The Masquers

by Natasha Peters

  “Come down from there,” Raf laughed.

  “I will not! Who does she think she is, telling me to get off my own fountain! Listen, woman, I am Fosca Dolfin Loredan, and—”

  “Sure you are,” sneered the woman. “And I’m the Dogaressa! Now get away from here or I’ll call out the Inquisitors’ Police!”

  “Fosca, stop!” Laughing, Raf caught her around the waist and lifted her down. “You’re crazy! What are you trying to do, get us arrested? Silly bitch,” he said fondly.

  “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go inside. Where we can be alone without being spied upon by some nosy harridan. And I’ll show you my house, as it used to be.”

  She leaned against him, her face upturned for a kiss. He complied, then arm in arm they went into the house. The great doors closed quietly behind them.

  Lia came out into the center of the courtyard and stood near the fountain. A small Cupid holding an ever-overflowing water jug stood on a pedestal in the center of the pool, and the splashing of the water seemed to echo her own tears.

  “Fosca Dolfin Loredan,” she whispered. “I hate you, Fosca Dolfin Loredan. I hate you!”

  “That man Salvino wants to see you,” Emilia said. Fosca stretched and rubbed her eyes. She had spent a beautiful night with Rafaello in Ca’ Dolfin, in what had once been her father’s bedroom. She returned to Ca’ Loredan at dawn to catch up on her sleep, and now here was Emilia bothering her with some unimportant— “Did you say Salvino? What does he want?”

  “He won’t tell me. I’m only a lowly maidservant and he’s a secretary,” she sniffed. “But he’s very insistent, Lady. He’s been asking for you for the past hour, and I can’t put him off any longer. Be careful, I beg you. I don’t like him.”

  “Nor do I,” Fosca murmured. She dressed quickly and prepared herself for the interview. Salvino had never called upon her before. What did he want?

  He came in, his peculiar shambling gait making him seem repellent and obsequious before he even opened his mouth. Fosca did not offer her hand. The thought of those lips touching her flesh revolted her. He bowed deeply and sat down without being invited. She lifted her brows disapprovingly. He smiled.

  “Forgive me for disturbing you at such an early hour, Donna Fosca. It was most gracious of you to receive me.”

  “I didn’t have much choice, did I?” she said coolly. “Emilia tells me you were about to become rooted to the floor outside my door.” She ignored his appreciative laugh. “Well, come on, what do you want? I have quite a full day ahead of me. I’m expecting other callers at any moment.”

  “One of them wouldn’t be—he cocked his head around and stared at Emilia, hovering just a few feet away because she was loath to leave her mistress alone with this horrid creature. Pietro dropped his voice to a murmur. “—wouldn’t be the Jew, would he?”

  Fosca blinked and said sharply, “Leave us, Emilia.” When they were alone, she said, “I don’t know what you mean, but you’d better explain that insulting remark, or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what. Lady?” he asked boldly. “Tell your husband that I have threatened to expose your Jew lover? You mustn’t be hasty, Donna Fosca. I wouldn’t dream of informing on you, and you certainly don’t want to tell him that you’ve been sleeping with the traitor, Leopardi. Don Alessandro wouldn’t like that at all.”

  “You filthy, twisted little spy,” Fosca breathed angrily. “What do you want from me—money? I haven’t got any. My brother milks me of every spare sequin.”“

  No, no, you misunderstand me, Donna Fosca,” Pietro said quickly. “I have come to help you, to offer my protection. No one else knows this secret but me and one other, whose silence I can guarantee. But if this information reached your husband’s ears, you would be in very great danger, you and your lover. I merely want to insure your safety. I could be very helpful to you both, as a go-between, and Signor Loredan would never have to know. Doesn’t the thought tempt you, Donna Fosca? You and your lover, free to meet where and when you please?”

  He shifted his chair closer to her chaise lounge. She sat up straight, switching her legs to the floor. His nearness nauseated her. He was so hideously deformed, so loathsome. A slight stench issued from his twisted body, like the stink of spoiled carrion.

  “But surely you would expect some reward for your pandering,” she said coldly. “If not money—what?”

