Beati Paoli

by Luigi Natoli

part three, chapter 15

English

Don Raimondo had returned to his palace, quivering with hatred, thirsting for revenge, raging Into for the anger of his powerlessness. He had come to terms with Blasco under the threat of those revelations that would destroy him, but this had lit in his soul a furnace of hatred against that bastard. He even forgot Violante, his Violant, in the heat of anger to which he abandoned himself, finding himself alone in his study. Where were those cards? Did the bastard own you? It was necessary to have them back; and then, a dagger or rifle stroke, at night, was more effective than having him arrested by virtue of the ban that weighed on him... Arrested, the Beati Paoli would come out to rip him off with other threats, and revenge would have escaped him.

He was ruminating drawings and counter drawings, when the servant came to announce to him the visit of Matthew the Elder.

"Send him in!" he cried, "Send him in!..."

The birro came bowing down; Don Raimondo invested it:

"Well, the bandits can therefore resurrect and walk unpunished through Palermo, now that I am no longer vicar general!..."

"Eh!... this is not what should amaze your most illustrious lordship, but that the doors of the Holy Office open!" replied the birro with some insolence; and he added by changing the tone: "Moreover, your most illustrious lordship teaches me that sometimes it is prudent to let a bandit walk and let him buy almost the certainty that no one disturbs him... How does the cat do it? Let the mouse run; when he sees him go away, pumf! a jump and a foot... I know who you mean to speak of... I follow him and keep an eye on him for other reasons... A long story should be told to your Lordship, but it doesn't matter: I'll just tell you that Mr. Don Blasco..."

"Who, in your opinion, was dead and buried..."

"That's right: What's my fault if the rats died instead of him? The wretched man knows more than we do; he has escaped beautifully, but he will not escape..."

"You're an idiot..."

"If this pleases your lordship, I will be, but if I tell you that precisely as an imbecile I have discovered something specifically concerning your most illustrious lordship?"

Don Raimondo cheered; the tone of those words had something sarcastic and pungent. What did the birro mean?

"Is this about me? What can it be about me?"

"Sure pieces of paper that are in the power of Mr. Blasco from Castiglione."

Don Raimondo paled; what were these pieces of paper he did not doubt; the allusion was evident, however he pretended amazement and asked:

"What cards?"

"Carts that are enough to deliver a man to the venerable White Company..."

Don Raimondo felt the blood freezing, but threw his emotion back into the deepest of the soul, and his impenetrable mask had nothing but a contraction of jaws.

"What does it matter to me about these cards?" he said.

"It matters more than your lordship believes... because they refer to your most illustrious lordship... Not already that I believe what they contain, anything else! They're bulldozers, slanders to lumber with who wrote them... But in the meantime, they might think serious things..."

The Duke of Motta felt his throat tightened by an iron hand. Who made the birro know that those documents existed? And what did he know about it? Did you read them? Was he another part of that secret that he supposedly buried with the last victims? He tried to laugh and investigate.

"Ah! ah! What you say sounds like a very serious thing... And there's something to be scared of... You would say that you know the content of those cards!..."

"Very illustrious, yes..."

"Do you know him? You? How?"

"I had them in my hands..."

"You had them in your hands... and you didn't hold them?..."

His voice seemed enlarged by anger. Matteo Lo Vecchio, then, had those terrible and overwhelming cards in power; he knew what they contained; he was also another soul, another voice that could suddenly rise against him; he was another enemy in power that had to be prevented and that had to be disposed of.

"How did you get them ripped off?" asked Don Raimondo pretending not to believe the words of Matteo Lo Vecchio.

"Does your lordship doubt?" answered the birro. "Do you think I invent? The card thief, the one who took them from me is Mr. Blasco..."

"Blasco?"

"Just him: Mr. Blasco from Castiglione stole them from me. I had taken them away, I know with what danger of life... and I was counting on giving them to your most illustrious lordship, to show you my devotion, my attachment, but that wretched man took them from me... How did you find out? I haven't been able to penetrate it yet. In the meantime, I'm sure he has them... Now, your illustrious lordship understands why I, even if I can arrest Mr. Don Blasco, let him go freely..."

"You had to arrest him and search his house..."

"If he had his own house..."

"Do you sleep in the open air?..."

"He is a guest of the knight Don Coriolano of Floresta..."

Don Raimondo opened his eyes. "And did Don Coriolano host such a man? So he gave asylum to the bad guys? For God's sake, it was not enough for him, the example of the prince of Mezzojuso, who had been arrested and thrown into the castle precisely for aiding bandits? Here's a man to report to the Viceroy... Perhaps he was an accomplice, perhaps he too knew the content of those terrible documents; he too was an enemy from whom to defend himself." He wanted to see if Matteo Lo Vecchio really knew the content of those cards, also to find and verify what Blasco had said. He interrupted the birro, which showed him by thread and by sign what he had read in the process instructed by the Beati Paoli, while framing his exposition with protests and expressions of esteem towards a gentleman as illustrious as the Duke of Motta.

"You can see that it's all a setup of people who want to make some big "combinenda" to your most illustrious lordship."

