by Debbie Rix
Aurelia smiled meekly and Berta sent her to bed.
The following morning, Aurelia woke to find the bed covered in blood. Filled with fear, she ran from her chamber into that of her mistress, begging her forgiveness at waking her and explaining that she feared she was dying. Once Berta discovered the cause of the girl’s distress, she laughed and kindly explained what was happening.
‘It is quite natural, Aurelia; it means you are becoming a woman. It will happen each month and is rather a bore, but it is a sign of your fertility.’ She was struck by the irony of her words, as she thought of all the bleeding that she had endured with no sign of any child at the end of it.
But, determined to show the girl some kindness, she called down to the housekeeper, Maria, and instructed her to send the laundry maid to take Aurelia’s sheets and to provide her with materials to stem the flow.
‘You will feel tired today and may have a little pain. We will send to your mother for something to ease it, would you like that? It will only last a couple of days and then you will feel better. You’ll see.’
But Aurelia felt overwhelmed with sadness and wept copiously most of the day. Even the arrival of her mother, who Berta had kindly sent for, did not give her any peace. Her mother gave her a tisane of St John’s Wort to help with the pain, and then made up a second with Lady’s Mantle to regulate her flow, but neither improved her mood and she continued to weep into the evening.
The two older women exchanged glances and smiled to one another in a knowing way about the lot of women and their need to endure pain and sadness, but Aurelia knew that her particular sadness was due to something far more serious than the loss of some blood. Her misery was all to do with the loss of Gerardo, the boy with whom, she now realised, she had fallen hopelessly in love.
Berta, blissfully unaware of her maid’s feelings, exacerbated the situation by forcing Aurelia to accompany her on a visit to the Piazza the following day.
Over breakfast with Lorenzo, she raised the possibility of visiting the Baptistery.
‘Lorenzo, caro, I wonder if you would mind if I took a little walk this morning. I must tell that young mason there is work for him and his grandfather at Deotisalvi’s new tower at San Nicola. Do you remember him from the other evening? He was so worried about his future, and yesterday Deotisalvi assured me that he would be delighted to offer him some work.’
‘Why do you have to tell him yourself? Send one of the servants.’
‘Oh, caro, because I would like the pleasure of seeing his face when he realises that he now has a good job to go to. He was so worried that he and old Gerardo would be out of work. But please don’t worry; Aurelia and Cosimo will be with me.’
‘Well, don’t be long,’ replied her husband, gruffly.
‘Of course, caro,’ she said, kissing the top of his head as she left. ‘You feel a little warm Lorenzo – you should take some air in the garden while we are gone.’
Aurelia set off a few steps behind her mistress, with a heavy heart. She dreaded seeing Gerardo again, especially in the company of Berta. Cosimo attempted to chatter with her as they walked, and even tried to wrap his arm around her waist when Berta’s attention was elsewhere. But Aurelia had no patience with him and slapped his hand away.
When Berta spotted Gerardo amongst a throng of other young masons, her heart missed a beat and she had to restrain herself from running over to him. Desperate to preserve her dignity, she asked Aurelia and Cosi to wait for her at the edge of the Piazza, while she walked purposefully, and in what she hoped was a dignified fashion, towards the Baptistery. She waved discreetly to Gerardo when he turned round and spotted her. Making his excuses to his workmates, he left the group and came towards her, marvelling at her composure and beauty. Taking her arm, he guided her to the opposite side of the Piazza where they sat together, out of sight of her maid, on a low wall.
‘Caro,’ she murmured, as she discreetly held his hand under the folds of her dress. ‘I woke this morning and could think of nothing but you and your mouth on mine.’
He said nothing, but smiled at her, gazing first at her mouth, before allowing his gaze to travel down her body.
‘Have you missed me?’ she asked playfully.
‘Of course, what do you think?’ he replied. ‘I have scarcely slept since that night for thinking about you.’ And he buried his mouth in the nape of her neck, brushing his lips against her fine skin, breathing in the sweet scent of lavender and musk.
