Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part two, chapter 22

Italiano

English

Blasco went only to the Capuchins, having found no acquaintance and not wanting to expose himself to the refusal or distrust of the first met. A witness! What to do with it? There was the opponent's, and that was it. He arrived first and, stopped in front of the crude wooden cross that stood little apart from the religious building, he began to admire the magnificent scene that was paraded before his eyes: from the right, down on the slope, the city with its castles, its towers, its bell towers, the vast lunate port; the new fortress erected on the arm of St. Raineri by Charles II, that formidable citadel that was to restrain the city easy to rebellions: And, beyond the arm of St. Raineri, the Stretto, blue, serene, limited from here by the green hills, which stretched out, were softened, up to the Lighthouse; beyond the buttresses of the Peloritani mountains, which seemed to sink to the sea: at the bottom of the long line of the Calabrian Apennines, violet, at whose slopes stood out Reggio, San Giovanni and then the high cliff of Scilla.

"Nice place to get killed!" said Blasco to himself, breathing with full lungs the sea air that foiled his face. Shortly afterward he saw his opponent in the company of another royal guard. Their Shining uniforms for embroidery and golden gallons attracted the attention of Blasco, who thought: "Here are the uniforms that would be a sin to crawl with the tip of the sword."

As soon as he said goodbye, the opponent said to him:

"Lord, we have not had time to introduce ourselves; I am the viscount of Croixvert..."

"Blasco da Castiglione," answered the young man, bowing down, and added: "I apologize if I show up without a witness; but I'm new to Messina, and I don't know anyone: I will beg the lord to have the goodness to assist me too..."

"The knight of Cambiano," said the Viscount introducing him.

"And then," Blasco said, "I would like to beg you to hurry soon, because in half an hour I have another commitment with one of your comrades."

"Do you count on killing me?"

"Killing you, no... I have no reason to kill you, but to put you aside."

Meanwhile, the knight of Cambiano had chosen the ground: a large space, behind the wall of the "savage" closed between trees and sheltered from the sun. The two opponents took off their jacket, the undercoat, staying in a shirt; Blasco threw behind his shoulders the bag of relics and the envelope. These preparations had restored his good mood. Crossing, at the sign of the witness, his sword with that of Croixvert's viscount, he felt the gullendity spread to him by blood, and gave him a elasticity and speed of truly extraordinary movements.

The viscount (he belonged to one of those small families of vassals of Savoy, who were a profession of arms, and believed to get rid of that young man in two strokes) he immediately understood that he had to do with a fearsome opponent, and that there was no need to take the thing on the game.

Blasco attacked vigorously, but without losing that self-control, which was perhaps the main source of his successes: The viscount could hardly run to the parade, without being able to counterattack.

"Forgive me!" he said, "Are you in a hurry?"

"Didn't I tell you?" said Blasco, without cooling the action. "Another knight, royal guard like you, has done me the honor of giving me an appointment here at 4:30. You will understand that it is not correct to keep him waiting... and that I will not fail in my duty..."

"If I will allow it!..." said the Visconti in his teeth, with bitter anger, who felt stung by that security; and taking advantage of an instant, in which he seemed that Blasco was tired or wanted to change tactics, he ran furious at the attack.

"Ah! ah! so here we are, sir!" said Blasco; "it's fine; but be careful not to lay down too much, because I will stick you like a thunderbolt... By the way, do you like thrushes? To me yes and very... So, I was saying, I'm gonna stick you and I'm not gonna kill you, I told you, and then... I wouldn't seem human to let my second opponent find a dead man... He might impress him... he's my third opponent... Didn't I tell you it was two? Dear God, I'm gonna have to fight until evening!... But it's not my fault... Easy! Who was your teacher? I'd like to congratulate him, but, hell, do you want me to kill you? Yes, my compliments... but now it's too... Count one... it's my habit to hit number three!... be careful then... one... you have a saint protector?... two... look at your arm now... Three! Go..."

In a very rapid move, he enveloped the opponent's sword, forced him to discover his shoulder, and pulled him such a violent stocking, that the viscount drove and was there to fall, if the knight of Cambiano had not readily noticed. His sword fell and a long stain of blood reddened on his shirt.

Blasco, as if nothing had happened, took a fist of grass and sniffed the sword; then examined the tip and tried the flexibility and resistance, put it under his arm and began to walk.

At that point the clock of the Capuchins sounded the hour and on the floor four knights appeared, three of whom dressed the uniform of the royal guards.

"Bacchus!" said Blascus to himself, "the king's guards!"

