CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 34

Imay be a virgin (apparently a concern for all Verona), I may not be married or joined to a religious order as every lady of my advanced age should be, but I'm a woman of strong faith, so after a wakeful night dealing with a painful welt across the chest and a humiliating memory of my own defeat, and many long hours of trying to unsuccessfully put together pieces of reality to form a perfect picture, I determined that to church I would go to pray for guidance and for grace, and to control my temper and my tongue. My parents had been married in the crypt of Basilica di San Zeno, and there I would pray.

Again clothed in a dark, encompassing cloak with the hood pulled up, I left Casa Montague with Nurse similarly clothed and guarding my back. We stayed close to the walls and we carried our weapons, for as each day passed and Duke Stephano's murder remained unsolved, it seemed danger deepened. And indeed, as we took the first corner, Nurse touched my arm. "We're being followed."

"By who?"

"A woman dressed in black with her face veiled."

"That describes every widow in Verona. Turn here." We took an abrupt corner onto a quiet side street, then another abrupt corner, then stepped into the doorway of a home and watched, concealed by the shadows.

The widow made the first corner and kept walking.

Still we waited and watched.

She came back. She peered down our street, shook her head, turned back, shook her head again, and walked toward us. Past us.

I glanced around, too, and saw only an empty street waiting for the residents to return for their afternoon rest carrying long loaves of bread and great cuts of cheese and glorious, garlicky rounds of salumi.

Nurse and I fell in step behind her, and she twirled to face us.

It was Miranda, Duke Stephano's scarred mistress and former trovatori soprano.

Nurse moved behind her to close off any escape attempt.

I stepped close and spoke into her face. "Why are you following us?"

She lifted the heavy black veil from her face and glanced around as if she feared attack from all sides. Leaning close, she whispered, "Pretend you can't see me. I'm protecting you."

Nurse shoved at her shoulder. "She doesn't need your protection. She has me."

"No one can protect her from a ghost." Miranda was thinner, sadder, quieter, older, her eyes dark ringed and haunted.

"Did he do that to you?" I indicated the scar on her neck.

"Who?" Miranda's mind seemed to be drifting.

"Did Duke Stephano slash your throat?" Nurse had no patience when she feared for my life.

"No. Mayhap he ordered it, but the attack came out of the dark as I walked alone to the theater after a tryst with him. A man, thin and tall, leaped at me and used a stiletto, shouted, ‘No voice, no song!' I couldn't fight him, but I could scream, and I put all my volume behind it, and people came and he ran away." Tears filled her eyes.

"Duke Stephano wanted to be rid of you," Nurse said with cruel bluntness.

Miranda glanced behind her as if Nurse herself was a ghost. "He loved me until . . . until he saw the scar. Then he was repulsed. He liked pretty women." Miranda's gaze drifted over me. "You're pretty, but you seem so old . . ."

At least she didn't take note of my virginity. "Have you eaten today?"

"I don't remember," she said.

"Nurse, give her a coin and"—again I spoke directly into Miranda's face—"you must go at once to the market and buy food, and eat it. Not drink. Food."

Tears filled Miranda's eyes, and she bowed her head. "Lady, you're kind. You don't deserve to die."

Nurse thrust the smallest coin at her. "She's not going to die."

"I will so pray, yet death haunts us all. Addio." Miranda took my hand and kissed it, then holding the coin tight in her hand, she drifted toward the market.

"Any wagers that she spends that on food?" Nurse asked me.

"I didn't tell you to give her two coins, did I? That's enough for one or the other. I hope she chooses wisely." We started once more toward the Basilica di San Zeno.

The original basilica had been damaged in the earthquake of old Verona. At that moment, the survivors determined to enlarge it and even now, so many years later, work progressed on the restoration. Every day, masses were said. Every day except Sunday, workmen hammered wood and chiseled stone. I'd grown up with the sounds of construction while I worshipped; I found it comforting to know so many men and women had lived and died creating this monument to God, a monument they would never live to see finished.

We'd reached the steps of the basilica when Friar Laurence hurried out, wiping his brow on his sleeve and his face droopy with worry. So anonymous was I, he walked past until I called his name. Then he cast his eyes heavenward in thanks, grabbed my arm, and dragged me along with him. "Duke Stephano's parents sent a message. We must go at once."

Nurse rushed after us. "What message, Friar?"

He kept walking, speaking back to her and then to me. "Last night, they arrived at Casa Creppa for a joyful reunion. Today they woke to find their remaining son and heir, Orlando, walking, walking, walking the corridors, eyes wide, seeing ghosts, hearing dread warnings and repeating them. They believe he's bewitched, but I suspect—"

"Poison," I said.