by Debbie Rix
‘I am pleased for you, caro, you deserve this success. Your grandfather would be very proud of you. I will miss you, and will be here waiting for you when you return.’
Violetta bid her daughter farewell at the church and left Berta and Aurelia to walk back to the palazzo. Aurelia was keen to discover what her mistress had been discussing, so intimately, with Gerardo.
‘The service… it went well,’ she began.
‘It did,’ agreed Berta dreamily. ‘It was very beautiful indeed. It was good to see so many people represented there. Gerardo must be very proud.’
‘Indeed, signora. And how did he feel it went… when he spoke to you?’
‘Oh very well. Very well.’
‘Was that all that he said?’
‘You are very curious, Aurelia,’ Berta spoke sharply, ‘about a private conversation; but if you must know, he was telling me that he would be leaving tomorrow. He is to travel with Deotisalvi to Monti Pisani in search of suitable stone for the tower of San Nicola. He has been asked to take his grandfather’s position as lapicida; it is a great honour for him. He wanted merely to thank me, as I made the introduction to Deotisalvi for him. Now let us hurry. I have many things to do this afternoon.’
Aurelia wanted desperately to snap back at her mistress: ‘I know that. I was with him the night his grandfather died. He told me about his promotion before he told you. He wants us to be together always.’ But instead, she had to hold her counsel, and walked in sullen silence back to the palazzo. Just a few days before, Gerardo had led her to believe that she was vital to him, but here, in public, he had practically ignored her. She felt humiliated, and sulked all the way home. She could barely look Berta in the eye as she attended to her that afternoon.
Her behaviour did not go unnoticed by her mistress, who now understood now that Aurelia was hopelessly in love with Gerardo. She felt sure that he cared for the girl too – in his own way. But for now, she felt secure in the knowledge that she and the young lapicida had a bond – both physical and emotional. In truth, perhaps her vanity precluded her from believing that any man could care for a young maidservant as intensely as he cared for her. Berta calmly ate her lunch and, dressed in a simple gown, went downstairs to spend the afternoon with Massoud.
Miserably, Aurelia put Berta’s clothes away and tidied her room. The afternoon dragged on into the evening and she became desperate to see Gerardo before he left the city, to prove to herself, if nothing else, that he did truly care for her. But Berta returned to her room after supper and began to read. Aurelia, trapped by the presence of her mistress, was unable to escape to her beloved’s house.
Aurelia woke very early the next morning. She pulled her dress on over her shift, grabbed a cloak to keep out the autumn chill, and ran down the stairs and out into the street to Gerardo’s house. She arrived, panting, and knocked hard on the door.
Antonio, the page, opened up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
‘Gerardo… is he at home?’ Aurelia asked
‘No. He left very early this morning… for Monte Pisano. He will be gone for some weeks.’
Aurelia felt the tears filling her eyes, and embarrassed and exhausted, she mumbled her thanks and apologies; she began the walk home.
The boy came after her.
‘Are you Aurelia?’
‘Yes, yes I am.’
‘Signor Gerardo left a message for you, before he left. He said to tell you that he will back soon… and that he will miss you.’
Aurelia clapped her hands with joy and hugged the boy.
* * *
‘Thank you, thank you so much,’ she said, before running through the city streets back to the palazzo.
While Gerardo was away, Berta was kept busy. Massoud had calculated that the debts of Lorenzo’s company were too big to be covered by the sale of her jewellery and the remainder of the fleet. That would go part of the way, but the house, her beloved palazzo, would have to be sold.
Massoud wept as he revealed the full extent of the problem.
‘Signora, I am so sorry. My heart is full of sorrow to have to tell you these things.’
