Harem, page 8
'What of my honour, Ludovici? My father may be content to be the Doge's lapdog, but I am my own man!'
By the balls of all the saints! Ludovici thought. Love and rebellion; when did any good come from such a heinous mix?
'I will write the letter tonight!' Abbas said and put a hand around his shoulder and led him down the ruga toward the Piazza San Marco. Ludovici cursed himself for a fool for ever mentioning that he knew Julia Gonzaga. He would regret it. They both would, he was sure of that.
***
Julia draped her lacework across her knees, feeling the warmth of the yellow sun on her skin as she worked. Lucia sat beside her, whispering the petty gossips she had heard from her brother. She visited her often during the summer - escorted by her duenna of course - to chatter and to sew. It was a welcome relief for both of them from the monastic solitude of their lives.
Lucia was a dark, thickset girl with the beginnings of a faint moustache on her upper lip; yet her older brother, Ludovici, was fair and did not yet even have a man's beard. Life was not fair, Julia thought.
'I hear you are to be married,' Lucia said.
'Yes. In the autumn.'
'Is he handsome?'
'I have only heard my father speak of him.' Julia pretended to examine her stitches. 'He is a member of the Consiglio di Dieci also. His wife died three summers ago.'
From the corner of her eye she could see the horror on Lucia's face. She leaned closer and whispered: 'But how old is he?'
'He is in his sixtieth year. But he may yet be handsome.' She fought to keep the tremor from her voice. What a match her father had made for her!
'What is his name?'
'Serena. Don't ask me his first name, I don't remember.'
Signora Cavalcanti looked up sharply and frowned at her. Julia lowered her eyes.
'I have seen him,' Lucia said. 'He is very … important.'
They lapsed into silence. Signora Cavalcanti put down her embroidery and rubbed her eyes. 'I think I shall rest,' she said and went inside. Julia heard her pull the drapes at her bedroom window on the terrazzo above.
Sunlight bounced from the canal and threw dappled shadows on the walls of the palazzi. A line tagged with clothes danced in the breeze. On the other side of the canal an ancient duenna leaned out of her window to haul up a basket of provisions from a gondola moored below.
Lucia's duenna excused herself for a moment and the two girls were left alone. Lucia reached into the folds of her vesture and produced a letter, sealed with red wax. She almost threw it into Julia's lap, as if it were aflame.
Julia gaped at her, astonished. 'What is this?'
Lucia glanced over her shoulder. 'Quickly, open it!'
'Who is it from?'
'You have an admirer!'
She held up the envelope. There was one word written on the face, in black ink: Julia. She tried to swallow.
'Well, open it!'
Julia broke the seal. She read:
You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. I must meet you. I will face any danger. Just tell me what I must do.
Her hands started to shake.
'What does it say?'
'Lucia, who is this from?'
'I don't know. A friend of my brother.'
'What is his name?'
'He would not say. He just asked me to give it to you. Show it to me!'
Lucia tried to snatch it from her but Julia turned away, folded it and slipped it down the front of her vestura. She tore the envelope into small pieces and dropped them over the balcony into the canal.
'Why does this friend of your brother's send me letters? Does he wish to disgrace me?'
'Ludovici said it was the only way.'
'The only way for what?'
'I don't know. The only way you might ever meet, I suppose.' She gripped Julia's arm. 'What did it say?'
Julia tried to compose herself. Her cheeks felt hot. If Signora Cavalcanti saw her now, she would know something was wrong. She fanned herself with her embroidery. She was startled by her own reaction to this outrage; a part of her had already started to form a plan. But this was madness, she told herself, you are bound to be discovered, you will disgrace the family name and your soul will be condemned to eternal torment.
And then she thought about Serena. Perhaps it would be worth it.
Yet it was impossible, to meet a complete stranger without introduction, without escort. No, she must burn the letter, she decided, as soon as she was alone. If the author of the missive were a suitable companion - husband even - for her then he would have arranged a meeting through her father; that he had persuaded a friend to smuggle his message this way only proved that he could not be a member of any noble family of note, or even a gentleman.
'What are you going to do?' Lucia whispered.
You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. I must meet you. I will face any danger. Just tell me what I must do.
On one side disgrace and damnation and an ancient friend of her father's; on the other a young man who thought she was beautiful and would risk for her. Lucia looked over her shoulder, expecting her duenna to come back at any moment. She must decide.
'Signor Cavalcanti sleeps every afternoon between None and Vespers, while I study the Bible in my bedroom. Tell your brother … tell your brother that his friend should have a gondola waiting by the canal at that time. If he is any earlier, or later, I will not come down, and he is not to bother me again.'
'You are going to meet him … without your duenna?'
'Yes, and I don't care if I am damned for eternity. It's better than being damned to marry a sixty year old Consigliatore!'
Chapter 20
Julia wrapped the long mantello cape around her shoulders and pulled the hood low over her face. It was not too late to turn back, she thought.
She could hear Signora Cavalcanti's snores coming from her bedroom window. She smiled to herself. There was a certain pleasure in outwitting her.
She opened the heavy wooden door and peered down the stone steps that led to the water stairs. The bright light hurt her eyes. Mary, Mother of God, forgive me, it is there!
