22
Lorena shook with fear remembering what had happened and the dramatic consequences she would have to face. They had returned early that morning from Fiesole. Making the most of the confusion provoked by the mules, the boxes, and chests, she had managed to escape from her house when Cateruccia was not looking. Wandering around the streets on her own was unthinkable for a woman of her rank, but by acting in such a bold way she hoped to pluck up enough courage to confess what had happened, as on returning home an explanation would be required of her, which she would be unable to avoid. Would she manage to recount her shameful adventure or would she lack the necessary strength? There was no going back now. Whether she liked it or not, her love-inspired madness had changed her destiny irremissibly. She still held a wild hope that everything would be all right. Nevertheless, to be repudiated and live miserably for the rest of her days was no fantasy, but a real probability as she would soon find out.
At the site of the Podestà Palace, where justice was administered, a chill ran through her. Her memory was suddenly filled with images of the lifeless bodies hanging from the Government Palace. The Podestà Palace windows had also been chosen for the execution of the rebels on the day of the Pazzi plot. A few feet to the right loomed the Stinche, the dreaded prison for debtors and other delinquents, a large rectangular mass standing between the streets Diluvio, Palagio, Mercatino, and Lavatoi. The outer walls were immensely high and windowless. No light, no escape. Would her life be like that from now on?
Lorena wanted to pray to the Virgin Mary to intercede on her behalf to God, the merciful Father, but changed her mind. How could the Holy Virgin possibly understand such improper behavior on her part? So instead, she made her way toward the market. She was just making a little detour before reaching her destination, what could possibly be wrong with that? Perhaps this would be her last outing, much like the criminals who were paraded through the streets on a tumbrel before being executed. Today, at least, she would not deny herself the images and smells she loved so much.
The sun was at its zenith: it was noon. The stallholders were starting to put away the country produce in worn sacks and patched up baskets. The market bell tolled to announce that the treccole, the women who sold farm produce not grown by them were being allowed to enter and sell their wares. Lorena saw them coming in with baskets on their heads and bunches of grapes hanging from wooden poles slung across their shoulders. Onions, garlic, fruit, lettuces, bread, eggs, free-range poultry, and even cooked food: cheese omelettes, stewed eels, or joints of pork stuffed with rosemary. Although these treccole sold all manner of foodstuffs, her father had forbidden his servants to buy anything whatsoever from them. As far as he was concerned, the peasant women in the market—married housewives selling their wares at an agreed time and place—were respectable. But not the treccole who loitered on street corners shamelessly attracting the attention of passersby. Her father was of the opinion that the majority of the clients who bought their products were men who paid more than the market value merely to get indecently close to these women. Unyielding, her father had angrily ordered her to be silent when on one occasion she had dared suggest that the overpricing might also be due to the fact that the market was shut. Lorena wondered how he would react when he found out that she had lost her virginity two days before at the Medici villa.
To keep silent was not an option, for it implied having to marry Luca Albizzi, the mere thought of which made her feel nauseous and breathless, particularly since she also knew that the marriage would end in tragedy when Luca accused her of being impure when she did not bleed on her wedding night. Lorena had no idea how she would find the courage to explain what had happened, but she had to do it to avoid a situation which would be even worse with Luca as her judge and executioner. Maybe the story would have a happy ending, like the ones Mauricio used to tell. Had they not sworn eternal love as they exchanged symbolic rings fashioned out of twigs?
“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.” The quotation from the Gospel came to her mind like a flash of lightning. Was it the devil tempting her with the apple of a happy world to come or was there truly hope for her?
23
By the time Lorena reached the doors of her house in Via dei Pandolfini, she had resolved to confess the truth. They had moved to the house when she was so young that she could not remember her previous home. Nevertheless, she was very aware of the pride her father had felt upon moving to this new residence and, as a result, rising up the social ladder.
Although rubbing shoulders with the wealthy merchants who were their neighbors was now a routine exercise for her, the enviable position they enjoyed was entirely due to the constant effort of various generations. Therefore, when she entered the family palace she harbored very little hope that her father would forgive her.
The first face she saw was Cateruccia’s. She looked disapproving. “What have you done?” the eyes of her faithful handmaiden seemed to be asking silently. To have spent so long away from home was an unimaginable wrongdoing for which she was partly responsible. And that mad escapade was nothing compared to her amorous transgression.
