Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part two, chapter 19

English

That Mexican was such a pleasant man, and he knew many curious stories of the noble families of Palermo, that Blasco instead of stopping in Trabia, pulled ahead until the next city of Termini. They were stopped a few hours, halfway through the bottom of Milicia, to give the beasts the biada and take a bite; and this had delayed the journey a little, so that they came to Termini, going in step, just before the Hail.

In Trabia, Blasco wanted to stop to take the path that led to Caccamo, but the Messinese persuaded him to stay in Termini.

"Vossignoria would travel at night, and arrive at Caccamo at night; instead, if she stays at Termini, this offers her greater comfort, because there are great foundations; she could leave tomorrow morning for Caccamo. From Termini you go in a few hours."

The Mexican said well and Blasco let himself be persuaded. They disassembled at a bottom, which for the time, could also pass through an inn, having some airy room and having next, like a natural appendix, an inn.

Shortly before midnight the Messinese, who slept in the same room as Blasco on a strawberry, woke up and held his ear.

"Someone must have arrived; - he thought, - by belly, it is so late!... There's a traveler in a hurry."

He heard the baseman say:

"His Riverenza pardons, but you have to adjust to the best; two travelers have arrived... one is a knight and they have occupied the room... I'll put a bed in here..."

"It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter... I'll leave at dawn. If I had arrived earlier, I would have gone to the convent of San Domenico near here, but I did not want to disturb those friars."

They said a few more words; the Mexican thought: "He's a priest."

And he fell asleep again. At the dawn of Blasco, he rose to leave, and saddled the horse: Messinese got up, too.

"Tonight," he said, "another traveler has arrived and will leave now; he must be a priest. That will be his mule."

He pointed to a strong mule that the hub was saddled. In that while, a abbot descended into the stable, who looked around and saw Blasco, he could not master a slight movement of wonder. The Messinese looked at him in turn with an expression of wonder, which was very fast and under the most perfect indifference, but it was understood that he was taken by a great curiosity and a keen desire to speak. While helping Blasco to mount on horseback and accompanying him outside the back, he quickly and quietly said to him:

"Your Lordship, do not turn, and pretend not to listen. Do you know who that abbot is?"

"I? No..."

"Matteo Lo Vecchio, the head of the Algozini..."

"Oh!"

"If he's disguised like that, it means he's got something big on his hands..."

"Bitch! I'd like to see it well..."

"Now we will stop under the pretext of leaving, and your lordship will see him passing; he comes after us."

In fact, they stopped; the Mexican said loudly: "So, Your Excellency, have a good journey; I will stop here tomorrow; if you come back tonight, I will have the pleasure of serving you..."

"Oh, I'll stay for a few hours. The way is not long... Goodbye..."

"I kiss your Excellency's hands."

Matteo Lo Vecchio, passing before them, caused a perfect indifference, but with the tail of his eye he looked at Blasco, and it was understood that his ear carefully gathered the words. Blasco stared at it in his head. The Mexican to show that he had not recognized him greeted him, as he used to meet a religious:

"Your Ladyship bless me."

When Blasco drove along the road leading to Caccamo, Matteo Lo Vecchio, who started the descent of the Charger, which led to the sea and to Porta Messina, turned to see which road the young man would make.

"Then we go to Caccamo, to Ciminna. If he said the road is short, the nearest town is Caccamo... what the hell is he going to do in Caccamo? It wouldn't be useless to keep an eye on this other fine sire... And of course there is something between him and the admired one. Will he also be a Beato Paolo?... He'll be back tonight... You should have the Messinese singing."

He was a little in doubt, then took a sudden resolution, disassembled and lifted a foot of the mule, with a knife he cast it, then with iron in his hand, and pulling behind the mule he returned to the bottom with a face of regret and spite.

"But look at the things that happen when one is in a hurry!" he exclaimed, showing the iron to the hub. "Do me a favor and accompany the mule with a blacksmith."

He took off her saddlebags, placed her on a bench and sat next to her, while the hub took the reins of the beast and set off at the nearby shop of the blacksmith. The Mexican stood in front of the bottom door, looking at a carafe of oil against the light and talking with a small, boney little man, with a fox face.

"Oil?" asked Matteo Lo Vecchio.

"Olio," replied the Mexican.

"Good?"

"So, so..."

"What does it say? Excellency, first quality!" corrected the little man with a fox face.

