I did not tell her of my promise to take her to a convent because, having found her, I could not bear to part with her again.
In the midst of her weeping there was a knock at our door. I opened it and there stood Bianca, dressed in furs, a hood studded with diamonds covering her forehead. 'Is this where the little saint is hiding?' she asked.
I was so surprised to see her that I did not answer. She said, 'Are you not going to ask me in?'
'Of course.' And I stepped aside to allow her to enter.
She smelled of bergamot and musk and as she passed me she slid her tongue over her lower lip and smiled as if she knew secrets about me which even I did not know.
'Ah, here she is,' she said playfully, and sat on Miranda's bed. She wiped away Miranda's tears and patted her cheeks. 'We will fatten up these little beauties so they outshine the sun.' Then she said to me, 'Miranda and I have much to talk about so go away for a while. And do not listen outside the door. All men do,' she winked to Miranda. 'They are worse than women.'
I walked into Corsoli and back again, wondering why Bianca had come to see Miranda. Was it simply out of the goodness of her heart? Beneath all her furs and jewels Bianca was still a whore; but, I reminded myself, many wives and mistresses of famous men had been whores. Certainly they knew the ways of men better than men did themselves. Bianca was no fool. She was Federico's mistress. She could help Miranda in many ways.
When I felt I had waited long enough I returned to our room. Miranda was alone, sitting up in bed, regarding herself in her hand mirror. A necklace of beautiful pearls hung around her neck. 'Did Bianca give you those?' I asked.
'Yes,' she said, trying to hide her excitement. 'She invited me to her apartment.'
'That is wonderful.'
'But I cannot walk, babbo. Even if I could, I could not go,' she added earnestly, as only the righteous can. 'She is a whore.'
I was tempted to throw Miranda back into the snow, but instead I said, 'Our Lord Jesus Christ turned away neither sinners nor prostitutes.'
Miranda frowned, her big dark eyebrows knitting together in the center of her forehead, her teeth biting her bottom lip. 'What did you talk about?' I asked. She tossed the hand mirror onto a nearby chair and held up her frozen fingers. 'Bianca said they were not made for work and this was God's way of saying that I should not do any.'
'I see. And what else?'
'She said I was the prettiest girl in the palazzo and that one day I would have a line of suitors waiting to court me.'
'That is good news indeed.'
'She said I must change my hair because this style is old.' She reached for the hand mirror, but it was too far away so she threw off the covers, climbed out of bed, and picked it up. Then she realized what she had done. 'Babbo,' she breathed. 'Babbo.'
I took her in my arms. 'If Bianca can make the lame walk, then maybe you should listen to her.'
Miranda returned from Bianca's the next day wearing a beautiful bracelet and a red shawl made of the finest wool. Her face had been brushed faintly with powder and her lips were rouged to match her cheeks. The day after, her hair had been combed so that it curled softly around the edges of her face. She wore a little tiara and a dress that swirled about her when she turned. 'How do I look?' she asked.
'Very beautiful.' As indeed she did.
‘I spent all afternoon at the dressmaker's.' She held up her wrist to show off another bracelet. 'Bianca says it is from the silver mines in Germany. They are the best in the world. Do you see these stones? You can only buy them in Firenze or Venezia. Now I have to practice my lyre.'
The next week she returned, waving a little fan. 'I danced, babbo! I can almost dance as well as I could before. Alessandro said I danced as beautifully as anyone he had ever seen.'
'Alessandro was in Bianca's apartment?'
'Yes, he showed me how to hold the fan so that no one would see my dead fingers.'
'Bianca is turning Miranda into a whore,' Tommaso complained. He was jealous and angry that Miranda had not thanked him for the soup and pastries that he had brought her.
'Two weeks ago Miranda was starving herself to death. We should kiss Bianca's feet.'
I did not kiss her feet, but thanked her for her kindnesses. 'Anything to get her away from those nuns,' Bianca smiled. 'She is a beautiful child.'
'You are the mother she always wanted.'