"Yes, indeed!" said Don Raimondo with his heart still tumultuous, grasping that hypothesis.

He had nothing left to know: even the birro knew everything and was a very dangerous subject that, either it was necessary to bind to itself in an indissoluble way, or it was necessary to suppress. In the meantime, it was necessary to have those documents that had become his nightmare.

"I'd be curious," he said, "to see these discards!..."

"That's what I think I have in my hands, if your most illustrious lordship helps me..."

"Of course!... Are you sure you can do that?..."

"I have a thread..."

"Would you say that?"

"I was able to draw from my one of the Beati Paoli, a friend of Don Girolamo Ammirata..."

"Ouch."

"And with him we follow step by step what the sect does... But we should search Mr. Don Blasco's room... and the servants should be bribed to do so... He'll understand..."

Don Raimondo understood; he took a bag of money out of a cleft and threw it into the greedy hands of the birro:

"Here's some money..."

"Thank you; I'll get to work right away..."

"Don't be suspicious... Make sure you take those cards, though they do not scare me and they are nonsense; I will pay you for them by weight of gold."

Mentally Don Raimondo added: "I'm going to save you from the face of the earth an hour after you hand over the cards to me."

He left the birro and when he was alone he gave up to the despair that until then had repressed in the depths of the soul.

"Everyone! Everyone!" he screamed rabidly beating his head with his fists: - So everyone knows? Everyone?! mine is no longer a secret! on every side, from every shadow rise witnesses and deniers; and I am in their care; I am at the mercy of the most miserable!... Therefore I have sown my way of death; I have shed tears and blood round about, and behind me, to bury my secret in darkness; and from the earth, from the air on every side a thousand mouths cry out and spread it! Can I never hope to spread the silence and oblivion around me?"

And in his swollen heart he ran the idea of a gigantic vengeance, with which power to suppress at once all those occult and obvious enemies that surrounded him, threatened him, oppressed him. Delete them! Power of all those heads to make one head and cut it off with a gigantic cleaver stroke! "Ah, you are the bastard of Don Emanuele of Motta and you are the rightful son of Motta? Go to the dear father shadow! And you are the Beati Paoli? Go enjoy the reward of your bliss!"

With her dilated nostrils she yearned for a merciless vengeance, all the more cruel and frightening, the greater the terror that made him tremble.

Superstitious and irrepressible terror from which he felt subjugated and despondent. Avenge yourself? Ah, yes, it was his dream, but in the meantime "those" were the strongest and had him in their power, and they could, if he transgressed by an inch, throw him into the arms of the executioner. They were the strongest and their strength came from the mystery, from the unknown: How many were there? Behind those whom he knew, how many were there that remained unknown to him and therefore more terrible?

This thought made him appear revenge far away and doubtful: perhaps after the first victims others and new avengers would arise; perhaps, indeed, his desire for revenge, his attempts could be fomented and the source of new and greater reprisals against him.

Among these anguishes he had almost forgotten his daughter; that impetuous paternity which, in ignorance of the terrible threat that overthrew him had pushed him from Turin to Palermo and had made him fall at the feet of Blasco from Castiglione, seemed to have faded after knowing that Violante suffered intact and that he would be returned. No more fearing for her, she could think of herself. The daughter would come in one, two days, but in those conditions it was almost preferable to send her away, elsewhere, to safety, to leave him free, and to prevent her from coming to know the crimes of which her father's conscience was ugly. For a feeling of delicacy or vanity, he wanted to remain at the Violante's eyes the whole, immaculate man that his daughter believed.

In this way his brain passed from one set of thoughts to another no less tormenting: and between one and the other he spent the night watching and torturing himself.

Matteo Lo Vecchio, on his way out of the Albamonte palace, went in search of Antonino Bucolaro. It seemed to him time to act, by theme that, taking advantage of the favorable circumstances, such as the arrival of Don Raimondo in Palermo, Blasco drew for himself, all the advantage from the sale of those cards. It was therefore necessary to return to possession of those cards: which, really, Matteo Lo Vecchio could do alone, since, in the investigation to ascertain who held those documents, Antonino Bucolaro had been of little help to him. But many new things had happened and other unpredictable ones could happen, which it was prudent to hold on to the Bucolaro, and to compromise it in order to force it to espionage and betrayal.

Crossing the square of St. Cosmo, he looked at the house of Jerome Admirata, whose balconies were closed, but from certain cracks there was a glimpse of some thread of light, an evident sign that, despite the late hour, there he was awakening.

"Of course there is a party and there will be Don Girolamo and Andrea in there. What a blow!... If a patrol passes!...

But at this hour the rounds sleep blissfully. What if I go to St. James' neighborhood? It's not far... Yes, it's true, it's not far, but while I'm going to call someone, they have plenty of time to get away... there are so many spies!... And then, maybe it's better for now to let it go!..."

His thoughts took a new course. The birro had seen in the afternoon Don Raimondo coming out of the Royal Palace, in his carriage, and he was amazed.

