‘Any news for me to report to the Duke?’ Giovanni says to my husband.
‘The Venetian army is still in Brescia,’ Lodovico mutters. ‘Is the Duke over his disappointment that I couldn’t procure a Giorgione painting for him?’
‘Already forgotten. It was to be a gift for the Duchess. He’s busy making cannons for the war to come. The first time in history that Venice has so many enemies at once.’ Giovanni lets out a laugh. ‘The Republic is far too complacent.’
‘The Doge deems Emperor Maximilian too short of money to finance an army.’
‘Ha,’ Giovanni says. ‘I shall relay that information to the Duke.’
Gesù bambino!
Zorzo was right.
My heart thumps wildly against my ribs, and, turning on my heel, I tiptoe away.
The tournament is still going strong; the cheers of the courtiers ring in my ears. Should I say something to the Queen? Yes, I should. But, when? She sits so calm and smiles so sweetly at all in her court. How can I break the trust she has in us? Domina has been through so much. She was married at the age of eighteen to a man she barely knew. Everyone says she did love him, and he loved her back. How terrible that he died when they’d been wed only nine months. My chest tightens as I remember her second heartache. The death of her infant son at the age of one. She must have been devastated. I know how I would feel if my Lorenza were to leave me. How could the Queen have borne the pain of her loss?
The plots and conspiracies to take her throne must have seemed paltry in comparison, yet she held onto Cyprus for fifteen years, and was well-loved by her people. No surprise there, for we all love her. Her loyalty to the Serenissima has always been unswerving, and she will be distraught that Lodovico has been using his position in her court to spy on her.
I sit through the jousts, looking away each time a knight is unhorsed, and I listen to Dorotea chatter excitedly. ‘Domina has an admirer,’ she says.
‘Who?’ I ask feeling pleased for the Queen. She has been without love too long.
‘Pandolfo Malatesta, Lord of Rimini. A great knight and condottiero. He’s in the service of Venice so there shouldn’t be any obstacles. Except, her pride at having been the wife of a king has stopped her from taking things further.’
‘She deserves to find happiness again. If only there was someone for her.’
Dorotea sighs. ‘And me. I’m fast becoming an old maid.’
She huffs and frowns, but I don’t feel sorry for her. A string of lovers has wound its way through her life, and her reputation is sullied. She’ll be lucky to find a protector and become his mistress before her young flesh withers. Perhaps I’m being too hard, and should wish for her to find happiness, if not with a man then by having her own child like I have. ‘There’s time,’ I say gently, patting her arm.
I wish Fiammetta were here, but she’s had another baby, a girl. It was a difficult birth and she’s not yet recovered. Fiammetta would give me good advice about how to carry on being married to a traitor.
Lodovico takes his seat next to me, looking as innocent as the day he was born (although I doubt even then he was innocent). If I were of a violent disposition and had a dagger, I would stick it into his heart.
Soon the jousting is over, and we go to our quarters to rest before the banquet. When Lodovico starts snoring on our bed I creep out, and within minutes I’m in the Queen’s chamber. ‘Please, Domina, I beg a moment in private.’
‘Yes, my dear, what is it?’ she asks, waving her ladies off to the far side of the room.
I quickly recount what I’d heard in the orchard. ‘Such treachery,’ I say.
She gives her tinkling laugh. ‘Sweet Cecilia. Do not worry! My brother has the Venetian Army well-trained and the Emperor’s forces are no match for us. If Maximilian dares attack again, he’ll be routed once more. As for your husband, I’ve had my suspicions for some time. I’m sorry to have had them confirmed.’
‘What shall I do?’
‘Can you watch over him? Report back to me if you hear anything of importance. Two can play at the same game, you know.’
‘Yes, Domina.’
I go to change into my evening gown: a deep rich, red, silk brocade. Lodovico asks me where I’ve been, and I tell him the truth. ‘To see Queen Caterina.’ He leaves me to the attentions of Marta, my maid, who disentangles my hair and places a garland on my head to hold my tresses back from my face. I fasten my gold necklace and pinch my cheeks to give them some colour.