Lorena broke down crying. Ever since she was a child she had received the loving support of the whole family. However, when it came down to it, she had not taken them into account and had been carried away by her own personal feelings.
“Where the devil have you been?” questioned her father shouting, his face red with anger.
Through her tears, Lorena looked at his massive presence. More than ever she felt that she was facing an impenetrable wall that she would never be able to penetrate. Her siblings poked their heads out over the stairwell and two servants came running to the hall, alerted by the sound of shouting. Only her mother, her expression at once serious and attentive, seemed to be in control of herself.
“Francesco,” said her mother, “lower your voice and send everyone back to their quarters. We shall solve this matter in private.”
While her father ordered the servants to retire and sent her siblings to their rooms, Lorena felt her heart tightening in her chest. When at last she was left alone with her parents she became aware of her own heartbeat resounding loudly as she searched deep within herself for the necessary strength to talk. Her father’s anger at her escapade wandering around the streets would be trifling compared to his reaction when he found out what had happened on the last day in the Medici villa. At last, in few words and with a faltering voice, Lorena, between sobs, told them what had occurred.
“You wretched girl! You harlot!” Her father, screaming insults, fell upon her with every intention of hitting her.
Sitting on the chair her mother had shown her to, Lorena had the impression that a giant was about to kill her. Her mother ran up and stood between her and the giant.
“If you are going to strike her, hit me first,” she said in a voice both gentle and firm. Her husband stood rooted to the spot. Her mother then embraced her and gently stroked her hair as she continued talking. “Lower your voice and control yourself, Francesco. Making a scene and losing your head will not help things.”
Lorena felt miserable, incapable of uttering the slightest word. She was in the drawing room, but part of her, instead of dealing with the situation, wanted to float far away. What she had done was indeed terrible. In her mind, losing one’s virginity was the price one had to pay for belonging to the female species, an obligation inherent in marriage and the necessary way of satisfying man’s appetite and society’s need for procreation. However she had made love without being formally married. She had been frightened, certainly, but the caresses and the contact with Mauricio’s body had so delighted her in a way she could never have imagined, breaking down all her preconceived ideas and pushing all other thoughts out of her mind. Naturally her mother had suspected something all along when she saw the
state of her clothes after her dip in the pond. Lorena had sworn that she had only fallen in accidentally. Her mother had admonished her in private, but had abstained from talking about the incident with anyone else, avoiding in that way her father’s fury. He now was striding around the room in a state of complete indignation.
“How could you even talk without burning up with shame? You acted in a premeditated way like a vulgar whore dishonoring our house! A woman only sleeps with her husband. By acting like a prostitute you have thrown any hope for the future overboard. No honorable man will ever consider marrying you. The best that could ever happen to you is to enter a convent, because all you will ever find to marry you will be someone worthless and with no money. And this, I shall never accept!”
Lorena took a deep breath. She had to fight not to let herself be swept away by the hurricane that was pushing her toward the edge of the abyss. In any other circumstance, the mere perspective of marriage, even with Mauricio, would have filled her with apprehension, but if her father was not allowing her to marry, the unavoidable alternative was the convent which was tantamount to being buried alive.
“It is not what you think, father,” said Lorena almost whispering. “We exchanged rings, Mauricio and I. It is as if we were married. When the church gives its blessing, all will be well.”
“This is inconceivable,” bellowed her father, beside himself with anger. “I warned you, Flavia! The education we gave that girl was wrong. Even before she was born we treated her differently. You were determined to call her Lorena instead of Maria, your grandmother’s name. And then we continued taking the wrong course! All that French poetry and very little spanking. What use was there in giving her such an exquisite humanistic education? To lead her astray.”
Her father cursed under his breath, snorted with rage and turned to her again.
“A clandestine interchange of wedding rings, fornicators blessed after the event by the church … The devil must have filled your head with these foolish fantasies with which you seek to justify your terrible insult to virtue. Or maybe you have been reading that libertine Boccaccio in secret?”
