Daughters of the Doge (Richard Stocker)

by Edward Charles

  I shook my head. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I am trying to be fair.’

  We were approaching a small, clean beach on a tiny deserted island close to Murano. The place was treeless but sheltered from the wind, and the little beach was remarkably clean. I wondered how many other couples the gondolier had brought to this spot before us, and how many more would come in the future. The gondola grounded lightly on the beach and I helped Yasmeen out. The gondolier waved us forward.

  ‘Please. Go ahead. It is your evening. I will bring your picnic things and then take the boat round to the next bay. When you want me, just follow that path over there.’

  Yasmeen took my hand and we started up the beach to a sheltered corner. I felt her squeeze my hand. ‘Veronica told me that you are a very complicated man. But I know from Jacopo and Gentile that you are also a very honest one.’

  Somehow, as we reached our little corner, I began to feel that I had not, after all, been the architect of this evening. The hands of others had been at work. Looking across the lagoon to Venice, I thanked them, whoever they were.

  Whether it was prompted by our arrival at our picnic spot, or the diplomatic departure of the gondolier, our mood seemed to have changed. Both of us had come to the evening with questions, and both had found it hard to relax until our worries had been addressed. Now our conversation turned to gossip about the apprentices in Tintoretto’s studio, to our parents, our childhoods, our hopes and our fears.

  Being unsure what food she would eat, I had brought chicken, fish and bread, fruit and fruit juices. It seemed I had chosen well, for despite her small build she appeared to have a healthy appetite.

  We talked of life in Venice. Yasmeen explained that her childhood, although happy, had always been overshadowed by the thought that somehow she and her few Muslim friends were different from the other children around them; she had never fully understood why, and her father had simply avoided her questions.

  As she grew older, her father had begun to tell her stories of his grandfather’s time, when he had been a physician, and highly regarded in the Muslim court of Emir Boabdil, the last of the Nasrid dynasty to rule the emirate of Granada. Life had been so different in Al Andalus, with Jews, Moors and Christians living in harmony; not only tolerating each other, but recognizing the best of each others’ cultures and borrowing from them – exchanging technology, laws, architecture, recipes and poetry. This was a world in which men were judged by their abilities, and given unfettered opportunity to make what contribution they could to the society they shared.

  I leaned against a tussock of marram grass and listened as she repeated these stories from the past, watching how her eyes shone with pleasure at her family’s memory of a happier period, and enjoying the sheer poetry of her language as she pronounced the Arabic names of people, places, animals, plants and foodstuffs. It was as if she had lived there herself, and I found myself wondering why the great cosmopolitan city of Venice could not treat people just as equally.

  Every minute I spent in Yasmeen’s company increased my regard for her. As she talked of her people and their past, I began to understand that she was part of another, wider and, to me, mysterious world.

  When she paused to eat, I in turn told her stories of my childhood in Devon, of fishing in the sea and the rivers, of hunting in the hills which surrounded our valley, and of how my life had been changed so dramatically by meeting the Grey family. I spoke openly of my regard for Lady Jane, but played down my love affair with Lady Catherine. She noticed my reticence, and began to ask me increasingly probing questions

  ‘Did you love Lady Jane?’

  It was a question I had often asked myself, and still found difficult to answer.

  ‘If you mean did I hope to marry her, the answer is no, never. But if you ask whether I would do anything for her, then yes. She was extremely religious; caring in her manner; although unforgiving of those she thought fools or liars, and had the fastest mind I have ever witnessed. She could be stubborn and difficult, but she could also show endless patience for someone like me who tried to follow her reasoning, but was simply not as quick as she was. Yes, I loved her, but as a friend, and I would be dishonest if I denied it now.’

  She seemed satisfied with my answer, but continued to probe. ‘And Lady Catherine? When you speak of her, your voice takes on a special tone, yet you always move on quickly, as if to diminish her significance. What happened to her? Was she killed too?’

