Mayhem in Monti

A woman has been battered almost to death in her own home in the Monti rione.

The terrible assault took place in the Bobboli household in what was once the merchant quarter of the district. The widow Esmerelda Pozzoli was cook and her brother Enrico steward to Silvio Bobboli. Esmerelda was a well-liked and well-respected woman in her community, known for her generosity and good works in the parish.

Though still alive, visitors report that Esmerelda is not responding to her environment. She is capable of swallowing water and the thin broth that her brother feeds her but speaks never a word and seems unaware of her surroundings. A physician attends each day and the parish priest comes to pray over her and read to her from his breviary, but none know whether her situation may ever be ameliorated.

There is much speculation as to what exactly happened that night. Neighbours report shouting and screams: then silence. Those peeping out of their shutters speak of a group of street ruffians leaving the property an hour or so later. One was limping heavily; another seemed to be a prisoner; there was a boy with them; and one of those disreputable mendicant friars. The following morning a tumbrel arrived and took away a body – a very substantial body given the way the driver and his mate staggered under the load.

The next day Desiderata, the daughter of the Bobboli household was brought to her father’s door by none other than Lorenzo Bembo, the Venetian Agent, who spent a full hour at the Bobboli house with a scribe and another man, while his guards stood outside front and back. Folk speculate that this must all be connected to the commotion over by the Porta Nomentana. The name of Cola di Rienzo, the notaio from the Aventine rione whose fingers seem to be in so many pies these days, is also whispered as the benefactor who sent round the physician (and the tumbrel).

Silvio Bobboli and Enrico Pozzoli are saying nothing and swiftly change the subject when pressed. However, it is said that Esmerelda’s three sons are devoted to her and they be more persistent in demanding answers from their uncle and her employer. They are all professional soldiers, currently fighting down in the Regno for King Roberto.

Venetian Justice

Early risers near the Porta Nomentana yesterday cannot have failed to see, or at least to hear, the cavalcade of horsemen clatter out of the city. Those who laid eyes upon them would see the Lion of St. Mark on the gonfaloniere’s banner. Those adept in the reading of such things might add that their livery suggested some branch of the powerful Venetian Corner family and that their badges also bore insignia of the east coast city of Pescara. This then, averred the more knowledgeable, was the entourage of Beltrano Corner, the Venetian Agent of Pescara. The man himself rode at their head, like a peacock armed for war.

The horsemen – around two dozen – paid as little attention to the ruffians holding the Nomentana Gate than they did when they arrived a few days before. A few hundred yards up the Via Nomentana, half a dozen peeled off to ride towards a the large heap of rubble, overgrown with thorns and thickets from which thrusts the pile of an ancient edifice. The wise claim it was part of an aqueduct that carried fresh water to the city in the days of the Caesars. They dismounted: some held the horses, others disappeared into the bushes.

The rest of the Venetians headed further along the Via Nomentana, before striking off to the south. Observers scratched their heads at this for all that lay in that direction was an old mill, abandoned generations before, that now lay derelict.

Meanwhile, in the part of the city where the Quirinale and Viminale hills meet, another score of Venetians, this time afoot and in the colours of Lorenzo Bembo, the Venetian Agent of Rome, approached the substantial ruins known as the Baths of Diocletian. Amongst them was a scruffily dressed creature that some recognised as a Roman street ruffian, who fled the city some years ago after cheating the wrong people. He may once have had a real name but was universally known as La Donnola – the Weasel.

As they reached the Baths, the Venetians fanned out to form a cordon. Weasel was thrust into the broken down gateway that marked the entrance to the complex. A while later he returned with four others. Two were disarmed and bound by the Venetians. The other two, an emaciated friar, who looked somewhat ill-used, and a young lady who looked a little dishevelled but seemed otherwise unharmed, were treated with more kindness. All were led away to the Venetian Agent’s residence. A dozen soldiers peeled off and marched to the Nomentana Gate where they loitered, doubtless to ensure that the gates stayed open for the return of their comrades.

A couple of hours later Corner’s men trotted back to the Nomentana Gate. They were leading a string of laden mules and dragging a handful of captives. They were joined by their comrades from the aqueduct ruins. Those searching the mill in the hope of salvaging something anything left behind, found only the buzzing of flies and the barking of feral dogs fighting over some fresh corpses. Two more were found by the aqueduct ruins.

The next day, Beltrano Corner led his men once more through the Porta Nomentana, with the pack mules and a half dozen prisoners, no doubt to face Venetian justice in Pescara.

Later that day a man was thrown out of the Venetian residence and onto the streets. It was Weasel, his face disfigured by the angry red mark of the branding iron. Most thought him a lucky man. The Venetians seldom show such mercy to those that steal from them.

Fortune and Misfortune

After our encounter with the coacal demon, life returned to normal and we toiled in the heat to stay fed. The long hot summer ended in heavy rain, which washed the city streets clean again, however briefly.

At the end of summer the Tiber rose again, more and more after each storm, until the scribblers could no longer go down the tunnel of the ancients to copy the lost texts for Cola. It was then we had our first real action in months. It is a tale of fortune and misfortune entwined, with a lesson to confess. Confession is good for the soul, as Friar Giovanni tells me at least ten times each day. His penance for his part is to write these letters for me.

