Ghino di Tacco

By Giancarlo Guidotti

Ghino di Tacco’s family was the head of a vast anti-Guelph resistance movement, which covered most of the area situated to the southeast of Siena, as far as the Val di Chiana. It was right in the middle of this turbulence, in such tumult of different worlds, that the horizon of the Sienese state was crossed, like a meteor, by the figure of Ghino di Tacco. His is the tragedy of all 13th Century.

“Not a few are the pages of pathos and of extraordinary fascination, in particular,

the final pages of Ghino di Tacco, wounded, who, almost at the end, sees and

remembers, while the troops go into battle.” (Lugaresi - writer).

The book has been well received by newspaper critics and film directors because of the engrossing plot that unwinds in it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Giancarlo Guidotti
• Release date: Mar 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9788887331196

Giancarlo Guidotti

Giancarlo Guidotti was born in Piancastagnaio- Siena. Graduated in Modern Letters at the Rome University, living in Padua.He has numerous literary contests:International Competition “The Patarina”Rome 1972National Competition in Cosenza “Three Valleys 1988”Este National Competition Award 1990.He has collaborated with cultural Italian and foreign magazines. His wirks have been published in journals:The Literary Fair, Future of Europe. On Anthologies: Graffiti Club degli Editori 1977. Writers of World War II 1989. Broad national consensus of literary criticism (Book Fair Turin) and foreign (International Frankfurt Fair, and Pensee Universelle in Paris) has received a critical essay on “De Sanctis and French Naturalism 1989.In 2001 he published the novel with historical background a heel “ Ghino di Tacco called the Hawk”. Tells the story of a noble now outlawed already mentioned by Dante Alighieri and reported by Boccaccio in the Decameron the episode of the abduction of the Abbot of Cluny.In 2001 he published “The Hawks Amiata” Historical-critical essay on the powerful family of Palatine Aldobrandeschi.In 2003 he published “Strokes of Light”. Novel memories and experiences in memory of Tiziana Rossi, a 19 year old girl in love with life, died in a car crash.( Reviewed and presented by Rai-2003)In 2005 he published “Ezzelino the tyrant” published by University Cleup Padova. Second printing in 2006.In 2007 he won the International competition for fiction Atheste, first prize with the historical novel Ezzelino the Tyrant.In 2008 he won the International competition for research Atheste historic first prize with the book “Francesco Petrarca.” (Presented at the RAI program “Benjamin”).

Book preview

Ghino di Tacco CalledTHE HAWK

By Giancarlo Guidotti

Published by Giancarlo Guidotti at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 Giancarlo Guidotti

English translation by Andrew Walker

Introduction

Ghino di Tacco’s family was the head of a vast anti-Guelph resistance movement, which covered most of the area situated to the southeast of Siena, as far as the Val di Chiana. It was right in the middle of this turbulence, in such tumult of different worlds, that the horizon of the Sienese state was crossed, like a meteor, by the figure of Ghino di Tacco. His is the tragedy of all the big feudal families, and this explains the way that Dante Alighieri speaks about it.

Ghino di Tacco is the figure that sums up the dramatic social effects and the changes in economics and politics that took place during the 13th Century.

Not a few are the pages of pathos and of extraordinary fascination, in particular, the final pages of Ghino di Tacco, wounded, who, almost at the end, sees and remembers, while the troops go into battle. (Lugaresi - writer).

The book has been well received by newspaper critics and film directors because of the engrossing plot that unwinds in it.

Chapter I

In the large refectory, after dinner and thanksgiving, in the welcome heat of the large brazier and the soft light of the torches attached to the pillars, Prior Aloisio was the first to rise, but he remained at his place, standing up in all his enormous bulk.

"Brothers, I have received another message from Abbot Desiderio, our Father Superior, that our brother from north of the Alps, Hugo the Abbot of Cluny, is at this time in the city of Siena and hopes to be a guest in our abbey on the tenth day of this month, and he will honour us with his presence for a few days.