  I had promised myself I would avoid the subject of my beloved Catherine if possible, for I could not deny my love for her. I had loved her until my insides ached.

  Yasmeen was looking at me with calm, level eyes, and I knew my answer to her question could spoil everything if I was not careful.

  ‘She was Lady Jane’s younger sister but she was unlike her sister in almost every respect: flighty, funny, rarely concentrating on one thing for more than a minute or two. We always knew there was no future for us; that one day we would be separated by her marriage, which was sure to be arranged for her. Eventually, that is just what happened, and she was taken from me.’

  ‘And you never saw her again?’

  ‘Only briefly. The political tide changed and her marriage was annulled. She was literally thrown on the street, and returned home while I was visiting. We were together for a few days only.’

  ‘And in that time you were lovers?’ Inexorably she had led me to this question, the one we both knew I was avoiding.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘It is in your eyes, and in your voice. I can hear the echo of her, and see her beauty.’

  ‘It was brief. We were brought together by our unhappiness after her sister’s death. We had no one else to share our grief, and for a few days, yes, we clung to each other. And then she was gone.’

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘She was recalled to Court, to be entered once again in the marriage cattle-market. We have no Libro d’Oro in England, but similar rules apply; the great families rarely marry outside their own circle.’

  ‘She returned to Court? After her sister and father had been executed for treason?’

  ‘Our court is a callous and calculating place. Perhaps the Queen decided it was better to keep her enemy close. Catherine was, and still is, a potential heir to the throne. It is an uncomfortable world: a kind of imprisonment enforced by the very law of the land. But she will adjust. She likes the wealth and the fine clothes. It is her world.’

  Yasmeen was looking at me very closely now, as if she had discovered something important about me which she knew might change everything. ‘You speak of her in the present tense. Do you think of her still?’

  I had feared that our conversation would finish up in this direction and had hoped to avoid it. Say yes and she would feel her position threatened, but say no and I would appear callous and uncaring.

  ‘I had to face the fact that I would never see her again, and even if I did, it would not be on my terms or even on hers, but on the Queen’s terms.’

  She was watching me carefully now, looking more vulnerable than she had all evening. ‘The Catholic Queen? The one who threatens you?’

  I nodded, not wanting to overstate my own significance.

  ‘How did you put her out of your mind and out of your heart?’

  ‘I did not lose her; she was never mine to lose. I immersed myself in other things. I left London and the Court and returned to Devon. Dr Marwood helped me a lot in those first weeks. Then the opportunity arose to travel here, and I took it.’

  ‘Do you think of her still?’ she repeated.

  ‘In all honesty, not very often these days. I have left that world and found a new one, in which I have found someone much more important to me.’

  It hurt me to see the uncertainty in her face. ‘Is she comparable?’

  ‘No.’ Her eyes widened. ‘She is infinitely better.’

  She looked nervous. ‘Is she as beautiful?’

  I nodded. ‘More so.’

&
nbsp; ‘Is she as intelligent and interesting?’

  I began to laugh, and took her hand. ‘There is no comparison.’ I put my arm around her shoulder. ‘Yasmeen, you have twice the beauty, three times the intellect and ten times the character of any royal princess in England. To me, you are without comparison and in your shadow the fading light of all others diminishes to nothing.’

  She clung to me, her hands white with tension. Then, seeing that I was sincere, she began to cry. I put my arms round her and held her tight. When she did not resist, I kissed her as gently as I could, then stroked her hair until she stopped sobbing.

  She looked up at me. ‘Do you really mean that?’

  I kissed the end of her nose. ‘I mean every word of it. Now and for ever more. Please believe me.’

  We hardly spoke on the journey back, clinging to the moment as if afraid to spoil it. Instead, we communicated by touching, as if to reassure each other that we were still there. The boatman looked at us and smiled a fatherly smile, thinking of his own youth or, more probably, other passengers from similar evenings. No doubt a successful evening resulted in a bigger tip.

