by M C Dulac
Price emerged from the inn, his hat drawn low and a scarf around his chin.
“We are both going south - yes?” the stranger had bounded over to Price. He shook Price’s hand, like they were old friends.
“So it seems,” Price said with reserve, breaking free of the big man’s handshake.
“If only I had experienced Italy in my youth. Are you here with your tutor?”
“No, only my servant.”
I bowed and kept my distance.
“A young man on his own,” the big man smirked, “Lucky indeed!”
Price gave the man a wary look. He glanced at the coach. We would all be sitting inside for several hours.
“My name is Otto von Schumann,” the big man said.
“Albert Price,” Price bowed.
“Sind Sie Deutsch?”
“From Switzerland.”
Price was Swiss. I had not known this. But then, I knew little about my master.
“Let me introduce my friend, Mrs Barry.”
The lady curtsied.
“Are you also from Germany, Mrs Barry?” Price said, without interest.
“No, I am from England. We are taking the Grand Tour. Our servants have gone ahead to prepare our palace.”
“Villa, my dear Emma,” Schumann said.
“I am sure it is a palace, Otto. I distinctly said I will not put up with anything less than a palace. We are staying close to Sir Walter and Lady Hadden, who are good friends of Sir Horace Walpole - whom we saw in Naples! Anyway, I have told the servants that everything must be just the way I want it. In Naples, that Duke - who I don’t think was real Duke, Otto - said he would arrange a garden villa but it was barely larger than a cottage, and although we could see the bay, there was the most terrible smell of fish - every single day.”
Price took a deep breath. I rarely encountered the aristocratic tourists who came to Italy. I was grateful I was Price’s servant.
“We stayed here overnight to see the ruins,” Schumann said, changing the subject, “Have you heard there are ancient cities buried under the ash of Pompeii?”
They were nowhere near Pompeii. I wondered where Mrs Barry’s husband was. Price was trying to be polite, but he was clenching his hand around his pocket watch. I sensed he did not like company.
The servant from the inn nudged me. I helped him carry the bags to the coach. When I returned, Schumann was talking in German.
The coachman urged us all to get inside. Schumann and Price faced each other in the coach, while I faced Mrs Barry.
Schumann got louder and louder. It began to rain heavily again. Soon the view of the fields and mountains was lost under sheets of rain. I glimpsed Naples in the distance, before we turned and took a road through the country.
Mrs Barry cast me seductive glances throughout the journey. While she was beautiful, her attention made me uncomfortable. I was a mere servant. She was a married woman and at least ten years older than me. Schumann did not seem to care about her unseemly behaviour. In between Schumann’s impassioned outbursts and Mrs Barry’s sly smile, it was an uncomfortable journey.
At last the rain cleared. Mrs Barry asked Price where he was staying and who he knew.
“We are the guests of the Duke,” Price said coldly.
Mrs Barry’s eyebrows rose. I could see she was desperate to learn more, but she stayed silent.
We arrived in a town. A carriage was waiting to collect Otto von Schumann and Mrs Barry. They got out with much excitement.
“Auf Wiedersehen,” Schumann said, shaking Price’s hand, “Until we meet again.”
Within moments they seemed to have forgotten us. Mrs Barry slid her arm through Schumann’s and rested her head on his shoulder as their carriage drove away.
“Rich people,” Price muttered.
Our carriage appeared shortly afterwards. The driver loaded our luggage and we set off, speeding along the twilight roads high above the cliffs. The Amalfi Coast stretched before us and the sea was every shade of blue and violet. We passed groves of sweet-scented lemon trees, following the curves of the uneven road. At last I saw two stone gateposts, carved with the name “Palazzo Ombre”. Servants opened the iron gates as we arrived. The drive was lined with more fine lemon trees before looping around a green lawn. The last rays of the setting sun fell upon a magnificent house on the cliff top. The gleaming windows caught the orange sunbeams. Garden terraces descended along the cliff’s edge, perched right above the sea. I took a deep breath. It was a house far from all the worries and cares of the world.