‘Very beautiful, signora,’ Marta says, dropping into a curtsey. I slip a couple of coins into her hand then leave her to tidy the room. Marta is my best ally, although I’m no fool and ensure her loyalty by greasing her palm on a regular basis.
Zorzo is at the banquet. I spot him immediately and study him from the corner of my eye. He’s seated at the far end of the room, dressed in a purple velvet doublet, so tall and handsome; he catches my glance, making my heart skip a beat.
I’m seated on my husband’s right at the meal, which seems interminable: course after course after course. My stomach is too jittery to eat much and, finally, we lever ourselves from the table and progress to the hall, where the musicians are already tuning up.
The Queen and her brother take to the floor, and I suggest to Lodovico that he should invite Dorotea to dance. He doesn’t need much urging. She’s been fluttering her lashes at him all evening, and his eyes have only left her pillow-like breasts when he’s helped himself to food and eaten it.
I watch them join the dancers and, within seconds, Zorzo is at my side. He bows low, ‘Dolcezza.’
We commence the hesitating march of the pavana, and I catch the scent of linseed oil from his hands, and the manly odour of his sweat. ‘How are you?’
‘Well enough,’ he says. ‘And you?’
I tell him of my discovery this afternoon as he turns me slowly to the music of the viol.
‘As I feared, then.’
‘The Queen does not make much of it. She simply wants me to keep a watch on Lodovico. I shall spy on him spying on her.’
‘Take care, dolcezza. There’s trouble on the way.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘The Republic thinks that by using diplomacy, it can divide allies like the French King and the Hapsburg Emperor. It won’t work.’
‘Haven’t they been mistrustful of each other for years?’
‘Their hatred of the Serenissima is far greater than their mistrust of each other.’
The dance comes to an end. As we make our reverences, he whispers, ‘When can I see you alone?’
‘It will not be easy. I’m watched by my husband. Are you here long?’
‘A week. There’s a final fresco I need to complete in the chapel.’
‘Lodovico and I return to Asolo tomorrow, after the hunt.’
My husband approaches. He bows to Zorzo, who salutes him. Then Zorzo walks away and Lodovico says, ‘I don’t like that fellow. Or the way he looks at you.’
I supress a laugh for has he not been doing the same with Dorotea, the woman he’s often referred to as being so loose that she “opens her quiver to every arrow”? We go to our quarters and Lodovico watches me undress. I catch the gleam in his eyes. ‘I’m tired. Do we have to?’ I say.
‘Do we have to?’ he repeats in a mocking tone. ‘Tiredness is of no import. All you do is lie there while I do all the work.’ His voice rises. ‘If you were with child, I wouldn’t bother.’
‘No.’ I shake my head, my mind made up.
‘Yes,’ he contradicts me. ‘This is my right as your husband and you must do your duty to me, wife.’ He grabs my shoulders and pushes me down on the bed.
‘Leave me alone!’
‘How dare you tell me what to do,’ his voice has become even louder. I wish someone would hear him and come to us, yet, at the same time, I know that won’t happen. I’m Lodovico’s woman for him to treat as he wishes, for he has “paid” for me, housing, clothing and feeding me.
Lodov
ico pushes my legs apart and thrusts into me. ‘Madre di Dio! Get with child quick, Cecilia. I can’t be doing with this much longer.’
Nor I.
He rolls over and lets out a fart. The stench of foul gases makes me retch. I wait, then, as soon as he’s asleep, I creep out of bed and go to my chest, where I’ve hidden a flask of vinegar. I soak a cloth with the liquid and rub my sex. It stings, and I have to stop myself from crying out. But better this soreness than the pain of bearing Lodovico Gaspare’s child.
I turn to go back to bed and catch my reflection in the glass above the washstand. Only it isn’t just my likeness I see, but that of the strange woman who haunts my dreams. Her green eyes widen in surprise as she catches me standing behind her. I lift my finger and point, and then the glass ripples. The lady in the mirror disappears and it’s only my refection staring back at me.