"Is your Riverenza already back?" asked the Mexican, tasting the oil with a crack of lips.

"What the... travel accident: The mule hit me..."

"Look, look!"

The hub came back.

"His Riverenza, the blacksmith says that the iron is broken, and also the other three are broken and that it will lose them away. He says it's better to put all four of them back..."

"Thieve!" thought indignant Matteo Lo Vecchio. And he said loudly: "Guasts? But if they are good!... Oh, my goodness, we needed this other one! Go on, tell him to hurry!"

He pretended to regret it; what really was a fraud gave him a chance to linger a little longer. He turned to the Messinese and said:

"Have you seen what happens to someone in a hurry?"

Patience, Father Abbot!... Did he go far?"

"In Messina..."

"Toh! I'm Messinese."

"Really? Then you can point me to some inn..."

"Isn't that all? His Riverenza can disassemble at the Inn of the Giant, behind the Duomo. He'll find a clean bed..."

"Thank you..."

He let go for a minute and said,

"Good thing nothing happened to that knight... Where are you going? Far away?"

"Oh no, in Caccamo... by a priest of St. Francis..."

"Three hours on the road, going fast... Beautiful young man; what's his name?"

The Mexican thought:

"Old fox, you want to see if I know the facts of Mr. Knight: lost time!"

This thought was so quick, that it did not delay the answer:

"I don't know. We met on the way."

In turn, Matteo Lo Vecchio thought: "You lie, you rascal; you know him well, because Mr. Blasco disassembled at your inn. And if you're lying, it means something's going on. Watch out, Matthew!"

He said loudly:

"Sometimes I met him in Palermo... I don't remember where... Of course I met him..."

"I think so," thought the Messinese.

"And that Franciscan father is his relative?"

"I don't know," replied the Mexican with naive air.

Matteo Lo Vecchio bit his lips, mentally saying:

"You're a maggot; but you've got to do it with me..."

He waited silently for the mule to be brought back to him; he rode back on horseback and, greeted the Messinese, resumed the way, but instead of going down the road of the Charger, he drove towards the Castle, which stood formidable, threatening, over the cliff overlooking the sea and dominated the two parts of the city: high and low. The drawbridge was lowered; he asked about the castle, and showed him the order of the Vicar General. A quarter of an hour later, a soldier left for Caccamo.

Towards evening Matteo Lo Vecchio knew that Blasco from Castiglione had gone to visit Father Bonaventura; but no more than this. Since it was no longer time to travel, because the night survived and the streets were not safe, he stayed in the Castle; Blasco, instead, returned from Caccamo, disassembled in the backdrop where the Messinese, who expected it, informed him of the attempt to espionage. Blasco listened with mediocre interest: He had returned a little sad from his visit to his father Bonaventura, having found the good friar in bed, consumed by a silent pain. The young man's unexpected visit made a flash of joy shine on his face.

"May God be blessed, I feared to die without ever seeing you again!..."

"Why die? What do you say?"

"I left so suddenly and unexpectedly!..."

"The wrong was mine, that I never showed up again..."

"Don't say it; maybe I was wrong too... I'm flattered, but instead..."

"Lusive of what?"

"Oh nothing, I know what I'm saying. I'm not talking about you, but men are never what they seem and believe they are."

"But why did you leave?"

"God knows!"

Blasco understood that his father Bonaventura wanted to keep the secret on the reasons for his transfer from Palermo to Caccamo and did not insist; but he had enough esteem of the friar, to believe that he could commit a reprehensible action: So he did not doubt that he had been the victim of any bullying. Before he left, his father Bonaventura said to him:

"I do not know, my son, if we will ever see each other again; but if I die, I will pray that they warn you, and then, listen to me well, only then brought to you by the Father Master of St. Francis, Fra Serafino di Montemaggiore; he will forgive you something for me."

Blasco left moved, after having embraced and kissed the old friar, and returned to Termini overwhelmed by three thoughts: the mysterious reasons that, had relegated the friar, his state of decay, that "something" that was to be restored to him after the death of the friar; and all three things, with their air of mystery, filled him with sadness. He thought that if Father Bonaventura had been returned to his convent in Palermo, perhaps he would be healed; and that if he could obtain this, he would pay a small part of his debt to one of his benefactors.

And then came to his mind the advice of Coriolano della Floresta:

"Go to Messina, and see the Duchess."