He went ahead, greeting his two opponents, who were amazed to see him in that attire, and even more seeing the knight of Cambiano intent to bandage at best the wound of the viscount of Croixvert.

"Gentlemen," said Blasco, "I have no witnesses, please invite your people to do me the honour of serving also as my witnesses. I am Blasco from Castiglione."

The gentleman announced himself as the Baron of Castellamonte, the royal guard as the viscount of Champ-auxarbres, savoiardo also; the two witnesses were the Count of Vaurebelle and the knight of Agliè. These presentations were made hastily, because all four were eager to approach Croixvert's viscount.

"Beware," said these "you have a hard bone to eat."

Croixvert was a good blade, but it was not of the strength of the Baron of Castellamonte and the Viscount of Champaux-arbres, which were the best swords of the company, as were the most excavated of them.

They overwhelmed those who had to be beaten first, throwing a silver coin into the air.

"Head!" cried the baron.

The coin fell, bounced, showed the verse.

"It's your turn."

A minute later, the viscount of Champ-aux-arbres slammed into an impetuous attack on Blasco, who just had time to dodge a sinking, and explain a defense, which was at the same time a threat to the opponent.

"Ah! ah!" he exclaimed, "different tactics. I like it and I'm grateful... There is always something to learn. For example... right now I learn... that you have one eye bigger than the other... and rounder... which, I'm sorry, gives you a bit of a funny look."

The Viscount was pissed at those words that seemed to make fun of him, and he mumbled something.

"Good God!" continued Blasco, "I had the misfortune of making you angry?... I'm sorry... But have regard, because anger is bad counselor... Especially in the conditions you're in... You're from the Savoy country, aren't you? Tasty Savoyards! Now I will give you one, on the right cheek; be careful... you understand that I will not give you blood... A little buffet... There he is!

He hit him on the cheek with the plate of the blade, leaving him with a red stripe.

The viscount of Champ-aux-arbres sent a roar of beast and threw himself furiously on Blasco to finish it, but Blasco who expected it, with a very rapid move, tied the sword of the opponent, pressed himself on him, chest to chest, and before the viscount could free himself from that counterattack and resume the measure, he with the pom of the sword gave him such a violent blow to the chest, that the viscount overthrew and fell with legs up. Blasco returned to guard agile and nervous like a feline, and saw the baron of Castellamonte, who waited his time, with his sword in his hand, gave him a blow with the plate of the blade, shouting:

"What are you doing, mamalucco?... Replace the viscount!"

He had not finished saying these words, that the baron was moving on the attack; but at the same time the viscount, standing up, came forward puffing and screaming:

"It's my turn! It's my turn!"

The baron furious for that dish, he did not hear it; Blasco found himself in front of two opponents. Then the two witnesses came forward, to prevent that fight so unequal, but Blasco:

"No, no, gentlemen, I beg you; I play for everyone! Leave them alone... I'll hurry soon... And I will begin with Mr. Baron, who came the last..."

Blasco had almost leaned on a tree, so as not to be around and kept on guard, all picked up with a slightly stretched arm. The blade of his sword had the speed and glow of the flash, and the two opponents always saw it in front of their eyes, and more than attacking they had to confine themselves to defense.

With a lightning action that did not give time to the Baron of Castellamonte even to recognize her, Blasco discarded the iron of the opponent and went to depth and Castellamonte had not yet fallen into the ground that Blasco threw himself over the viscount of Champ-aux-arbres, saying:

"And this is for you from that woman!"

And the tip of his sword penetrated into the bosom of the viscount, which fell crying out:

"You are the devil..."

"No, but perhaps his cousin," replied Blasco, who, made a reverence to the group formed by the three gentlemen, who had flocked to help the wounded, took up his clothes, hounded the sword and came back squashing a ram, like one who came back from a walk. He had only reported some insignificant scratches.

Soon afterward the citizens saw the three wounded, wrapped up in the best, and accompanied by their witnesses, carried by villains, over chairs, and, as they were in such circumstances, a crowd of curious people came behind that procession, which stirred up the most disparate assumptions and comments. Thus came to the royal palace a procession so noisy that valets rushed to the balconies and windows to see what it was. The crowd, the wounded guards, made believe something like a popular vengeance; the cry ran through the halls, spread throughout the palace; the Marquis of Tournon, captain of the guards came, asking:

"What was that? What guards? What wounded?"

"The Viscount of Croixvert and the Viscount of Champ-aux-arbres and the Baron of Castellamonte, the secret courier of his majesty."

"Croixvert and Champ-aux-arbres wounded? How? By whom?... Say you're rather murdered."