She groaned a little, before pulling away slightly.
‘Now, I must tell you something – it’s good news, Gerardo. Deotisalvi will take you and your grandfather on for the tower of San Nicola – it is all arranged.’
She smiled expectantly. ‘Are you pleased?’
‘Oh of course… signora – of course I am. And grateful… so grateful.’ And he lifted her fine pale hands in his own and grazed them with his lips.
His workmates called for him. ‘Gerardo! The capo says we must get on.’
Instinctively, they moved a few inches apart.
‘Caro – I am glad you are pleased. I will send Aurelia with a note of where we are to meet. We must be discreet… you understand, I hope. If Lorenzo were to discover this, he would kill you and probably me, too.’
‘I understand.’ Gerardo stood. But before returning to the gaggle of young men standing waiting for him at the Baptistery, he said: ‘I want you to know that I am so grateful…. for everything.’
And then he disappeared into the throng and Berta was left, her heart beating loudly, with a sense of longing that she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, she would have to fulfil. And soon.
She returned to the palazzo just before lunchtime. Lorenzo was in a foul mood. The symptoms of fever he had felt a few weeks before had returned. He lay in Berta’s bed, hot and damp and angry.
‘Where have you been?’ he demanded when she returned, flushed, from her errand.
‘To the Piazza, caro. You know, I told you. I had to give the good news to young Gerardo and his grandfather. They were very pleased.’
‘All is well with the world then,’ he snapped.
I am so sorry,’ she continued, ‘Caro – did the garden air not help you at all?’ She felt his head. ‘You are very hot, Lorenzo, I will send word to Violetta – she must come back to see us; I’m sure she can help to get this fever down.’
‘Ha!’ retorted her husband. ‘That witch – why not send for a proper doctor?’
‘Oh Lorenzo, caro – you know how much faith I put in Violetta’.
‘I can’t think why… I see no sign that her remedies have made any difference to you’, Lorenzo snapped back.
‘If you are referring to the fact that I am still not with child… then no – the tisane has not yet helped. But it might take time, Lorenzo… we must have a little faith.’
‘Do as you will,’ he retorted. ‘Send for her if you like. But send Maria too, with something for me to drink. I have a terrible thirst.’
For the rest of the day Berta was trapped in her chamber, her husband miserable and demanding. Word was sent to Violetta who arrived before nightfall. After she had examined him, concern was etched on her face.
‘Signora, I am sorry to tell you, but I fear that your husband has contracted a serious fever. It has all the marks of the fever that took my own husband, caused by mal aria. We must observe him carefully. If you will give me a bed here, I will watch over him tonight. I have brought a basket of remedies with me. Would you allow?’
Berta briefly wondered whether the doctor should be sent for. Or the priest.
‘What do you think, Violetta? I have more faith in you, as you know, but Lorenzo would prefer to see a doctor. They would bleed him.’
‘The doctor’s blood letting will do nothing for him, signora, and I have the herbs with me that will help him. If he is still bad in the morning, then, if you like, send for the doctor and perhaps even the priest, if you think it will give him comfort. But hopefully this is ju
st a small crisis. We just need to bring his fever down if possible.’
Grateful for Violetta’s wisdom and support, and relieved of the burden of caring for her husband herself, Berta made arrangements for the apothecary to share a bedroom with Aurelia. But, concerned as she was for her husband, she could not rid herself of the desire to see Gerardo. She sent for her maid.
‘Aurelia, your mother will be staying here tonight, to care for Lorenzo. He has a little fever, but Violetta is confident that it can be brought under control. In the meantime, I need you to do something for me. I want you to go to Gerardo’s house and give him a message. I thought the walk would do you good – no? Tell Gerardo that I will meet him tonight, when the moon is high in the sky, near the church of Santa Cecilia. Go now; when you return you may have your supper.’
