1 The Convenient Saint
I
On
Befana’s day in January, many Italian families hold the custom of giving gifts
to children; and there is a charming, if sad, legend attached to this.
Befana
is said to have been an old woman who heard the news the wise men brought and
desired to travel to see the Christ Child; but for various reasons she was
delayed and came to Bethlehem
too late. Since then she wanders the
world giving gifts to all the children she finds in the hopes that one of them
is Jesus.
Befana
is no more really than a corruption of ‘Epiphania’ and the legend sprang up to
account for what the ill educated perceived as a woman’s name, allied with the
giving of gifts in this season as an alternative to the pagan custom of giving
gifts at the ‘old’ new year on the first of this month.
Properly
speaking, Epiphany is two days before Befana’s day; but she was late which I
suppose accounts for it.
As
there are also legends relating to a fourth wise man who was delayed because he
stopped on the way to help so many people, giving out gifts in charity this is
perhaps another origin of the Befana story, though his has a happier ending for
when he arrived too late in Bethlehem he was given a dream from God commending
him for all his good works.
The
children did not care much about the origins.
Bless
them, they liked getting gifts.
We
did not give out large gifts; little toys for the youngest and comfits that
Connie and I had made and wrapped in paper packets and crystallised nuts and
fruit and stuffed dates.
We
included Fidelio and Oliviero in the gift giving as they had had their
childhoods stolen and abused, although they were big boys of twelve years old
already; and Chel too, although he was even older, for he had had precious
little given to him, which meant we could not really leave out Richard who had
never had a proper loving family, nor Danko who was so far from his.
We
got four of the bigger boys a decent belt knife; Fidelio and Oliviero had not
been permitted such in the brothel lest they try to harm the clients and they
were delighted. So was Chel, for we got
him quite a wicked looking knife that he could use as a hunting knife too. Danko
too was happy with a much better fish gutting knife than his old one! On
consideration we bought Richard a copy of Horace’s ‘Odes’ instead as more
likely to please him.
Florence
being the city of marble we got Adam and Jerid each a quantity of real marble
marbles; for they would have grown out of such apprentice games ere long and
might as well enjoy them while they could. Pernel had a set of chess men; and
Emma a whole family of cunningly carved and jointed wooden poppets but a few
inches high that she might dress, much like the peddlers sell that come from
Germany, but finer in quality by far. Robin and I had painted realistic faces
on them and made wigs of real hair.
There was too a box for them to live in that we might furnish for all
the world like a miniature room. She
squealed with delight!
They
and the chessmen had been made by a couple of young brothers not much older
than our lads who had inherited their father’s lathe and some skills and wanted
to make their own way in the world; and we certainly commended them to all our
friends who had children for such lovely toys.
They also made the toy ‘devil on two sticks’ that is shaped much like an
hour glass and runs up and down a string between two sticks and may be cast
into the air spinning and caught by the skilled; but it is not good for
children to have too many gifts bought them so we left that for the time being.
The number of gifts they ended up with they were already halfway to being
spoiled; but none of them have had much of a childhood so I suppose it evens
out in the end. I made no doubt though
that Adam would be spending some of his earnings on such a devil on two sticks,
for he eyed the thing thoughtfully when he helped us choose for the girls. He
was a skilled carver himself, but a lathe does permit precision work in the round
that such required.
I
could see Adam building a lathe back in England with a good springy larch
sapling to power it. Certainly he had made a number of sketches that came close
to being engineer’s drawings.
These
lads had also made the jumping jack puppet that we bought for Sebastian; it was
far superior to the little one we had got as a first toy to help him settle in
and he laughed and clapped his hands at it.
Adam too had carved him handles and set rope into them to teach him the
mysteries that all boys should know of jump-rope. The girls had wrought him a picture book with
his ABC in it and pictures for each letter; and had carefully pierced the pages
and sewn it together down one edge, with I have to say, Robin’s help. I think he had also helped them make some of
the outlines; they had picked some pretty fanciful ideas, like a unicorn for
U. Though Pernel could draw THAT without
aid, I dare swear, for she could draw animals, and especially horses, very well.
Sylvia
we bought a pretty amethyst necklace; it was not so valuable thing that she
could not wear it now, but would still be suitable and pretty when she was wed.
It
was good to be able to bring so much pleasure to children; and Sebastian was
still young enough to be thrilled by a knock at the door and a parcel left
outside with nobody apparently there.
Emma half believed, I think; and even cynical little Pernel pretended
for Sebastian's sake.
It
was an uproariously amusing morning waiting for knocks on the door to see who
might be gifted next; and watching the children’s faces as they all took
delight in each other’s pleasure.
