring them back here for interrogation. They are in league with the Devil!”

  The cottage was in darkness. They dismounted and their sergeant indicated to one of them to bang on the door.

  “Wake them up, Simone. They have a rude shock coming to them.”

  The guard walked cautiously to the door, nervous at the possibility of being in the presence of the Antichrist. His blow on the door was hesitant.

  “I said wake them,” growled the sergeant. “That tickle wouldn’t disturb the mice.”

  Simone hit the door again with much more force, making it rattle on its hinges. Not a sound came from the house.

  “Again!” yelled the sergeant.

  When there was still no response, the sergeant strode up and pushed the hovering guard aside. He stared darkly at the door.

  “May I, signore?” Another of the guards reached past the sergeant and took hold of the door handle. He turned it and found the door wasn’t locked.

  “I was going to do that, Giovanni,” muttered the sergeant, raising his lantern and walking into the cottage.

  “You two!” he called back to them. “Search the place!”

  After two minutes, they had confirmed that the cottage was empty. Another guard drew the sergeant’s attention to a piece of parchment held down by a water pitcher on the kitchen table. It had writing on it.

  Snatching it from the table, the sergeant glanced at it and thrust it at the guard who had found it. “Read it to me!” he ordered. The guard looked flustered and offered it back to the sergeant. “Signore, I can’t …” he faltered and looked embarrassed.

  The guard called Giovanni took the parchment. “Here, let me,” he said.

  “Signore, it’s addressed to Francesco Marino. He’s the farmer who owns this estate – di Stefano’s brother-in-law.”

  “I’m well aware who Francesco Marino is. Just tell me what it says!” snapped the sergeant.

  Giovanni looked down the letter. “It’s signed by Luca di Stefano, signore, and it says that he apologises for having to leave a note rather than speak directly to Signor Marino, that under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have dreamed of being so impertinent as to–”

  “Get to the point, Giovanni, there’s no need to go through all the flowery politenesses.”

  Giovanni’s eyes darted over the letter. “He’s gone to Verona, signore. With his son, Niccolò, and grandson, Gianni.”

  “Verona! Why? When?”

  “It must have been during the night, signore, because I personally saw Niccolò here yesterday in the late afternoon. I was passing to take some bread from the market to my mother-in-law and–”

  “For God’s sake, man, stick to the point!”

  Giovanni jumped to attention and peered again at the letter. “Yes, signore. Er, let me see. It says that he received news from a messenger that his aunt in Verona - that’s his late father’s sister, I think, signore. I remember my father told me …” He caught the sergeant’s eye and quickly got back to the letter. “It seems she’s very ill, signore – the aunt – and there was no time to lose if he wanted to see her while she still has breath in her body.” He paused and crossed himself. “It says the three of them had no choice but to leave immediately, riding back with the messenger.”

  The sergeant considered this news for a moment and then suddenly banged on the table with his fist. “Well, they can’t have been gone long and they wouldn’t make good time in the dark. You!” He pointed at Giovanni. “Take the letter to Archpriest d’Angeli. Tell him that I, Sergeant Gallo, have taken the initiative to follow them and that he can expect me to return with all three of them by nightfall. The rest of you, it’s light enough now. On your horses! We’ll take the main track through the mountains; it’s the way they will have taken. We’ll check at each village to see if four men riding north in a hurry have been spotted.”

  With that, the sergeant ran out of the house, mounted his horse and galloped away, followed by four of the guards. The remaining one, Giovanni, was left holding the parchment and wondering if perhaps the sergeant was being rather hasty. But he knew better than to question his orders.

  Shortly after eleven o’clock the previous night, Luca had been woken from his sleep by a light but insistent tapping on the cottage door. He made his way from the cot in his studio to the kitchen, stopping at the fireplace to light a candle. He was placing it inside a lantern when the tapping on the door sounded again. It was louder now, more urgent. As he moved towards the door, Niccolò appeared from his room. “Babbo, who can it be at this time of night?”

  Luca opened the door a crack and raised the lantern, throwing light onto the head of a hooded figure. He opened the door a little further, enough for the lantern’s light to penetrate the darkness a few feet and for him to see that the caller appeared to be alone.

  “Signor di Stefano, please let me in. There is no time to lose,” urged the caller in a hissing whisper. “And please lower the light, I do not wish to be seen.”

  Luca knew the voice but couldn’t immediately place it. He stood aside and let the caller in, shutting the door after him. The man pulled the hood from his head.

  “Domenico!” cried Niccolò in surprise. “What brings you here at–?”