He counsels us to be as diligent as possible in making preparations, so that we can welcome him with great care.

Perhaps Desiderio had really given these instructions, as was his duty, but Prior Aloisio emphasized them, seeing himself in his role as guardian of the community.

His big eyes moved from one table to another, lingering on the brothers who had greater responsibilities.

Brother Luca, have you prepared the large priory cell and everything necessary to take care of Abbot Hugo’s retinue? Because we will certainly need every bed and every plate that we can possibly obtain.

Brother Luca was the steward of the community and was responsible for providing for all the needs that the monks might have during the course of every day. His mind was seldom torn away from his duties. He lifted his gaze slightly, then pulled himself together and stared at the prior with eyes wide open.

Yes, everything is ready; our monastery will welcome the reverend abbot fittingly, he said, pleasantly surprised that anyone would have thought it necessary to ask him.

The Abbot of Cluny reached the abbey on the evening of the eleventh accompanied by a novice who acted as attendant and, at the same time, as secretary, and a few metres behind his mare there were three other monks holding the halters of two mules loaded with the provisions needed for this long journey.

The main gate of the monastery walls was open, with lighted torches on both sides, in expectation of their arrival.

The prior, with a solemn expression for the occasion, was waiting for him with the gate wide open; he went to meet him and when Abbot Hugo dismounted from the mare, he embraced him with a gesture full of respect and devotion.

Thank you Aloisio, the abbot said, it is a great joy for me to cross the threshold of this sacred place whose fame has reached me in far off Cluny. I am going as a penitent to the tomb of the Prince of the Apostles at Rome, but first I must rest my poor body, which suffers from a disease that for too long now has made painful my pilgrimage on earth.

Aloisio held out his arm so that the brother could rest his hand to help him climb the step of the gateway, which was slightly higher than the others.

Hugo was about fifty years old, stout but jovial in looks and manners; the fixity of his gaze nevertheless denoted a very resolute character.

Aloisio then gave orders to the attendants to take the mounts and lodge them in the stables that leant against the high wall of the monastery.

Inside the cenoby, there was a tree-lined road that, typical of Tuscany, had slender cypresses, a plant that, perhaps more than any other, because of its form tapered upwards, guides one’s thoughts towards the Hereafter.

The path leading to the church was not very long, because the monastery was certainly not as large as the great mother house north of the Alps.

To the left and right, for a short stretch, lay the kitchen gardens where the work of the attendants had got the better of the hard clay soil. At the end of the road there were buildings close to the abbey church; the prior’s house was at the centre while the pilgrims’ house was at the far side of the large courtyard that opened out in front of the abbey gateway.

On the left, a series of farmhouses rested against a high wall that bounded the area of the entire complex of buildings.

The stern outline of the church stood out before his eyes, almost as if to attest that the power of the order was not only in the realm of the spiritual: after all, one of the offices of the monastery was to be part of the council of the Commune of Siena, through its abbot. The abbey possessed, in fact, mills, livestock and extensive land, down as far as the Maremma.

The Abbot of Cluny was immediately struck by the magnificence of the chancel and by the abundance of the decorations, particularly of the capitals of the pillars of the central nave: leaves in the form of spears, smooth, striped, acanthus leaves woven together in endless spirals.

For a moment, he remained there entranced, gazing at that forest of stone. Amongst the pillars that held up the imposing vault of the central nave, only the sound of footsteps and the prayers of two monks kneeling before a reliquary illuminated by a host of candles could be heard.

Kneeling behind the monks, Hugo and Aloisio joined in their prayer. After crossing themselves, the two monks rose and humbly approached the abbot, who greeted them with a smile:

The Lord be with you.

And they replied to the invitation:

And with your spirit.

Once his sight was accustomed to the dim light, the abbot’s attention was drawn to a vision afforded to him as he reached the foot of the long flight of steps of the presbytery.

The glimmering light of a lantern had brought to life the expression of a face impressed on a large painting. Hugo continued for a few paces; that image had taken shape in his mind, and he turned back and lingered for a few minutes, seemingly struck by the suffering gaze of a gigantic crucified Christ.

