by Edale Lane
Madelena realized she was making a mistake. She had acquired a good tutor for her children and a new friend to share meaningful experiences with, but a romantic affair? Where could that possibly lead? What would her brother think or do when he found out, and she knew he would, eventually. Hadn’t she lived a well-disciplined life? Could she not control her desires for more than a few weeks?
As her mind was blaring at her all the reasons to say no, her heart had been pleading an opposing case. Yes, she had found a teacher and a friend, but in Florentina she had discovered abundantly more. She was interesting, witty, talented, intuitive, and compassionate. She opened whole new worlds to the widow whose entire education was meant only to prepare her to be a merchant’s wife. For the past six months she had felt lost, as if she had no place and no purpose. She had helped Alessandro with the bookkeeping and personal relations with customers, but she had also spent her nights alone speculating on what the future may hold for her. She still could not answer that question, but she had spoken honestly when she said that Fiore made her feel real and alive. Since growing closer to the dark-haired inventor’s daughter she had begun to experience so many things. And today–today had likely been the best day of her twenty-eight years on this earth! Then the emotion of sharing her story, it was just all too much to expect her to maintain self-control. But now that she had initiated this passionate encounter, what would she do next?
Presently, she drew back from those sultry lips trying to regain some restraint. “Have you ever been with a woman before?” she asked to fill the silence.
Florentina shook her head. “If you mean sexually, I am quite inexperienced with anyone, male or female. Years ago when Cesare told me he was attracted to men, I mentioned that I was more drawn to women. I didn’t think he’d ever say anything; it’s not like we talked about it much, but now,” she paused casting starry eyes at Maddie, “I’m glad he did.”
She smiled and stroked Florentina’s cheek. “So am I.”
“I know you have experience,” she noted. “So, what do we do next?”
What indeed! Madelena considered. “Take one step at a time. May I suggest we try to get some sleep and take a night to process it all? I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”
“You’re overwhelmed?” Fiore laughed. “I’m not certain my legs will carry me upstairs!”
Maddie hesitated to move, as the tug of an invisible cord was drawing her back to her newfound treasure. Neither was Florentina moving away. One more kiss and you must move. Give both of us time to think. She touched her lips to Fiore’s and closed her eyes. What makes one kiss a sloppy flop and another a driving, sensuous pleasure? Is it one’s mental perception or a physical current that connects two individuals who are similarly charged? I can feel the energy pass between her and I unlike any other before.
“I shall see you in the morning.” She released Florentina and pushed herself to her feet with a sheer force of will. Florentina followed saying her good-nights and Madelena closed the bedroom door behind her as she left. Alone once more, she glanced around her empty chamber and wished her lover could have stayed all night.
Chapter 10
After a long restless night, Madelena made a decision; embarking down a path of passion with a member of the staff was a categorical mistake. Despite how she felt about Fiore–particularly because of her feelings for the remarkable woman–she could not entangle them both in an affair with the potential to ruin everything. Florentina had become the single greatest asset to their household and she would not engage in behavior that may cause them to lose her. The best solution was to find her at once to discuss the matter. Maddie encouraged herself with the notion that one as intelligent as Florentina was likely to reach the same conclusion herself.
Madelena dressed quickly and struck out upstairs to catch her before she ventured out of her room. Being a Saturday with no lessons for the children, Florentina was free to go anywhere. She first knocked on the door, then turning the knob found it open. She peeked inside and frowned at the empty, made bed. A sleepy Angela looked across to her mistress. “Did you require something, Donna?” she asked groggily and started to push back her covers.
“No, it is early yet. Where is Florentina?”
Angela blinked. “I don’t know.”
“Very well. There’s no rush, Angela. Just follow your regular weekend schedule.” Madelena closed the door and wore a frustrated expression while descending the stairs. She had resumed her formal air of aloof power by the time she reached the front hall in search of the head butler. He would know where she was.
Upon spotting him she called, “Iseppo?”
He turned, took a few steps toward her, and stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, Donna Madelena; what can I do for you?”
“Where is Florentina?” The demand that cut through in her tone was sharper than indented.
“Your children’s teacher exited the residence at dawn with a large shoulder bag. She said there were tools and materials she had to hunt down and purchase to repair one of the silk looms that is malfunctioning at our production house. She informed me that between the shopping and repair work she may well be away all day.” His speech was monotone, void of any emotion or concern in the matter.
Maddie sighed. “Grazie. That is all I needed to know.”
“Today is Saturday,” he noted. “My schedule shows that yours and Donna Portia’s ladies circle will be gathering here for brunch at 11:00. Shall I be expecting their arrival?”
“Yes. I will coordinate with Portia and Bianca for the menu.” I completely forgot about the ladies meeting. I suppose I’ll have to wait until evening to discuss this matter with Fiore. She departed toward the kitchen in search of the cook.
Florentina was discovering that keeping up with the Night Flyer’s activities while living in a dwelling filled with other individuals was not an easy task; neither was planning a daytime strike, but this was her best opportunity to land a substantial blow. According to the calendar she had studied during her midnight break in at Viscardi’s warehouse, this day his people would be returning home from a major delivery of weapons with full coin bags from the sale. Fortunately, the tools and materials required to make the simple repair to the loom were already in a box at the production house; the workers there had no clue what was needed so she could buy plenty of time with an unnecessary “shopping” trip.