  By the time we reached the Fondamenta dei Mori it was almost dark and she had begun to worry about her father. We left the gondola outside Tintoretto’s workshop, not a hundred paces from her house, and I kissed her once more.

  ‘I must go alone. My father will be waiting and worrying. When will I see you next?’

  I squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘Tomorrow. Here, at the bottega.’

  CHAPTER 65

  July the 4th 1556 – Convent of Sant’ Alvise

  I saw Yasmeen every day for the next three days. Our relationship was accepted in the workshop, and it was a measure of the kindliness of the Tintoretto ‘family’ that Jacopo, Gentile and Veronica all took time to speak to me quietly about the difficulties Yasmeen and I would face with her father. Veronica, as always, was more than understanding, and I knew that if anyone could offer me practical advice it was her.

  ‘You are committed to her? In truth and honesty?’

  I assured her that my intentions were completely honourable and that the only thing preventing me from asking Yasmeen to marry me now was the fear that she might say no, either because of difficulties with her father, or because my own future was so uncertain.

  Veronica nodded gravely. ‘That is as well, for Yasmeen has enough friends here to tear you limb from limb.’

  I was aghast that she should distrust me so much. She calmed me, as always.

  ‘Caro, listen. You must remove the complications in your life and make it easier for Yasmeen and yourself. The business with Suor Faustina; it requires an outcome.’

  I blustered, but she shook her head. ‘You must go and see her, today. Pretend to be the lawyer again. At the moment she is playing you along – her family is the cause of her imprisonment and her family is the reason she cannot leave. It is too much: you cannot solve this problem for her – only she and her family can decide.’

  I argued that she was being unfair, but she simply shrugged her shoulders and smiled as if to say, ‘It’s up to you’. Eventually, I agreed. I would go straight to the convent in the afternoon, knock on the door, demand to see Suor Faustina, and have it out with her.

  As I turned to leave, emboldened by her advice, she called to me. ‘Oh, caro! One more thing. Get her to clarify her position with regard to the young conversa, Felicità. We cannot sort this mess out unless it is clear how many we are saving, one or two.’

  Without thinking too hard, I agreed, and set off towards the Convent of Sant’ Alvise.

  The nun who opened the door recognized me and, despite my normal street clothes, decided to play the game, but the old discrete who were due to act as ascoltatrici that day clearly did not believe that I was Suor Faustina’s lawyer and refused to leave until Faustina, in a rage, called for the abbess herself, who duly gave the instruction.

  It was not a good start, and in my view the situation was made more difficult by Faustina’s insistence that Felicità join our discussion. They sat close together, opposite me, and already I felt we were taking sides.

  ‘We have not seen you for a long time.’

  Her tone was almost accusing, hardly the prisoner asking for assistance from outside. Ruffled, I replied more angrily than I had intended.

  ‘There have been complications.’

  ‘Complications?’ Her long neck arched as she lifted her head.

  ‘Developments.’

  ‘Developments?’

  I looked at Felicità and back to Faustina. She stared at me, her blue eyes unblinking. It was as if we had commenced a battle of wills. I tried to recover the situation and to explain my confusion.

  ‘I was not aware about . . .’ I nodded towards Felicità, who sat nervously. ‘I thought I was only acting for one. I didn’t realize that I had to find a solution for you both.’ Felicità’s presence was frustrating me, and my tone must have implied that I thought I had been misled.

  Faustina’s colour rose and her neck lengthened even further. She raised herself half out of her chair and leaned over me as I sat opposite her. ‘Felicità is my companion and will remain so when we leave here. That has always been the position since our first discussion.’ Her words came out in an aggressive hiss.

  I was on the defensive now. It was obvious that Faustina would want to bring Felicità with her; I simply had not worked it all out. But at the same time, it was I who was doing her a favour and I did not take kindly to being attacked like this. Before I could apologize and back-track, Faustina continued.

  ‘Did you think as those other boys out there think? That saving a nun will buy her thanks, delivered in the time-honoured fashion, lying on her back with her legs apart? I had you marked down for something better.’