  His arm shot out and his fingers closed around her wrist. She stood up, revulsion rising in her throat, but his hand was like an iron claw. She could not pull away “I want you, Lady. The favors you’ve been giving the Jew. Share them, with me.”

  She stared down into his face. His thick lips were moist, his mouth half-open. His chest heaved and the high, hunched shoulder rose and fell in uneven rhythm. She closed her eyes and turned her face away.

  “Do I disgust you, Donna Fosca?” Pietro asked in a whine. “I don’t mind if you close your eyes. After all, you close your eyes when the Jew kisses you, don’t you? Is he any less revolting than I? You will find me very adept at love.” He dragged himself to his feet, then grabbed her hand and placed it between his legs. “I am more of a man than that Jew,” he said hoarsely.

  “They are circumcised, aren’t they, and have a piece of their manhood taken away, but I am whole.”

  “Get away from me!” she shrieked. She whirled and struck him solidly in the face. His weak leg gave way and he fell back against the chaise lounge. Blood trickled down his chin. He looked dazed.

  “You dare,” she said, quivering with anger and fear, “you dare compare yourself with him? You gross frog, you horrid, evil little reptile! Tell him! Go on, tell Loredan everything, I don’t care! I would rather rot in the Tombs than lie with you!”

  She backed away from him. He struggled to rise. She grabbed up her cloak and ran out of the room. Heart pounding, she raced down the marble stairs and shouted for a gondola. A liveried gondolier hurried over and helped her into a boat.

  “Take me to the ghetto, to the Canal Regio,” she panted.

  “But Lady—”

  “Don’t ask questions!” It didn’t matter who knew now. Loredan would learn the truth soon enough, she was sure of it.

  But how, how did Pietro find out about Raf? They had been so careful, so very careful!

  Loredan looked up from his desk at the twisted figure hovering in the doorway. “Yes, what is it, Pietro? Come in, come in.”

  Pietro approached. His eyes were shining brightly, and there was a bit of dried blood at the corner of his mouth.

  “We have found out, Excellency,” he said excitedly. “The identity of Signora Loredan’s lover. He is the Jew, Leopardi. There is no mistake. My spy confirmed it.”

  Alessandro sat quite still. Whatever he had expected, it was not this. Salvino wasn’t lying, he was sure. He should have known that she’d do something that would bring shame and disgrace upon them all.

  “Get out,” he said.

  The hunchback bowed so low that his forehead seemed nearly to brush the ground.

  “Yes, Excellency.”

  Alessandro, sunk in his own thoughts, did not notice the echo of triumph in the little man’s voice.

  VIII

  ASH WEDNESDAY

  Raf wasn’t at home. His Aunt Rebecca was polite but cold.

  “Well, do you know where he could be?” Fosca asked anxiously. “At his ship, perhaps?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. Signora,” Rebecca said. “I only keep house for him. His affairs are none of my concern. But perhaps Lia knows?” She turned to the girl who watched silently from the doorway.

  Lia shook her head. “I don’t know where he is, Aunt Rebecca.” She was wearing a loose white blouse and a colorful peasant skirt that came just above her bare ankles. Her dark hair hung in thick braids over her breasts. Fosca noticed again how attractive the girl was, and she experienced a sharp pang of jealousy.

  “Then at least let me leave a message,” she said impatiently. “I presume I can trust you
to give it to him?”

  “I will give it to him,” Aunt Rebecca said producing writing materials. “You could have me thrown into prison if I didn’t obey you.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Fosca snapped.

  She bent her head over the paper and scratched a few lines. She folded the paper after the ink had dried, sealed it with a blob of candle wax, and as a last thought, stamped the soft wax with the imprint of the gold cross that hung on a thin chain around her neck.

  Wrapping her cloak tightly around her shoulders, she nodded curtly to the older woman, ignored Lia, and hurried out of the house.

  She had asked Raf to come to her casino at once. As she travelled to the Calle Contarina, church bells tolled mournfully, announcing the death of the Doge. It was Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, when men and women went to church to receive traces of ashes on their foreheads, to remind them of the transitory nature of life and the permanence of death.

