Daughters of the Doge (Richard Stocker)

by Edward Charles

I waited. She also waited. Finally I gave in.

  ‘Come on, Veronica. What did she mean?’

  She shook her head.‘Caro,you may have reached twenty-one years old but you still have a long way to go before you understand women. She wants you to marry her. How else could she become part of your family?’ As she completed the sentence, she turned towards me and spread her hands wide, thumbs out, palms upward.

  Still confused, I blundered on. ‘And what did Jacopo mean when he gave me a perfect portrait of Yasmeen and said he hoped I would recognize it?’

  I saw her clench her fists, and sensed her rising frustration with me, her voice now growing louder. ‘The same thing. He was giving you the message that Yasmeen loves you and that he recognizes and accepts the fact. Indeed that it has his active support.’

  I could not see it. ‘How?’

  She banged her hands down on the table top, exasperated. ‘You have met Yasmeen?’

  ‘Of course I have met Yasmeen.’

  ‘Is she shy, reticent, modest?

  ‘Extremely so.’

  She prodded her forefinger into my chest, with each word, to make her meaning clear, even – to – someone – as – stupid – as – me. ‘Then how much courage do you think it took for her to allow her employer, the maestro Jacopo Tintoretto, to draw her portrait and to agree to sit for him while he did so, with his eyes looking closely at her every feature and reading the motivation in her expression? Only love would make her do it. Can you not see?’

  By now she was almost shouting. I put a hand on hers, to restrain her. ‘Hush, Veronica. Everyone will hear!’

  She stood up, holding her hair, now really shouting. ‘Richard! Everyone knows!’

  At this point a loud cheer came from the studio and I finally realized why Yasmeen had absented herself.

  ‘What have they said to the lady?!’ Courtenay shouted again.

  I felt as if the roles had been reversed. Instead of Veronica trying to explain the realities of the world to me, I had to explain them to Courtenay. Just as she had done, I decided to make him work for it. ‘Who are “they” and what makes you think “they” have said anything to the lady?’

  ‘I tried to speak to her at the albergo but she blocked me. Finally I spoke to her later, in a gondola, as I accompanied her home. She has rejected my medallion outright, and told me that marriage is unthinkable. She has even said she has a commitment elsewhere. How preposterous! If she were seeing another man I should have known about it instantly.’

  He walked the length of the room, turned angrily and walked back. ‘Someone has been talking to her. Someone has warned her off. It is political. I felt it even before the Doge died, but now, with everyone jostling for position as a new doge is chosen, I am being frozen out.’

  It was a convenient starting point and I nodded, beginning to walk myself, to aid my concentration and for emphasis. ‘I believe you are right, Your Grace. There is a changing mood here in Venice, one that may be moving against you. I have expressed before my distrust of Peter Vannes. I believe he is behind this, and that Queen Mary is behind him.’

  He whirled on me. ‘Do you think I am perceived as a danger still? In the English Court?’

  I nodded. I do, Your Grace. I fear that Felipe’s influence on our queen has been malign and, in different ways and for different reasons, has put her against both of us. Spain’s influence is spreading and already it dominates the Low Countries. Cheke and Carew were arrested in Antwerp. The situation is grave, whatever your sin. Mine is to be a Protestant. Yours is to be a Plantagenet. Both of us are perceived as threats and, as such, threatened in turn.’

  Unusually, I seemed to catch his attention and to convince him. He stopped pacing, took a chair and motioned me into the chair opposite him. ‘Yes, John Neville told me about Cheke and Carew being arrested.’ He nodded to himself, thinking. ‘You are growing fast, Richard, and becoming wise in the process. Your reading of people and events has improved immeasurably over the last six months. Who has taught you?’

  I saw I was on dangerous ground. ‘Many things and many people, Your Grace. You yourself have been instrumental in my education, as has Thomas. And others, Venetians, men and women.’