There were pitfalls, however. She would have to leave town in her everyday clothes, walk a good distance along the appropriate road without drawing suspicion being a woman walking out of the city alone. Then she would have to disappear from the highway into the woods to change into her black costume, venture through the trees and underbrush parallel to the main road until she spied Viscardi’s wagons and undoubtedly doubled guard returning. Most difficult of all would be making the strike to extract the money during daylight hours and getting away without injury. This had required the most precise planning. Once she had the coin box, which would be quite hefty, she would need repeat the process. She had selected a charity house near the edge of town to drop off the box so she wouldn’t have to carry it any farther than necessary.
Every colorful leaf, every bird’s song, every puff and swirl of cloud made her joyful heart sing! She had scarcely slept for replaying last evening’s words and sensations over and over again. Maddie was beautiful, but she was so much more–a caring mother, a progressive woman, a tough exterior with a tender heart. But to keep Don Alessandro’s sister safe, she must never discover the identity of the avenging bandit out to destroy House Viscardi. If they start spending more time at night together, that might become a very difficult balancing act indeed.
Madelena and her sister-in-law Portia greeted their guests as they arrived. Their circle of youngish upper-crust, non-noble ladies had been meeting weekly for years alternating between the members’ homes or a local café as a venue. Viewed as society’s second tier, they played an important economic role in the city
as well as carrying influence with their husbands, but mostly they just wanted an opportunity to socialize with their peers. The group included four other women between twenty-five and forty years of age, all merchants’ wives. Julia Sacchi was the much younger second wife of guild leader Giovanni Sacchi. She paraded in led by her immense breasts that threatened to burst forth from her gold and white gown at any moment. Next was Isabella della Gazzada, a plump woman who waddled through the threshold with a hand fluffing her light brown updo. Then Tomasina Luino strode into the ladies’ parlor as tall as a tree and thin as a twig, her curly dark hair elaborately braided about her head. The last to arrive was the moon-lit blonde Rose Bombello who glided into their midst with the temperament of a fawn.
The petite Portia started off the conversation by standing in the center of the room and swirling about in her new wine colored silk and velvet dress. “What do you think of master fashion designer Rocco Astolfi’s latest masterpiece?” Her presentation was met with a flurry of “oohs” and “aahs”. “Isn’t it the pinnacle?”
“Fabulous, Portia dearest,” agreed Julia whose face shone as if she had just seen God. “That color would be perfect for my new set of jewels, don’t you think?” She brushed a delicate hand below her neck to draw all eyes to the dazzling colorful rocks dangling from a gold chain above her ample bosom.
“And look at Rose’s exquisite hair style,” Portia said directing attention toward the shy woman. “How ever did you achieve so light a shade? Why there’s barely a hint of color at all!”
Isabella piped up, “I had a fitting with Rocco yesterday and he said my new gown will be ready before All Saints’ Day. It is similar to yours, Portia, but two-toned with a cut he said would accentuate my particular figure.”
“I’m sure it will be absolutely stunning!” predicted the towering Tomasina. Then she thrust out a hand baring a sparkling diamond. “Look what my husband picked up for me while he was in Venice.” More “oohs” and “aahs”.
At last, quiet Rose spoke. “What about you, Madelena?”
She didn’t have any new clothes or jewelry and had only recently given up wearing black. But she did have something fresh to relay to her friends. “I went to the monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie with my children and their new tutor to view the painting of the Last Supper. We met a young student of Master Leonardo’s who was making a copy. It was quite exhilarating.”
“Leonardo,” Julia mused scrunching up her brow to think. “Isn’t he that eccentric fellow from Vinci with the wild, scraggly beard who was Ludovico Sforza’s pet artist?”
Tomasina added with a wave of her long-fingered hand, “My governess takes my children on outings so I don’t have to.”
“I heard that painting is a disaster,” Isabella stated shaking her head. “Peeling off the wall like bark off a tree.”
“Ludovico Sforza had some sense of style,” Portia noted, “but Giovanni is the dreamiest man in the family.”
“Dreamy doesn’t even begin to describe him!” gushed Rose. Tomasina began to giggle, a high pitched sound akin to clinking a spoon on glass.
They continued to talk incessantly about men’s good looks, clothes, and gossip–who was doing what with whom, all to the tune of Tomasina’s tickling laugh. Drivel, Maddie thought. She felt as if she was fading from the room, an act of self-preservation. She tuned out all their meaningless words and initiated a deep self-examination. It’s nothing but drivel. Was this me? Has this been my life? She could recall when the routine lunch with this circle of women had been the highlight of her week, a chance to get out of the house and socialize with others of her age and station. But now she perceived the gathering as a foolish waste of time and energy. Were these other merchants’ wives even true friends? Could she confide in them? Certainly not. Were they interested in her life, her children? No, that much was clear. Her sister-in-law frequently played the role of friend, but her interests centered on fashion and social events. She didn’t want to appear rude, but Madelena had to take a step back with her head throbbing as if it might explode at any moment.