  “Sshh, more quietly, my friend,” interrupted the caller.

  Luca looked at him, his face taut. “Is it Piero, your uncle? Is it … bad news?”

  Domenico turned to him. “No, signore, no. He is unchanged. Weaker perhaps, but still in this world.”

  “Then what is it? What would bring Domenico della Francesca, councillor and senior member of the most prestigious confraternity of the Borgo, to my humble house in the depth of night?”

  Domenico held out a hand. “May I take the lantern, signore?”

  Luca frowned, puzzled by the request. “Here,” he said.

  Domenico held the lantern close to Luca’s face and studied it, his eyes taking in the beard, the skin and the hair, before finally settling on Luca’s pale grey eyes that in the flickering light appeared liquid, their translucency enhanced.

  Niccolò looked anxiously from one man to the other, fear rising within him.

  “Domenico,” he whispered, “whatever is it?”

  Domenico finally sighed and shook his head. “They are right to wonder, signore, and I fear that if they saw you at such close quarters, their minds would be made up.”

  “Who?” Niccolò was beside himself. “Who do you mean? What are you talking about?”

  It was Luca who answered. “The confraternity, Niccolò. The wise men of the town have made a decision about me. I’m right, Domenico, aren’t I?”

  “I regret to say they have, signore. There was a meeting of the confraternity last night at which Archpriest d’Angeli made an impassioned case for your arrest and examination. I fear if that were to happen, the outcome would be dire. After what happened in the town two days ago, I could have said nothing that would have altered their opinion – the archpriest is a very persuasive man.”

  Luca sat down on a stool by the table and sighed. “I feared as much. I noticed that priest, Bognini, at the edge of the crowd. He’s never liked me.”

  He put his elbows on the table and rested his head on his clenched hands. Then he glanced up at Domenico. “You have risked a lot coming here. Is your opinion different from that of the council?”

  “The confraternity is a charitable organisation, signore. Its members undertake many good works and serve this town well. I believe in the principles of their cause, but some of the more influential members have become extreme in their views. I am not like that, signore, but I remain amongst them in the hope that I can moderate some of their more z
ealous decisions. Of course, the ways of the Devil are devious and so it is always difficult to make a judgement. But I know that my uncle has always been your very close friend and if he, as a pious man, tells me you are not involved with the Devil’s trickery, then I am inclined to believe him. After all, he has known you for very many years and has far more knowledge of you than the confraternity can ever have. This is why I have come here, signore.”

  Luca sighed and smiled to himself. “Dear Piero, looking after me to the last.”

  He stood. “I thank you, my friend, from the bottom of my heart. You have given us an opportunity that we could not have expected. If, despite your warning, the guards that I am sure the confraternity is sending do catch up with us, you can be assured that your name will never cross our lips.”

  Domenico bowed his head to Luca in thanks. “You are right. The guards are ordered to come, but not until first light. So at least you have a few hours to try to make good your escape.”

  Luca nodded, his head full of rapidly forming plans. He grasped Domenico by the shoulders with both hands. “We are in your debt, Domenico. Good luck and God’s protection be with you. I think you should go now, in case the guards decide to come early. You should not be party to any plans we make, so that you can say, before God, that you knew nothing of them.” He hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks.

  As Niccolò embraced Domenico, Luca added, “I regret that I shall not be able to say my final farewell to my old and dear friend when he leaves this life, as I fear he will very soon. However, I’m sure he will understand.”

  “I have no doubt he will be with you in spirit, encouraging you on your way,” replied Domenico, as Niccolò opened the door. “No light, Niccolò, I shall make my way to my horse under cover of darkness. It is better that way. May God be with you all and protect you on your journey, wherever it may take you.”

  Niccolò closed the door behind him and turned to his father. “What are we to do, Babbo?”

  “I’m afraid, Nicchi, that we must flee this place without delay and leave almost everything behind. We have little time and I regret that there will be no goodbyes to anyone. Whatever work you have in your workshop will have to remain unfinished. Later, once we feel a little safer, we can make our plans.”

  “I fully understand, Babbo, and I think a new start will be good for us all. These past few years have not been easy.”

  “I know, Nicchi, and it is my fault. I am truly sorry that it has come to this, but we have no choice. Now, go and wake Gianni and get together what you need to take with you. I shall do the same.”

  “Where shall we head, Babbo?”

  “I think south would be the best option. And I have an idea to send the guards in the wrong direction, for a few hours at least. Please fetch me some parchment, I intend to write a letter to dear Francesco.”