Out of the blue Trucco came to me and said : ' Cola has a job for your crew. When you first came to the city Friar Michele was the good shepherd who sent you here, along with so many other waifs and strays. Now he has gone missing, and Cola would know why. So sniff around, and see what has become of him.'

So with Friar Giovanni and Rocco, Astore and I began our search; we were guided by little Pino who knows the streets and alleys better than all of us together. It seemed to our company that retracing our way into the city was the best way to start our search. The old tunnel of the ancients comes out under the Baths of Diocletian, which is a big ruin surrounded by a rough common of no-mans-land, so we sent the Friar in to sniff for news or trouble, and he found that quick enough.

We had hardly put down our packs and stretched out in the sun, when he ran back outside with a black eye and no begging bowl. 'Get them' he cried, forgetting to turn the other cheek or forgive those who had tresspassed against him. ' Them ' turned out to be two evil-looking thugs, one large and one small, who turned tail and fled as soon as Rocco and Astore ran after them, along with the enraged Friar. Now he often tells me 'Pride Comes Before A Fall' and proved the Gospel teachings for us all with his own example. For they were waiting for him in the dark passages and chambers within, and clubbed him down within a few heartbeats. Astore and Rocco dragged him out under the aim of a crossbow, after exchanging a few choice words with the gang who had taken over that great warren of rubble.

Friar Giovanni was in a bad way - he had fainted after a mace had smashed into his thigh - and now lay as if dead. So we hauled him quickly to two nearby churches, but no Good Samaritans were home for wounded mendicants, so the Barber's shop would have to do instead. I bought an old litter so we could carry him back home as soon we could. Cola paid for a Franciscan Friary to fix him up, and by their prayers the very next day he was able to limp after us as we went off again.

We set a watch on the ruins, and saw the same pair of villians go to-and-fro with a heavy pack of goods and provisions. They visited an address a mile or so away in Monte, a run-down district of the Eternal City. They were wary of spies, and alert for followers, so clearly their affairs of business raised suspicion. Local sources said that the gang had taken over the ruins a fortnight ago, and now controlled the destitute families who lived there. Friar Michele had not been seen since the gang showed up, so it seemed most likely that they were involved in his fate. The goods they were trading were strange - some Greek wine and spices from the end of the world- and they had found a local merchant called Bobboli to deal with.

So we went went back to Cola to report all we had discovered. One of the names mentioned meant something to him, and he sent us striaght back out to ask hard questions of the merchant; a midnight knock and interrogation was the order.

Back through the dark streets and alleys we went, but tooled up properly this time, and midnight saw us knocking on the merchant's door right enough. Rocco and Astore went through a window, while I broke the back door down when the screaming started. Who should we find within but our old pair of villians, who bore their nick-names 'Weasel' and 'Piglet' well enough. They were not pleased to have unexpected guests visit the merchant, so we debated the matter with steel until Roco killed Piglet with some vicious dagger strikes and Weasel surrendered rather than feel any more of my heavy axe.

And now for the moral part of my story.

By misfortune Astore had woken the cook who would scream and fight rather than stay quiet and out of the fray. The more she screamed the madder he got, and the more she got hurt the louder she screamed. A bad business, for it is unwise to provoke those who walk on the iron road to hell. I am no angel to cast a stone, but it was a sin to cut down an unarmed woman who had nothing to do with villany. Friar Giovanni was rightly dismayed and put forth all his skills and prayers to save her life, even though Rocco had taken a nasty dagger wound in his hip and could now hardly walk. The Lord answered his prayers and this pious woman was drawn back from the edge of eternity to her sick-bed.

The merchant spilt the truth without any hard questions - the sight of the kitchen battlefield was enough to convince him of the need to confess his involvement with their schemes straight away. He bitterly regretted agreeing to fence their goods for a tenth part, and wailed that his daughter was now a hostage to ensure his obedience.

Weasel was our prisoner and feared for his skin; he did not like the sharpness of my axe or the look in Astore's eyes. He babbled that he was just a pawn in the game, but one who might be exchanged for Friar Michele, who he said was held captive in the ruins. Such a trade seemed unlikely, but nonetheless we took him back with us unharmed, along with some of the wine and exotic spices the merchant had concealed.

And Lo! Fortune followed hard on Misfortune, for when we returned, well after midnight, we found The Black Cat ablaze with lights and Cola entertaining two Venetian nobles dressed like peacocks. I could not afford a feather in the Venetian Agent's hat, but he was delighted to receive our prisoner and the goods we had found as hard evidence of piracy. All the colour drained from Weasel's face when he saw these peacocks, and it seemed he would need to sing like a canary if he wished to save his skin from the Venetians he had robbed.

"The state of Venice thanks you for your help' - I never thought to hear those words addressed to me, and note them in this Journal for posterity. More to the point, they gave us a heavy bag of gold coins as a reward. They made it plain that they would take our information and the hard evidence recovered and lay their vengeance upon the pirate gang right quick. And away they went, leaving Cola delighted; he gave us each 8 Venetian ducats from the bag, saving us all from poverty once more.

Cola was less pleased to hear that an innocent had been harmed in our afray, and sternly commanded Astore to mind his conduct and do penance for his sins if he wished to remain in his employ.

And so ends this little tale of Fortune and Misfortune: a mortal sin narrowly averted by pious prayer, with golden fortune following swiftly at the whim of Providence.