He scrutinised the gaunt body, those eyes full of pain that death had caught open by surprise; perhaps he would have liked to see in them a hint of tenderness and of sympathy for his person, for that poor soul of his that in the dim light of the church, far from the grandeur to which he was accustomed in his monastery, seemed free from the constraints of a body which had become heavier and heavier in the last few years.

The monks were in the stalls, forty figures all looking alike in their habits, forty shadows barely lit by the fire of a large brazier. The singing of psalms was interrupted by a monk who placed the book on a lectern and read a brief passage of Scripture before resuming the singing of Te Deum laudamus, joined by the deep voce of the abbot.

Outside the sky was dark, and one could breathe a peace in the air that announced that very soon snow would fall.

When vespers were over, the servants returned to their duties and the monks set off in silence towards the refectory: a large hall lit by big torches, where flickers of bright light flashed and vanished, portrayed themselves and clashed on the dark painted walls.

Seated in the shadows, Brother Luca observed Abbot Hugo’s rotund profile. Aloisio walked the entire length of the room and invited the guest to sit to his right while the other monks, still, with their capes lowered over their faces and their hands clasped under the heavy scapular awaited the prior’s Benedicite.

The rule of our holy founder calls for a frugal meal, Aloisio began after sitting down and turning to the illustrious guest, but…, after all, our table, like those of almost all the cenobies close to the high road leading to the holy city of Rome, offers hospitality not infrequently to distinguished guests, and the abbeys are proud to offer the fruits of their land and the produce of their stalls.

Veneranda dies, said the prior raising the tone of his voice, a memorable day for us in which our humble walls can welcome the presence of a great brother, who has come in the name of our founder to bring us his blessing, certain that, as a pilgrim, he will carry to the tomb of the Prince of Apostles the prayers which are the voice of our community.

The guest, leaning his shoulders on the high back of the chair, tried with all his might to pay attention to the sermon that the brother in that moment was declaiming before all the community.

In this pilgrimage that you are about to undertake, the journey is full of danger and narrow, just as narrow and winding is the way, though pleasant; and pleasant and narrow is the path that leads to salvation - a path that involves escape from vices, mortification of the flesh and growth in virtue.

The sermon that Aloisio had begun, to gain the favour of the attention and goodwill of Hugo his guest, ended by drawing him in directly, inviting the brethren to observe a moment of silence and meditation for the sad events that in those years were subverting society.

After this, the brother had recommenced reading the sacred texts accompanied by the muffled tinkling of cutlery on the clay bowls in which the monks at that time were eating their frugal evening meal. Aloisio bowed his head to the right towards the abbot with a conspiratorial tone of voce: You well know my faithfulness, Father Abbot, he commenced, admiring the impassibility of his noble aspect just as I know yours. But we have a lot else in common, and I would like to know what you can tell me about what happened at Siena.

I fully realise this, agreed the abbot with a sad smile. I was called by one who had the right to call me and I went full knowing how things stood: the merchant bourgeoisie demands to hold all the power of the republic in its hands, opposing every expectation of the old nobility of the city.

There was something in the dry and measured voice of the abbot that made Aloisio prick up his ears, because the sober words that Hugo had uttered betrayed an unprecedented seriousness that could be judged rather suspect.

But then there was a meeting in town? Did you attend, Father? Aloisio asked.

Yes, there was a meeting; rather short and not very clear in its course. Mostly it was the noble Piccolomini who spoke, said the abbot in a calm and tolerant tone, but it was clear that he had not been part of that group.

I had the feeling, Hugo added, while he slipped his plump hands under the heavy scapular "that they were rather confused about how they should reply to the arguments of the Tolomei, and I saw them step off to one side as if to confer. Then, taking advantage of that break, a man came forward and held out a parchment to Alberti, asking him to read it aloud, with such self-confidence that I still ask myself why he did not read it himself. Instead, Alberti opened it and started to read to himself, and a moment later he was thundering furiously that this document was an insult to the entire respectable assembly: the argument was unbecoming, those who had written it were potential enemies of the noble class and of his family in particular, and he would not read a single word of it in such a sacred place for the life of the city.