"Oh! no, in duel, in good duel... with a Sicilian knight. He beat them all!"

"Croixvert and Champ-aux-arbres! the best blades of the guards!.. But this would be a defeat, a dishonor! Oh no, that's not possible!..."

The Marquis of Tournon was inconsolable; all the king's guards were outraged and threatened. Since it was not possible to break down those three, who could be considered as the living symbol of value and invincibility, they deduced that the gentleman could not overcome them. Without bad limbs, and it had to be torn to pieces, burned alive. They claimed to their captain, who was trying to gather them. Of course it was necessary to give a satisfaction to the guards. The three wounded questioned had indeed done justice to the value of their adversary, and declared that he had led himself as a perfect knight; and the witnesses had said the same thing; but those loyal statements did not serve to quiet the souls. The Marquis of Tournon informed the king that same evening, who was amazed and grieved, he also wanted to know from the witnesses the details of the fact; but when he heard the name of the wounder: Blasco from Castiglione, he frowned and turned a significant look to the Marquis of St. Thomas, there present.

A moment earlier, in fact, he had informed the king of the presence in Messina of one of the leaders of the sect of the Beati Paoli, that Blasco da Castiglione, an adventurer who did not know where and from whom he was born; an attacker who had a state of service such as to make him one of those dangerous people, of whom it was good to rid the kingdom, without going so much for the subtle.

"Your Majesty will know more from that Matteo Lo Vecchio, who had the honour to bring you the letters of the Duke of Albamonte. It seems certain that this Blasco is one of the most fierce enemies of the Duke; said the Duchess..."

To that news was now added that of the amazing duel, which made Vittorio Amedeo thoughtful.

On the same night, wanted for all the taverns and for the foundations, and found that he slept quietly in his small and modest accommodation, Blasco was arrested by order of the king and led to the Rocca Guelphony, commonly called Mattagriffone, guilty, so said the order, of having transgressed the edict of his Majesty against the duel.

And Matteo Lo Vecchio ran to the Duchess to tell her:

"We've got her in the cage!... Now let me do it."

"What are you going to do?" asked Gabriella, shuddering at the perfidious smile of Matteo Lo Vecchio.

"Oh!" answered the birro with a gesture of his shoulders; "Your lordship will not believe that I want him to escape... I'm going to visit him and grieve over the misfortune... Nothing but this."

He laughed with such a fierce expression that the Duchess paled. He knew Matteo Lo Vecchio capable of anything. Now, it was good that Blasco from Castiglione had been arrested because this prevented it from harming her husband, according to what the birro had told her and revealed to her the letter of Don Raimondo, and precisely for this reason he had painted in dark colors the young man and arranged the Marquis of St. Thomas against him. That famous duel, of which the fame was already running throughout Messina, had come about to subdue his desires, removing the odiousness of having him arrested for no visible reason; and she had been satisfied, although in her heart she could not restrain that feeling of admiration for the value of the young man, value which even the king's own guards were forced to admire.

But Gabriella thought it was enough to reduce Blasco to impotence by closing him in an inaccessible and formidable fortress like Mattagriffone; to go in addition to a sentence of arrest in a castle, punishment usual for the crimes of duel, it seemed a demand too, a will angry against Blasco and repugnant to be complicit in machinations, which exceeded the pure and simple defense of the interests of his house. She, on the other hand, ignored her husband's faults, and did not believe that they could be so grievous and unholy, and she was also willing to attenuate them: and also ignored the supposed reasons that the duke had shown in Blasco his fierce and relentless enemy. It took an effort and the suggestions of that desire for revenge, from which his passion was taken, to see, although she was not persuaded, in Blasco the head of that frightening sect, of which Don Raimondo was so afraid, and to partake for her husband.

The ambiguous words, and more the significant and ferocious smile of the birro, put her now in suspicion.

Evidently something was planned; evidently Don Raimondo had to give the birro instructions unknown to her.

What did Matteo Lo Vecchio intend to do?

He resolved to watch him.

When the birro left, she wrote to her husband to tell him everything that had happened and what she had done.

Matteo Lo Vecchio still believed that Blasco did not know him: and that he could count on his disguise to complete his plan. He then went to the Rocca Guelphonia, to visit the young prisoner; what was not difficult for him, at that time when priests and friars had free access everywhere and enjoyed a great ascendancy in public life.

Blasco could not contain a motorcycle by surprise seeing him appear in the narrow, semi-dark cell, where they had locked him up.

