Pilgrims of Promise(31)
The three turned to wind their way up the western slope leading to the Rocca di Arona. They followed a steep, curving road and arrived at the gate panting. “A good place for a keep,” muttered Pieter. He approached the sentry at the north gate.
“Si?”
“Buon giorno. I am come to see the fair child.”
“Si?”
“The fair child, Maria.”
“Ah!” The soldier smiled. “Maria. Yes, yes. Come in.”
Pieter was surprised at the welcome. He had expected a grousing guard to bar the gate with the point of a lance. Somewhat relieved, he crossed under the raised portcullis and through the deep walls. Once inside he looked about quickly for any sign of Maria’s golden hair. Disappointed, he surveyed the castle. The fortress had been built in three tiers that stepped up to the very top of the mountain. It was of gray stone, and Pieter thought it to be sturdy, though not well designed. This lord has no love of warfare, else I’d see an inner curtain, turrets, and balconies.
They climbed the stairs leading to the wall walk, and from there they paused to look about. To the south side the narrow list was filled with gardens, orchards, and a fishpond. At its edge was a sheer cliff that fell to Arona. To the east, another sheer cliff dropped to the shores of the lake. Only two sides to defend, thought Pieter. Having once been a warrior himself, he enjoyed considering such things. Only two sides for escape, however, and methinks the future may hold a kidnapping.
Pieter was further surprised to see few men-at-arms. Instead of milling knights and footmen, the bailey was busy with every manner of beast as well as peasants hauling carts about. Numbers of noisy workshops were at task with the hammering of iron or sawing of wood. Amidst the workers shuffled a few courtiers in their fine clothing, as well as many numbers of laughing children. Pieter strained to see a yellow head amongst the dark throng below.
“Here, Pater,” announced the soldier. “Here is the constable’s chamber. He shall help you.”
The old man nodded and stepped inside a small dark room where he met a coarse-looking fat fellow sitting at a squat table. “Peace to thee,” offered Pieter. He lifted the cross from around his neck and held it out for the man to see. “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, pax semper vobiscum”
“Eh?”
Pieter had hoped to impress the constable with his holy credentials. They were convenient tools from time to time. But the man seemed unmoved. “My son, we are here for the fair child of the northland, Maria.”
The constable nodded and took a long drink of red wine from a glazed clay goblet. “Maria?”
“Si.”
The man belched. “I am Borgo. You needs speak to the signora, Signora Cosetta.” Borgo gnawed on a piece of cheese and took another drink. He then tore a large piece of bread from a brown loaf and dipped it into a bowl of olive oil as Pieter and his companions waited with feigned respect. When Borgo belched and reached for more food, Pieter began to bounce his staff lightly on the floor, and the man stopped chewing. “Si? Yes, yes. No need to hurry. One moment.”
The constable ate and drank a little more, and then stood and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He wrapped his belly in a fine red sash, donned a dashing otter cap, and curled his finger. “Follow me.”
Borgo led the three visitors and their dog in the direction of the castle’s highest tier, where the lord’s apartments were built alongside the great hall. In the village at the base of the cliff, the bells of the Chiesa dei S. Martiri rang the hour of nones.
Borgo’s pace was slow, but the man had come very much alive. Passing through the central bailey, he paused to chat with friends and to bark playfully at others. Laughing robustly, he gestured crudely to a few passing maids. “Bella donna!” he cried. A young sergeant handed him an apple and a flask of wine. He stopped to drain the flask, and he tossed the apple to a beggar in the shadows. “Ha, the sun shines again!”
Pieter wanted to shout at the oaf. Instead he muttered to himself, “Ach, mein Gott! Could a grown man move any slower?”
Borgo stopped again, this time to pick from a peddler’s cart three smoked fishes, which he tossed to the three behind him with a mischievous grin. He then swaggered toward the acougue and grabbed a fistful of meat scraps for Solomon. “Now,” he belched loudly. “Now we go to the signora’s “
They entered the lord’s courtyard through a guarded gate and passed numbers of resting gardens placed neatly around a statue of the Holy Mother. A few well-dressed men-at-arms stood along the walls; others lounged atop the ramparts, keeping a casual watch. A tonsured head appeared beneath an arcade, and Pieter immediately recognized Brother Chiovo. “Ho, brother!” cried Pieter.