Chapter Six
CARLA WENT DOWNSTAIRS in trepidation next morning. She was sure that Giovanni would say something cruel to her but he scarcely paid her any attention, being busy with a new commission. Marco gave her a cheerful smile and Carla responded in kind, but now her heart felt torn in two when she was in his presence. It was bitter-sweet to see his handsome face, to watch him covertly as he worked and imagine how it would feel to be in his arms, yet not to be able to show her feelings.
Carnival seemed to mark a kind of watershed in Carla’s artistic career. While she still prepared the boards with gesso, made brushes and mixed paint when required, Piero started to entrust more and more fine work to her. Perhaps he was testing her capabilities to their limit just to see if a woman could work as well as a man. Whatever his motive, she relished every new task that he set before her.
‘How about making a portrait of me,’ he suggested one day. At first she thought he was joking, but she soon discovered that he meant it. ‘All my lads have used me as a model at some time,’ he went on. ‘And I remembered that you used to do sketches of people in the street before Marco brought you here. I’d like to see what you can do in that way.’
So she settled down with her chalks and charcoal, just as she used to do. Piero was a restless model, refusing to sit still but carrying on with his own work while she drew him, so she had to make quick impressions. An atmosphere of peaceful contemplation reigned as she became absorbed in the task in hand, constantly observing her model and correcting her handiwork until the finished product was the best that she could achieve.
At last he demanded to see her effort. ‘Not bad at all!’ he said, first holding the paper at arm’s length and then peering closely at it. ‘You’ve caught my likeness, no doubt about that. How would you like to do a full-scale portrait, in tempera?’
‘Oh, do you really mean it?’ She gazed at him in longing.
He nodded, brusquely. ‘Not of me, though. I have a commission for a Saint Sebastian and I’ve no time to do it myself. I’d ask Giovanni, but he’s busy with other work too. Of course, I’d have to pass your work off as my own. Only if it’s any good though!’
‘When can I start?’
‘Today, if you like. I thought Marco could model for you.’
It was the best news she could have had. Piero suggested that she make the bedroom her temporary workshop, setting up her easel there and surrounding herself with everything she needed. The light was good during most of the day and she could work there undisturbed. Best of all, she would have Marco all to herself. She couldn’t have wished for a better arrangement!
Marco seemed pleased too. ‘If you do this well, Piero might apprentice you,’ he told her. ‘I should like that. It would mean I’ve brought you luck.’
Piero insisted that Marco should model in the nude. Carla was filled with secret apprehension, and she suspected that her master was enjoying her discomfort. Even so, she had to admit it made sense. She would have to portray the saint in his martyrdom, pierced with a dozen or so arrows, so it was important that she got the anatomy right. Even so she had to hide her blushes when Marco stripped unself-consciously in front of her. She’d had glimpses of the other lads’ naked bodies before, but she had never been obliged to study them at close quarters as she would have to do now.
‘How do you want me?’ Marco asked, standing there in full nudity with his thick penis dangling before him and Carla almost fainting with suppressed desire.
‘I – don’t know. What do you suggest?’
‘Well, I could put my weight on one foot, like this, with my hands behind me as if bound. I could raise my eyes to heaven, like so. Will you be portraying me tied to a stake?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘In that case I think hands behind is best, don’t you?’
He was matter-of-fact about it but Carla could scarcely focus her mind on the job in hand. She was simultaneously embarrassed and fascinated by seeing him in the altogether for the first time. Once he had taken up his pose she did some preliminary sketches to get the angles right, but she regarded him from beneath lowered lids with fleeting glances, hardly daring to take a long, hard look at him as she used to with the faces she drew.
It had never occurred to Carla that a man’s body could be beautiful but as she became lost in her work she grew bolder, staring intently at Marco’s nude form, and she began to see the exquisite shape and texture, finding it most satisfying. He was not a big man but his chest was well-proportioned, with just a smattering of dark hair, his waist was slim and so were his hips. The muscles of his arms were well-developed, from carrying heavy loads when he was young, and his thighs and calves were both sturdy and shapely.