But Berta was brisk. ‘Massoud, please do not weep for me. I have had an exciting life and achieved many things. Between us, Lorenzo and I helped to create many wonderful works of art, this house amongst them. So, it’s now time for me to leave. I will survive. The important thing is that we find a place for all the household. I will be able to keep some of the staff, of course. Your good self, if you will come with me, Maria too, and Aurelia. Perhaps Giuseppe, but it depends where we end up. So, first, let us take care of the staff and then let it be known that the Palazzo of Lorenzo Calvi and Berta di Bernardo is for sale.’
The weeks that followed were full of activity. A buyer was swiftly found for the palazzo and Berta’s goods were either sold, or packed up and made ready for the move to the house she had shared so briefly with her lover. But as the cases and trunks filled with china and glass were stacked up in the dining hall at the palazzo, Berta had a change of heart.
‘The casetta was fine for those few days, Massoud, but is not really suitable for me to live in permanently. I would prefer to be somewhere nearer to the Piazza that I have loved all my life.’
But that was not the only reason why the little house at the top of the town would not be suitable. It would not, Berta believed, be large enough to accommodate her household, especially as she was now quite certain that she was to have a child.
The day of old Gerardo’s funeral fell on the day Berta would normally expect to start her monthly bleed. But it did not come that day, nor the next. At first, she thought little of it, but as the days went by, she began to wonder at the cause. Two weeks after young Gerardo had left, and still there was no sign. But her belly had a distinct swelling. She could feel it beneath her hands as she lay in bed at night.
She sent for Violetta.
‘I believe,’ she said when the apothecary arrived, ‘that these years of waiting might finally be at an end. I think I am with child.’
Violetta, who knew nothing of Berta’s relationship with Gerardo, asked, ‘How many weeks is it since your husband died?’
‘Eight weeks.’
‘By the swelling, you must be more than two months pregnant; I would estimate nearer four. Have you bled in that time?’
‘Yes,’ answered Berta, ‘twice… but not this last time.’
‘Well, that can happen sometimes. I am happy for you, signora; it is a gift from God, and may go some way to make up for your loss.’
After Violetta left, Berta thought back over the last months she had spent with Lorenzo. He had been unwell for some weeks before his death, and they had not made love in that time. It was possible that the baby was his, but there was another contender as father for this child: her absent lover, Gerardo.
Monte Pisano was some fifty miles from Pisa, a journey that would take several weeks to complete, initially by sea, and then on horseback. The group consisted of Deotisalvi, Gerardo and some twenty men who had worked with the old architect for many years, who were not only skilled masons but also experienced sailors and horsemen. They were to travel north up the coast on a small galley to the small port of Forte dei Marmi. From there, they would go on horseback across the plain and up into mountains. Gerardo was surprised to note that he felt no sea-sickness on the day-long sail. He thought of his grandfather Carlo, and wondered if he had, perhaps, inherited the old sailor’s sea legs. But the journey on horseback was not so straightforward. The days were long and hard and the pace set by the elderly architect, Deotisalvi, was impressive. The party set off at first light, and rarely stopped before the sun had set. If their journey took them near a village, they spent the night at an inn, or billeted amongst the local people. But if, as often happened, they found themselves deep in the woods, they would make camp, erecting tents, cooking over an open fire. The men, all of whom Deotisalvi had worked with before, were experienced travellers. They rode well, pitched tents wi
th ease, and hunted their supper with skill. But their real value lay in their ability to manoeuvre and transport vast pieces of marble down from the mountain to the coast and thence to Pisa.
Gerardo, however, although young and fit, was no horseman, and at the end of the first day, as they set up their tents in the foot hills of the mountains, his legs and back ached more than he had ever thought possible. When he was finally able to lay himself down at nightfall in front of the fire, the pain burned in his thighs.
‘Not used to horseback, I see,’ Deotisalvi smiled ruefully, poking a stick in the fire.
‘No, capo magister… I have not ridden much.’
‘Not at all by the look of it. Never seen such terrible horsemanship. You could ride in the cart if you’d prefer?’
Tempted as he was by the offer, Gerardo was determined to prove himself to the old man. ‘No thank you; I’ll learn. It’s good to learn new skills.’
