“The Ospedale has been my home since the night my parents left me in the stone basin in the piazza, where orphans are found by the Ospedale mantellate at sunrise.” She reached into her bodice and drew out half a metal disc on a narrow cord she wore about her neck.
“I was found with this wrapped in my swaddling clothes. Suor Umiltà says my mother left it with me so she could find me someday.” She tucked the pendant back into her dress. “She also tells me I will be an excellent cook.”
“I’m sure of it,” I said. We smiled at each other.
“Were you praying? I’m sorry if I interrupted you.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what I had been doing. She picked up the tray and the bells rang again. “Vespers,” she said, turning quickly through the door.
I headed out after her, tugging the bodice of my white underdress to make it cover more of my chest and draping my shawl over my shoulders; I’d have to come up with a more permanent solution later.
The small Ospedale chapel of the Santissima Annunziata was full. Some of the congregants looked like nuns, some like friars; others had the battered look of pilgrims. Many were dressed like the young cook-in-training I’d followed here. I realized I hadn’t asked her name. The vault filled with singing, and I let myself drift along with it, for a blessed moment not thinking at all. After the service ended, I stayed in the back of the church as it emptied.
Umiltà found me staring up at the stained glass windows of the clerestory. “Our church is plain, but filled with the essence of Our Lord, is it not? It is our duty, and our pleasure, to provide a haven for those in need.” Her tone changed abruptly. “Tell me again, of your origins, parentage, and purpose? Have you a letter from your local priest, or family, to support and sponsor your pilgrimage, a written certificate confirming your good character?” I made the disturbingly easy decision to lie again.
“I lost it in the mercato.” Umiltà’s eyes narrowed. Benjamin always used to say “When you have to lie, use the available facts.” I did. “I never knew my father, and my mother died shortly after I was born. I was raised by my older brother Beniamino, who also died, recently and unexpectedly. He was a . . . chronicler. My husband, a notary in Lucca, is dead as well. I embarked upon this pilgrimage along the Via Francigena with my head bowed in sorrow and loss.” I had a sudden image of my walk out the Porta Camollia, in my old time. Most of the story was true, including the sorrow and loss part, and being the widow of a notary would elevate my social status. “I hoped the journey would allow me to start a new life with a fresh heart.”
“How long do you plan to spend on this stop of your pilgrimage, Monna Trovato?” I hadn’t planned anything, of course, but didn’t say that.
“I am finding such consolation in the welcome of the Ospedale that I would like to prolong my stay, if possible. I hope that my skills may offset the burden that the Ospedale’s charity could engender.” Now I was speaking her language.
“I am glad you have found succor here, Monna Trovato. Tonight you will rest, and tomorrow we will undertake to find work to busy your hands while your soul heals. You have met Clara, who brought you food this evening? She will find you in the morning and direct you to the scriptorium after Mass.” With that informative pronouncement she sealed my immediate future, and I found my way back to my room.
I’d taken care of the basics now, escaped arrest, and made a few friendly acquaintances. That would have been fine if I’d moved to a new country. But this was time travel, not tourism. And if I couldn’t get out of here soon, I’d have to deal with the Plague. No brilliant plan to address this problem came to mind, and finally, overwhelmed by fatigue, I fell asleep.
* * *
I woke to the sound of bells the next morning at dawn. For a moment I thought everything that had happened might have all been a dream, until I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling of my room in the Pellegrinaio delle Donne. It’s July 7, 1347, I told myself, as if stating the date could force it to make more sense. I used the chamber pot in the corner, then tried my best to clean myself using a pitcher of water and a basin. I hadn’t seen anything resembling a bathroom yet. I had slept in my white linen dress from the twenty-first century—it made a reasonable medieval nightgown and undergarment, and I’d left the green dress draped over the back of the inginocchiatoio overnight.
The door opened and Clara appeared holding a flickering lantern as I was getting dressed. She hung the light on a metal hook in the wall and watched me as I tucked my handkerchief into my offending neckline. The handkerchief wasn’t entirely clean but neither was I, and I didn’t want to end up breaking any more indecency laws. While Clara wasn’t looking, I secured the handkerchief with the two twenty-first-century safety pins from my bag.
I stumbled down the dark corridor back to the Santissima Annunziata. The church glowed with candles; flickering light haloed the worshippers’ faces.
Oh Lord, make haste to help me . . . I recognized the Latin of Psalm Fifty-nine from Catholic school. It was nice to hear the familiar words; that sense of belonging across centuries was one benefit of religion. I’d never needed it so much before.
Let the heavens and all life on earth praise him who created them.
I watched the light grow brighter through the tall windows, making the panes glow.
And in the shadow of your wings I sing for joy.
The last lines of the morning psalms echoed in my head as the congregants rose. The sun was streaming into the chapel as we walked out. Clara asked me whether I had committed to daily fasting during my pilgrimage; I opted for food.
This time it was broth flavored with smoked pork ladled over a piece of bread. I ate in the company of hundreds of pilgrims seated at long trestle tables set up in the huge refectory of the Ospedale, the clamor of voices startling after the church’s quiet. After I finished eating, Clara led me to the scriptorium to meet the head scribe.
“Fra Bosi will be here shortly,” she announced, leaving me to look around.