"O my good savior!" exclaimed the false abbot, coming his hands: "where I see you again!... I have heard of this misfortune and, because of the gratitude I owe to you, I wanted to express to you my sorrow and make myself available to you, for what may be necessary for you..."

"Thank you, thank you..."

"All Messina talks about you. a wonderful thing! They say those three gentlemen are the best blades in the court... If I didn't know for proof that you were capable, I'd find it hard to believe... Bitch!... And you need anything? Will you allow me to send you the desinare? I want to give you this service, not already to disobey me, but to give you a sign of my gratitude..."

"Oh, don't bother: I don't need anything..."

"No, no: You will accept some attention... Yes, yes; you will not do me this wrong... But how the hell did that happen?"

"What do you want me to say?... These things can happen..."

Matteo Lo Vecchio was still chatting about more and less, and he left promising that he would return to see him, and that he would speak to some powerful character to interest him in favor of Blasco and obtain the king's grace.

He was so expansive and so insinuating that Blasco doubted for a moment that he had deceived himself, and wondered if the birro was not sincere: However, an expert in life, he warned against the same goodness that constituted the bottom of his soul.

Meanwhile he thought of the unexpected dissolution of that chivalrous adventure, because, being soldiers, he did not believe that the duel was then a crime to be punished with the prison and because, after all, he felt that he was not on the side of the wrong; and if someone was to be punished, it was precisely the provocateurs, but, perhaps those had been punished enough by him.

What about the wounded? Were any of them dead? The castle of Rocca Guelfonia who was an ancient Sicilian officer, already at the service of Spain, and now to that of the prince Sabaudo, willingly holding back with Blasco, for that sympathy that arouses the value, informed him. No one was dead; but healing would be difficult and long.

"What a blow!... lose it! If I had been the king, I would have made you captain of my guards... Do you know that nothing else is being talked about in the city and that they will lead you to triumph if they can? When I was young..."

He told a long story of skill, carried out in the siege of Messina, which was a self-glorification, but Blasco did not hear it; he thought instead, and wondered if they would make a trial and relegate it to some castle; which led him to many other ideas, to those famous cards of which he owned, to his duty to penetrate into the mystery, that usurpation, to Don Raimondo, to woman Gabriella. One idea leapt to his mind: If he had written a letter to the Duchess, why would he intercede in his favor? She had good access to the Court... That was a good idea. And then, did he not set out to save her from the dangers, to which her husband's faults exposed her? He was about to ask a favor of the castle, when he was called by one of the keepers, who in the meantime made him mysterious signs. The castle went out; the keeper closed the door of the cell, but, as soon as the castle had gone away, it quickly reopened and, making a nod to it, gave him a note and left. Blasco opened the card and read it: "Look at you."

Not a signature, not a sign. The writing was unknown to him. Who sent him that warning? Who was this occult friend who warned him about unknown and future dangers? And what was this danger? And who warned him, how could he already know? His brain began to gallop through the fields of suppositions and hypotheses, which the critical examination destroyed one after the other, to suggest others. The Beati Paoli? Could they know that? It wasn't possible. Your opponents? That was impossible too... In the meantime, we had to look at each other.

Between this doing and undoing occupied the day; at dinner time, the caretaker returned with a basket.

"Your Ladyship must have great friendships... Here's a dinner that makes the mouth water..."

Blasco took a look at the basket, from which the keeper, after laying the lamp on the table, drew a cauliflower salad, a piece of chicken, ham, cheese and fragrant melarances.

"Excuse me," he said to the caretaker, "who gave you that note?"

"A servant..."

"A servant? In the livery?"

"I didn't lie to him, but I think so..."

"Do you not remember the color of the livery?"

"No, no..."

"Make an effort..."

"I don't remember. He was dressed in dark, this is..."

"Dark!... Didn't he tell you who he was coming from?"

"No; he just said to me: "This card goes to Mr. Blasco from Castiglione" and he has me given a shield. But..."

"But?"

"I'm a little curious..."

"Well?"

"I wanted to see where he was going and I looked out."

"And what have you seen?"

"I saw that downstairs, there was a carriage at whose door the servant approached, to talk to someone and I also saw..."

"What?"

"I saw that there was a lady in the carriage."

Blasco felt a wave in his face and ran with his mind to woman Gabriella. Who could be the lady but her?"

"And this dinner comes from the same hand?"

"Oh no!... this is from Mr. Abbot who came to see you this morning."

"Ah! him?... She's okay. Thank you; put everything there..."

"Eh! eh!..." said the caretaker: "I understand that if dinner came from the other, your Lordship would be happier, but..."