The gondola was moored there, a line slung carelessly around the striped mooring pole. The gondolier was a tall Moor with a scarlet satin camicia with slashed sleeves, and his broad-rimmed hat was trimmed with scarlet ribbon. He leaned on his punta with arrogant ease.
She inched the door shut again and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. It's not too late to go back. It's not too late to go back.
Go back to what? Go back to her dark loggia and open the great black Bible; go back to watching other gondolas like this glide by under her loggia, to peer at the curtained canopies and wonder …
To go back to waiting to marry a sixty year old senator.
She inched open the door, slipped through and ran down the steps. When she reached the gondola she pulled the curtains aside and jumped in.
She stifled a gasp.
He was a Moor, like the gondolier. She remembered him immediately; he was the boy who had stared at her in the church. This was why he could not approach her father!
He smiled, embarrassed; he must know, of course, what she was thinking. 'They tell me I have all the makings of a fine gondolier,' he said. 'But my father would not permit it. He thinks the son of the Defender of the Republic should aspire to greater things.'
'Your father is -?'
'-is the Captain General of the Army.'
'If you find my appearance too shocking, my Lady, you may leave now and I promise you will never hear from me again. I guarantee it, because I will immediately throw myself in the canal.'
He was young, almost as young as herself. His skin was the colour of mahogany and his hair tightly curled; a ruby glinted in his left ear. He was at once forbidding and forbidden, and she felt the same thrill of excitement that she had experienced in the Santa Maria dei Miracoli.
'But that linen camicia you are wearing must have been fearsomely expensive. I should hate you to get it wet. Where are we going?'
'We can just pole around if you like. We can see nothing with the curtain drawn so it hardly seems to matter. I have everything I want to look at right here in front of me.'
'I may only be away for a few minutes.'
She sank back into the cushions. There were blue velvet curtains on all sides so they were safe from prying eyes. The only thing she could see outside the tiny cabin was the gaily coloured hose of their gondolier as he stood at his position on the punta piede. The boat smelled of mildew and walnut.
He leaned through the curtain and said something to the gondolier. The boatman unhitched the rope and she heard the gentle splash of the pole as he steered them towards the centre of the canal.
'What is your name?' she said.
'Abbas.'
'Abbas,' she said, testing the exotic name and liking the sound and the feel of it on her tongue.
'It is not a Venetian name but as you can see, I am not quite a Venetian myself.'
She reached inside her mantello. 'Here is your letter.'
'I do not want it back.'
'It is too dangerous for me to keep. If you like I will burn it …'
'I do not want you to burn it.' He took it from her. 'I meant everything I said. Since I saw you I have not been able to think about anything else.'
She felt her cheeks grow hot. 'You know Ludovici Gambetto?'
'His father is a general and an adviser to my father. We are both renegades, I suppose. Outsiders.'
'But the Gambetti are one of the noble families of Venice.'
Abbas looked embarrassed. 'You don't know?'
'Know what?'
'Ludovici came from outside the marriage. Signor Gambetto had a mistress. When she died Ludovici was still a baby. Signor Gambetto is a good man, he raised him as one of his own - but, you know, Ludovici can never really belong. That is why we understand each other so well. But perhaps I should not have told you. You are Lucia's friend and I assumed that you knew.'
Why would she know? No one ever told her anything.
'I am sorry for …' He spread his hands to take in the little velvet canopy. '… for this. I wanted my father to speak to your father for me, but he said it was impossible. But I am a man who believes nothing is impossible. And I had to speak to you.' He reached up suddenly and pulled back her hood. She froze, thinking that he meant to touch her. But instead he just stared at her, studying her face with a frightening intensity.
'You are … glorious,' he said.
For a moment she thought she might laugh; it was the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to her. She knew she was beautiful, of course. But what good had beauty had her beauty been to her, until now? Suddenly the risks of the afternoon were all worthwhile. She would have run the gauntlet of a thousand knives for this sort of adoration.
She had no idea what she was meant to do or say. She pulled her hood back over her face, overwhelmed. 'I should be getting back.'
'Not yet.'
'If my duenna discovers I am gone …'
'Just a few moments more.' A shadow passed over the canopy as the gondola slipped under a bridge. She heard the shouts of urchins playing on the cobbles. 'I have to see you again.'
'I cannot.'
'You must. Please. I feel as if I am on fire.'
'What do you want from me? I am to be married in the autumn. My husband will return from Cyprus for the wedding at the end of summer.'
'I cannot let this happen.'
'Signor Abbas, it is what will happen and there is nothing you or I can do about it. Please take me back.'
He took her hand. The shock of his touch made her gasp. No man had ever touched her before, not even her father. 'Could you love a Moor like I love an infidel?'
'Just take me back,' she repeated.
He sighed and leaned through the curtain and gave the orders to the gondolier. A few moments later she felt the boat scrape along the steps outside her palazzo . Julia stood up and the gondola swayed. She lost her balance and Abbas caught her arm to steady her.
'Let me see you just once more before you go.'