For a brief instant her face seemed older and sadder, and in a voice that was neither sultry nor haughty she said, wistfully, 'She is the daughter I always wished for.' Then she walked away, her furs twirling about her. 'Make sure she practices her lyre and writes her poetry,' she called over her shoulder.
The next day Miranda returned wearing a beautiful fur jacket Bianca had made for her. 'Alessandro showed me how they dance in Venezia,' she said, and demonstrated the steps he had taught her. In her fur jacket, her head held high, the girl disappeared into a woman.
Suddenly, Tommaso's warning came back to me.
'Miranda, please, do not wear that in the palazzo.'
'Oh, I will not. I am saving it for Carnevale.'
After Elisabetta died, I used to go to Corsoli every year for Carnevale with my friend Toro. Did we have fun then! We got there in time for the parades because right after the olive pickers, came men dressed as priests who blessed us with curses. Toro always walked in front because he could curse better than any ten men together. Some other friends and I would wait on the roof of a house by the West Gate and as Toro walked by, his face red with cursing and swearing, we pelted him with eggs and flour! I remember a crazy woman who tore off all her clothes; we chased her through the streets till we caught her and took turns screwing her. And the food! O God be praised! We stuffed ourselves so full of sausages and polenta we could hardly move. A grocer I knew used to sell truffles marinated in olive oil that were so good Christ Himself would have risen again just to taste them.
The day Miranda spoke about Carnevale, Bianca also mentioned it at dinner. She told us that in Venezia, the noblemen held magnificent balls inviting hundreds of people including princes and princesses and ambassadors from Germany, France, and England as well as all over Italy. They dressed as Roman gods and some costumes were made of gold. She said that once she had dressed as Venus, another time as a peacock. She told us her lover had spent half the profits from one of his ships for this costume; it was made of jewels, had taken two months to create, and the train was so long two boys had to carry it. She was proclaimed the most beautiful woman in Venezia and the doge himself had danced with her. But, she said, compared to some women even this was nothing.
We had never done anything like that in Corsoli and sat spellbound at these tales, even Federico, although I could see it was making him jealous.
As if she sensed this, Bianca turned to him and said, 'Federico, you should throw a ball.'
'A ball?' Federico frowned.
'You are right, who would come? But we must do something!' She tugged gently at her scarf which had ridden up her brow in her excitement. 'I know, we could switch places!'
At this everyone began to talk at once. When I was small my father wore breasts made of straw and cooked polenta while my mother put on his hose and spent the whole day swearing and farting. Vittore laughed so hard he was sick, but I was too small to understand and begged my mother to be herself. I had not seen anyone do it since then.
Cecchi said that he had once changed places with his servants. 'They ate and drank and made a terrible mess because they knew I had to clean it up.'
Alessandro admitted he had once dressed as a young girl and an old priest followed him around all day offering him gifts and money. It was not till Alessandro had taken several hundred ducats from him that he revealed he was really a boy.
Federico listened, gorging himself on pine kernels dipped in melted sugar and covered with thin gold leaf.
'Why do you not do it, Federico?' Bianca said.
'Do what?'
'Change places with someone.'
'The duke should not lower himself,' Cecchi said, rousing himself from his memories.
'But when men of great standing do it, it inspires love among their
citizens,' Alessandro said.
'But the duke is much loved,' protested Piero. 'Duke Federico is -'
'Let me consult the stars,' Bernardo said. 'If they—'
'Yes, why not?' said Federico, beaming at Bianca. 'But who shall I
change with?'
'Me!' Bianca laughed.
'You are not my servant,' Federico cooed. 'You are my delight.'
He looked around the room. Everyone stared at the ceiling or the
walls, anywhere, but at Federico.
'Why not Ugo?' said Alessandro, picking at his teeth with his little gold stick. 'Ugo?'
'He is loyal and trustworthy.'
'That is an excellent choice,' Bianca said.
'What do you say, Ugo?' Federico asked, turning his great bulk toward me.
What could I say? I thought I was done with people imitating me, but Alessandro was right. If a servant was to switch places with Federico, who among the court had proved themselves more loyal than me? So I said, 'I would be honored, My Lord.'