  An hour later, they were on their way. For Luca, the news had been no real surprise. He had thought for some time that the mood of the confraternity was hardening against him and he had often imagined what he might take with him if he had to leave. It didn’t amount to much: a few clothes, a leather jewellery pouch containing a few precious items of Maria’s, a selection of his finest brushes and some parchment for sketches. His purses, with what money he had distributed among them, were normally kept about his person.

  He had discussed their leaving with Niccolò on a number of occasions. Niccolò had initially been more resistant – his reputation as a carpenter had taken some years to develop and he was reluctant to leave it behind. Recently, however, he had accepted it was inevitable Luca should go and he had no intention of letting him go alone. He too had his list and he very quickly gathered what belongings he needed.

  Gianni, by contrast, had never really thought that they would have to leave. The Borgo was all he knew, and while he had thought of travelling to new places, he hadn’t imagined it would be as a fugitive. Niccolò had woken him from a deep sleep and in his groggy state Gianni found it difficult to understand the situation.

  “You mean we have to leave now, Babbo?” he yawned, even though this was precisely what Niccolò had explained to him. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “If we wait until morning, we’ll find ourselves in the Borgo dungeons. We need to move fast, Gianni. Throw some water onto your face to wake yourself up. I’ll help you get your things.”

  While Niccolò was rousing Gianni, Luca walked quickly to the stables, saddled up three of the strongest horses and walked them as quietly as he could to the front of the cottage. They were agitated, not being used to being disturbed in the middle of the night, but after Luca had rubbed their muzzles for a few moments and whispered gently to them, they calmed.

  Niccolò emerged from the cottage carrying their packs, followed by Gianni. Seeing the boy was still wide-eyed with shock at this sudden change in their circumstances, Luca took him by the arms as Niccolò arranged the saddlebags.

  “Gianni, I’m sorry this has all happened so quickly. I’m afraid we have no choice but to leave immediately.”

  “Where shall we go, Nonno?”

  “We’ll decide that once we are well clear of this place. But south, a long way south, far from the clutches of the Borgo. For now I want to ride into the forests, remaining in Tuscany until we can find a quiet place to cross over into Umbria. I want to avoid any customs posts. We’ll head first for Monterchi and then continue through the woods on the mule paths towards Lippiano on the other side of the border. From there I want to follow the path of the Tiber, but remaining in the woods until we are clear.”

  “Won’t the guards come after us?”

  “They will, without doubt, but I’m hoping that a little diversion I have left them will send them in the wrong direction for long enough to stay well ahead of them.”

  Quietly, the three of them walked the horses away from the farm, taking a path on the far side of the property from the Borgo. Once well out of earshot of the farm and its neighbouring buildings, they mounted the horses and rode off into the night towards Monterchi.

  Fortune was with them and the lightening skies of the dawn saw them in the hills beyond Lippiano. Deep in the forest, they stopped by a stream to refresh themselves.

  As the light improved, Luca removed a razor from his bag and stripped to the waist. “It is time, my boys,” he said, waving the razor theatrically, “that I said goodbye to these grey locks and this hateful beard. Losing them will be the best disguise I can adopt.”

  Returning from the stream ten minutes later with both his head and face completely shaven, he walked over to where Niccolò and Gianni were eating some bread and cheese.

  “Good day, gentlemen. Let me introduce myself.” He bowed, laughing loudly at their reaction.

  “Babbo!” exclaimed Niccolò. “I cannot believe it. You look so young, hardly older than me.”

  “You are wrong!” a wide-eyed Gianni said to Niccolò. “You, Babbo, have some grey hair, real grey hair, unlike the dyed hair that Nonno had. Nonno doesn’t look almost as young as you; he looks considerably younger!”

  Luca laughed even louder. “We’ll see about that when my hair has grown a little, young Gianni, but for now the easiest way to get rid of all the grey was to shave it all off.”

  Niccolò was still staring at his father. He shook his head in amazement. “Babbo, you could pass for a man of thirty, maybe even younger. How can this be possible when you are more than sixty-five?”

  “As you know, Nicchi, I have no answer to that question. I wish I did.”

  Looking more seriously at them, he took out a sheaf of papers from his saddlebag. “When I said, ‘Let me introduce myself’, I was serious. I need to change my name, as do both of you. I have our documents here from the Borgo, written on their finest official parchment. I am an artist, so producing acceptable copies of these should not be difficult. I need to leave Luca di Stefano behind in these woods and emerge as someone else.”