'You can never see me again,' she said and scrambled out of the gondola and ran inside. She did not stop running until she had reached her bedroom, where she threw herself on her knees before the wooden crucifix on the wall and prayed for forgiveness, and then prayed again for just one more chance to sin.
Chapter 21
Antonio Gonzaga had noticed a subtle and worrying change in his daughter. He fretted over the flush in her cheeks and the nervousness in her manner. Such signs, small as they were, were not commensurate with a young lady whose time should have been fully occupied with religious instruction and lacework.
The maid set two plates of squazzetto, a broth made of rice and chicken, in front of them. Gonzaga watched his daughter take up her spoon. Her hands were shaking.
'Put your shoulders back.'
Julia did as she was told.
He frowned, irritated. The sooner she was married and off his hands, the better he would like it. 'Soon you will be the wife of a member of the Consiglio di Dieci. He will expect proper manners.'
What could be wrong with her? He had seen such cow eyes on a woman before; his wife, on their wedding night and his mistress, whenever she was pregnant; something that happened with too frequent regularity.
He drank his wine, ignoring his food. Surely the thought of marrying Serena had not raised such a blush in her cheeks? The very idea that his daughter might entertain lewd thoughts about such a union was unlikely. So what, then?
The realization came to him and he gave a long sigh.
Julia looked up. 'Father?'
'I feel unwell,' he said to her. 'I need to rest. You must excuse me.' He left, leaving her to finish her supper alone.
***
Ludovici and Abbas reeled out of the tavern, arm in arm and stinking of wine. Ludovici bent over, his hands on his knees, and retched on the cobbles. Abbas leaned against the balustrade of a stone bridge and stared at the moonlight at the canal. 'I have never felt so alive,' he said. 'I love her, Ludovici.'
Ludovici wiped his mouth. 'You don't know anything about her. You are in love with the danger of it. If you are in love with anything, you are in love with your own daring.'
'You live in such a bitter world.'
'I am not bitter. I see the world as it is and no more. What is plain to me is that if you could marry this girl tomorrow with the blessing of her father and yours she would hold no more allure for you than a whore in a doorway.'
'One day it will happen to you.'
'Only if I lose my wits. Abbas, you are my greatest friend in the world. But I wish you would listen to me. A woman is just a woman and the world is full of them. She is something soft to lie on and a warm and giving place to spill your seed. I allow that a woman might be a boon companion and one day I shall have a wife to keep my home and children. But when I marry I will let my head do the choosing and not my heart. A man who does otherwise is a fool.'
'Then I am a fool because I promise you I will love her forever.'
'If you love her until next week I will give you two gold ducats.'
'I feel sorry for you, Ludovici. You feel nothing inside. But one day you will, life will seek you out and make you feel again. As for me, I shall find the greatest part of me in loving truly.'
'You're just in love with loving.'
'You'll see, Ludovici. You'll see. You should give me the two ducats now.'
Ludovici laughed and shook his head. He dropped the wine flask he was holding and it shattered on the cobblestones. Somewhere above them a man in a nightshirt ran up the shutters and called for the night watch. Ludovici and Abbas ran away down the calle, laughing.
***
Gonzaga sat in his study, staring gloomily into the candle. A painting of the Death of the Virgin by Carpaccio dominated the room; two smaller offerings, a Virgin and Child by Bellini and a portrait of himself, for which he had commissioned Palma Vecchio five years before, hung on either side of it. Two bronzes by Il Riccio stood above the fireplace.
There was a timid knock at the door.
'Yes?'
'Signora Cavalcanti, Excellency.'
'Enter.'
The duenna crept into the room and bent to kiss the sleeve of his velvet gown. 'You sent for me, Excellency?'
'I did. I am deeply troubled, Signora Cavalcanti.'
'No failing on my part, I hope?'
Gonzaga examined the sumptuous alto e basso weave on his gown and picked at a piece of lint. He removed it with elaborate care. 'I do not know, Signora.'
She wrung her hands. 'I assure Your Excellency I have been most diligent in my duties.'
'Have you?'
The old lady looked terrified.
'I believe Mistress Julia is concealing something from you.' The duenna was trembling, he noted with satisfaction. An old trick, of course, eliciting the fullest confession from mere suspicion, but it always worked.
'I do not think so, Excellency.'
'Really? Has she spoken much to you about the joyous occasion of her wedding?'
'Very little, Excellency.'
'The anticipation of it brings her no pleasure?'
'Well … I am sure she is most overjoyed.'
Gonzaga gave her time to think, or at least invent something. He busied himself with the stole that hung around his shoulders. 'She is never left unattended?'
Ah, there it was! The slightest lowering of the eyes, the merest hint of a blush in her cheeks. He watched her prepare the lie. 'No, Excellency.'
He sighed and pretended to relent. 'Keep an eye on her. A very close eye. Do you understand?'
'Yes, Your Excellency. I understand very well indeed.' She turned with uncommon haste towards the door.
Well, that should do it, he thought. He had frightened her badly, as he had intended, and put her on notice. If there was something he should know, she would find out about it and bring her discovery back to him as an offering, like a dog with a rat. A murmured word of thanks and his great disappointment in his daughter would be her lavish reward.
