speak on his behalf.’
The expression on Niccolò’s face is so grave and his eyes so dark and hollowed that Sofia fancies for a moment that it is Fosca who stands before her ready to do… whatever is about to be done. She watches as Niccolò leans in close to Agostino and mutters an inaudible explanation of how the ceremony should proceed and, as Agostino nods, images from her own scelta ceremony flood into her mind; she puts the corner of her thumb into her mouth and bites at a shred of skin; it tears as she pulls at it, and a small bead of blood swells.
‘I don’t think music really appropriate to the occasion. But we need something. Vico, will you find something to use as a drum?’ Agostino says.
Nodding, Vico crosses behind Federico and Giovanni Battista and picks up the small barrel which had contained their ale. He returns to sit beside Lidia and up-ends the barrel over his knees. ‘Pass the ladle over, will you?’ he mutters, and Cosima takes the wooden ladle from the vegetable bowl and hands it to him. He begins a slow and insistent beat with the handle of the ladle and with his fingertips, a soft pulse that rings out into the quiet of the big chamber. Sofia feels her own heartbeat quicken at the sound.
‘Angelo,’ Agostino says now. ‘Come and stand here by the fire.’
Without a word, Angelo moves to stand before Agostino and Cosima.
‘Angelo da Bagnacavallo, you have here been accused of a heinous and dreadful crime by two members of the troupe, and you have confirmed that accusation with your own words.’
‘I have.’
‘Do you stand by that confirmation, or do you wish to retract it?’
Angelo shakes his head. ‘I have no choice but to stand by it.’
Looking close to tears, Agostino says, ‘Are you ready… to take the consequences of having embarked upon a course of action incompatible with the life of a member of the Coraggiosi?’
‘I suppose I have to be. Yes. I am.’
The soft drumbeat quickens a pace.
‘I need to hear a declaration from you that you will set forth from here tonight with no malice, with no intent to bring disrepute upon the troupe, with no wish to cause harm to any member at any time in the future. Remember you are bound by the Tenure of the Road, as are we all.’
‘I so declare.’
Niccolò mutters something in Agostino’s ear, and he nods. ‘For should word reach us of any such defamation or harmful intent,’ he says, ‘the Tenure of the Road – shared by every member of every troupe upon the road – would be dissolved between us and we would feel obliged to alert the authorities immediately, laying before them all the facts as you have made clear this evening.’
Angelo swallows visibly. After a deep breath, he says, ‘I shall cause no harm to be brought upon the troupe.’
Vico’s drumbeat speeds up still further.
‘Then, Angelo da Bagnacavallo, despite the damage you have done to us and to others, I ask Genesius and Vitus to travel with you and to keep you safe, as a Brother of the Road.’ Agostino closes his eyes and clasps his hands. ‘Genesius and Vitus, keep our brother here safe from harm… but keep him too away from us. We do not wish to see him amongst us again.’
Niccolò whispers in Agostino’s ear again, and, opening his eyes once more, he nods, his face taut and miserable. ‘Angelo da Bagnacavallo,’ he says in a ringing voice, ‘take this handful of dust.’ And, reaching over to the outer edges of the hearth, he bends down and scrapes up a fistful of ash.
Angelo frowns slightly, as though unsure how to proceed, but he holds a hand, palm up, beneath the fist as Agostino allows the ash to trickle out, then he closes his fingers loosely over the little pile in his palm.
‘Mingle with that a pinch of the dust of the Coraggiosi.’ Agostino now has in his hand the small corked pot which Sofia last saw on the day of her scelta ceremony. He pulls the cork, puts finger and thumb into the neck of the pot and brings out a
The expression on Niccolò’s face is so grave and his eyes so dark and hollowed that Sofia fancies for a moment that it is Fosca who stands before her ready to do… whatever is about to be done. She watches as Niccolò leans in close to Agostino and mutters an inaudible explanation of how the ceremony should proceed and, as Agostino nods, images from her own scelta ceremony flood into her mind; she puts the corner of her thumb into her mouth and bites at a shred of skin; it tears as she pulls at it, and a small bead of blood swells.
‘I don’t think music really appropriate to the occasion. But we need something. Vico, will you find something to use as a drum?’ Agostino says.
Nodding, Vico crosses behind Federico and Giovanni Battista and picks up the small barrel which had contained their ale. He returns to sit beside Lidia and up-ends the barrel over his knees. ‘Pass the ladle over, will you?’ he mutters, and Cosima takes the wooden ladle from the vegetable bowl and hands it to him. He begins a slow and insistent beat with the handle of the ladle and with his fingertips, a soft pulse that rings out into the quiet of the big chamber. Sofia feels her own heartbeat quicken at the sound.
‘Angelo,’ Agostino says now. ‘Come and stand here by the fire.’
Without a word, Angelo moves to stand before Agostino and Cosima.
‘Angelo da Bagnacavallo, you have here been accused of a heinous and dreadful crime by two members of the troupe, and you have confirmed that accusation with your own words.’
‘I have.’
‘Do you stand by that confirmation, or do you wish to retract it?’
Angelo shakes his head. ‘I have no choice but to stand by it.’
Looking close to tears, Agostino says, ‘Are you ready… to take the consequences of having embarked upon a course of action incompatible with the life of a member of the Coraggiosi?’
‘I suppose I have to be. Yes. I am.’
The soft drumbeat quickens a pace.
‘I need to hear a declaration from you that you will set forth from here tonight with no malice, with no intent to bring disrepute upon the troupe, with no wish to cause harm to any member at any time in the future. Remember you are bound by the Tenure of the Road, as are we all.’
‘I so declare.’
Niccolò mutters something in Agostino’s ear, and he nods. ‘For should word reach us of any such defamation or harmful intent,’ he says, ‘the Tenure of the Road – shared by every member of every troupe upon the road – would be dissolved between us and we would feel obliged to alert the authorities immediately, laying before them all the facts as you have made clear this evening.’
Angelo swallows visibly. After a deep breath, he says, ‘I shall cause no harm to be brought upon the troupe.’
Vico’s drumbeat speeds up still further.
‘Then, Angelo da Bagnacavallo, despite the damage you have done to us and to others, I ask Genesius and Vitus to travel with you and to keep you safe, as a Brother of the Road.’ Agostino closes his eyes and clasps his hands. ‘Genesius and Vitus, keep our brother here safe from harm… but keep him too away from us. We do not wish to see him amongst us again.’
Niccolò whispers in Agostino’s ear again, and, opening his eyes once more, he nods, his face taut and miserable. ‘Angelo da Bagnacavallo,’ he says in a ringing voice, ‘take this handful of dust.’ And, reaching over to the outer edges of the hearth, he bends down and scrapes up a fistful of ash.
Angelo frowns slightly, as though unsure how to proceed, but he holds a hand, palm up, beneath the fist as Agostino allows the ash to trickle out, then he closes his fingers loosely over the little pile in his palm.
‘Mingle with that a pinch of the dust of the Coraggiosi.’ Agostino now has in his hand the small corked pot which Sofia last saw on the day of her scelta ceremony. He pulls the cork, puts finger and thumb into the neck of the pot and brings out a
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