“It is a fine sight,” Price observed.
We drove past clipped hedges and marble statues. As we drew closer, I saw flares blazing in the windows and along the balustrade terraces. A white villa lay on the next cliff top, but otherwise we were all alone.
Our carriage rolled to a halt and a servant ran down the steps to greet us. I must have had a higher status than him, for I did not have to carry anything.
“Is this a palace?” I said, as we entered the main hall and wandered through marble hallways with frescoes on the walls. I glanced at the rooms on either side, glimpsing polished tables, brocade chairs and rich rugs. The air was sweet; a mixture of the beeswax candles, the sea breeze and the fragrance of the late-blooming plants on the terrace.
“More of a palace than Otto and Mrs Barry will be staying in,” Price paused before the sweeping staircase. Ahead was a fine sitting room lit by chandeliers. Beyond the windows, the sea glittered as the sun sank beneath the horizon. I took a step forward, enchanted by the view.
“Where is the cellar?” Price said to the servant.
“This way, sir.”
“Did you take the crates straight downstairs? The contents must not be exposed to any sunlight.”
“Yes, sir, as the Duke told us, sir.”
“The Duke is away?”
“He does not return until next summer.”
“I want absolutely no disturbance.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I see there is a villa on the next cliff. I understood there were no residences nearby.”
“The villa is the summer residence of the Duchess. It is closed for the season.”
“Very good, then.”
We walked along a hallway lined with paintings and marble busts. We paused before a wooden door, which appeared much older than the rest of the palazzo. The servant unlocked the door, revealing a set of stone steps down to a vast underground room. Price’s crates were in the centre of the room and a large metal vat had been assembled in the corner. Flares glowed on the walls.
“Where is the furnace?”
“Here, sir.”
Price rubbed his chin and stared at the hearth built into the cellar wall.
“It should withstand the pressure of the experiment,” he remarked.
“This cellar was a former armory,” said the servant, “The Duke’s ancestors forged the finest weapons on the Amalfi Coast here.”
Price walked slowly around the cellar. There was a shaft in the corner. An old pulley was suspended from the ceiling with ropes disappearing into the shaft.
“This is how the weapons were lowered into the cove, sir,” said the servant.
“And how do I get to the cove?”
“Through the trapdoor. There is a flight of steps built into the cliff. Be careful, sir, for the railing has given way.”
“But the Duke will arrange for men to help us, when the shipment is ready?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“Good, very good.”
“Is there anything else, sir?”
“I understand all the servants are leaving tonight?”
“Myself included. Except for Josef, who lives in the town. He is the Duke’s oldest and most trusted servant, and the Duke has requested he visit the palazzo each week, to ensure all is in order. But the other servants will be gone.”
“And none have spoken of my presence here?”
“We are all sworn to secrecy. Th
e servants are loyal to the Duke.”
Price nodded with approval.
I picked up a flask and peered through it. Price gave me a dark look.
“I will show you to your room, sir,” the servant said to Price.
I followed them up the steps to the hall. Price had a grand bedroom overlooking the sea. It was disappointing to think that the shutters would always be closed, and he would never enjoy the view. My own room, which the servant showed me grudgingly, was finer than any I had ever seen. Even I could see the sea and the mountains from my window.
The head servant gathered the maids and other servants. He ushered them onto the carts which were waiting in the courtyard, and then took his place next to the driver. In their dark clothes, the quiet servants made a sombre sight. They drove off through the stone gates, leaving us all alone in our cliff top palace.
The table in the dining room was covered with food. I ate a grape. I had not felt hungry lately but the sight of the sweet meats and wine made my stomach rumble. I wandered over to the window, taking in the charm of the terraces and follies below. I ate some more grapes and sampled the cured ham. I popped an olive in my mouth and went to look for Price.
I found him in the cellar with his shirtsleeves rolled up.
“Do you need my help, sir?”