After this, the abbot related sadly, "Piccolomini, who in that moment had re-entered the great Council hall with his group, tore it from his hands and read it in a very loud voice, overpowering the voices of Alberti and Tolomei who tried to silence him. It was a petition to all present and in particular to the podestà, that there be a return to normal relations between the nobility and the bourgeoisie, which at that time held the reins of power.

"‘I,’ Piccolomini stated, ‘am at the service of the Republic and I am here to accuse openly in front of the Assembly all those citizens who with every means and with the power they hold permit that certain persons, which the city has outlawed and condemned to death in absentia, be rehabilitated. I well know that it is to the credit of the Tolomei and Alberti families that they have served our Republic for many years; the same service that we are now all rendering at this time; but we cannot accept that a member of this family, Ghino di Tacco, with his acts of banditry hinder and damage the trade of Siena, just as others like him are doing! The complaints of merchants robbed of their goods reach our ears continually, and lastly, a very serious matter, this also involves Florentine merchants who have asked their city to let us know that they will not tolerate their citizens having to put up with such abuses.’

"Piccolomini, addressing the assembled company with wild gestures said: ‘We cannot permit and … we do not want the truce in force between Florence and Siena to be broken by a bandit.’

‘Hear hear!’ exclaimed one of the members, inviting the others to unite in approval of Piccolomini’s words.

The Abbot of Cluny, judging by the passion with which he related these facts, this unjustified act of Piccolomini bereft of any pretence of goodwill, of justice and of reconciliation, showed that he was troubled to the depths of his heart. First at vespers, and now at dinner in the refectory, that face remained in his mind, so that he only paid occasional attention to the readings that the monk gave forth from the pulpit with a voice broken at times by coughing, and he even found it difficult to concentrate on the prayers. Even though what he had been offering to the Creator, with gratitude, praise and humility, for the gifts of that day, was also a kind of prayer.

After the abbot had sprung to his feet with imprudent haste and groaned for the creaking of his old bones, he gave the sign of the blessing with a sweeping gesture towards the monks who were immobile and upright at their places and who, after stooping and saying amen in chorus, began to move towards the chancel for the office of compline.

They lowered their capes once more over their faces and lined up along the corridor which led to the south portal, intoning the antiphon Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini.

Hugo went out into the garden, instead of going to the chapterhouse for the usual readings of the divine word, and stopped for a long time to observe the sky. It would be over an hour before the setting sun started to sink behind the treetops of the woods on the surrounding hills.

That evening he was especially tired, after a journey of many hours on the hard back of his horse, and then… those pains that did not give him rest, he felt weariness in all his limbs; during the singing of vespers he had been seen to huddle himself together more than once.

Aloisio preceded him with quick strides into the dim light of the cloister that was illuminated every now and then by a few lamps whose flickering flames lit up the faces of sacred images.

He hastened to close the shutters of the narrow window, which had been opened a few minutes previously to change the air in the room that had been closed for a long time and which, at that time, were slamming repeatedly because of the strong wind that had risen.

The abbot lifted the palms of his hands to his mouth and blew on them, continuing to do so for a few moments.

The room, not very big, was cold; however, the sight of a fireplace on a blackened wall managed to brighten his expression immediately.

The prior sensed the thought that was passing through the brother’s mind and said: I hope that this humble abode will be worthy of honouring your person; I will have the fire lit in the hearth so that you can rest during the night which is already getting rather cold.

Hugo seemed satisfied with Aloisio’s attentiveness and with a paternalistic gesture approved his words, and wishing to point out the suffering that his body bore with it, reached out his hand to the brother’s forearm, gripping it and leaning the weight of his tottering gait on it.