The day the intriguing, dusky intellectual walked through their front door, her world began to change. Maybe that transformation had already started. Dealing with the death of a spouse at a young age may have given her a more serious mind, and unlike many of the upper-class, she took a hands-on interest in raising her precious children. She had intelligence, and she yearned to use it, not just go through the paces of a meaningless existence seeking nothing more than comfort and finery. She wanted to learn, to feel, to experience life at its fullest, and until now she had only stepped her toe in the water. In that moment she longed to dive in and swim!
Florentina and I discuss art, music, philosophy, and religion. She listens attentively when I speak, and with genuine interest. She has given my life meaning, brought me out of this prattle and opened my mind to countless more important topics. How could I possibly consider turning back our relationship? I wish to spend a lifetime with her! I have fulfilled my duty to family and society; I was married and have borne children. Now I should be able to live the life I want. Many a well-to-do widow has remained so quite successfully, continuing to run their late husband’s business affairs. In these modern times marriage is not a requirement, and a second marriage even less so. I can do it! I could continue to assist Ally with the business, raise my children, and keep Florentina as a legitimate member of the household. When Matteo starts at the Studium Generale and Betta at girls’ school, we will still need her to fill other roles. It may work; I will make it work!
Chapter 11
Dressed completely in black, coif and mask in place, the Night Flyer sprinted through the cover of trees along the westward road from Milan to the Duchy of Savoy. It was a number of miles to the bridge over the Ticino River, a tributary of the Po. That was too far a distance to travel on foot and the span was in clear ground, not a suitable site for an ambush. She would need a remote and wooded area; Florentina remembered such a spot. Much of the land near the city was open grazing pastures or farming fields and she had been obliged to walk that portion of the route in her skirts toting her oversized bag, but now she was safe in the forest’s protection.
Florentina came to a bend in the road as it followed the landscape with dense old-growth trees lining both sides. Listening and hearing none approach, she laid her trap, hoping no other caravans would arrive first. She spotted the fallen branch of an ash tree that was too thick to run a wagon over and decided it would create a good barrier to cause them to stop. She took out her grappling hook and length of rope with gloved hands and draped it around the chest-high limb of a poplar on the other side of the road, then wedged the alloyed hook into a fork of the large ash log. Wrapping the free end of the rope around her back, she stepped backwards across the road toward the timber she was hauling. The make-shift pulley system allowed her to drag an object much too heavy for her to have moved otherwise. Soon the barricade was in place.
Next she chose a gnarled live oak with huge low-hanging branches and climbed onto one overhanging the trail. She checked her supplies and rehearsed the plan in her mind again. Speed was essential as she possessed no ability to engage a troop in broad daylight. After an hour’s wait she heard the clomp of hooves and the rattle of wagon wheels. Then came the sound of voices as several of the guards conversed as they rode. Her heart raced, and she felt a trickle of sweat roll down her back but her hands were steady.
Crouching on the branch and obscured by its year-round foliage, she studied the approaching band. There it is, Viscardi’s House symbol; this is it! Peering intently, she counted four men on horseback, two in each of three empty wagons, and a coach driver of a covered carriage. There’ll be a few more inside and that is where the gold will be, she deduced. Between twelve and fourteen men.
“Wait,” called one of the horsemen in the lead. “We’ll need to stop and move this log for the wagons to get by.” She hovered above the last of the three carts but the coach she n
eeded to infiltrate was still several yards behind. She determined not to chide herself; who could calculate the exact span the caravan would make, especially since she had not known the number of wagons? She could work around that distance. “Joseph, Teodor, get your lazy asses out of those saddles and come help me,” the guard demanded.
All four riders were now on foot trudging toward the log in the road; it was time. Using a sulfur match, the Night Flyer lit a croquet ball sized smoke bomb and tossed it at the group of guards. Immediately she lit a string of firecrackers that was wound about one of her bolts and fired it into the forest across from her. She did not use her unique invention of the rapid-fire crossbow this time, as the bolts had to be loaded into chambers, but instead utilized a smaller version of a traditional crossbow that could be operated with one hand. The pops sounded at a distance in quick succession.
“He has an arabesque!” shouted the driver of one of the wagons. All attention was focused in the direction of the “shots.”
“There must be more than one,” called another. “I count five reports.” The hired soldiers crouched in the smoke and readied their weapons. That is when Florentina saw Stefano lean out of the carriage window.
“You sardin’ cowards!” Stefano bellowed. “Get that wind-fucker!”
She shot off a second array of firecrackers just beyond the front of the caravan. “Over here,” called another. Everyone save those in Stefano’s coach were running about through the smoke in disarray, shouting and firing their weapons into the forest when she swung from the branch by her grappling rope onto the top of the carriage and tossed a glass bottle through the window. It shattered on the hard floor and a chemical vapor bloomed in their midst that set the men inside coughing and squeezing, their stinging eyes shut. She whacked the driver on the head and he slumped in his seat. The Night Flyer dropped in beside him and pushed his limp body to the ground while behind her Stefano and his companions stumbled out of the cab onto their hands and knees gagging and gasping for air.