Aurelia, weakened by the unfamiliar loss of blood and dismayed at being forced to play go-between, meekly agreed. But, reasoning that it would, at least, afford her an opportunity to meet with Gerardo herself, she went first to her room and changed from her simple linen work dress into the pale grey silk that Berta had given her to wear a few nights before. She brushed her hair and splashed water on her cheeks and eyes, in an effort to refresh her tear-stained face, determined to make herself as lovely, and as tempting, as she could. For somewhere in her young, tender heart she still retained a belief that Gerardo might, at last, realise that it was she, Aurelia, that he truly loved. As she left her room, her eyes fell on the bottle of scent that stood on a table by the door in Berta’s room. Poking her nose round the door, she noted that Lorenzo was sleeping and the chamber was empty. Her mother, she assumed, must be in the kitchen preparing some tincture or other. Hurriedly, she tipped the bottle onto her fingers and breathed in the sweet scent of lavender and musk before rubbing it onto her neck. Then, grabbing an old cape to conceal her pretty outfit from her mistress’s eagle eye, she raced down the stairs, and was away to Gerardo’s house before anyone from the household could see her.
She gasped when Gerardo opened the door. He had only just returned from work at the Piazza and his face was covered with marble dust, giving it a strange ghostly appearance.
Seeing her, he felt a childlike joy and, grabbing her hand, pulled him towards him, kissing her sweetly on the cheek.
She brushed the dust off her face with mock seriousness, and scolded him
‘Gerardo, you are filthy. Get indoors and wash your face.’
Laughing together, he pulled her into the house with him, before going over to the big marble bowl in the corner of the room and filling it with water from the pitcher on the floor. She sat at the table in the kitchen, watching him as he washed his face, dunking his hair in the water and shaking it out like a dog. He pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor, and began to wash his chest and arms before turning triumphantly round to see her. She sat, without her cape, resplendent in her silk gown.
‘You look beautiful,’ he told her honestly.
‘As do you,’ she replied; and for a few moments they sat in mutual contemplation and admiration, one for the other. She, fair, with golden hair, deep blue eyes and her simple grey silk gown. He, dark-haired, dark-skinned, his green eyes shining like a cat.
He sat at the table and offered her a cup of wine.
She sipped the dark liquid and felt its effects almost immediately, for she had not eaten that day.
‘So, my pretty Aurelia, what brings you to me this evening?’
Aurelia remembered her errand: ‘My mistress sent me. She has a message for you.’
The young man looked down at the table and, Aurelia noted, flushed a little.
‘What does she want?’
‘To meet with you, tonight… at the church of Santa Cecilia. Will you meet her?’
‘Tell her I will,’ and then, as an afterthought, he said, ‘Aurelia… it’s business, this between me and Berta…just business. Do you understand?’
Aurelia said nothing. She stroked the silk of her dress, the dress Berta had given her. After a little while she said: ‘I understand, Gerardo; but if it is just business why did you kiss her that evening in the garden?’
Gerardo flushed once again.
‘I know you did; I saw you from the kitchen. I didn’t mean to, but I came out for some air and there you were, and you were kissing. I… oh Gerardo… do you love her?’
At that moment, Gerardo’s grandfather pushed open the door from the street outside. He took in the scene.
‘Nonno, you’re back.’ Aurelia was touched by how genuinely happy Gerardo was to see his grandfather.
‘I am,’ he replied gruffly, ‘but perhaps it is better if I were to leave again.’
Aurelia, ever-sensitive to other people’s needs, was quick to respond. ‘No, no please, I should go. I need to get back to my mistress.’
Standing, she said more formally to the older man, ‘I hope I see you again,’ before turning to Gerardo, ‘and you too, very much.’
Taking her arm, he guided her to the open door and as he breathed in her scent, said quietly into her ear, ‘You smell so sweet, little Aurelia… like a little flower. Will you trust me? I am very fond of you. But this other, it is business… that’s all.’ And then more loudly, he said, ‘Thank you for coming, I hope we meet soon.’