  Wringing her hands and muttering to herself, she paced the floor of her little blue and silver sitting room. Ordinarily, while she waited for Raf, she would have admired the charm and beauty of the place, which she had decorated herself. Now she was too distraught and preoccupied with their impending danger to see anything.

  A soft knock at the door startled her.

  “Rafaello!” She ran to the door and threw it open. She sucked in her breath and fell back a step. Loredan stood there impassively. “You!”

  He came into the room and looked around. Yes, it was charming, as his mother’s cicisbeo had said.

  “What do you want here?” she said rudely. She faced him squarely. “Well, I suppose that monster Salvino has told you what he found out?”

  “Yes, he did. I wanted to ask you myself if it was true.”

  “Of course it’s true!” She tossed her head. “I suppose he also told you that he was willing to keep it a secret from you, for a price? Not money—me! He wanted to sleep with me!”

  Alessandro winced. “I don’t believe you. Pietro would never—”

  She laughed harshly. “You think not? You’ve treated him like a dog for so long that you’ve forgotten that he’s a man. Oh, I knew he’d go running to you with his tail between his legs. Were you surprised? I’m sure you were. Fosca and the Jew! But I’m not sorry. I love him!”

  He had never seen her like this before, coarse and defiant, wearing her adulterous love like a badge, as though it were something to be proud of. He said quietly, “I just don’t understand why you have done this, Fosca. I want you to be happy. I have given you everything and asked for nothing in return.”

  “You lie!” she said. “You gave nothing and asked everything. I’m just giving you back some of what you gave me. Deceiver! Betrayer! How does it feel?”

  “I think you must be mad,” he said slowly. “So you needed a lover. Very well. But this Jew! The man is a menace, Fosca! A power-mad scoundrel!”

  “He says the same of you!” Fosca informed him.

  “I just can’t believe it. You deliberately chose this man so that you could disgrace and discredit me. This is how you thank me for saving you from a life of poverty, by taking up with the man who wants to destroy me! Why, why, why?” His voice rose in an angry crescendo. “You want to make me a laughing stock, a figure of jest, a horned idiot! My God, Fosca, do you hate me that much?” The question was an anguished cry.

  “Yes,” she said in a steely voice. “Yes, I hate you. This is how I thank you for heartbreak! Murderer that you are! I know it is impossible for you to believe this, but Raf and I love each other. If we had wanted to humiliate you, we would have made our affair a public scandal and not tried to keep it a secret. But you set your spies on us and gave us no peace. I’m glad you’ve found out. I’m not ashamed of loving him. I’m proud of it! He cares about me. About me, not about the sons I can give him, not about the help I can give his career, not about the impression I make on those who have votes.”

  “I won’t listen to any more of this,” Alessandro growled.

  “You can’t silence me now,” she shrilled. “I am not your wife any longer. If you won’t let me go, I’ll make such a scandal that you’ll be forced to divorce me. I won’t let you keep me from my destiny!”

  “Your destiny,” he sneered. “You’re letting him make a fool of you. He’s just using you!”

  “You’re wrong. You’re worried because you know you can’t touch him. He’s a hero, remember? You yourself awarded him a commission in the Navy. The people love him. If you imprison him, they will rebel. I know they will!”

  “You’re a fool,Fosca. A child with no more conception of how this State operates than one of those beggars in the Piazza. Where is your pride? Carrying on with a man of low breeding and birth, and an infidel to boot! It’s a crime against your class and against the order of society!”

  “What do I care about the order of society?” she demanded. “The men who make the laws know nothing about love. You’re hypocrites, all of you! You, with your talk of honor, and your mistresses! Why, the Doge himself has a mistress who goes everywhere with him. A ropedancer from the East! People call her the Dogaressa because they don’t know any better! You preach to me about order. What a joke. So it’s a crime in Venice to fall in love, to care deeply about someone. We’re hurting no one with our love. We just want to be left alone!”

  “I will not let you bring dishonor upon both our names,” he said. “You will come home with me at once.” He took a step towards her.