‘Well,’ said Deotisalvi, ‘learn to use your knees. You need to grip the horse more between your legs; he needs to know who’s boss. The ride will get harder tomorrow; from now on it’s all uphill and he’ll shake you off if you don’t grip him hard.’
‘Thank you, capo magister… that’s helpful advice.’
‘Ha! Well, if you weren’t a rider before this trip, you will be by the end of it.’
And the old man threw the stick in the fire and took himself off to his tent, adding as an afterthought, ‘I’d get to sleep if I were you; we’ll be off at first light tomorrow.’
Gerardo lay looking at the embers of the fire, thinking of how his life had changed in the last few months. He wondered what his grandfather Gerardo would make of his promotion. He hoped he would be proud. Something about the bright flames evoked a memory of his mother teaching him, when he was a little boy, to hang the pot over the fire in the kitchen without burning his arm. His memories of her were fading, and he wondered if they had been supplanted by stories his grandfather had told him. The three people who had meant most to him in his life had gone, and he was completely alone but for the two women who had come to mean so much to him, Aurelia and Berta. He saw now, as he gazed into the dying embers of the fire, that he loved them both, but in different ways. His love for Aurelia felt gentle and natural. There was an inevitability about it, as if she was his destiny. She was young, and naive at times, it was true, but she was also loyal and loving, with a streak of impetuousness that amused him. And there was Berta, a woman who could be bewitching as well as infuriating. There were times when he found her intoxicating, and that was part of her attraction, but it was also daunting. He knew in his heart that he could not, would not, choose to spend his life with her, but equally he was powerless to leave her.
One hundred miles to the south, while her lover went in search of the perfect vein of marble for the new tower at San Nicola, Berta, anxious to secure her future, had arranged another appointment with the Operaio, Benetto Vernacci.
She arrived with her notary, Massoud, just before lunch, and was shown into a quiet sitting room in Vernacci’s sumptuous apartments in his official rooms next to the Duomo. She sat in a high-backed leather chair opposite the Operaio’s desk, with Massoud standing behind.
‘Cara signora… how good it is to see you here. I note you have made yourself comfortable, excellent. What can I get for you – a glass of wine?’ Vernacci beckoned to a steward who was standing in the corner of the room.
Berta shook her head. ‘Thank you, no – nothing.’
The Operaio waved the boy away. ‘Very well, now what would you like to discuss?’
‘Signor Vernacci, you know that I have always been a faithful servant of Pisa and its people.’
The Operaio nodded.
‘That is never in any doubt, signora; you and your husband have always been most generous patrons of this great city.’
‘As you may know, since the death of my dear husband Lorenzo, I have had a change in circumstances. Various debts have accrued that we have had to deal with.’
‘I am distressed to hear of this, signora.’
Berta smiled serenely and nodding towards Massoud, she continued. ‘With the help of my trusted friend here, the debts have all been dealt with. Massoud has been most loyal and inventive and we will be in a good position once the fleet my husband built up has been sold. That, and our house, of course – for the palazzo must be sold too. Then I shall be in a position to move forward with my life and dedicate myself to the one thing that has been my life-long passion – our great city of Pisa.’
‘Your house! But signora, the palazzo of Lorenzo Calvo and Berta di Bernardi is legendary – it is one of the most beautiful houses in the City.’
‘Indeed, Signor Vernacci. It is a beautiful house – an elegant building that gave us great pleasure… and now it will give pleasure to others. That is the nature of buildings, is that not true?’
The Operaio nodded as Berta continued.