  “You are right, Babbo,” said Niccolò. �
��Looking the way you do, you can no longer introduce yourself as my father and Gianni’s grandfather. That would be absurd. Would it not be better if we became brothers?” He paused and raised his eyebrows in resignation. “And given how youthful you look, I suggest you become my younger brother.”

  Luca nodded. “You are right, Nicchi. Which will make me Gianni’s uncle.” He smiled at Gianni. “You’ll have to get used to calling me ‘Zio’, Gianni.”

  Gianni shook his head. “Zio,” he muttered. “But ‘Zio’ what? I can’t call you Zio Luca, that wouldn’t seem right.”

  “I agree,” replied Luca. “As I said, I need to change my name, but it needs to be something that we all can remember easily. I was thinking, our family name is also a given name – I could become Stefano. You would call me ‘Zio Stefano’. How about that?”

  “That should be easy enough to remember, Nonno,” nodded Gianni.

  “Zio,” corrected Luca. “Zio Stefano.”

  “Yes, of course. Zio Stefano.”

  “Babbo?” said Niccolò.

  Luca turned to him, opening his eyes wide in mock rebuke and tilting his head. “Stefano?” he suggested.

  “Babbo. Stefano. No, Babbo, in private I shall still call you ‘Babbo’. I might be able to get used to calling you by another name, but I don’t think I can with Gianni. Surely we could keep our names?”

  “Yes, I agree, I don’t really see why you shouldn’t. But we need a new family name. Again it should be something that easily comes to mind. My mother’s family name was Crispi. Perhaps we could use that?”

  Both Niccolò and Gianni repeated their names several times and agreed they could get used to them. Stefano Crispi, as Luca was about to become, removed a small board from his saddle bag, one he used as a support when he was sketching, and set about preparing some official-looking documents. After an hour, he sat back and studied them. Satisfied, he passed them to Niccolò and Gianni for inspection. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “They are excellent, Nonn…er, Zio,” said Gianni. “Very realistic, but they look a bit too new.”

  “That’s the next step,” replied Stefano. He took the documents, sprinkled a little dry earth onto them and put them together in his document pouch. Holding one side of the leather pouch in each hand, he began to work it up and down and side to side. He then rolled up the pouch into a cylinder, compressed it and beat it lightly on a nearby tree stump. Removing the papers, he then worked on each one individually until he was satisfied they looked as old and travel-worn as the originals. He handed them back to Gianni.

  “Perfect,” admired Gianni. “Look Babbo, your new papers.”

  Before they mounted up and rode on, Stefano Crispi completed the final stage of his transition from Luca di Stefano. He took his original documents together with his son’s and grandson’s, tore them into small pieces and burned them on the small fire they had set, waiting until they were nothing but ash. He then ground the ash with his boot until it was nothing but fine powder.

  As he watched the powder dispersing in the light breeze, he thought of Maria.

  “Farewell, Luca di Stefano,” he said quietly.

  As an extra precaution, for the first few days of their journey they separated during the day, with Gianni and Niccolò riding about an hour ahead of Stefano. Each night they met up and headed off into the woods to make a camp. After four days, they reached the border of the Kingdom of Naples, a huge state that spread from the south of Italy to the mountains east of Rome.

  Once across the border, Stefano decided to risk passing a night at a hostel in a small town to listen to any tales of searches for fugitives from the north. He needn’t have worried: the hapless sergeant Gallo had returned to San Sepolcro after five days of fruitlessly searching most of the tracks that led generally in the direction of Verona, only to receive a severe reprimand from Archpriest d’Angeli.

  To add to the archpriest’s ire, word came back from Verona that far from being on her death bed, Luca di Stefano’s aunt was still enjoying excellent health at the age of ninety.

  With the threat of imminent capture receding, they considered their next move.

  “Although the influence of Archpriest d’Angeli clearly doesn’t reach this far, Nonno – sorry, Zio,” said Gianni, “would it not be better to continue south to a place where we are not likely to be noticed? What better place could there be than Naples itself? I believe it is a huge and bustling city with people from many countries living there.”

  “An excellent idea, Gianni,” agreed Stefano. “In a busy city, we’ll have a chance to re-establish ourselves in our new identities without raising suspicion. What do you think, Nicchi?”

  “I have heard much of Naples, Babbo. I think it will be the perfect place for us. I have no doubt that they have a need for gifted craftsmen from the north to teach them a thing or two.”

  Laughing, Stefano slapped a hand onto the log on which he was sitting.

  “That settles it. Naples it shall be!”