Chiara – Revenge and Triumph Read Online Free Page A

forward by a hand width at a time, pausing in between and listening for any sounds, she managed to get the boat afloat. It almost tipped when she climbed in. She used the oar as a pole to push it into deeper water. There were no sounds except the peaceful lapping of the water on its side.
    Holding the oar, she was suddenly uncertain of what to do. It had always looked so easy when a fisherman propelled a boat forward in a flowing figure-eight motion. She inserted it in its lock at the stern and tried to imitate the movement. The boat only began to rock from side to side, forcing her to stop and steady it again. With eyes closed, she imagined the fisherman’s motion in her mind and then executed the vision she had seen. Opening her eyes she notices that the boat was moving forward slowly. Repeating this a few times, she got the boat going. The problem was that it tended to curve, and she was forced to lift the oar out of the water to correct the direction. It took her more than an hour before she could propel and steer the boat at the same time. By then the village had disappeared behind a small headland and she was already feeling the strain in her arms.
    After resting for a while, she resumed her toil, steering a straight course along the coast in its northeasterly direction, while trying to stay a safe distance away from the rocky cliffs where the waves splashed high and subsided in white foam. She had to rest ever more frequently as her arm and shoulder muscles tired. Dawn was breaking when she could see Capo della Vita to her right and was able to guess the outlines of the coast of Tuscany, two and a half leagues away, more than twice the distance she had already covered. Had she not expected that by daylight she would be well away from the island? And there she was already exhausted, her arms and shoulders leaden that she could hardly move them anymore.
    How naive she had been to think she could row across the straits. She would never make it. Maybe she should row back to shore and walk home. She was sure her father would forgive her, and if he saw how desperate she was to avoid becoming Niccolo’s wife, to what measures she was willing to go, he might relent. Wasn’t she the jewel of his heart? It was almost a relief to abandon her quest. Only a nagging fear remained that he might refuse.
    As she turned the boat toward shore, she noticed that the point of the cape seemed farther away than before. Was it only an illusion, a trick of the mind that made distances seem larger when one knew that every move sent knives into arms and shoulders? No, she was definitely drifting away from the island. Frightened, she began to row with as much strength as she could still muster, but to her dismay it only slowed her drift away from land. She called out frantically for help until she was hoarse and finally sank into the bottom of the boat, sobbing, holding her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth.
    Exhaustion must have conquered her in the end. The sun was straight overhead when she woke, thirsty and hungry. A brisk wind was blowing from the southeast and the boat was rocking from side to side. With each wave, spits of water spilled over the side. She turned the boat perpendicular to the waves and it stopped rocking. The coast of Tuscany dipped in and out of the horizon with every wave. To the south she could see the length of Elba, from Volterraio in the east to the top of Monte Capanne in the west. Whenever she crested a wave, the dark coast of Corsica loomed in the distance. Elba looked at least as far away as she remembered seeing it from Piombino, the only time she had visited the coast of Tuscany. To the northwest, she could make out Isola di Capraia. She was alone, no other boat in sight.
    She had the urge to relieve herself, but how? Unless she did it into the bottom of the boat, she would have to climb onto the little bench at the stern. Then she realized in consternation that this also implied removing her breeches.