But what drew Carla’s attention most was his beautiful prick. Even in its flaccid state it was pleasing to her eye, with its long, thick shaft of a tawny hue and the pink bud of the glans peeping out delicately. Beneath it swung the long sac that contained his balls, forming such an inviting trio that Carla longed to kiss and fondle it, to make that noble cock stand proud and free, to feel the soft heaviness of the testes in her palm. She knew Piero’s intimately, of course, but whereas there was a kind of brute strength in his equipment that was not without its charm, Marco’s genitalia seemed, by comparison, a work of art not nature.
‘Do you mind if I take a rest?’ Marco’s voice had broken her reverie.
‘Of course not!’
He came to sit companionably by her side while he viewed her efforts. ‘It’s coming on. I don’t think you have the curve of my arm quite right yet, but that will come. A painting develops in its own good time, I find. There’s no rushing the process. And you’ve made a good start. I’m glad Piero has so much faith in you, Carlo.’
‘Me too.’
Carla could barely speak, she was so overcome by having a naked Marco beside her. He seemed so at ease with his body, casually arranging his cock and balls as he sat down so that they were not crushed under him. Her desire for him was making her miserable again, filling her with hopeless longings so that she could barely endure his proximity. So she was pleased when he began to distract her by talking about other works of art that he had seen in Florence.
‘Lorenzo de’ Medici has a fine collection. I saw some of his treasures when I visited with Piero. I wish you could see his ancient medals, his precious gemstones and artefacts. And his wonderful statue of David. It was made by the sculptor Donatello, and it shows him as a graceful young boy, not unlike yourself. I modelled my stance on him just now.’
‘I wish I could go to his palace and see them too.’
Marco smiled. ‘Maybe you will, one day. He is a good friend to artists. It’s my fervent wish to produce something for him, to paint a family portrait or an altarpiece for one of his private chapels. But he only uses the finest artists and craftsmen.’
‘I’ve not seen much of your work, Marco, but I’m sure it is very good.’
He shrugged. ‘Much of what I have to do is hack work. I’d love to have the freedom to express what is in my soul. Maybe one day I shall paint something of which I am proud.’
They were close, very close, in the heat of the day and Carla could hardly contain herself. She stared at his red lips, longing to kiss them as she had before, but now she had no excuse and he would think her queer if she made advances to him.
Suddenly the door opened and Piero entered, wanting to know how they were getting on. He was pleased with what he saw. However, he needed Marco to do some more work downstairs. ‘Can you manage without your model for a few hours?’ he asked Carla.
She nodded. Marco did not have to be there in the flesh for her to paint him. His image had been imprinted on her retina through close observation mingled with extreme desire, and she knew she could manage perfectly well from memory. As the afternoon wore on the drawing began to take shape until she had it all sketched out and transferred to the prepared wooden surface. Tomorrow she would begin to apply the paint.
After
three days’ work the portrait was glowing with colour and form. Marco’s image had been transformed into that of the martyred saint, his flesh showing the muscled frame beneath. Where the cruel arrows had pierced his skin there were ruby drops, and his face bore an expression halfway between agony and ecstasy. Carla looked at her own work and marvelled. This was the first time she had used pigment on a full-scale work of her own making and she was delighted with the results.
So was Piero. ‘You have not failed me, Carlo!’ he breathed softly, examining the work closely. Marco was standing by and gave Carla a brief hug, that cheered her immensely. He had already told her how much he admired her effort and his was the only praise that really mattered, although Piero’s was of more consequence.
Just how much more consequence it was she soon discovered, when her master admitted that this portrait had been a kind of trial run. ‘I’ve been offered a commission by a gentlewoman,’ he told her. ‘She wants her portrait painted. We are all so busy here that I was on the verge of turning it down when I thought of you, Carlo.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. I thought I’d try you out first, to see if you were up to it. Now I believe you are. The job’s yours, if you want it. I shall only take half the fee, and when the materials are paid for you may keep the rest. Interested?’