'Good. We will exchange roles for the last breakfast before Lent. In the servants' hall. Have it made ready,' Federico said, and Bianca clapped her hands with delight.
'If you are going to change places why wait till Carnevale?' Luigi said when I told the kitchen help what had happened. 'Start tonight, then you can sleep in Federico's bed.'
'And he can sleep in mine.'
'He would need yours and Miranda's,' Luigi said to much laughter.
'But then,' Tommaso said, with a frown, 'the duke would be sleeping with Miranda.'
'Yes, and Ugo likes doing that,' a boy sniggered.
I drew my knife, but the servants came between us. 'It was a joke,' they shouted.
'Does everyone think that?' I asked Tommaso later.
'Well,' he said, carefully measuring his words, 'all the other girls have boys who like them, but Miranda keeps them away, so they think, perhaps . . .'
‘I keep her away only because I do not want her to get with child,' I said angrily.
'You asked me and I am telling you.'
I was so upset that it chased away a thought that had been nagging me like a broken tooth. Now I could not remember what it was.
CHAPTER 17
For once the clouds parted and a watery sun celebrated Carnevale with us. Laying in my bed I could hear the city filling with people. The fountains were already running red with wine and soon everyone would be drinking and carousing. I had no desire to join them. I could not stop thinking about changing places with Federico. It was supposed to be an amusement, but it felt like a death sentence. How would Federico act if I ordered him to do something?
'No,' I said to Tommaso when he asked me if I was going to the Palio. 'My stomach hurts. There is bile in my throat. I am sick.'
'Ugo! Federico will not go through with this. It is just talk. Come on, we will make some money on the horses.' His words tripped over one another in excitement. 'Even if you do get killed, at least you will have had a good time!' So I allowed him to persuade me.
The valley must have been deserted for the streets were so crowded I could not see the ground beneath my feet. Revelers hung out of windows and sat on rooftops. The families who owned the horses marched through the streets, singing, blowing their trumpets, and insulting one another.
By evening, it was raining and the cobblestones of the Piazza Del Vedura glistened in the flickering light of the sconces. When the horses surged by us the crowd screamed so loudly that I forgot my troubles. I saved my money for the last race which was riderless and always the most fun.
The first time the horses galloped through the piazza, a dark brown stallion was leading, a gray horse hanging on its shoulder. Tommaso had bet on the stallion and I on the gray. As soon as they had passed, the people on our side of the square rushed to the other side and those on that side ran to ours. There was much pushing and shoving as we banged into one another and then came the yells, 'They are coming! They are coming!' and we flung ourselves against the walls to get out of the way of the trampling hooves.
The third time the horses swept by, the stallion was still leading. Tommaso turned to me, his eyes shining, and screamed, 'Pay me!' Just then the stallion slipped and crashed into the crowd across from us, knocking the spectators down like blades of grass. A terrible wailing arose. The horse tried to stand, but could not because a bone was sticking out through the flesh of its foreleg. It fell backward, its terrified neighs and whinnies mixing with the pitiful cries of the people trapped beneath it. Everyone leaped on the horse, stabbing it and kicking it, trying to get it to move, but the poor beast just lay there, its legs kicking in the air, its white, panicked eyes looking straight at me. It reminded me of my own helplessness and I could not turn away.
Then it was pushed aside and the poor souls who had been crushed were carried off, some to the hospital, others to the graveyard. Tommaso went to the Palazzo Fizzi to see who had won, but I stared at the horse, watching the life drain out of its eyes. While it was still warm, it was cut into pieces and the pieces placed on spits for the poor. Within minutes it had gone from being a hero to a villain and now in death it was a hero again. Would that happen to me?
The next night — that is, the last one before Lent — Cecchi gave me one of Federico's old green robes. 'Wear this,' he said. 'I will look like a fool.'
'How do you think he will look in your clothes?' Miranda climbed into the robe with me, but there was still room enough for another person. She stood in front of me and insisted on combing my hair forward like Federico's. She had dressed as a princess and Bianca had given her silver earrings to go with the fur jacket. Tears of pride flooded my eyes. I wanted the world to see her, yet I feared she was slipping away from me.