Maybe he would have done it not for himself, but for the poor friar.

At dawn he left for Messina. He had not yet come out of the gate of the city, which, in the shadow, before him saw the abbot trotting on his mule, followed by two armored companions of the rural company of Termini.

"Here's the birro," he said to himself: that he also goes to Messina? For bacco! here's a traveling companion that appetizes my appetite."

And pretending he didn't know who he was, he pushed the horse and reached the party.

"Good day, Mr. Abbot!... I didn't think I'd meet her, because I had her on the road since yesterday."

Matteo Lo Vecchio, who was surprised to turn to the first words, could not dominate a feeling of pious wax to the sight of Blasco. He politely replied:

"I had to stay... and your lordship goes to Cefalù?"

"More far, Mr. Abbot: I'm going to Messina."

"That's a lucky coincidence. I'm going to Messina too."

"So, if you don't mind, we'll take the trip together..."

"But with all the pleasure... But I travel in small stages; the roads are unsure, no matter how I wish to be accompanied, as yourseigneury sees..."

They rode next door; one of the two comrades of arms, now entering the open countryside, walking the road along the slopes of Mount S. Calogero, tall and menacing nest of bandits, had placed himself at the head, with the poppo through the arch, the other at the tail, keeping in between the two travelers, who exchanged compliments, like two good people who saw each other for the first time.

Matteo Lo Vecchio firmly believed he was not known, and confided in this belief to surround the young man, and to tear some confession from him; Blasco in turn was on guard on the one hand, and on the other he purposed to ascertain what the birro was going to do in Messina. By chatting, in a continuous skirmish that ended up suspicious of each other, they completed the first stage in Cefalù, where Matthew the Elder fired the two comrades of arms, jacket up to Patti would have had the companions of the company of Cefalù escorted.

The next morning, in fact, the escort was beautiful and ready on the back door, but Blasco noticed that this time the companions were four.

"Good!" he said to himself; "the abbot is either afraid of me, or he thinks of some wizard. Thank goodness; I will have a diversion in the journey."

The abbot, however, was not there. The baseman said that he had gone to kiss the bishop's hand, but Blasco saw him at the bottom of an alley, on the opposite side of the bishop's house, who spoke with a kind of car, standing before the horse.

"That is not the bishop, nor his secretary," Blasco thought, pretending not to see anything.

They rode and resumed the journey, which continued for several hours, without any accident. At one of those lost taverns in the mountains, which in those times met here and there along the streets for rest of the travelers and the carmen, they stopped for refreshment. Blasco noticed that Matteo Lo Vecchio was carrying his saddlebags every time he disassembled, and kept them between his legs and the night, at the bottom, if he had placed them by pillow.

"The villain will have his treasure; - thought Blasco; - a treasure made of the tears of others."

Not even now, who had stopped before the tavern and had the beasts at hand, Matthew the Old Man had left his saddlebags. For bacco! there had to be precious jewels to guard them with such jealousy! The same armored companions now looked at the saddlebags with greedy eyes, and murmured among themselves.

They resumed the journey this time in silence, as if everyone were following a course of thoughts. They went well, leaving to the right S. Stefano di Camastra; they now penetrated among the high woods that stretched out for all those beaches, descending from the buttresses and hills of the Madonie. Those woods were cut in good season by carbonai, who lit their piles there; black people like ghosts, who, on the fall of the day, wandering among the coal fields with reddish smoke, increased the horror of the woods. There were stories of bans that advised travelers not to venture and to make wider tours, but safer.

For safety and to prevent that, traveling in a group, some of the many gangs of thieves that flowed the countryside could catch them and surround them, Blasco had ordered the same strategic march, carried out before; he sent ahead, by about fifty steps, two of the comrades of arms, in avant-garde; the other two twenty steps behind him and Matteo Lo Vecchio, who proceeded in the middle. In the event that bandits were flattened, they would have been discovered by the vanguard, and in any case that march to small groups would have placed the other groups in the condition of being able to rescue the attacking group.

So they entered the bush on a path marked by animals. The horses stretched their ear, and from time to time they emitted light and short nitrites; under their irons, the pebbles rolled or sparkled; over their heads some rust crossed the branches like a flicker.