‘What a wonderful opportunity!’ Marco enthused.
Carla was dumb struck. A real commission, earning real money! But how could Piero dare to let her loose in the world as an artist when he knew she was really a woman? Was he gaining some kind of perverse satisfaction from the deception, regardless of the risk?
The minute Marco had left the room she voiced her fears. ‘What if I’m discovered, Piero, and it’s reported to the Guild? Won’t you get into trouble as well as me?’
He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, no one will be any the wiser. If you’ve managed to carry it off under my roof you can surely fool some high-born lady. Just make sure her portrait is flattering enough, and you can’t go wrong.’
‘But what if . . .’
‘Oh, don’t be such a scaredy-cat! What do you suppose can go wrong? You’ll be sitting at your easel and she’ll be posing. Tell her you prefer to concentrate on your work, so you don’t have to chat. There will be only two sittings, then you’ll finish off here in the workshop. It’s no big deal. Trust me.’
So Carla accepted the commission, despite her feelings of foreboding. She knew she could do with the money. There was no telling what might happen to her, and if she had a lump sum it would give her some security if she had to flee in the middle of the night to escape arrest. For, despite Piero’s casual attitude, she didn’t altogether trust him. If her sex were discovered there was nothing to stop him pleading ignorance and putting all the blame on her. She was pretty sure no one else in the house would gainsay him, not even Marco.
Besides, the thrilling prospect of working with colour again had completely seduced her. She knew that, despite Piero’s praise, her first effort had been hit and miss. She had learned a lot but there was far more to discover about light and shade, tints and hues, brush-strokes and textures. There was a limit to what she could do in the workshop, with minor tasks always needing to be done and the all the interesting work still carried out by the senior apprentices. Carla had been given a second wonderful chance to improve her skill and she was duly grateful. She vowed to put every bit of talent she possessed into this portrait.
Monna Livia was the wife of Messer Bardarelli, a rich wool merchant, who had a sumptuous palace off the Via Calimala. Piero took Carla there himself, introduced her to the snooty steward as his ‘boy’ then left with a wink and a grin. Beyond the doorway was an open courtyard with a well in the centre and the living quarters rising up around it. There was much bustle on the ground floor, where business was carried out in the various offices, but upstairs the place had a more tranquil air. As she carried her easel and materials up the wooden staircase Carla caught glimpses of rooms with painted walls, of huge stone fireplaces bearing the arms of the family, of carved and painted chests and cupboards.
At last she was shown into a bedchamber on the third floor where Monna Livia was awaiting her. The room took Carla’s breath away when she first entered. The walls were painted to look like an exotic garden, with birds and fruit trees. Even the rafters were painted in blue and gold. The huge carved bed that dominated the room was surrounded by chests of the same design, and there were exquisite rugs on the terracotta tiled floor. A vase of deep pink rosa gallica and myrtle stood on a chest at the side emitting their powerful perfume, and there were sweet herbs strewn around the privy corner, while in the opposite corner two turtle doves billed and cooed in a gilt cage.
In the midst of all this sensuous splendour stood Livia Bardarelli, dressed only in a white shift. Her dark blonde hair hung loose about her shoulders and her feet were bare as if she had only just risen from her bed. When she smiled her rather stern features softened into something approaching beauty.
‘Welcome, young man!’ she said, coming towards Carla with outstretched hands which she placed on her shoulders.
Beneath the fine shift the brown tips of her nipples were very obvious, crowning generously-proportioned breasts. The woman looked deep into her eyes for a few seconds then drew her over to the bed. While Livia lounged on the mattress, Carla sat on the chest looking up at her and wondering why she felt so uneasy in this imposing woman’s presence. Was it just because she was wealthy and high-born? No, there was something else, but she couldn’t tell what.
