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Chapter 6


“Hsst!” Gregorio was roused by Davit’s hand shaking his shoulder. He sat up and turned to face Davit. “We’re near to Ferrara. Sit up and look happy and healthy. This is one of the Papal States, their Jewish rules are pretty strict, and after the plague a few years ago they will bar anyone they suspect of ill-health from entry. So smile, look alert, and don’t say anything if you can help it.”

Gregorio nodded, and scrubbed his face with his hands. Davit looked at him, gave a sharp nod, then turned back forward.

The back of the wagon was basically empty. Bartolomeo was driving at the moment, so Sansone was in the back with Gregorio, but other than the packs that they each had, nothing was there. No barrels, no crates, no bundles of cloth or staves or anything like that, no lumps of pig iron. Looking around, Gregorio wondered if that might not look suspicious to any gate guards there might be. He hoped not.

He needed to wake up, Gregorio thought. They’d been on the road for two days. This was the evening of the second day, and he’d slept most of the way—well, dozed anyway. Sleep in a lurching wagon wasn’t necessarily a thing that happened with any regularity.

Bartolomeo drew the horses to a halt when a guard stepped out with a raised hand. Davit dismounted from the wagon and walked over to speak with him. Gregorio tried not to look at them, but did strain to hear their conversation. They were speaking quietly, though, so all he could hear was the rising and falling of the tones of their voices, with but an occasional word coming through.

After a couple of minutes of talking, Davit waved the guard over to the wagon. “See, we have no merchandise or goods, only our own bags. There is nothing to charge the excise tax on.”

“I don’t know,” the guard said. “You say you are merchants, yet you carry no goods. Looks like you might be spies to me.”

“Merda!” Davit exclaimed. “We dropped a load of cloth off in Bologna, and we’re on our way to Verona to pick up a load of books and haul it to Innsbruck. We’re supposed to get a load there to bring back to Trieste. The wagon belongs to my family, and these are Bartolomeo and Sansone, my drovers.” He gestured at them. “I’ll pay you the admittance fee, and a trifle more for your time, but not the excise tax, and I’ll appeal that to the city council if I must. Messer Marzarius will hear me, if no one else will.”

“Who is that, then?” The guard pointed to Gregorio.

“Gregorio, a friend of a friend, who is returning to his family in Innsbruck.”

The guard made a face, then said, “All right. But the next time you come through, you’d best have something in that wagon or we’ll tax you on the wagon itself.”

Davit pulled a purse out of his jacket, and proceeded to count coins into the guard’s hand. “And a bit more for your time,” he said at the end, placing a large coin on top of the stack.

The guard smiled, closed his fist around the coins, and gave a short bow to Davit. “Grazie, messer.” He stepped back and waved the wagon on through the gate after Davit clambered back on board.

After they were through the gate, Gregorio heaved a sigh of relief. Sansone looked at him and grinned. “The master can hold his own with any of the gate guards,” he said.

“So I see,” Gregorio replied, “and I’m glad. So where are we going from here?”

“We’ll spend the night at a small inn,” Davit said over his shoulder, “and be back on the road to Rovigno tomorrow. We’ll talk about that more later.”

Gregorio nodded, and leaned back against his knapsack. He watched the people in the streets of Ferrara. It was his first time to the town, and he looked at the clothing they wore with interest. Different from the clothes in Roma where he’d been the last three years; different from the clothes in Innsbruck where he’d been born and raised; different even from the clothes in Firenze and Bologna. It just amused him to see how the clothes were different from place to place, yet they all served the same purpose.

It wasn’t long—less than a quarter of an hour, perhaps—before the wagon turned into a gate that led to a stable yard behind a small inn. Bartolomeo pulled the wagon to a halt in front of a stable. Gregorio gathered his knapsack, and followed the others in dismounting from the wagon.

Davit beckoned to him. “You, with me.”

Gregorio followed Davit into the inn.

The innkeeper came out of a door at the back of the common room. He looked at Davit, and began shouting, “You! You dare to come back here! You thief, Donato, you son of a sow! You still owe me a soldi from the last time you were here!”

Donato? Gregorio looked around. He didn’t see anyone else. Who was Donato?

“Emilio, you cur’s get,” Davit said, spreading his arms. “I gave that soldi to your wife, the lovely Madelena. Did she not give it to you?”

Well, that answered that. Davit was Donato…or Donato was Davit. Gregorio gave his head a shake. He was confused.

“You gave the soldi to Madelena?”

“I swear it on my mother’s grave.” Davit still had his arms outstretched, but now he bent forward a little.

Both men burst out laughing, and embraced. “You’re still a son of a sow,” Emilio said, pushing Davit back with his hands on his shoulders, “but it’s good to see you. Are you staying long?”

“Just the one night,” Davit said. “I need to be in Verona as soon as possible.”

“Ah,” Emilio said. “Business is good, then?”

“I cannot complain…” Davit shrugged, “…much.”

“That good, eh? Good.” Emilio dropped his hands. “So, what’ll you have?”

“A bottle of Falerno, if you have one, and four cups. And my usual room.”

“Done, and done.”