  In the interests of truth, I had gone too far. He looked at me with gimlet eyes. ‘You mean that woman, don’t you? That schemer, Franco. Well, take care if you learn the ways of witchcraft from such people, Richard, for they are not to be trusted. And speak to me no more of her. The name of Veronica Franco is not welcome in this house and I forbid you to mention it.’

  I stood to leave. I was in danger of losing my temper and it was safer to be gone. As I left the room, he shouted after me. ‘And the portrait is off! Tell the artisan to forget about it.’

  Why was I not surprised? I nodded and left.

  CHAPTER 60

  June the 8th 1556 – Fondamenta dei Mori

  Yasmeen walked into the studio and worked her way across to where I was sitting. I stopped drawing and sat back and she came close beside me, and leaned against my shoulder, a little harder than was necessary to see my work. Instinctively, I put an arm round her waist and she did not resist. ‘Aah, bellissimo!’

  All round the studio, the apprentices stopped work and cooed at the two of us. I laughed and Yasmeen looked around the room, grinning shyly. ‘Get back to your work or I may forget to pay your wages.’ She may have been young, small and shy, but she could manage this lot when she had to.

  ‘You said you wanted to see me when I came in?’ she said. I looked up into her dark eyes. As always, the effect was to make my insides feel hollow, as if I hadn’t eaten for days.

  ‘I always want to see you. You know that.’

  She bumped her hip against me, smiling coyly. ‘But something specific? Come to my office. It is more private.’

  ‘Whoah!’

  The apprentices teased us as I followed her out. She waved an arm at the room, but did not seem to be upset. Although they teased her quite a lot in the studio, I noticed it was never overdone, never unkind, and stopped immediately they stepped outside the studio door. When Yasmeen was with a patron in the courtyard, or in her office, they were all of them quiet, serious and respectful.

  We sat at the courtyard table and she looked at me expectantly. This was going to be harder than I had expected. ‘The Earl of Devon has had a setback. His pursuit of a lady has been rejected and he has decided to cancel the portrait. He asks me to convey my sincere apologies to the house of Tintoretto and trusts you will find other work with which to keep busy.’

  I had expected Yasmeen to be disappointed, perhaps even upset, but she seemed to take it very well. ‘I must inform the maestro. Will you wait?’

  They returned within minutes. ‘The portrait is off?’ Jacopo threw his arms up nonchalantly as he said it.

  I nodded. ‘I am afraid so, yes. I’m sorry.’

  Jacopo sat opposite me and beside Yasmeen. ‘Do not concern yourself, Richard. I knew it would happen. Veronica told me ages ago. You have seen how busy we are; to be honest, I was waiting for confirmation. If you had said he wanted to start soon, I should have had a real problem.’

  Once again, I was reminded that I was not the centre of all conversations, and that the members of this little community talked amongst themselves on a daily basis, whether or not I was present. Of course, Veronica knew the portrait was intended for her, and of course she knew she could not accept it. Everything else was merely a matter of timing.

  ‘You know he is distrusted here in Venice?’ Jacopo did not feel the need to speak quietly here in his own bottega.

  I nodded. ‘And I don’t expect the appointment of the new doge, whoever he is, will change that?’

  Jacopo shook his head. ‘There is little chance. Venice is ruled by tradition and moves slowly in such matters. No new doge would alter policy immediately. Besides, Veronica says his reputation is ruined, if it was ever otherwise. The only reason Doge Venier protected him was because he was affronted by the idea of
the English presuming to tell Venice how to act. He was not going to allow bravi under Vannes’s control to kill someone on his own doorstep; it’s disrespectful. But they are all seasoned politicians and they understand power, and the realities of holding on to it. No king (or queen) is going to leave a potential usurper waiting in the wings.’

  Again, I nodded. We were simply telling each other things we already knew, as if to affirm the facts for the sake of the record.

  ‘What will you do if the earl decides to move elsewhere?’ Jacopo looked genuinely concerned.

  ‘If possible, I would choose to remain in Venice for the present time. May I continue here? In the circumstances?’

  Jacopo pulled a face and turned to Yasmeen. ‘Well, you are the business manager. What do you think? Can we afford it? Is he worth the effort?’