Blasco didn't listen to him. Donna Gabriella wrote him to look at himself, Matteo Lo Vecchio sent him dinner; Matteo Lo Vecchio was the right arm of the Duke of Motta and it was to be assumed that he was in contact with the Duchess. Did you send that dinner for a woman Gabriella's order? I mean...

A suspect crossed his mind and made him watch with an expression of terror those dishes, that bread, that wine. He dismissed the caretaker, but when he was alone he dared not approach the table; yet he kept his eyes fixed on those food, as if to discover something there. And he took bread, and soaked it in oil and vinegar, which seasoned the cauliflowers, and cast it all on the ground: Then he lay on the bed and waited.

He heard shortly after a slight scratching of paws and first one, then another, then a third, a fourth mouse invaded the cell and fell voraciously on the bread, squeezing, chasing, contending for the prey. It was a curious spectacle, which would certainly have enjoyed Blasco, if he had not had the mind worried by an anxious investigation. He was waiting. That gang of raiders briefly consumed the prey: Some more daring mice ventured to climb over the table to attack the rest of the dinner. But suddenly a mouse sent a desperate cry that threw the alarm among others and scattered them from here and there; almost at the same time two other shouts resonated: Blasco saw three of those unclean beasts roll on the ground, wriggling, grinding their teeth in a spasm of pain; then another. Blasco made noise, but the four beasts did not escape: They tried to drag themselves, they fell on each other, rabidly penetrating themselves, twisting themselves over themselves in a gruesome agony. Soon after, they died.

Blasco was very pale; an ice cream sweat wet his forehead. He no longer had any doubt that Matteo Lo Vecchio had tried to poison him: The reason for this attempt escaped him. What reasons could the Duke of Motta have, such as the birro to get rid of him? In the meantime, if he had escaped then, who could assure her that he would escape again?

This thought frightened him. Everything could be poisoned; the very water of the medium brought to him by the caretaker, who assured him that it was not made mortal by some of those drugs that had made famous the Sicilian poisoners of the previous century? Don't eat; don't drink; yes, there was nothing else to do; but then what? How could he resist, especially thirst? This thought tormented him; the fear of that unknown snare, of a terrible death, of a fearful agony like the one he had seen in mice, made him sweat cold. All night he could not sleep, having before his eyes the images of those twisted beasts. In the morning, when the caretaker came in, Blasco, who had made his decision, welcomed him with such a threatening appearance that the caretaker was terrified:

"Look!" he told him pointing to the carrions; "those rats ate dinner, which I didn't touch."

The caretaker looked and almost fainted. He whispered:

"How? What...?"

"Dinner was poisoned!... And you are the accomplice of my poisoners..."

"I, sir?... I?... What do you say, Your Lordship? Me?"

"You, yes!... Later the castle will know and I will hang you!..."

"Sir! Sir... I don't know anything. I'm innocent. I swear on the consecrated host... on the health of my children. I'm innocent!... Oh what infamy; to lose myself: To lose me and my family... Oh poor me!..."

His hands came desperately with tears to his eyes, and there was so much sincerity in his words that Blasco persuaded himself of his innocence.

"Listen," he said; "I will be silent, but on a covenant..."

"Your Ladyship speak..." replied the caretaker, shaking again.

"Probably who sent dinner, will come in a few hours to ask about me. Tell him I died suddenly..."

"I'll say it; but I want to report it, I want to rip it apart..."

"You're not going to say anything, 'cause you're going to charge yourself... You have to shut up, and don't let anything leak. Only it must be said that I am dead..."

"All right, that's what we're gonna say if your lordship thinks it's better. I'll do whatever he wants..."

"And now bring me something to write."

The caretaker hastened to bring him the needy and Blasco wrote these words in a piece of paper:

"Thank you, I owe you my life."

He closed and sealed the paper and handed it to the caretaker.

"This must be taken to the lady of yesterday..."

"And who knows her?"

"And the Duchess of the Motta, of Palermo. Everyone will tell you where she is staying..."

"Your Ladyship will be served."

"And above all, be careful not to betray yourselves..."

The caretaker put his hand on the heart; and having done the cleaning of the cell, taken away everything, he went away to perform the commission.

On the door he met Matteo Lo Vecchio.

"Ah, Mr. Abbot!" he exclaimed with narrow teeth; "what misfortune!..."

"Well?" asked the birro agitated by anxiety.

"That knight!... that young man who cared so much for your lordship..."

"Well? What happened? escaped?"

"He's dead! He's dead tonight!"

And he turned his back on him, and saw the splendor of his joy in the face of Matthew the Elder.