“Your dress does not become a penitent pilgrim nor a recent widow.” He narrowed his eyes at me and took me firmly by the wrist. “You will accompany me to the Palazzo Pubblico immediately, where i Noveschi are hearing claims. Unless, of course, you have the amount of thirty soldi on your person? I might be able to waive the presentation of your case to the council.” I did not, of course, have any soldi, having just learned what soldi were.
The Donnaio’s representative propelled me into the Sala della Pace. Lorenzetti’s figure of Justice sat enthroned on the wall above me, larger than life and brilliant with color. I looked up at her face and I hoped, feeling a little desperate, that she would weigh in favor of my case today.
On the next wall, the Effects of Good Government sprawled out from city to contado, bustling urban center to verdant countryside. Looking at the painting, I felt everywhere at once—peering into second-floor windows, buying shoes at a storefront, exiting the city gates, and hovering over woodland and pastures. Eight figures danced in the street, celebrating to the music of a tambourine player whose instrument I could almost hear jingling. A birdcage in a window barely contained its exuberant feathered inhabitant, and men bent intently around a game of dice on a low wall. The bound figure of Justice on the wall depicting the Effects of Bad Government stared mournfully at me, her scales broken.
The hall was filled with milling petitioners lining up to make requests or present cases. A ripple of excitement passed through the crowd as nine robed figures entered, making their way onto a raised platform at the front of the room. These were i Noveschi, the nine celebrated leaders of the republic, who enacted laws, declared edicts, and exacted punishments—including possibly mine. I looked at other petitioners while we waited. A diminutive nun stood in line a few people behind me. She raised her head from a document she was holding and caught my eye. The bells rang again, as they did every three hours to mark the divine office—it must be noon.
The complexity of the Sienese legal apparatus was interesting enough to distract me from my own problems. The first petitioner wore a midnight blue damask tunic edged with gold embroidery, and his dark brown curls clustered around his face under a soft velvet hat trimmed in fur.
“I, Tancredi Lisini, representing my consorteria, wish to bring attention to the document here presented. My brothers and I were taken into custody for the injury to the father of the Regnoni family, but the heirs have hereby produced this instrumentum pacis, eliminating the possibility of legal recrimination, and allowing us to participate in the Feast of the Assumption. We request that the state drop all criminal action in the resolution of this dispute.”
One of the Nine, centrally placed and apparently the chairman, squinted at Tancredi. “Even those producing instruments of peace must pay a penalty. The representative of the Lisini family must produce ten percent of the fine in lire for the crime with which the family has been charged, deliverable within seven days from this council.”
Tancredi retreated, bowing. I made a silent note to add lire to my list of fourteenth-century Sienese currency.
After fifteen more petitions, I started to feel faint. My last meal had been much smaller and longer ago than I would have liked. I started fantasizing about the water bottle in my bag but thought it might draw unhealthy attention, since there was no stainless steel in fourteenth-century Siena. Plus I didn’t want to have to find another restroom equivalent. Then, suddenly, it was my turn.
“Messer Stozzi, representative of the Donnaio of Siena, please step forward with your claim.”
I tried to stay calm. I couldn’t imagine my décolletage warranted hanging, but my lack of funds, inconsistent pilgrim story, and being a lone woman made a risky combination.
Stozzi began his formal address. “I Noveschi Onorevole, I present to you a self-proclaimed grieving widow and pilgrim from Lucca, incongruously dressed for her declared purpose. I discovered her parading in the piazza with no regard for modesty, and with no source from which to draw the required fine regarding her neckline. I present her case to you today rather than during the session established for pursuance of sumptuary infractions because of the singular nature of the situation in which I found her, and await your respected judgment.”
A sharp, high voice broke the silence after Stozzi’s account of my wardrobe offense. “The mantellate of the Ospedale della Scala—in particular I, Suor Umiltà, their humble representative—under the guidance of our esteemed rector, petition i Noveschi to fulfill their civic duty to the bereft widow and penitent pilgrim.” The speaker was the nun whom I’d seen earlier. Her voice was surprisingly loud, coming from such a small body. She took a huge breath and continued with her appeal. “This is the duty to which the Ospedale has devoted itself for centuries, with the Grace of God and the support of our magnificent commune, in the hands of its greatest rulers, whose purpose is to make the light of this gleaming republic shine all the brighter.” She had to take another breath. “I combine this plea for beneficence toward traveling pilgrims, whose good fortune it is to arrive at our gates, with a request for the funds to enable the completion of the fifth fresco on the facade of the Ospedale Santa Maria della Scala, the very site into which we welcome these souls in their journeys toward redemption.”
By now most of those present were staring at the speaker. She was dressed in black robes over a white scapular but clearly not cloistered. I wondered what mantellate meant in this context—“cloaked” was as far as I could get from the Italian. Her black and white robes were decorated with a curious insignia of a golden ladder.
“We welcome the generosity and beneficence of the commune in supporting the Ospedale, an august institution whose walls await the further attentions of Siena’s painters whose aim is to honor the Blessed Virgin who protects us.” That sounded good to me; I hoped it did to the experts. “I humbly suggest that the portion of the fine required for the unfortunate error of this young woman’s dress be subtracted from what I am sure will be a much greater sum intended for the beautification of the Ospedale with the aforementioned commission, which accounts can be settled at the next meeting of the Biccherna, until which time we request that this widow and pilgrim return with us to the Ospedale.” With that, Suor Umiltà clamped her lips shut and smiled winningly up at the platform on which the Nine were seated. She was clearly an expert at this.
One of the Nine responded. “Granted, on both counts, Suor Umiltà. The lady can return with you to the Ospedale, hereby spared a sentence for her violation of sumptuary laws. And the rector may invite submissions for the new fresco, with communal support.” I stopped registering anything after that, as my rescuer grabbed my elbow to hurry me out of the Sala.
* * *