Monna Livia spoke in a low, enticing voice, first asking her name. She continued, ‘Well, Carlo, this is to be a very special portrait. I shall talk frankly, but what I tell you must go no further than the walls of this room. Do you understand?’
Carla nodded, both overawed and mystified. The woman tucked her long legs under her and leaned back on the pillow, giving an impression of relaxed ease. ‘Let me tell you a little about myself. I have been married to Messer Bardarelli for eight years and borne him two sons and a daughter. You might think that would make me happy, but there is something lacking in my life. Ever since our daughter was born he no longer comes to my bed, preferring the company of other women.’ She sniffed, disdainfully. ‘He thinks I have done my duty by him and cannot understand that I wish to receive him for pleasure, not just for breeding purposes. Can you understand that?’
‘Oh, yes madonna!’
Monna Livia sighed. ‘You are young, and probably still a virgin. What do you know of the desires of women?’ Carla wanted to giggle, but she dared not. She gave a shrug and said nothing, wondering where this confession was leading. ‘Well, suffice to say that I am not content to become a dried up old matron yet awhile. This is my plan. Do you know which planetary hour draws near?’
Carla frowned. ‘I know nothing of astrology, Monna Livia.’
The woman gave a mysterious, self-satisfied smile. ‘It is the hour of Venus. I shall soon light candles to the goddess and you will fashion my portrait after a statue of her that I have had copied. Together we shall perform magic, Carlo. A spell to attract my husband to me once again, and bring him to my bed.’
Her words made Carla feel uneasy. What if the spell failed, would she be blamed? But the lady rose from her bed and tripped over to a wall cupboard which she opened to reveal a small image, a Venus Pudens standing on a scallop shell. The alabaster figure stood on green silk with one hand over her pubic mound and the other at her breast, yet her seductive smile seemed more designed to bring attention to those areas than divert the onlooker’s gaze.
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ Monna Livia said. ‘I know I am no beauty, but I am sure your skill can make me look like her. And although I have borne three children I am still proud of my figure.’
She spent a few minutes muttering prayers to the goddess then pulled the shift over her head and dropped it carelessly over a nearby chair, presenting herself to Carla in the nude. Although she was far heavier in the bosom and hips tha
n the slender figure in the cupboard she did have quite a pleasing shape. Smiling, she mimicked the pose of the statuette. ‘Will this do?’
‘I – I suppose so.’
‘Then set up your easel and let us begin. I’m most anxious that the work be done at the correct planetary hour.’
While Carla prepared her canvas and palette, setting her things out on the small folding table that had been provided for her use, Livia Bardarelli adorned the statue with a tiny gold necklace and lit candles which she placed on either side. A small pot of incense was ignited too, replacing the sweet scent of the flowers with the heavier aroma of sandalwood.
When she looked up from her preparations Carla saw her subject already posing, looking towards her easel with the same ambiguous expression as the statue. She knew that her success or failure would probably be reckoned in terms of her ability to reproduce that enigmatic smile, which somehow managed to be both shy and sly. She picked up her brush and began to sketch the woman’s voluptuous figure in a sepia tint.
Although obviously not in the first flush of youth, with breasts that sagged slightly under their own weight and a stomach too fully rounded, Monna Livia was still a handsome woman. Carla worked to the cooing accompaniment of the doves, her nostrils filled with exotic perfume compounded of fresh flowers and smouldering bark. Soon she felt as if she were truly under a spell. Her eyes scarcely focused on the work before her, her hands acted of their own accord and the air seemed full of a ghostly presence that heightened her senses and induced a strange languor, in which nothing outside that room mattered. The portrait was taking shape in a kind of dream, and Carla began to believe that she truly was under the influence of magic.
When Monna Livia suddenly moved her arms Carla felt as shocked as if a statue had come to life. She dropped her brush on the floor and, as she bent to retrieve it, heard the woman say, ‘I think that is enough for today. My arms and back are stiff, and so is my neck. I’m not used to posing for artists.’
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