He then signed that he wanted to sit on the bench placed right beside the hearth, adding that he would like to sit there for a few moments to heat up his poor bones.

The prior left the room and returned immediately, accompanied by a monk who followed him at a short distance with a humble look.

The room was soon lit by the glow of a large flame fed by small dry firewood to which large logs had been added so that the fire could last as long as possible.

Seeing that the fire was burning, the attendant stood up from the step on which he had been kneeling to attend better to his task, and turning with a nod of assent to the prior who was to the side and a gesture of reverence towards the guest, he started to move towards the door.

The flame, which at that moment was very high, lit up the face of the gigantic attendant monk, and threw a large shadow of him on the opposite wall of the cell. The abbot watched him for a moment, and despite the fact that the ample cape hid most of the monk’s face, he could see a long scar that crossed the right cheek starting from the cheekbone and merged with the line of his lips.

The expression was proud, notwithstanding the gentleness that accompanied his movements, and the eyes that for a few moments had stayed fixed on those of the abbot were lowered as he bowed his head in token of respect.

Hugo, turning towards Aloisio with approval, added: With sons like this, your cenoby will never have to fear anything that could harm the serenity of its life, that serenity that I could not find in the prosperous city of Siena, which is still torn by conflicts between factions.

Yes! Venerable Father, replied Aloisio, lifting his arms and his gaze to heaven. It seems that the evil one has got the upper hand in the souls of people; the passion, the craving for power, the greed with which the merchants conduct their dealings, the greed with which they accumulate their treasure, all seems to lead to the thought that there cannot be any room left in them for God. This brother of ours has been part of our family for many years now; here he has found the peace and serenity that the riches and the power of his family did not succeed in giving him.

At this point the abbot seemed to have forgotten the aches and pains and the cold of the room, and gestured to the prior and to the attendant monk to sit on the other bench opposite to him, his curiosity aroused by those words and by the person in front of him, and began to inquire.

The first words were met by a long pause, but when his initial reluctance was overcome, with the help of a sign of approval that the prior gave him with a glance, the attendant monk began his tale.

"I am a humble servant of our Lord Jesus Christ, and for about twenty years I have been in this oasis of peace that the goodness of our Founder, Saint Benedict, has permitted me to enjoy…, a place that has enabled me to find peace in my soul and the possibility of hearing the voice of the Most High and to praise Him through the works that my poor person is able to perform…

"My name was Gaddo dei Cacciaconti, a family that had influence in the affairs of Siena; I, like many young men who at that time animated the streets of the city, spent my days amidst tournaments and rowdy nights, passed in the taverns drinking to my fill. Until the war, and the terrible spectacle of death and suffering that it brings, made me understand the value that life could have in a choice of love. What a horror to be near your friend as he clings to your hand, crying, racked with pain and shouting his desperate desire not to die; the same person that a few moments earlier had drawn his sword and, animated by the enthusiasm that a young man hides within himself, had rushed forward against the enemy of his city, with the desire to return that same evening within the city walls, proud to be welcomed by his people, rejoicing to hear his name spoken by the girl he secretly loved, proud to be able to tell the friends around the tavern table how violent the battle had been that day… but all these hopes had been ended by a single sword stroke.

"It was the evening of the 3rd of September in the year of our Lord 1260, when from the walls we saw the daring audacity and the reckless pride of the Florentines rise so high as to parade their irrepressible desire to subdue all the cities of Tuscany. Florence had mustered a great army, made up of people from Pistoia, Lucca, Volterra, horsemen from Orvieto and even from Lombardy, an enormous army of 7,000 horsemen and 20,000 foot soldiers. With this army, on Saturday the 4th of September, intending to reinforce Montalcino, they arrogantly passed only four miles from the walls of Siena. We went out against them, in the place called Sant’Ansano di Dofana, with our mighty cavalry on whose prowess, by experience, we had always relied. There after an examination of the terrain and the risk that would have ensued from an immediate attack, with the counsel of experts our troops were very carefully arrayed for battle. As the enemy drew near,