My mind is playing tricks on me, I decide, as I slip under the blankets next to the snoring Lodovico. Shutting my eyes, I curl in on myself and, before I know it, I’m asleep.
After we’ve broken our fast the next morning, Giovanni sidles up to my husband. ‘A messenger has arrived from the Duke. We’re both needed in Ferrara.’
I cannot believe my luck. Freedom, of a sort, so rare and so longed-for, will be mine for a few days at least. I go to the hunt without my husband, and the pleasure of riding Pegaso again far outweighs the discomfort I feel from Lodovico’s rough treatment last night.
Zorzo is galloping next to me. ‘I know a place where we can be alone,’ he shouts above the sound of hoofbeats. ‘Slow your horse and fall behind! We can pretend he’s thrown a shoe and I’ll say that we’ll return to the Barco.’
It happens as he suggested. I dismount and walk beside him. ‘There’s an old Roman road to an ancient chapel hidden in a valley,’ he says. ‘No one goes there anymore, but I’ve visited it many times to sketch the landscape.’
As soon as the hunt has moved on, we remount and follow the road up behind the hill. The air is heavy with humidity and a falcon soars overhead. Crows caw from the tops of the trees beside us as we trot past. ‘Come, Cecilia!’ Zorzo urges his horse into a canter. ‘We don’t have much time.’
In the churchyard, we dismount and fall into each other’s arms. When I say “fall”, I mean that literally, for we do exactly that, becoming one within seconds so great is our passion. No need for decorum, for we are the only people in this secluded part of the countryside. If anyone is watching us, it’s only the spirits of the Romans who were here before, guarding the entrance to the valley.
We don’t even bother to undress. Zorzo unlaces his codpiece and lifts my skirts, hoisting me onto him as he leans against the wall of the building. I’m ready for him, my legs wrap themselves around him, my lips on his, my sex sucking him in greedily, and oh it feels so, so wonderful and I say to him as we reach our joy, ‘Give me another babe, Zorzo!’
I spun away from the mirror, my dizziness and sense of dislocation mixing with something else. I’d heard mention of the church where Cecilia had been with Zorzo, I was sure of it.
I returned to Luca’s bed, slipped between the sheets, and rolled over onto my side, my body languid. Weird how I’d experienced Zorzo’s lovemaking along with Cecilia. Beyond weird, in fact. Just like I’d gone through giving birth to Lorenza and the pain of separation from her.
God, Fern, you’ve made love to two men tonight. I took in the sight of Luca sleeping next to me. I mustn’t confuse him with Zorzo. The way his mouth turned up at the corners was like the painter’s. But that was the only similarity, except for the way they both made love. Cecilia’s last encounter with Zorzo had mirrored my own with Luca the other week. Another echo of the past.
What about that ancient church? I’d heard an ancient church being mentioned before. Who’d told me about it? Vanessa? No. Not Vanessa. Chiara! It had been Chiara. That time when I’d gone riding with her and Chiara had suggested we take a picnic to the Goredan family’s farmhouse. Poor Chiara. How terrible for her to have found Federico there with his other woman.
In the morning, I told Luca about Lodovico’s treachery and Cecilia and Zorzo’s tryst. ‘Cecilia let slip to Zorzo that Lorenza is his,’ I said.
‘That must have set the cat among the pigeons.’
‘I expect so. I returned to the present without finding out.’
‘I’m worried about you, Fern.’ He kissed me. ‘Cecilia won’t leave you in peace. You’re getting to the end of her story. And I think you’ll agree we know what happened. The piece of burnt wood is a warning, I think.’
‘Yes, I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’ I thought for a moment. ‘Do you have to go in to work today?’
‘No. I’ve got the day off to help Mother take Chiara home from the hospital. Why?’
‘I’d like to visit your farmhouse and compare the area with the one where Cecilia and Zorzo went. I’d like to see if it’s the same church. Just to set my mind at rest, if that’s okay with you.’
His blue eyes shone. ‘I’m not due at the hospital until midday.’
I smiled. ‘I’ll phone Auntie and tell her when to expect me.’