"Walk like this,' Miranda said, pushing her chest out. She strode around the room like a bull with an ache in its culo. Although she weighed a quarter of Federico and barely came up to his stomach, she had caught the very essence of him. 'Do it again,' I laughed.
Smiling and then frowning like Federico, she walked around the room, stopped in front of me, opened her mouth so that her bottom lip sat on her chin and, pretending to pull out a fallo said, 'Ugo, taste this.' The laughter stilled in my mouth. "What did you say?' Her face flushed. 'Where did you hear that?'
'From the boys,' she whispered.
'Which boys? The kitchen boys?'
'The kitchen boys. The stable boys. All the boys. They all say it.'
Fearing that I would become enraged, she hurried from the room. However, it was not rage that overcame me, but humiliation. Is this how people joked among themselves when I passed by? Would there never be any end to the shame I had to endure to stay alive?
When Miranda returned a short while later I was still sitting on the bed. She knelt at my feet and leaned her head against my knees. We sat like that until the darkness pulled a blanket over our shame.
The sun was barely awake and yet the servants' hall was alive with the colors of a thousand costumes. Grooms, chamberlains, seamstresses, ostlers, secretaries, even scribes had dressed up; stable boys as young girls, washerwomen like knights — the old, half-blind washerwoman had a mustache and kept pretending to scratch her balls. No one could remember the last time Federico had come into the servants' hall. Christ! No one could remember the last time any duke had come into the servants' hall.
No sooner did I enter than I tripped over the back of the robe and fell down. This caused much laughter, but so many hands helped me up and pushed me forward that, encouraged by their good spirits, I lost my fear and swaggered up to the grand table at which Piero, Bernardo, Bianca, and several others were already seated. Bianca was dressed like an Oriental slave girl, her bountiful breasts tumbling out of her bodice.
'He is coming,' Cecchi said. 'Remember, just do what he sa
ys.'
A moment later Ercole the dwarf snuck in, grinning from ear to ear, followed by Federico. Federico was wearing a white shirt and a pair of red hose, though they must have sewn three pairs together just to cover his culo. Usually, he pounded his feet into the ground as if he was trying to leave his mark upon the earth, but today he moved his feet in little quick steps as if he was gliding on a set of wheels. As I did. Everyone applauded. Federico beamed. Bianca whispered, 'Sit in his chair.'
I had not expected that, but since Bianca nodded so eagerly I did as she suggested. Federico had sat in that chair for so long it was shaped to his body and I could only sit as Federico did, slouching to one side. Again everyone laughed. The laughter was as intoxicating as wine and gave me great confidence.
'Well,' said Federico, who was now standing behind my chair. 'Ask for the food!'
Perhaps it was the way I was sitting, perhaps it was the robe, certainly the laughter, but when he said that, I lifted the left cheek of my culo, and farted and belched just like he did. I said loudly, 'Get that bean eater in here with my breakfast.'
Cecchi tugged frantically at his beard, Piero clapped a hand over his mouth, Bianca and the servants shrieked. But the loudest laugh of all came from behind me.
'Bean eater!' Federico spluttered. 'Bean eater! Luigi is a bean eater.' He waddled in front of me. 'Say it again.'
I lay back in the seat, farted, belched, licked my lips, and said, 'Tell that bean eater to bring me my breakfast. Now!' And turning to Federico, I said, 'Get back to your place.'
As soon as I said that, I thought — Sono fottuto! I am ruined! But God strike me dead, if Federico did not waddle back to his position! The hall could not stop laughing. And Federico did not mind at all! He thought they were laughing at his impression of me.
The trumpets blared, the doors opened, and Luigi entered carrying trays of breakfast foods. He laid down a silver platter with fresh apples, a bowl of polenta with raisins, and some grilled eggs sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. Everyone waited to see what I would do. But I did not do anything. Jesus in sancto! How could I? This was the finest meal that had ever been placed in front of me! I just wanted to sit there and look at it. I wanted to take the platter back to my room and enjoy each spoonful as if it was manna from heaven.
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