We
had asked Rafe to do the knocking for us; and Adam, Jerid, Pernel and Emma had
given their little gifts for people to him too, that came as a surprise to us.
Emma
had sewn silk kerchiefs each for Pernel, Adam and Jerid; Pernel had acquired
some beads from somewhere and threaded a necklace for Emma and had painted
illuminated ‘A’ and ‘J’ each for the boys on two nice smooth river stones for
rubbing mistakes off parchment.
Jerid
had written out the Lord’s prayer for each of the girls and Adam on strips of
parchment to use as book markers, with a carefully plaited tail, in red, black
and white for Adam, green, russet and gold for Pernel and dark blue, light blue
and gold for Emma.
Adam
had carved a fine top for each of the girls to whip and made a box for Jerid to
keep his writing things in.
They
had all contributed to buy fine hats for Chel, Fidelio, Oliviero, Danko and
Richard and a pretty circlet headdress for Sylvia with coloured glass beads on
it.
I
could not resist including Connie and Rosa, for they were not so old; we got
them a collective gift of a necklace and matching ring each. They might suspend from the chains the
crosses we had got them last St Nicholas day an they so desired; we had made
sure there were links that permitted such.
We
had made plenty of comfits and sweetings to be able to go out and distribute
them to poor children, and we had sewed Holland
bags for the purpose. We put a soldi
coin in each bag too.
There
is so much more pleasure to be derived from the personal giving of gifts that
one has made than merely giving alms without knowing where it will go.
People
remember the orphans in the Spedale degli Innocenti; but we would go to the
poor of the city who still had parents but little in the way of good things in
life.
They
were not remembered by many.
We
were stared at curiously as we went, laughing and chatting as large families
do.
Poor
Chel almost came to grief by the purest accident.
We
passed down a street of small tradesmen, and were struck by the sweetness of
the voice of a girl singing as she chopped meat for sausages in her father’s
shop.
She
was lovely to look at too, a beautiful, healthy looking girl with rosy cheeks
and soft dark hair, her arms well muscled but with a pleasing roundness and
fair of skin where she had tied back her sleeves.
Chel
stopped and goggled.
Another
Tzigane lad detached himself from a nearby doorway that he seemed to be
propping up.
“Hi!
Straniero scum! You stop looking at
my girl like that!”
Straniero literally means ‘stranger’;
but it implies ‘foreigner’ or ‘someone I’ve not seen before and don’t want to
see again’; a stranger is untrustworthy and scum almost by definition in the
close knit communities of the poorer neighbourhoods. In Suffolk the term is ‘furriner’.
Chel
regarded the lad levelly.
“Boh!”
he said, having picked up that one here “If you are a real man, she would never
look at another anyway,” his tone was scornful “And if you are not, you do not
deserve that she cleave to you. But if you
play jealous, one day she will leave you.”
“Is
that a threat?” demanded the other, his hand straying towards his knife.
Chel
shrugged.
“No.
Just an observation, from one who has seen more of the world than thee, my
parochial little Florentine sparrow. I
admire your woman; and from a distance.
If she has chosen you as her man, you are fortunate. But I do not steal another man’s woman; I do
not need to,” he tossed his head disdainfully.
“Come,
Chel lad, leave him to his jealous seethings,” said Robin cheerfully. “He will
learn that to cage a songbird is to make her want to fly; or he will learn to
enjoy the joyful song of a free bird that returns to him freely.”
“Yes,”
said Pernel “It’s cold and I want to go home soon and see if I can still beat
Rafe at chess, even if it is nice hearing her sing so sweetly.”
Robin
had taught our sickly little maiden the game last winter when she was confined
so much to bed; and she had taught Rafe, who had been such an assiduous
companion to her.
Whimsical
acts of kindness can sometimes lead to odd complications.
As
we carried on passing out sweetmeats I heard one little girl whisper to
another,
“The
brown lady really is St Befana from eastern lands you know!”
“And
why do you think that?” asked her friend cynically.
“Because
I seen her do miracles.”
“Go
on with you!” her disbelieving friend said scornfully.
“It’s
true!” my would-be beatifier stamped her foot. “On St Leonard’s day she got some prisoners to
pray to the saint and their chains fell off just
like that!”
Oh
dear, how those stories did grow in the telling!
I
did tell them to invoke St Leonard
to cover me picking the locks of their manacles.
One
of the freed prisoners was our Slavic man – boy really – Danko. His uncle and cousin should be well on their
way home by now; but Danko elected to stay, for he took a liking to us.
He
could turn his hand to most things practical; and was a real help to Rafe and
Chel.