When she had gone, he stood for a moment at the open door, thinking over what had happened, and what he had said. He could not bring himself, he realised, to admit to Aurelia how he really felt about Berta. Why? To protect her feelings, or to avoid a scene. He had flirted with Aurelia, he had encouraged her, and now he saw that he was in danger of hurting her, and that upset him. He was fond of Aurelia; she was innocent, sweet, pretty. He found himself happy whenever he was with her. She made him laugh, and there was something childlike and charming about her. If he had never met Berta, he would almost certainly be courting her. She was the kind of girl he had always thought he might marry. But he had met Berta, and she was not a woman to be shaken off lightly. And more than that, he found her attractive, exciting even. She was forbidden fruit, as ripe as the figs she used to bring him as a boy, and he was intoxicated by her. And yet, Aurelia was someone he could spend the rest of his life with.
‘Gerardo.’ His grandfather called him back from his musing. ‘Shut the door, lad, and come and sit by me. Who was that pretty little miss… your girlfriend?’ Old Gerardo was smiling at his grandson.
‘No, no,’ Gerardo said thoughtfully, ‘just a friend. She’s just a child really… just a sweet child. I’m coming.’
He turned and went back inside, resolving that he would not hurt Aurelia anymore. If his relationship with Berta was to develop, so be it, but he could not love two women. It was not fair, not right. Somehow he would have to tell her.
Chapter Fifteen
September 1171
The brilliance of the full moon cast shadows between the arches that surrounded the church, illuminating the faces of the people gathered there that warm September evening. Berta, anxious to conceal her identity, pulled the hood of her silk cloak up over her hair, partly covering her face. She had rushed to the meeting place, having left home later than she intended. Lorenzo was feverish. Violetta had made a tisane of sweet wormwood, a remedy she had sometimes found to be effective in cases of mal aria, followed by another made of Holy Thistle – the cure for fever – but still his head was burning and he drifted in and out of lucidity all evening, at times calling for his wife, grasping at her clothing and clinging tightly to her hand, at others pushing her away, and shouting to be left in peace.
Berta was desperate to leave and yet filled with guilt at doing so.
‘Violetta, I’m so sorry but I have to go out. It is a matter of business. Lorenzo knows all about it. But I feel awful. I know I shouldn’t leave him. Do you think he’ll be all right?’
Violetta, who was engrossed with her charge, scarcely looked up. ‘We will be fine, signora; please go. I will try to get his fever under control while you are gone.’
The walk to the church would not be a long one, but she was uncharacteristically nervous to be out alone so late at night. Once or twice she stopped in her tracks, resolving to return home again. She knew the risks she was taking; for it was not the custom for the wealthy to go abroad much after dark and certainly not alone. The narrow lanes of Pisa were full of thieves and murderers, and twice Berta had to hide in the shadows to avoid being spotted by groups of unruly men. But it was not just the physical danger that she had put herself in. She knew the risk she was taking with her marriage and with her mortal soul. A few moments after she slid out of the garden gate, she stopped and turned around, muttering under her breath, ‘I cannot do this.’ She thought of Lorenzo lying ill at home and guilt overwhelmed her. But, she reasoned, Violetta was with him. She could do more for him than Berta ever could. Resolving that she would be home in time to stroke his brow, to kiss his forehead, she hurried on, thinking of Gerardo’s lips on hers, and the pleasure she would feel in his company. She remembered the kiss they had shared in her garden just a few weeks before, and felt the familiar flutter of excitement, before thoughts of Lorenzo drifting in and out of consciousness shattered the dream. By the time she arrived at the church, she had quite made her mind up to end it there.
Gerardo was nowhere to be seen. She waited in the shadows, anxious to avoid being recognised. The church and its surrounding cloisters were filled with people, much to her consternation. There had been a service to celebrate a saint’s day and the congregation dispersed slowly, enjoying the warm evening. As the moon rose high in the sky, she wondered if he might let her down.
And then he was there, walking towards her, his hands in his pockets, his head down. He wore a cape with a hood, pulled over his head. His stride was long and he walked purposefully, carving a path through the people gathered in the little Piazza next to the church.