“In time, Antonio. Particularly when I test that furnace. The rock walls are solid, but fire is such a primitive form of energy.”
I did not fully understand what he meant, “What will you be doing, sir? Making metals?”
“Yes, we will. The Duke has been very kind and given us a space to work. He is paying me well.”
I did not ask more. I did not want to know. I think Price liked my lack of curiosity. I had little interest in the rough furnace and bellows, and I did not know what a gentleman like Price needed them for.
Price had placed the elixirs on a shelf. Although I had no curiosity about the furnace, I did like the alluring elixirs, leaping and swirling in the gleaming bottles.
“What are these, sir?”
“None of your concern, Antonio,” Price said sharply, “They are my personal experiments. Please - don’t tap the glass. The contents are highly unstable. That means they can explode, Antonio. I had to throw out many elixirs when I left Rome. If there is ever any danger, these elixirs must be destroyed at once.”
“You threw the elixirs away?”
“Yes. I drove beyond the Palatine Hill and poured them among the trees one night. Let no drop fall on you, and never let them into another’s hands.”
“Why, sir?”
“They are deadly poisons.”
But Price had drunk the elixirs himself. And I had sipped one too. Far from dying, I had never felt better.
“Why do you keep poisons, sir?”
Price began to look annoyed, “Because Antonio, they have their uses. To the wrong person, they are poison, but to one who understands and respects their power, they pose no danger.”
I bent down and stared into a bottle of green swirling liquid.
“Antonio, maybe you can-,” Price looked around, “-start unpacking. Do not concern yourself with the elixirs. The only thing to remember is - if we are ever threatened, destroy the elixirs at once.”
Reluctantly I took off my coat. I picked up an iron bar and began to prize open the crates.
Price continued, “And never tell anyone of what you see in this laboratory. The knowledge is valuable and some will try to grab it, without realising the danger they are in. Only those who understand and who are humble, are allowed to share the secrets.”
I nodded. Price was wiser than me, and as my master, he had to be obeyed and respected. The cellar had little interest for me, for I would much rather be upstairs exploring the house or the garden terraces.
We spent the night in the cellar, checking that everything had arrived from Rome. We tipped a silvery liquid into the vat, and then added powders and salts. We tested the furnace and measured the time it took water to boil. Price read out a list of calculations and I ticked them off. I was bored and wondered if we would spend all our time on the coast in this way.
I went upstairs at daybreak and fell asleep in my new room. The sun was setting when I woke. I was becoming like Price, resting during the day and rising at night.
The food from the previous night lay on the table. As Price had not touched it, I sat at the long table and ate it myself, filling my plate with sweetmeats, olives and cheeses, then drinking the red wine. Price was in the cellar again. He gave me a few tasks which I soon finished.
“What shall I do now?” I asked, staring at the vat.
“I will not need you again tonight. You may go, Antonio,” Price did not look up. He was adjusting a pipe at the side of the vat.
I still had with me my paper and charcoal, the only possessions I really valued. I brought them down from my room and spent the rest of the night under the gentle flare of the torches on the terrace, sketching the smoky line of cliffs and the moonlight on the sea. I drew page after page, until the sun rose, and the shadowy bays lost their mystery in the bright morning light.
I found Price sitting in a chair on the main terrace. The morning sunbeams had not yet reached him.
“It is going well,” he said, “The air is warm here. In Russia, it took months for the coagulation to occur.”
I did not understand what he meant, but I had little interest in science, “Have you been to Russia, sir?”
“I worked for the Tsar many years ago. I see you are drawing again. Perhaps you should buy some paints while you are here.”
“I could paint your portrait, sir. The portrait of a scientist! And his apprentice.”
Price had a way of looking at me as though he were very old, and I were very foolish, although there would not have been two years between us.
He nodded good-naturedly, “I have never had my portrait painted. But perhaps you can paint the view. Why don’t you go into town and buy some supplies?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It will keep you busy,” Price closed his eyes.