The
cynical one was whispering
“Anyway,
she can’t be St Befana for St Befana
is an old woman and this one is young and pretty.”
“Well
she’s something,” said the first stubbornly. “And she has stigmata!”
No,
it is not stigmata. I have a white scar
all the way through my left hand where Robin once tried to teach me to use a
chisel to cut woodblocks. He gave up
that idea quite quickly as too trying for his nerves. Not to mention my flesh.
It
was better, I thought, in such circumstances, to stay as quiet as possible and
wait for the rumours to run their natural course and die an equally natural
death.
There
would be little enough opportunity soon for anyone to be reminded of it by
seeing me, because I was already starting to swell outrageously to declare my
gravid state; and I was still only five months gone.
I
asked Robin,
“Are
you sure your wayward seed did not manage to get there in advance of you
somehow?”
He
looked startled for a moment before he realised I was teasing.
“’Tis
a strange phenomenon, Flic,” he said cheerfully “That some women show but
hardly at all for the whole of their pregnancy; and others swell early. Do you remember that poor girl in the
whorehouse who was huge for months, then birthed the tiniest little girl
imaginable? It was all her waters.”
“I
wonder if Alison was huge with waters that gives Emma her affinity for falling
in any that may be around?” I wondered inconsequentially. “I must say, ‘twill be monstrous inconvenient
if I get much bigger. I already have
trouble paring my toenails.”
“Then
I’ll do them for you, my dearest dear,” he offered gaily.
Robin,
bless him, took things as they came.
I
have to say though, I was glad to get out, even feeling awkward, to distribute
little gifts and see the pleasure in the eyes of the children.
I
was equally glad – as was Pernel – to get back home after our outing.
I
was not the only one to be visibly producing.
Emma’s
cat Tabitha was in a similar interesting condition.
Pernel
was quite worried.
“Ma,”
she said to me “Tabitha don’t go out and about much. And that means that Thomas must have sired
her kits.”
“A
logical conclusion,” I agreed.
“But
he’s her brother! ‘Tis like Richard
and Jaquetta Fosser; it’s incest!” cried Pernel, upset that her beloved Thomas
should be sinful.
“No,
love, it’s not the same,” I said, gently. “Animals have not eaten of the Tree
of Knowledge of Good and Evil – they have no understanding of right and
wrong. They have no free will as humans
do, only instincts. And instinct tells
them to mate. Do not blame Thomas, he
only does what his nature urges him. But
I think we shall have him gelded when we return, for he will smell nicer and
feel less inclined to wander.”
He
disappeared for three days over Christmas and returned to Pernel’s relief
looking less than sleek but very pleased with himself and proceeded to wash an
abscess on his chest until it burst stinking all over his little mistress while
she was still heating water to poultice it.
We
later found out he had spent at least one night in the crib in Santa Croce
around which he had left the Christ Child an offering of some dozen rats. The
priest was uncertain whether to curse him for his impudence or praise him for
his devotion.
Pernel
sniffed disapproval of instinct.
“I
hope the kittens be not idiots like half the Fosser brood,” she said.
“Let
us hope that they are cat geniuses; like the other half,” I touched her
face. She so despised her birth family
and ‘twas scarce surprising. “But some
may be born malformed; and may need to be killed quickly to prevent them
suffering.”
She
bit her lip but nodded.
Pernel
loved animals so much, but she was practical too.
Tabitha,
ever a home body, took to stirring from Emma’s bed only to do what was
necessary and to eat, waddling in ungainly fashion as she went.
I
prayed I did not end my pregnancy looking that ridiculous.
Befana’s
day is the last day of Christmas revelry, and really by English custom should
be back to normal on the ironically named ‘St Distaff’s day’, the day after
Twelfth Night when women return to their distaffs for spinning and to the other
daily occupations.
In
reality of course the women in most farmsteads work the hardest over Christmas,
supervising the kitchens if they are not themselves the main cook, for all that
revelry and feasting; and there is plenty to do always.
It
is almost a rest to get back to routine.
Being
freed from too many servants we all mucked in to make the season festive; and
returned cheerily to normal. The
children returned to regular lessons with Crispin Parsons, with supplemented learning
they scarce realised they received in cosy evenings of reading and discussion,
that Crispin and his new wife Fanny and stepdaughter Sylvia joined us in, and
Richard Kennington too. Danko, Rafe,
Connie and Rosa also have open invitation that sometimes they avail themselves
of and sometimes not. It oft times
depended what Robin was reading out loud to us!
The
weekend passed quietly; and we got to Wednesday, St Hilary’s Day quite
mundanely; and the children were all at their studies and Robin and I each
working on small paintings to the order of local worthies. Then Connie knocked loudly on the studio door
and came in after a brief pause.