  It was an outrageous suggestion. I had thought no such thing.

  ‘Then you and she are . . .?’ I had simply intended to confirm that the two of them would leave the convent together and remain together thereafter, and that any arrangements I tried to make needed to address that situation. But Faustina was standing and shouting at me before I could find the right words.

  ‘We are what? I am a nun of noble birth. Felicità is a conversa and has become my friend. What do you wish me to say? That she sleeps in my cell? So what if she does? That I find her beautiful and comforting? Why should I not? Who are you to judge us? You, who stood with the others outside, sniggering and leering?’

  I decided at that point that I had made a mistake. Veronica had made my options clear and the best course of action was to forget about Faustina and to leave her to stew in her own mess.

  I stood to leave. ‘I am sorry. We seem not to understand each other. I appear to have misled you as much as you have misled me. For that I apologize. And if I have raised your expectations unfairly, then again I apologize. But before I leave, I will make one thing absolutely clear: I have never had any motives towards you that could or should be misinterpreted as anything but honourable. Now I had better leave.’

  As I turned, Felicità gave a little cry and clutched Faustina’s arm. Faustina, in turn, reached across to me and held my sleeve, in restraint. Her face had changed completely.

  ‘In all sincerity, sir, I never set out to mislead you in any respect. I told you of my position and responded to your generous offer of help. I answered your questions truly. It did not, it really did not, enter my mind that you were anything but honourable. But Felicità is dependent upon me, and I will defend her against anything I perceive as an attack.’

  Angrily I pulled my sleeve away, but she grabbed it again. Now her eyes were imploring.

  ‘Richard. I did not mislead you. In God’s sight, I did not. Ask Veronica, she knows everything.’ She crossed herself and sat, on the verge of tears.

  Her last sentence echoed round in my head. Suddenly, with a sick feeling in my stomach, I knew I was making a terrible mistake, one that anger and pride had prevented my retreating from. I took a num
ber of deep breaths, looking from one to the other. There was no guile in their faces, just fear and upset.

  If I had wanted dominance, I had it now. I walked forward, bent, and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them. Perhaps it was Faustina’s invocation of God’s sight, perhaps the atmosphere of the convent itself, but something made me put a hand on Faustina’s foot, and the other on Felicità’s. I sat before them, contrite. Their eyes were huge as they looked down on me.

  ‘I apologize, and withdraw anything I have said which hurts or offends you. I was wrong, and I am so sorry. Is it possible we can start again?’

  They looked at each other, and then back at me. Felicità gave a tiny nod and Faustina nodded back to her. As she looked down at me, her expression began to soften. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand toward towards me. It hovered half-way between us as she spoke.

  ‘We are very alike, you and I. Each of us is capable of the sin of anger when we believe we are being wronged. But now you have shown me a lesson in humility. Please let me return the compliment by saying I, too, was wrong; I, too, am sorry; and I too withdraw anything untrue or hurtful in what I have said.’

  I took her hand. The three of us stood and embraced each other, then sat again, somewhat embarrassed. Cautiously, I began again.

  ‘As I understand it, there are only two ways I could bring you from here. The first would be marriage, but that would not be . . . appropriate.’

  Faustina nodded. ‘If I am able to leave here, it is not my intention to marry a man. I stand by my commitment to Felicità. Where I go, she goes, and where she goes, I shall go.’

  I nodded; that much, at least, was clear. ‘So the only course of action is to buy you out of your vocations, both of you, and to find you employment, or the protection of a family of which your own family would not strongly disapprove.’

  Faustina straightened her back and replied. ‘The position my family places me in is an impossible one. I have thought about this issue night after night since we last spoke, and have come to a decision. They can disapprove all they like. It is over. They have rejected me twice; I shall not offer them another chance. Find me a position – one for both of us – and I – no, we – shall accept it. We have little choice; we are desperate and time is running out.’