Read Online After Hannibal by Barry Unsworth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barry Unsworth
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that.”
“We could get plaster casts of them made and put them all round the cloister in niches.”
“No, on stands.” Milly’s pale eyes were wide open and full of emotion. She brushed damp wisps of hair from her brow. “With their names underneath in those Gothic letters.”
During this time Monti heard nothing from his wife and he himself did not write. He had a visit from his landlord, Lorenzetti, a hard-faced, beaky man whom he did not like. Lorenzetti was concerned about the state of the road where the Checchetti wall had collapsed. Nothing much had been done as yet to clear it. There was some kind of quarrel going on with the English couple who lived further along the road. They were away now but Lorenzetti was intending to get to the bottom of the matter. Meanwhile he wanted to assure his tenant that the road would soon be back to normal. It was clear the Lorenzetti was concerned only to safeguard his rent; but he was glancing around, obviously curious, and might have asked about Laura’s absence. In a sort of panic to forestall this, Monti spoke rapidly and too loudly. No, the state of the road did not matter to him, so long as he could get out by car, he was not waiting for supplies of anything, he had enough wood for fires in the evening, the gas cylinder was still more than half full. He began to usher Lorenzetti out before the latter was really ready to leave. It seemed to him as they shook hands in parting that Lorenzettilooked at him oddly. As if, Monti thought later, he suspected I had hidden her somewhere or killed her.
He pursued his researches into the history of the Baglioni family with growing absorption. The base treachery surrounding the murder of Biordo Michelotti on that March day six centuries ago continued to hold a strong fascination for him. He had not so far succeeded in tracing any connection between Biordo’s bride and the murder; there was no evidence that her family had any political ambitions in Perugia. Nevertheless, he was reluctant to relinquish his notion of the wife’s guilt; the politics of the time were complicated; members of powerful families like the Orsini had often followed private aims, not necessarily those of the clan as a whole.
In his weekly seminar he suggested to the half-dozen under-graduates sitting round his room an approach to the dynamics of power in late medieval and early Renaissance Perugia through the chain of property, the process of driving out the proprietors, sacking the houses and then acquiring them on the cheap.
“Consider it,” he said. “After the murder of Biordo, the Guidalotti were driven out of the city and there is nothing to show that they ever came back. Their last sight of Perugia might well have been their own burning
palazzi
. Highly symbolic that, don’t you think, their power going up in smoke? After that they disappear from the annals, historically they cease to exist. It would be an interesting line of inquiry to find out who acquired those houses and whether they were acting for others. Certain it is who benefited ultimately. The death of Biordo destroyed the power of the Comune and left the way open for the return of the exiled families—the
fuorusciti
, those outside the gates. They reenteredPerugia, you will recall, in triumph, under the leadership of the great
condottiere
Fortebraccio. And who came in Fortebraccio’s wake?”
Monti paused and waited. Among the students there was a reluctant stirring, not readiness to respond but awareness that some sort of response was required. These seminars of his had not been much marked by the free exchange of ideas, or by dialogue of any kind for that matter, and Monti knew that the blame for this was his. He had not encouraged it, he had put up barriers even here. Since Laura’s leaving he had wanted only to retreat within himself. When he could not avoid contact, as now, a quality of sardonic detachment came into his tone and the students felt it. They were shy of him and
“We could get plaster casts of them made and put them all round the cloister in niches.”
“No, on stands.” Milly’s pale eyes were wide open and full of emotion. She brushed damp wisps of hair from her brow. “With their names underneath in those Gothic letters.”
During this time Monti heard nothing from his wife and he himself did not write. He had a visit from his landlord, Lorenzetti, a hard-faced, beaky man whom he did not like. Lorenzetti was concerned about the state of the road where the Checchetti wall had collapsed. Nothing much had been done as yet to clear it. There was some kind of quarrel going on with the English couple who lived further along the road. They were away now but Lorenzetti was intending to get to the bottom of the matter. Meanwhile he wanted to assure his tenant that the road would soon be back to normal. It was clear the Lorenzetti was concerned only to safeguard his rent; but he was glancing around, obviously curious, and might have asked about Laura’s absence. In a sort of panic to forestall this, Monti spoke rapidly and too loudly. No, the state of the road did not matter to him, so long as he could get out by car, he was not waiting for supplies of anything, he had enough wood for fires in the evening, the gas cylinder was still more than half full. He began to usher Lorenzetti out before the latter was really ready to leave. It seemed to him as they shook hands in parting that Lorenzettilooked at him oddly. As if, Monti thought later, he suspected I had hidden her somewhere or killed her.
He pursued his researches into the history of the Baglioni family with growing absorption. The base treachery surrounding the murder of Biordo Michelotti on that March day six centuries ago continued to hold a strong fascination for him. He had not so far succeeded in tracing any connection between Biordo’s bride and the murder; there was no evidence that her family had any political ambitions in Perugia. Nevertheless, he was reluctant to relinquish his notion of the wife’s guilt; the politics of the time were complicated; members of powerful families like the Orsini had often followed private aims, not necessarily those of the clan as a whole.
In his weekly seminar he suggested to the half-dozen under-graduates sitting round his room an approach to the dynamics of power in late medieval and early Renaissance Perugia through the chain of property, the process of driving out the proprietors, sacking the houses and then acquiring them on the cheap.
“Consider it,” he said. “After the murder of Biordo, the Guidalotti were driven out of the city and there is nothing to show that they ever came back. Their last sight of Perugia might well have been their own burning
palazzi
. Highly symbolic that, don’t you think, their power going up in smoke? After that they disappear from the annals, historically they cease to exist. It would be an interesting line of inquiry to find out who acquired those houses and whether they were acting for others. Certain it is who benefited ultimately. The death of Biordo destroyed the power of the Comune and left the way open for the return of the exiled families—the
fuorusciti
, those outside the gates. They reenteredPerugia, you will recall, in triumph, under the leadership of the great
condottiere
Fortebraccio. And who came in Fortebraccio’s wake?”
Monti paused and waited. Among the students there was a reluctant stirring, not readiness to respond but awareness that some sort of response was required. These seminars of his had not been much marked by the free exchange of ideas, or by dialogue of any kind for that matter, and Monti knew that the blame for this was his. He had not encouraged it, he had put up barriers even here. Since Laura’s leaving he had wanted only to retreat within himself. When he could not avoid contact, as now, a quality of sardonic detachment came into his tone and the students felt it. They were shy of him and
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