She
found it embarrassing if we have taken pause to engage in such amorous games as
husband and wife might very well do; though the now vigorous kicking of our
youngest member made such impromptu passages a little harder than under regular
circumstances.
“There’s
some undertaker fellow wanting to talk to you,” said Connie without
preamble. “Says he knows you; and says
he needs help.”
Robin
and I looked at each other.
His
nose was twitching eagerly.
I
wrapped our brushes conscientiously in a rag soaked in turpentine.
“Show
him through, Connie,” I said “And bring mulled wine and spiced cakes.”
II
Enzio
Vittori had the kind of lugubrious face such as was suitable for his
profession; and I recognised him straight away when he came in hastily
replacing his hat that he had doffed to Connie that he might doff it to me too.
When
I was Robin’s apprentice, Enzio had been but a few years my senior, apprenticed
to his father, the coffin maker: and
Enzio was allowed to use the off-cuts from the coffins for his own
projects, as a means of building his woodworking skills, for his father was no
fool and knew that the chance of making money was one of the best teachers in
the world.
Coffin
making is but a specialised form of carpentry, and Enzio had a good teacher in
his father who made all his coffins beautifully and with loving care. And the boy could easily be induced to add to
his income by making picture frames, for the services of a frame maker would
have been much dearer. He had also put
business my way, for some of the bereaved had liked the idea of an ivory
miniature of their loved one, either as a keepsake or to attach to the coffin
after the old Roman fashion. ‘Tis where
I learned to turn a dead face into a living likeness; no mean skill, and
needing the co-operation in some cases of the undertaker when the face has fallen
in, to permit you to stuff the mouth with rags, if he is not going to do that
in any case for the comfort of the bereaved.
I
smiled at Enzio and held out both my hands in pleasure.
“’n’ giorno Enzio! How pleasant to see
you!” I said.
He
took my hands rather awkwardly, and diffidently kissed each; and gave me a
rather melancholy smile.
“Felicia
– Signora Robertini, I should say now, and some say with noble relatives in England – I am
overjoyed that you remember me.”
“How
could I forget?” I said. “We had a good business arrangement – and friendship
too.”
“I
confess, I hoped that friendship would hold that I beg a favour from you and
Signor Robertini,” he said, even more diffidently. “Knowing that you and he
used to solve many small mysteries when you were but a child; and I hear that
you have excelled in greater problems since your return, foiling smugglers and
rescuing hostages and the like. And
Signor Robertini was ever quick to make observations about corpses when my
father let him draw them.”
All
highly illegal, but Signor Vittori welcomed a strong man to help him manhandle
corpses in return for leaving the room for a while whilst we drew them.
It
made a change from bribing sextons, though we could not dismember those
bodies. Enzio had not then attained
manhood’s strength to help; and being a child of his father’s old age, old
Vittori was getting frail.
“You
are concerned that all is not as it should be about a body?” Robin asked,
trying not to sound too eager.
Enzio
nodded.
“I
was shocked when I was called to collect her,” he said “And to hear her father
claiming – of all things – that her death was a saintly miracle. For this girl….I –I loved her.”
Tears
welled in his eyes.
I
did not think that undertakers had tear ducts; to look properly sober whilst
dealing with the obsequies is one thing but they are not supposed to weep.
It
would probably fall under a slight to the professional mourners.
I
patted his arm.
“Whatever
has happened we shall do our best to see justice,” I assured him. “What is this nonsense about a saintly
miracle?”
Not
that I disbelieve in saintly miracles; but I think them very rare and am
inclined to scepticism towards them.
Particularly when I think of the engineering of mine own so-called
miracle on St Leonard’s
day.
Enzio
swiped the back of his hand across his eyes for all the world like a little
boy; and I wager the last time he cried was when he was.
“I
hear many things from relations,” he said “About happy releases and the like –
mostly it is a happy release for those left behind more than for the deceased,
though some are genuine enough. But it
cannot be right that a girl of just fourteen years old should be reft from a
right merry life; and I think her father is mistaken. I am convinced she was murdered, and probably
by that good-for-naught she was so enamoured of.”
“What
did her father say, Enzio?” I asked, patiently.
Tuscans
can be almost as bad at getting to the point as Suffolk folk; not their only point of
similarity. And maybe why I had settled so well into Suffolk.
“It
is St Hilary’s day,” said Enzio “And that is why he says it. You know the story of St Hilary’s daughter?”
I
nodded.