  Yasmeen tried to look equally serious, but carried it off less well. ‘I think we have the resources, Maestro. He does not waste much charcoal, uses paper sparingly and pays promptly for any paint he uses.’

  Jacopo’s head swayed from side-to-side as if he was trying to make a fair decision but having difficulty in coming to a conclusion. ‘But is he making any progress?’

  This time she could not lie, even for the joke. She flicked her eyes at me then back to her master. ‘Oh yes, Maestro. His drawing has improved enormously. On balance, I would continue with him. I am sure you can make something of him.’

  Jacopo nodded slowly, as if considering a weighty decision. ‘And you, Yasmeen?’

  She looked at him, confused by this change of script.

  ‘Could you make something of him?’

  I looked at her for her reply. She reddened and her eyes lowered. ‘I think so, given the opportunity.’ She lifted her eyes and looked directly at me. ‘In fact, I am sure I could.’ She paused. ‘Given the opportunity.’

  Tintoretto looked from one of us to the other and stood up. ‘Well, it seems you two don’t need me. I had better go. I have a studio to run.’

  Yasmeen looked across the table at me, with doubt in her eyes. ‘Did you mind? My saying that?’

  I reached a hand across the table and took hers, looking into her eyes, willing her to believe me. ‘I would have died had you said anything else.’

  CHAPTER 61

  June the 14th 1556 – Piazza San Marco

  ‘There will be no change of policy.’

  Edward Courtenay rejoined Thomas and me as we stood on the side of the Piazza San Marco, listening to the bells pealing. Every church in Venice seemed to have joined in, making a joyous cacophony.

  ‘I have just spoken to John Neville,’ Courtenay continued, ‘he says Doge Lorenzo Priuli will change nothing. Venice is devoid of direction at the moment, laid low by plague and famine among the general population and unsure where its future lies. Trade patterns are changing and it is said the financial strength of the Fuggers has been hit hard by a number of disastrous decisions, which means they are unwilling to extend any new loans for the present. And whilst half of the Council concentrates on Lisbon and the new trade routes around Africa, the other half is preoccupied with Byzantium and the risk of another war with Constantinople. So Venice does what she often does: she holds to tradition and waits.’

  ‘And how do you propose to respond, Your Grace?’ I felt it was time to lay our cards upon the table. I had too many issues in my own life that I needed to resolve to allow it to drift on at the whim of someone else – particularly someone I considered to be selfish, unpredictable and, in the long term, not part of my life.

  ‘I shall do as the Venetians are doing. There are too many uncertainties to read, so I shall hang on and wait and see, at least for the summer.’ He faced both of us, for although Thomas had not asked the question, it was clear that the answer was of interest to us both. ‘I understand that each of you has to make a decision about his future. You have been good companions to me and I am grateful for that.’ He turned to Thomas. ‘I know that you plan to return to England in the autumn at the latest, before the worst storms hit the English Channel.’

  Thomas nodded.

  ‘Richard, you have indicated that you will not return to England while Queen Mary is on the throne. I understand that. If you are to pursue a career in medicine, you ought to enrol at the university in Padua in September, in order to join this year’s students after the harvest season.’

  He faced us squarely, opening his hands expansively.

  ‘I give you this commitment, gentlemen. I shall remain here in Venice, unless physically driven out, until September. I am yet undecided where I shall go then, but in any case, I absolve you both from any further commitment. Until September, I shall keep the house at my own expense and you are welcome to remain here under the present arrangement, coming and going as you please. Should you wish to leave earlier, I shall fully understand, and you will have my support in such a decision.’

  We both mumbled our thanks for such a clear statement of his intentions. For some reason, Courtenay took each of our hands in turn and shook it. ‘Freedom, Gentlemen. I give you freedom.’

  We shook hands again, before Courtenay saw someone across the piazza he wanted to talk to and quickly made his farewells.

  Thomas looked at me quizzically. ‘What do you think that was about?’

