Chiara – Revenge and Triumph Read Online Free Page B
Author: Gian Bordin
She could not simply raise her skirts a bit and crouch.
Thirst and hunger finally got the better of her, and she drank and ate half her supplies, while occasionally steering the boat back in the direction of the waves in the hope that within a day or two she would either be saved by a passing vessel or reach some distant shore. In vain she continued to scan the horizon in all directions for rescue to arrive.
Map of Tuscany
3
Ligurian Sea, early June 1347
I was driven along by the wind and the waves for a day and a night without seeing a living soul. At dawn of the second day I saw the pointed peak of Isola di Capraia a league or two behind to my left. If I had not dozed off sometimes in the middle of the night, I probably could have rowed the boat toward it as I got closer, but by the time I woke the current was too strong for my feeble strength and inexperience. I finished the last of my drink and food, watching the island almost imperceptibly shrink in size.
I wondered why I did not see any other boats. Whenever I had been on top of Volterraio, I had always seen dozens of small fishing boats and even the occasional galley and two- or three-masted lateen vessel. Maybe they were all sheltering from the stiff winds.
How was a feeling? Frightened? Yes. Frantic? No. I had resigned myself. Either God would save me or the sea would be my grave as it had been my brother’s. Once or twice I started to pray, but gave up quickly. Neither God nor the Madonna had responded to my daily prayers when I beseeched them to spare me from Niccolo. And why should they heed the pleas of an obstinate girl. There must be thousands of girls facing the same fate who were appealing to them, and what about all the other women praying for their sick children to get well or for their husbands to return from the sea or from war, not to speak of all the men who prayed to them as well. I felt suddenly small and insignificant. So, I waited and waited. I even stopped scanning the seas for another boat.
By the time I saw the merchantman, a carrack, it was less than a quarter of a league behind and approaching fast, its three lateen sails straining in the wind. I jumped up, shouting with joy, quickly wrapped my cloak around the oar and waved frantically. Maybe God had sent help even without my prayers, and I said a few silent words of thanks.
Two men were standing on its prow and several more along its starboard side. When I saw the ship change course toward me, I lowered the oar, but remained upright, my heart beating fast. I was so glad to see them and know that rescue was at hand that I did not even worry about what to tell them, nor did it cross my mind that they might be pirates. I could hardly wait to be hauled onto its deck.
As the ship got closer, I managed to read its name: Santa Caterina. Something looked familiar about the flag flying on its aftercastle, but I could not put my fingers upon it. Only when one of the two men on its prow turned his face toward the sun and I saw the black patch over his left eye did it strike me. Signor Sanguanero! No, God would not be so cruel as to deliver me into his hands, not after I had gone through all the agony of leaving my father and suffering the hardship of the sea.
Maybe he would not recognize me in my boy’s disguise. But even that hope was quickly shattered. Hardly had they lowered a rope ladder that I heard Niccolo’s outburst of laughter.
"Now look what pretty fish we have caught," he shouted with obvious glee. "Welcome on board, her ladyship, or is it master Chiaro?" He continued grinning from ear to ear.
Abruptly, I sat again, letting go of the rope. I was not going on board of that ship; I would rather drift along for many more days than this.
"Come up, girl, or do you need a special invitation?" He turned to the dark-skinned sailor next to him and said: "Moro, bring her up!"
I could hear his renewed laughter, as he disappeared behind the
Thirst and hunger finally got the better of her, and she drank and ate half her supplies, while occasionally steering the boat back in the direction of the waves in the hope that within a day or two she would either be saved by a passing vessel or reach some distant shore. In vain she continued to scan the horizon in all directions for rescue to arrive.
Map of Tuscany
3
Ligurian Sea, early June 1347
I was driven along by the wind and the waves for a day and a night without seeing a living soul. At dawn of the second day I saw the pointed peak of Isola di Capraia a league or two behind to my left. If I had not dozed off sometimes in the middle of the night, I probably could have rowed the boat toward it as I got closer, but by the time I woke the current was too strong for my feeble strength and inexperience. I finished the last of my drink and food, watching the island almost imperceptibly shrink in size.
I wondered why I did not see any other boats. Whenever I had been on top of Volterraio, I had always seen dozens of small fishing boats and even the occasional galley and two- or three-masted lateen vessel. Maybe they were all sheltering from the stiff winds.
How was a feeling? Frightened? Yes. Frantic? No. I had resigned myself. Either God would save me or the sea would be my grave as it had been my brother’s. Once or twice I started to pray, but gave up quickly. Neither God nor the Madonna had responded to my daily prayers when I beseeched them to spare me from Niccolo. And why should they heed the pleas of an obstinate girl. There must be thousands of girls facing the same fate who were appealing to them, and what about all the other women praying for their sick children to get well or for their husbands to return from the sea or from war, not to speak of all the men who prayed to them as well. I felt suddenly small and insignificant. So, I waited and waited. I even stopped scanning the seas for another boat.
By the time I saw the merchantman, a carrack, it was less than a quarter of a league behind and approaching fast, its three lateen sails straining in the wind. I jumped up, shouting with joy, quickly wrapped my cloak around the oar and waved frantically. Maybe God had sent help even without my prayers, and I said a few silent words of thanks.
Two men were standing on its prow and several more along its starboard side. When I saw the ship change course toward me, I lowered the oar, but remained upright, my heart beating fast. I was so glad to see them and know that rescue was at hand that I did not even worry about what to tell them, nor did it cross my mind that they might be pirates. I could hardly wait to be hauled onto its deck.
As the ship got closer, I managed to read its name: Santa Caterina. Something looked familiar about the flag flying on its aftercastle, but I could not put my fingers upon it. Only when one of the two men on its prow turned his face toward the sun and I saw the black patch over his left eye did it strike me. Signor Sanguanero! No, God would not be so cruel as to deliver me into his hands, not after I had gone through all the agony of leaving my father and suffering the hardship of the sea.
Maybe he would not recognize me in my boy’s disguise. But even that hope was quickly shattered. Hardly had they lowered a rope ladder that I heard Niccolo’s outburst of laughter.
"Now look what pretty fish we have caught," he shouted with obvious glee. "Welcome on board, her ladyship, or is it master Chiaro?" He continued grinning from ear to ear.
Abruptly, I sat again, letting go of the rope. I was not going on board of that ship; I would rather drift along for many more days than this.
"Come up, girl, or do you need a special invitation?" He turned to the dark-skinned sailor next to him and said: "Moro, bring her up!"
I could hear his renewed laughter, as he disappeared behind the