“She
was certain she wanted a celibate life but her father was afraid she might be
tempted by sexuality and prayed she might be taken to heaven a virgin. And supposedly she was too, which seems a
waste of a good life and the chance to work the nonsense from her system and
grow up a good wife and mother. Or even
to become a nun if she was so intent. I
never could see why it should matter which she chose; St Hilary must have been
tempted by sexuality at least once after all, or he’d not have had a daughter.
Oh wait, but men are allowed to be sluts of course. And now you say this girl’s father says much
the same, that she has just died because he prayed for it?”
Enzio
nodded.
“Umberto
Perini, the butcher, says that he prayed to St Hilary to protect his daughter
from evil attentions – and when he awoke it was to find her peacefully dead in
her bed. I – I don’t like it. It -
it feels wrong.”
I
nodded, accepting his instincts as a man that knows death better then most.
“I
don’t like it either,” I said grimly. “It might be possible but it is
sufficiently unlikely that I immediately feel there is misdirection at work
here. Besides, I’ve always had this
feeling that celibacy as a sign of virtue is unhealthy; for if all the virtuous
are celibate, only the unrighteous will breed, and bring up their offspring in
their own ways; and that will lead to a most unholy congregation as God’s
flock. I suppose that to choose celibacy
with open eyes is one thing; but this girl was too young – in my opinion – to
trammel her sexuality thus.”
“Mauritzia
was a loving, friendly, beautiful girl,” said Enzio “And fond of children. She would have made a good wife and a
wonderful mother.”
“We
shall come at once to study her body,” said Robin. “If you are willing, I can
get permission I am sure from the authorities to take any….intrusive measures
necessary.”
“Thank
you, Signor Robertini,” said Enzio gravely. “Whatever it takes I am willing.”
There
are miracles, very occasionally; so we stopped to pray that our scepticism be
forgiven an we had truly found one; but
that too we should uncover by examining the girl’s body and might then put
Enzio’s mind at rest.
Not
that either of us really believed for one moment that she had died of some
supernatural agency.
An
she had, the Good Lord or St Hilary would surely have sent a sign to Enzio ere
he sought us out.
It
was Pernel’s turn to be our helper; and we also took Chel, for if this girl had
been, as Enzio said, fascinated and enamoured of some undesirable character
there were few in our current entourage as good as Chel at finding out about
such.
The
lad had made some good contacts with the local Tzigane and was on excellent
terms with their leader, Ranaldo Columba, a rogue of the first water and an
engaging enough fellow with a dry and fast wit and enough lip to talk a pope
into the grave. Though probably not enough to talk a cardinal out of a
nunnery. There are limits.
He
liked Chel, for Chel was an acrobat, even as Signor Columba had been in his
youth.
If
Chel needed an ally he should work with Adam; for we had decided not to
introduce Oliviero or Fidelio into this side of our work yet, for they needed
the time to recover from their unfortunate experiences. And Jerid was not so enthusiastic as Adam at
such either.
Enzio
led us back into his workshop and indicated the slab he had laid the girl
Mauritzia on.
Chel
gasped and I stared amazed.
It
was none other than that same girl whose singing we had paused to listen to;
and whose beauty and fair voice had struck the lad so dumb with the purity of
the sound.
“That
Tzigane boy – is he the one you say did this?” Chel cried.
Enzio
shrugged.
“Certainly
I cannot help but suspect him.”
“I’m
going to kill him!” said Chel grimly, checking his belt knife and preparing to
leave.
Enzio
goggled. He had given Chel a startled
and wary look when we had introduced him – and I could not but wonder if there
was more to it than a natural distrust of Tzigani. If the undesirable character of whom he spoke
was that same boy who had already had words with Chel, Enzio’s despite was
natural enough.
Robin
seized Chel by the arm.
“Do
not you jump to conclusions without any facts, lad!” he admonished. “By such
token, oft times a ‘Gyptian lad like yourself would take the blame for others’
misdemeanours! If it were he, then he shall swing for it. But let us get facts first!”
Chel
stiffened; but bit his lip and bowed his head.
He
had a great deal of respect for Robin.
“I
hear and will obey, my lord,” he said harshly “But if it were he, I cannot
promise not to cheat the hangman. He was
so full of how she was his woman; and so jealous. It would not be out of character for a Rom
man to preserve his bella figura as
they put it here in Italy
by killing the woman he loved to stop her choosing another.”
“This
shall we bear in mind,” said Robin, evenly.
“Now! We shall examine the
body; and if such is more than you can cope with, whether for knowing the girl
slightly or because you are in any way squeamish, you had better leave now
rather than make the place untidy by passing out all over the floor.”
“I
stay,” said Chel.