  I shook my head. ‘I have no idea. It was as if he had suddenly had an attack of clear-mindedness.’

  We turned for home, fortified by the knowledge that each of us could now begin to put his own plans into place without feeling he was failing the others. As we walked I heard Thomas mutter to himself. ‘Strange disease, this syphilis. One minute the mind is addled, the next clear.’

  I asked myself when the next change of mood would be sprung upon us and what its implications would be. In the meantime, I had been given my freedom and I did not intend to give it back. Too many decisions were reliant on it and too many lives potentially affected: mine, Yasmeen’s and Faustina’s.

  CHAPTER 62

  June the 16th 1556 – Fondamenta dei Mori

  Veronica stretched and yawned. Tintoretto saw the movement and responded. ‘Time for a break.’

  She saw me looking at her and, as everyone put down his brush, walked across to me. ‘Did you want to talk?’

  ‘If you have the time, yes please.’

  Together we wandered through into the courtyard where everything was quiet.

  ‘Is this a private conversation?’

  I nodded. ‘In the sense that Yasmeen is involved, I would welcome your advice.’

  By now, Veronica was used to my little questions. She pulled the loose robe around her and settled down. I went through the history of recent events, up to and including Courtenay’s statement of his intentions.

  ‘So, in short, I have until September to make my decisions. I think I know what I want to do in most respects; the remaining difficulty is Suor Faustina. I have committed myself to saving her from the future she describes, but time is passing by, and whilst I have increasingly clear ideas about the other great decisions in my life, I do not know what I can do for her.’

  Veronica smiled her maternal smile. ‘Caro, you talk as if your decision is about money or power; as if the decision will be made in your head. You are a young man. You have hot blood coursing through your veins. I have seen it.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘And I have felt it.’

  I flashed my eyes towards Yasmeen’s office and the wooden grille over the window, but Veronica waved me down. ‘Your decision will not be made in your head – it will be made in your heart.’

  As always, I was surprised at the speed with which Veronica had apparently reached her conclusions. Gently she took my hand and stroked it, as if to calm a fractious five-year-old. ‘You want it all ways; you want the sun to shine all day and the rain to fall conveniently at night.’

  I shook my head. I didn’t follow any of it.

  ‘The Nun, the Muslim and the Harlot. In your mind, you approached each of us as a separate person, a se
parate opportunity – or perhaps, as you now see it, a separate problem! But you do not understand. We are not separate: our lives are interrelated and controlled by the same influences. We are all daughters of the Doge, Richard, each of us sustained by the laws and regulations of La Serenissima, but at the same time imprisoned by them.

  ‘Consider each of our positions. Suor Faustina is imprisoned in a convent as a direct consequence of the Libro d’Oro. And Yasmeen? You think she is free to choose whatever vocation she wishes? Ask yourself what would happen if she tried to become a doctor? Ask yourself what opportunities exist for a Muslim woman in the administration of this city, or in the businesses and trading companies run by Christian men? And, if you can step away from your own position for a moment, ask yourself what marriage prospects there are likely to be for a woman like her in a city where Muslims are denied any of the freedoms others take for granted.

  ‘And, finally, we come to the third woman in your life, the harlot. Is she, too, being of good family, not subject to marriage constraints? Is she too not prevented from becoming a poet, a painter, a business leader? Is it a coincidence that she is forced to treat her own body as a commodity?’

  I was lost. What was this diatribe all about?

  ‘You are not a harlot!’

  ‘I know.’ Again she stroked my hand, as if to hold my attention, then slowly leaned forward, and rubbed my nose with hers. Now she held my attention totally. She spoke, almost in a whisper, making me listen carefully for every word. ‘It’s a joke – and one that only I can tell at my own expense. In any event, you now realize that I was never available to you, except as friend and confidante. So now you are down to two. And you have to face up to the decision between Faustina the nun and Yasmeen the Muslim.’

  ‘That is my difficulty. I know I love Yasmeen, and if she will have me, I want to marry her. But I think I may have made a commitment to Faustina already.’