An hour later, I was standing next to Luca in front of the farmhouse, which was set halfway up the hill behind an old chapel. ‘The view is amazing,’ I said.
‘Look over to the right.’ He pointed toward the distant hills on the horizon. ‘Those are behind the city of Padova an hour’s drive away.’
‘And that’s the back of Asolo.’ I indicated the closer chain of knolls on the left, seven of them, undulating like a Chinese dragon’s back, separated by wooded valleys, the Rocca topping the second crest to the last on the right. In between the two ranges stretched the Venetian plain, dotted with towns and villages, their church steeples reaching to the sky.
I gazed down toward the chapel, nestled at the foot of the hill. Another echo. ‘It didn’t have a steeple in Cecilia’s day, nor those cypress trees, but I recognise the building.’
‘There was a Roman guardhouse there, apparently, two thousand or so years ago. Protecting the pass into the valley.’
I thought about the house on the River Wye in Wales where I’d grown up. It had been a refuge after Harry’s death. I’d had to leave London when neighbours had called the police after I’d woken them repeatedly screaming from my nightmares of fire and death. It was then that I’d been signed off work. Home was where I’d embarked on art therapy, where I’d been comforted, where I’d felt secure.
Maybe I should cut my losses and go there now for the last few days of my vacation? It would be the safest option. I should get away from those echoes of a past I couldn’t change. I stared at the ancient church.
‘Lorenza!’
The voice resounded in my head imploringly.
I straightened my shoulders; I had to find out what had happened to the child.
And the only way to do that was to carry on until I reached Cecilia’s final moments.
But I wouldn’t do that now.
Focus on something else!
It was such a clear day that I was sure I could spot Venice on the southern horizon. The Republic of olden times. A long history of war and conquest. I was scared, but I was also intrigued. And there was so little time left before I had to leave. My job, my life as I’d known it up until a few weeks ago, my future, all waiting for me in London.
What about Luca, then?
Did I love him?
All I knew was that I’d miss him terribly when I left Italy…
‘Please have supper with us tonight, Luca. Auntie told me on the phone that she was making one of her Welsh stews.’
‘My mouth’s watering already.’
I laughed and he laughed with me.
I should take Cecilia’s advice and let myself love him. He’s such a lovable man…
Chapter 23
I watched Auntie puff herself up with pride as Luca requested a third helping. She piled his plate high and matched him by having another hel
ping herself.
‘What about you, Fern?’ she asked.
‘It’s yummy, but I’m full. Thanks.’ I rubbed my belly.
I sat back and studied Luca as he chatted with Auntie, informing her that Chiara was home from the hospital but confined to bed for a few days and under sedation for the pain. Federico had been on the phone to the villa, but Vanessa had told him point-blank not to call again.
Luca went on to talk about lightning conductors. Lightning conductors! ‘They’re essential,’ he said. ‘If lightning were to strike this house during a storm, it would be conducted into the rod, and pass through a wire to the ground.’
‘Sounds like a good idea,’ Auntie said. ‘Can you get one for me? Although the chances of being struck by lightning seem small, best to be safe than sorry.’
‘Of course,’ Luca said, mopping up the last of his stew with a piece of bread. ‘Thank you for this amazing meal.’
I got up from my chair. ‘We’ll do the washing up, Auntie,’ I said.
She made her way over to the television set and switched it on to watch an episode of Knots Landing, dubbed into Italian.
Luca took a plate from me and put it into the dishwasher. ‘I’ve been thinking about how to keep you safe,’ he said.
I shot him a look and he held up his hands. ‘Don’t accuse me of being a caveman, but is there any way I can persuade you not to go through with this?’
‘I haven’t got much option. If I’m anywhere associated with Cecilia, she almost always finds me. I managed to block her from my mind this morning when I was at the farmhouse, though. Perhaps I’m getting stronger?’
‘Or Cecilia’s getting weaker…’
‘So, what do you propose I do?’
‘I don’t think you should be left alone. If you’re with Cecilia when she dies, you might find it impossible to return to the twentieth century.’
LADY of VENICE Page 20