Price gave me some money. I planned to go that morning, but since I had spent the entire night sketching, I was exhausted, and when I returned to my room, I fell fast asleep. It was not until late in the afternoon that I woke and began the long walk into town.
I bought a small canvas and a selection of paints from a shop in the main square. The shopkeeper looked at me curiously.
“Are you staying at the Palazzo Ombre?” she asked.
A man in the back of the shop shuffled forward, “We saw them taking crates up the cliff road. Enough for a huge workshop. And then all the servants were dismissed for the winter. Is it true your master is a scientist?”
“My master is a man of learning and enquiry.”
“What is he making?” the old man grinned, “Weapons?”
His wife leaned closer, “The old Duke used to smuggle weapons into the cove at night.”
“It is the Duke’s business,” I snapped, annoyed at these shopkeepers. I had no idea what Price was doing but it was not our place to ask questions.
The man and his wife nodded sheepishly. I scattered Price’s gold on the counter, and told them I wanted all my painting supplies wrapped immediately.
I suppose it was natural for the townspeople to be curious about Price. He had not ventured out of the palazzo since he arrived. I wished he had more friends, as it was a quiet life for me too. I was aware of how girls looked at me now. Even as I walked home that evening, a pretty girl selling lemons smiled and batted her eyelids, until her mother emerged from a shop and scowled at me. I walked back alone along the road to the palazzo.
Price was in the cellar, banging on metal pots. I went up to my quarters with my paints and canvas. I began to dream of a portrait of Price, in the style of my hero, Caravaggio. I thought how I might use the red glow of the furnace and the blue light from the elixirs to illuminate our faces. This picture would be full of mystery and
anticipation. I began to sketch out a composition.
Everything was easier for me now. The portrait only took a week to complete. Price’s face was clear in my mind, and I worked on the poses by watching myself in a mirror. I painted us leaning over a glowing experiment. I captured the velvet of our coats and the shine on the glass bowls. Our hair and skin looked real, and the resemblance to ourselves was uncanny.
I showed the portrait to Price one night. He was tired, as he had been working for hours in the cellar.
“I told you to paint landscapes, Antonio,” he said, “But I admit you have done a fine job.”
“We can sell it to the Duke, sir.”
“I doubt the Duke wants to remember me,” Price tossed a letter onto the table, “Is it my fault he is heavily in debt? I can only work as fast as the mixtures allow me.”
I stared at my painting. I didn’t care for anything else.
“Where shall I place the picture, sir?”
“Upstairs, in the hall. Then I will send it to Rome and keep it in the apartment.”
A few days later, a cart arrived with some new supplies for Price. The men wrapped my painting in cloth and placed it in the cart, bound for Rome.
I would not see the portrait again for a long time. And by then, everything had changed.
chapter thirteen
Price continued with his work. Sometimes he asked me to watch the strange liquids bubbling through the pipes or operate the bellows that heated the furnace. Whatever he was making in the vat was forming very slowly. The Duke’s letters kept arriving, and Price kept tossing them away.
I was aware that Price’s presence in the palazzo made us a topic of gossip in the town. The isolation of our life was beginning to effect me too, so at the end of the month, I asked Price if I could visit my family in Naples.
Price said I could leave for two days. He told me again not to say anything about his work. I assured him I would say nothing, and I told the truth, for I knew little about what he was doing.
With the presents from Rome under my arm, I took a cart to the shore, and found a boat that was making the crossing. I had never appreciated the true beauty of the Bay of Naples before. Now I leaned over the bow as we cut through the deep, blue water. Mount Vesuvius, the forbidding volcano, slumbered above the green arc of the bay. Once, when I was a small boy, I had stood before the glittering sea and watched the sails of the many ships. It had been my first glimpse of the world beyond my home. Most of my life had been spent in the narrow backstreets of the city that now loomed before me, in a world of stone and brick. As we came closer to the docks, I noticed how the houses of Naples crawled up every hillside.