"How? - he said. - The Duke in Palermo? Since when? He certainly came for the disappearance of the two women... Eh! it took more than the Viceroy!..."

He had run behind the carriage and had been able to reach it and sit on the posterior predellino, like a brat, thus getting carried away and following the duke from near, without being seen. He had followed him in this way - not without a certain amazement - up to the Sant'Offizio, where he had not delayed to know what Don Raimondo had gone to do to you; which seemed so wonderful and unexpected to him, that he had marked himself with his left hand. After waiting for a nice piece, he had seen the doorway of the palace Don Raimondo and Mrs Francesca and enter the carriage.

"Toh! toh!... toh!...

But is it true what I see, or am I dating?... What does this mean?... I could have imagined anything except that! There's gotta be some big devilry going on. Watch out, Matthew!..." But his amazement had changed to astonishment, when he had seen the carriage going to the Castle, to detect Emanuele: It seemed to him that the world had turned upside down and that men walked with their heads down. What he had seen seemed to him to belong to the realm of the impossible and the incredible, not arriving with his brain to penetrate the reasons that had forced the duke to that step.

"Sure, - he thought - there had to be great news! man is smart and if he does this there must be his gain."

Now, passing before that house, he made the same remark: "there must have been his gain!" And a vague feeling made him afraid of his drawings.

"Nino Bucolaro must know something. Hell, they must have invited him... A family party like this!"

He had come to Ballarò, when he seemed to hear steps before him but the darkness of the road did not let him see the people walking. He hastened the pace, without making any noise, and seemed to see two shadows, one of which recognizable, or almost, at the pace.

"Is that him? Isn't that him?... And the other who you'll be..."

The two shadows, along the Ballarò square, bent through the Albergheria and stopped at the corner of the road. Did they hear that? Did they see him? Perhaps, and it was not prudent to stop or go back, because it would raise suspicions. He was agreed to continue, as one who went into his own affairs, and passed before the two firm shadows, wrapped in the garments.

Matthew recognized in one of them Bucolaro. He wasn't fooled. But the other one? Who was the other one? He pulled forward toward his house, and after about twenty steps he stopped and turned, protected from darkness. He thought he saw him, he realized that the two shadows from the corner of the street had disappeared.

He went back, walking on tiptoe, and arrived just in time to hear a close doorway in a street behind the church of Carmine and no longer had any doubt. It was Antonino. But the other one would be gone soon?

He waited about an hour, but the door did not open; then he modulated a certain conventional whistle and waited, but the balcony remained closed; he waited still, but in vain. He went home. At dawn he was awakened by a whistle like his: He got up, and in the night cap and underwear he looked behind the windows. Antonino Bucolaro was down under the balcony, wrapped in his cape with his nose in the air. He showed him to go up and pulled the cord of the ascendants.

"What the hell do you think you're gonna call me when I'm in company?" said the resentful Bucolaro.

"I needed to see you..."

"Me too..."

"Who was with you tonight?"

"Didn't you recognize him? Andrea Lo Bianco."

"Oh, hell! If I had recognized him, I would have set the net for him..."

"Time lost... my dear!... Don Girolamo and Andrea can walk under your nose... they have a safe conduct, which will follow the grace... And you sniff your nose..."

"And this miracle, of course, connects with the liberation of Emanuele and Mrs. Francesca..."

"Surely..."

"Things fall, Don Antonino: You have to do the job..."

"I think that poor Don Blasco did it..."

"How?"

"He met with the Duke this morning... and then all this came..."

"Ah, the brigand!..."

"The cards at this hour Mr. Duke will have burned them..."

"No; he instructed me to recover them..."

"Finction!..."

"Oh, no, you don't want me to see a fiction? That brigand hasn't delivered them yet... By nightfall, you have to take them off. I will take care of him; you should take care of his friend, the knight of Floresta..."

"That's not possible."

"Why?"

"Because Don Blasco's gone..."

"Are you leaving?"

"From tonight, to pick up the Duchess and the Duchess, and deliver them safely to the Duke of Motta."

Matteo Lo Vecchio had a flash of genius, which illuminated his face with a ferocious joy.

"I have an idea..."

"Let's hear it."

The birro bowed down and began to speak in a low voice. Antonino Bucolaro first showed amazement, then admiration, but reluctance; finally, persuaded by the arguments of Matteo Lo Vecchio, he concluded:

"All right. I'll do as you say."

"In two hours I will go to the duke; you will give me that news. I'll see you at midday..."

"Where?"

"To your house."

"Are you crazy? Do you want to lose me?"

"Don't be afraid. No one will recognize me."

For at noon Antoninus Bucolaro saw an abbot of the province come to meet him on the door of the house, and sent a cry of surprise:

"Ah! the Abbot of the Castle!... the confessor of Mrs. Francesca!... I'll take you in now!..."

But to the laughter of Matthew the Elder stunned:

"You!... So even then... when did you come?"

"Yes, yes; we'll talk about it later, but let's go in, so you'll let me know. I am a poor abbot of the kingdom, who came to visit you for a business... a lot of wine to place... You know what I mean? Let's go in, then."