‘The important thing is that the members of my household will be secure. Massoud once again has excelled himself and everyone has been found another position – many with my friends and relations. I will maintain a small retinue of course; Massoud here has generously agreed to stay with me, for his counsel is invaluable. So I will not be abandoned. And there will be enough money, I am glad to say, to pay for a house or apartment – and that, Signore, is partly what has prompted me to come here today. I would like to ask you, as head of the Opera del Duomo, if it would be possible to rent one of the Opera’s apartments here on the Piazza; I know that granting such a request would be within your gift, and I would take it as a huge kindness were you to afford me the opportunity to live in the confines of the Piazza del Duomo. It would be such a comfort to know that although I have lost my husband and my home, I could wake up every day within sight of the most beautiful cathedral and baptistery in the whole of Italy.’
Berta paused, waiting for the Operaio to respond. But he said nothing, his face impassive, his long fingers fiddling with the leather box that sat on the table in front of him.
She dropped her voice: ‘I have something else to discuss too, before you decide on my request about the apartment.’
Berta felt beneath her cloak, and untied a small linen bag from the girdle that she wore round her waist. It chinked slightly as she lay it on the table in front of the Operaio.
‘I would like to make you a donation. There are sixty florins here, a sizeable sum. I am offering this gift to you now, on the understanding that it is to be used to buy the foundation stones for the beautiful campanile that I know we both want built here.’
The Operaio bowed his head in acknowledgement, and his elegant fingers reached out to touch the bag of coins.
‘Gentile signora, that is a very generous gift and one which I will need to discuss with my colleagues here. But can I say that, as far as I am concerned, it is an offer that I would be minded to accept. As you know, our finances have been severely stretched by the war with our neighbours over the last decade. And if we are to do God’s work and see the new campanile completed, we will need a miracle!’ He laughed. ‘Perhaps, signora - you are that miracle?’
Berta, who had been sitting tense and erect in her chair, relaxed a little.
‘But more importantly,’ the Operaio continued, ‘I am distressed to hear of your change in circumstances. This must be a very difficult time for you and, once again, if my colleagues agree, I would be very happy to offer you a home here within the Opera Santa Maria. I know that we have two apartments that are currently vacant; they should provide adequate lodging for you and your household.’
Berta smiled with relief and thanked the Operaio. ‘I am very grateful to you. There is one other thing that I would like to raise with you. The plans for the tower, the ones Deotisalvi has drawn up. You know I think Deotisalvi is a genius and we are all in awe of his wonderful work. Please do not misunderstand me when I say this – but his design for the tower seems to me to be not quite as spectacular as we might have ho
ped. You may recall that I think I alluded to this the last time we met; and I also mentioned that I had taken the liberty of exploring one or two design alterations. I have the sketches with me here… if you would like to look at them?’
The Operaio motioned towards the table and Massoud laid out the plans for the campanile.
Berta and the Vernacci stood up to admire the drawings. He walked around the table so as better to study them, peering intently at the design. Slowly, a smile spread across his face.
‘It is a beautiful building, signora; a work of great creativity. Who has designed it? And more importantly, can it work? It looks so delicate; will it stand up?’
‘The designer should perhaps remain a secret for now; suffice it to say that it is the work of a new talent in our great city, someone who admires the work of the master Deotisalvi, but has taken pleasure in developing his ideas a little. As for whether it will work… I can assure you that it can and it will, signore. I have taken the liberty of asking two experts at the University to check the figures. The workings are all here.’
She motioned to Massoud, who unrolled two sheets of calculations on top of the drawings.
‘But Deotisalvi, has he seen all this?’
‘Well, signore, here we come to the heart of the matter. I thought that if you were minded to assist, we might go together and show him the plans. If you felt that the design was an improvement on the original, I’m sure you would be able to persuade the Capo Magister to consider these alterations?’
Berta let her cloak slip off her shoulders onto the chair behind her. She wore a dark red damask dress that showed off her slim waist and white skin. Playing with a long ringlet of her hair, she smiled at the Operaio.
‘It is, as you have seen, still substantially Deotisalvi’s original design. It is round, not square, and still features his idea of the ring of blind arcades at the base and again at the top. This new design simply echoes his original.’