seen his tomb there. He is venerated as a great teacher.’
Manodorata raised his dark brows. ‘Yes. He is commonly depicted with a flaming, arrow-pierced heart in his hand, symbolizing the intensity of his piety. And yet, to my people, he is a purveyor of great ignorance, for Christ himself was a Jew , and was killed by the Romans under Pilate, as your scripture clearly records. You might say that your ancestors were more culpable than mine . Yet the accusation has dogged us through the centuries. Here in this town I am hated for a similar charge of murder.’
Simonetta chilled, and suddenly regretted her isolation.‘Murder?’ It was little more than a croak.
‘I killed a man’s wife.’
Simonetta spun round, searching Manodorata’s face for the signs of a black jest. They were there, for the thin lips lifted again.
‘My offence was nothing more than crossing the square on the same eve as her, walking widdershins, on a night when the moon was fat and full. The dame took the milk fever, sickened and died. Her husband now throws stones at my children in the street.’ Simonetta tried to speak, but he went on. ‘I do not seek sympathy. The burden of my tale is this: some of the earliest of my peoples – the Zealots – were besieged by the earliest of yours – the Romans. And yet, here we are. We live, we breathe. You have had a husband, and I,’ the eyes softened again, ‘I have a wife. And, forgive me, but you are young. It may still be that you will love again.’
‘That will never be,’ said Simonetta shortly, and marched a little ahead.
Manodorata smiled a little for he saw more than he said. He followed her and took her arm and turned her round to him. ‘Tell me, Signora, do you pray?’
‘Pray?’
‘You are a Christian. Do you pray, and attend mass?’
‘Yes…that is, I used to.’
‘Yet now you look to classical legends for your comfort? Perhaps it would be better to look to your God?’
‘ You can say that? You who have been so persecuted by Christians through the ages? And are persecuted still?’
Manodorata shook his head. ‘The offences done to me were done by man, not God. Your faith will help you if you return to it. I hold no hatred for your Christ, only for those who do ill in his name.’
Simonetta was amazed. She had never known such forgiveness, and knew well that Gregorio, Raffaella and the Jew-hating citizens of Saronno would never show such compassion or understanding of another religion. She felt that she wanted to atone for the wrongs done to this man and his people, but what could she do? He turned his gaze upon her, his grey eyes penetrating her thoughts.
‘You can do much by doing little. If you treat me with civility, invite me into your house, such small steps will change worlds.’ He offered her his arm as if challenging her to show her goodwill. She took it gladly as they walked to the house. Raffaella and Gregorio may have returned by now and could be watching from the windows but she cared not. As she walked through the loggia and led Manodorata over her threshold, she felt an inner thankfulness. In a heart that felt by turns either the killing cold of the loss of Lorenzo, or the burning heat of Bernardino’s gaze as he painted her, she now felt new warmth; that she had found a friend.
CHAPTER 12
Selvaggio Speaks and Amaria Sees
Amaria remembered always the first sound that Selvaggio made. He had been with them for some weeks, and had, as his health improved, appointed himself some small tasks around the house and yard that might help those that had helped him. He never uttered, but his actions spoke for a good heart as he chopped wood, tended the chickens or fed the pig. He fitted into the lives of the two women in a way so unobtrusive, yet so fitting, that they would scarcely have been able to tell of the change, yet they would miss him immeasurably if he was absent. The two of them felt it acutely if he went for water, or off to market, and left them
Manodorata raised his dark brows. ‘Yes. He is commonly depicted with a flaming, arrow-pierced heart in his hand, symbolizing the intensity of his piety. And yet, to my people, he is a purveyor of great ignorance, for Christ himself was a Jew , and was killed by the Romans under Pilate, as your scripture clearly records. You might say that your ancestors were more culpable than mine . Yet the accusation has dogged us through the centuries. Here in this town I am hated for a similar charge of murder.’
Simonetta chilled, and suddenly regretted her isolation.‘Murder?’ It was little more than a croak.
‘I killed a man’s wife.’
Simonetta spun round, searching Manodorata’s face for the signs of a black jest. They were there, for the thin lips lifted again.
‘My offence was nothing more than crossing the square on the same eve as her, walking widdershins, on a night when the moon was fat and full. The dame took the milk fever, sickened and died. Her husband now throws stones at my children in the street.’ Simonetta tried to speak, but he went on. ‘I do not seek sympathy. The burden of my tale is this: some of the earliest of my peoples – the Zealots – were besieged by the earliest of yours – the Romans. And yet, here we are. We live, we breathe. You have had a husband, and I,’ the eyes softened again, ‘I have a wife. And, forgive me, but you are young. It may still be that you will love again.’
‘That will never be,’ said Simonetta shortly, and marched a little ahead.
Manodorata smiled a little for he saw more than he said. He followed her and took her arm and turned her round to him. ‘Tell me, Signora, do you pray?’
‘Pray?’
‘You are a Christian. Do you pray, and attend mass?’
‘Yes…that is, I used to.’
‘Yet now you look to classical legends for your comfort? Perhaps it would be better to look to your God?’
‘ You can say that? You who have been so persecuted by Christians through the ages? And are persecuted still?’
Manodorata shook his head. ‘The offences done to me were done by man, not God. Your faith will help you if you return to it. I hold no hatred for your Christ, only for those who do ill in his name.’
Simonetta was amazed. She had never known such forgiveness, and knew well that Gregorio, Raffaella and the Jew-hating citizens of Saronno would never show such compassion or understanding of another religion. She felt that she wanted to atone for the wrongs done to this man and his people, but what could she do? He turned his gaze upon her, his grey eyes penetrating her thoughts.
‘You can do much by doing little. If you treat me with civility, invite me into your house, such small steps will change worlds.’ He offered her his arm as if challenging her to show her goodwill. She took it gladly as they walked to the house. Raffaella and Gregorio may have returned by now and could be watching from the windows but she cared not. As she walked through the loggia and led Manodorata over her threshold, she felt an inner thankfulness. In a heart that felt by turns either the killing cold of the loss of Lorenzo, or the burning heat of Bernardino’s gaze as he painted her, she now felt new warmth; that she had found a friend.
CHAPTER 12
Selvaggio Speaks and Amaria Sees
Amaria remembered always the first sound that Selvaggio made. He had been with them for some weeks, and had, as his health improved, appointed himself some small tasks around the house and yard that might help those that had helped him. He never uttered, but his actions spoke for a good heart as he chopped wood, tended the chickens or fed the pig. He fitted into the lives of the two women in a way so unobtrusive, yet so fitting, that they would scarcely have been able to tell of the change, yet they would miss him immeasurably if he was absent. The two of them felt it acutely if he went for water, or off to market, and left them
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