Suddenly the two leading companions stopped, turned around and went back a few steps. Blasco and Matthew the Unsuspected Elder held their horses; but the two companions suddenly spread their rifles against them and set fire. It was a flash, but it was enough for Blasco, who was quick to prevent the blow and let himself fall off the horse and, taking advantage of the confusion, to hunt himself in the woods. But Matthew the Elder did not have the same presence of spirit; and he saw him, screaming, falling down with all his riding, in a beam. Then, with great shouts, the two comrades ran over him to finish it, but Blasco, covered by a log, was quick to shoot his rifle and land one of the bad guys. All this took place so quickly, that still, attracted by the blows, the two of the rearguard had not had the time to come. The soldier who was alive realized that there was no time to lose, and that if Blasco had reloaded the rifle, or removed a gun from the holsters, he would be lost; and then, bowing down, he ripped from the saddle of Matteo Lo Vecchio the saddlebag that had raised so much greed and, throwing it to the two comrades of arms that survived, cried out:

"Take them away! Take them away... I "m doing" the other one!..."

The two companions took the saddlebag, surprised, not knowing yet what to do, while Matthew the Old Man tried with superhuman efforts to get rid of the wounded mule, which whispered over it, crying desperately:

"My bag!...my bag!"

Blasco had already understood that the wrongdoers, smelling a big purchase, had tried to assassinate the false abbot, to rob him; such an act of malignage was not unusual to the comrades of that time, recruited almost always among the foam of the rebuffs, because, when they could be sure of impunity, they poured the crime on the bandits. The scream of the false abbot touched him. What to do? The comrades were three, and the fourth was wounded, but he could, dragging himself, become even a force; he was alone; and those revelations now had all the interest of getting rid of him, the only witness of their crime, without saying that they would kill even that poor abbot who seemed could not get up again. He embraced with a glance his position and that of the three comrades of arms. The path was rather cramped, and the mule of Matteo Lo Vecchio barred it; his horse, standing before the trees, was almost barricaded; the other horse, the one of my quarrel wounded was piercing there and obstructed the step a little 'up. Blasco was protected from trees and bodies. Those who were truly exposed were the false abbot, whom a shotgun could sell. The three comrades of arms could not freely maneuver all together for the cramped place, but one at a time; so that Blasco, in reality, had nothing but an enemy before him.

This examination was a matter of a second. While his armored companion was trying to find out at his rifle, Blasco pulled one of those archer's guns from his horse's holster that had the shot almost as long as a shot and, caught the aim, set fire. The armored fellow caught in his mouth, didn't even have the time to groan and rushed down with a rush of blood; his horse dismayed by the flash of the gun reculated, threw himself over the horses of the other two companions, brought disorder and confusion. Blasco took advantage of it; taking the other gun he threw himself among the trees and shot again: The other companion turned on himself with a shoulder smashed, leaning on his horse who, already overshadowed, fled into the trees. There was only the fourth; Blascus drew his sword and rushed against him, but he, seeing his three comrades already on the ground, seized by a mad fear of dying, and having in his power the precious saddlebag, turned the horse furiously, and pushed him to gallop.

"The bag!... Take away the bag!" screamed Matteo Lo Vecchio who had followed with admiration, anxiety, fear, the rapid, dramatic and ernic unfolding of that scene.

Blasco had not put time in the middle; removed the guns from the arches of Matteo Lo Vecchio, he had jumped on his horse, chasing the bad guy, who fled before him and shouting:

"Stop! Stop!..."

They ran through the bush without a goal. The comrade of arms seemed to have death on his heels: On every path that was opened before him, he threw at you the horse, not of any kind other than to escape the pursuit, but Blascus did not lose sight of him; he really had a generous animal, which He wandered like a gymnastics, jumping obstacles, overturning, breaking branches. His head was almost half a length from the back of the horse of the Milite; then the Milite threw himself next to him and spied on the rifle. Blasco bowed down, and the ball took away his hat; and he lifted up the gun that he had in his hand, and pulled against his fellow-arms, but the blow failed; and he threw on his horse, and threw a lock upon him. The soldier let himself fall from the saddle, unable otherwise to cover the blow and Blasco also disassembled by a jump, threw himself at him like a fury and passed his throat with a blow of the sword.

Those fell, twisting and rolling. Blasco looked at him for an instant with an expression of pain, then swarmed his sword on the saddle, took the saddlebag that had fallen, put it through the arch of his horse, which was shaking, and caressed him, back on the saddle. He was tired and didn't know where he was anymore, and in the meantime, he was dark.