  “I won’t!” she cried, backing away from him.

  “What kind of man are you, that you want to live with a woman who hates you? You are the fool, not I! You resent me because I have found love, in spite of you. You tried to crush me, to destroy my heart, but you failed! I am free to love whomever I please. Now go away, leave me!”

  "I'm not going without you,” he said stubbornly. “I won’t let you do this to me.”

  “Give me a divorce,” she begged him. “Take pity on me—and on yourself. Spare yourself the scandal, absolve yourself from responsibility for me. Let me go. I don’t care if they send me into exile, as long as I am free to love him!”

  “You’re a little fool,” he said. “Even if I did divorce you, do you think the Inquisitors would let you disgrace yourself and your class in this fashion? They would stop you, not by exiling you, but by throwing that Jew into prison for life. Listen to me, Fosca, the Inquisitors don’t know about this yet. No one knows, except Pietro, and he will keep silent. It’s not too late to stop this thing. Come home with me now. Forget him. No harm will come to him, I promise you.”

  “I don’t believe you. Why should I, after the lies you’ve told me? I won’t stay under your roof one more night. Pretending to be your wife in public and hating you every living moment! I’m so tired of the lies, the charades. I only want to be with the man I love. Is that so terrible? To want a little happiness?”

  He picked up the cloak she had thrown over a chair and wrapped it around her. “You’re coming, whether you want to or not. I won’t let you do this—”

  “Stop it! Don’t touch me! I won’t go, I tell you! Take your hands off me!” She began to claw and scratch.

  He grappled with her. “Get a hold on yourself! Stop acting like an idiot! It’s for your own good—”

  “Liar, liar, liar!” she screamed. “I love him, can’t you understand that? I hate you and I love him! I love him!”

  He shook her violently. Her head snapped back and forth. “Will you be quiet?” he hissed. “You’re hysterical, mad!”

  “Let her go, Loredan.”

  A sharp voice cut across their fury. Alessandro released Fosca and glared at the intruder, Raf Leopardi. Fosca sank weakly onto a small ottoman and buried her face in her hands. Raf stood behind her and placed a possessive hand on her shoulder. He and Loredan stared hostilely at each other.

  Alessandro turned on his heel and went to the door. “You will regret this,” he said without looking around. “Both of you.”
He went out.

  Raf knelt at Fosca’s side and put his arms around her. She clung to him and sobbed. When she was calmer and her trembling had stopped, he said,

  “Listen, Fosca, how did he find out? Did you tell him?”

  “No, no, it was Salvino, that twisted gargoyle! He knows. He wanted to make love to me—in exchange for silence—it was horrible!”

  “It’s all right now,” he murmured consolingly. “It’s over. But how did he find out? We were so cautious. I’m sure we weren’t followed last night—we lost the spy at the Molo. I just don’t understand it.” “What will happen now?” Fosca asked. “Will he arrest you?”

  “Not right away. They’ve announced that the Doge is dead. That means elections. If Loredan has me arrested, the scandal will come out at a very inconvenient time for him. It could seriously damage his influence. I think he’ll keep it quiet for a while. I wonder if the Inquisitors have gotten wind of this yet?”

  “He said not. Only Pietro.”

  “That’s good. Then we’re safe for a little while longer.”

  “You’re not sorry?” Her eyes were worried. “You’re not sorry you fell in love with me? It’s all my fault—I’ll bring down all sorts of trouble on you—I should never have—”

  “Hush, Fosca. Don’t speak that way.” He smoothed her hair and kissed her softly. “No matter what happens, I’ll never be sorry for loving you. Don’t worry anymore. Everything will work out, I promise you.”

  “Will we have to go away?” she asked fearfully.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’d go anywhere with you,” she said. “You know that.”

  “I know. Don’t think about it now. I’ll take care of everything. You stay here today—you’ll be safe. Don’t let anyone in except me or Tomasso. I’ll send him with any messages. It’s too risky for me to come myself.”

  “You’re not leaving?”

  “No, not right away. Come and lie down for a little while. You’re exhausted.”