Davit led Gregorio to a small round table in the back corner of the common room as Emilio bustled off. Sansone and Bartolomeo came in and took seats at the table just as Emilio came up with a bottle in one hand and a tray with four cups in the other. He set the bottle and the cups on the table before them. “Enjoy, my friends. And if you’re hungry, there is still some capon soup and a half loaf of barley bread left from dinner earlier.”

Davit looked at Gregorio, who nodded. “Bring it on,” Davit said as he reached for the bottle.

“I suspect you have questions,” Davit murmured as he filled the cups. “I’ll answer them in the room, all right?” He pushed a cup toward Gregorio.

Gregorio nodded, and took a sip of the wine. It was rich and full of flavor. “Mmm,” was all he said.

Emilio reappeared with a larger tray, from which he set four bowls of soup in front of the four men, and plopped the half loaf of bread in the midst of them. Gregorio looked at the bowl in front of him. He could see actual pieces of chicken floating in the liquid among slices of onion and what appeared to be slices of turnips, with little shreds of green scallions floating amongst them, all exuding a distinct odor of garlic. His mouth watered.

The others pulled spoons from their belt pouches. Davit paused and looked at Gregorio with a raised eyebrow. Gregorio turned his palms up, empty, and Davit’s mouth quirked.

“Hey, Emilio,” Davit called out. “Gregorio’s forgot his spoon. Loan him yours, will you?”

A moment later Emilio appeared at Gregorio’s side and offered him a carved wooden spoon with a deep bowl to it.

“Thank you,” Gregorio said as he took it.

“It’s nothing,” Emilio said with a smile. “You’re a friend of Donato’s, you can use it. Just don’t chew on it, eh? Teeth marks are so hard to smooth out of the wood.” And with a laugh, he turned to greet someone who had come in the door.

Gregorio watched as the others each tore a chunk out of the bread. He took the last piece. It was a bit stale, so he imitated the others by dipping it in the soup as he ate it to soften it up. It didn’t take long for them to finish the soup and the bread, and then to top off their cups and finish the wine. Sansone and Bartolomeo rose without a word when done and left through the door. Davit drained the last of his wine, and said, “Come on.” Gregorio finished his cup, left the spoon on the table amid the empty bowls, and followed Davit up the stairs to the second level.

Davit walked down the short hall to a door at the end, pushed it open, and stepped inside. Gregorio followed, and looked around as Davit closed the door and placed a bar across it. The room was small, with a single bed along one side and a small table with a wash basin and pitcher standing under a very small window that admitted little of the evening light. Davit sat on a short stool in one corner and waved at the bed, so Gregorio settled there.

“Ask your questions,” Davit said in a low voice, “but be quiet. I take this room because there is a noisy board in the hallway that will announce if someone is treading near the door to listen in, but no sense in taking chances.”

It took a moment for that to sink in, but Gregorio finally nodded in understanding. “Donato?” was his first question.

Davit shrugged. “There is disagreement among the various authorities and leaders as to whether a Jew must dress as a Jew or wear the sign when traveling. So I don’t. I travel under a different name, especially in the Papal States like Ferrara, or in the towns of prominent clergy.” He shrugged again. “Many of the rabbis say that it is permitted to tell a lie to save a life. This is but an extension of that.”

“Does not the command to not bear false witness address that?” Gregorio asked, brow furrowed.

“Not specifically,” Davit said with a bit of a smile. “In point of fact, that command actually is addressing perjury, not lying in and of itself.” His smile broadened. “You can check with your own learned men, of course. But scripture does say that truthfulness is to be desired, of course.”

Gregorio mulled that over, then put it in the back of his mind with the thought that he should indeed consult with a church scholar about it. “Sansone and Bartolomeo?”

“They will sleep in the stable tonight, to keep watch on the wagon and horses. Not that we expect problems—it is merely a precaution.”

“Ah. So where are we going, and how long do you think it will take?”

“That will all depend on the fairness of the weather, the soundness of the wagon, and the health of the horses. But if all goes well, we will follow the advice of my father. Probably a day’s travel from here to Rovigno. Then we follow the river Adige to Verona, hopefully no more than another two days. Then continue to follow the Adige up the mountain valley toward the Brenner Pass to Innsbruck.”

“That’s the way I came down when I came to Roma three years ago.”

“Well, since it will be an uphill climb this trip, it will probably take a little longer than when you came down. Again, if all goes well, two days to Trento, another two days to Bolzen, two days to the pass, and a day or so beyond the pass to Innsbruck. So, a week and a half from tomorrow if all goes well, more if it doesn’t.”

The thought of being out of Italy and north of the Alps in so short a time made Gregorio happy. The thought of still being in Italy for that long made his stomach clench into a knot. “I wish we could do it faster,” he said. “I wish we were driving into Innsbruck tomorrow. But hopefully God will preserve me until then.”

“From your mouth to His ear,” Davit said. “So, odds or evens to take the bed?” He held out a fist.

“No, you take it,” Gregorio said. “I would as soon have the floor.” He stood and pulled a blanket out of his knapsack.

“All right,” Davit said. “Sleep well.”

Davit lay down on the bed and turned toward the wall. Gregorio stretched out on the floor and rolled up in his blanket. He then pulled his crucifix out from under his shirt to kiss it, mentally recited a Pater Noster, and settled in to sleep. That night, the sleep came easily, and before long he was snoring softly.



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