Lorena hung her head and kept silent. In fact, in one of the first tales of the Decameron, the protagonist avoids an unwanted marriage by losing her virginity to her lover. In the story, they exchange rings before making love. At the end, the heroine convinces the pope himself that by being already pledged to each other in the eyes of God, it would be preferable to unite the sinners publicly by joining them in holy matrimony. It was this tale that had inspired Lorena’s preposterous idea. Nevertheless, it was wiser to keep her mouth shut because the book she had been reading had been pilfered by her from her father himself, who kept the Decameron hidden in a drawer of his study. Lorena had found the key and had been reading some of Boccaccio’s forbidden tales on the sly. God had much to forgive her. Lorena hoped that the old priest who was hard of hearing would be there to take her confession the next day when she went to the church of Santa Monica. She was convinced that he was as deaf as a post because he invariably gave her the same penance: one Paternoster and three Ave Marias. It was best to be sure otherwise the punishment for such serious sins would be terrible.
Her father kept on walking around in circles, as if his anger could be contained by moving. When he finally came to a stop, his face reflected such determination and the expression in his eyes was so cold that he seemed a stranger to her.
“You have deceived us, lied to us, and offended us. And for that reason I shall not reward your behavior by allowing you to marry. Your future lies in the convent. There you will have time to reflect and expiate your sins.”
Lorena’s mother gave a sudden start.
“Francesco, Lorena’s behavior is utterly reprehensible. However, there might be more people involved than we see at the moment. What if Lorena were pregnant? Would it be the baby’s fault if it were born? Would we deny it a father and a mother? The ways of the Lord are mysterious. Perhaps it is his wish, incomprehensible to us, that Mauricio and Lorena should have a family. And who knows? If Lorenzo keeps governing the city, it could perhaps be an extremely advantageous union for our house.”
Her father’s face seemed to be made of stone rather than flesh, but a certain doubt had started lurking in his eyes.
“If Lorena is pregnant, I shall take it as a sign that our Lord allows matrimony between Lorena and Mauricio. If not, she will be sent to a convent. That is my last word.”
24
Luca Albizzi walked into the apothecary’s shop to see if he could find some remedy to relieve his discomfort. Niccolò Landuci, the shop owner, always prescribed the herbs and medicinal concoctions that could best alleviate his aches and pains. His counter was replete with attractive glass jars containing pine-nut biscuits, sweets, marzipan, and sugary pastries. Irresistible temptations for sweet-toothed children and greedy adults like him. Luca remembered a sermon he had heard last week. The preacher had made a vehement attack on all sweetmeats, warning of their great danger, as their consumption stimulated the passions of the flesh. Luca smiled to himself. Today at least there would be one temptation less to fight. Greed could not compete with his stomachache. “Good day to you,” Niccolò greeted him. “What brings you here on such an ill-fated day?”
“Why, what has happened?” Luca asked with alarm.
“Have you not heard the dreadful news?”
“Perhaps the enemy troops have made significant advances?” asked Luca, suddenly cheering up considerably, but without letting hope show in his face in case it revealed the hate he felt toward the Medici.
“Far worse. The plague is rife once again in Florence,” announced the apothecary.
“Are you sure about what you’re saying?” asked Luca, crossing himself.
“Unfortunately, I am. A niece of mine works as a nurse in La Scala hospital. In the prison of the Casa del Capitano, some prisoners have already died of the plague. Those who are still alive have been moved today to the hospital. My niece Agnolella told me all this less than an hour ago.”
“Is there no possibility that it may be a different sickness?” asked Luca, looking for a glimmer of hope in the face of such horrible news.
“I wish to God that were the case. Unfortunately, none of the signs point to any other diagnosis. All those affected found small growths in their groin or armpits, which grew until they became the size of an egg or even a small apple. Within a short time, these buboes spread to various parts of the body. Afterwards, dark black and blue blotches spread over the victims’ limbs, thus sealing their fate. Not one of them has survived.”
“God in heaven,” said Luca in alarm, “this is terrible. They say that the plague spreads like wildfire.”
“No one knows for sure how the infection spreads,” said the apothecary, “although many of the people who deal with the patients affected end up catching it themselves. Simply touching their clothes or any object used by them is enough to send them into the jaws of death. Some physicians contend that nutmeg is the only reliable protection against this treacherous enemy. In fact, just today I received a large shipment from the Moluccas. Obviously the prices are exorbitant, but given the circumstances … ”
Visibly nervous, Luca left as quickly as he could, well supplied with the exotic fruit recommended by the apothecary. If the man’s niece worked at the hospital where the plague-ridden were being treated, she might already be infected. Less than an hour ago she had been in the shop talking to her Uncle Niccolò! Caution dictated that he put as much distance between them as possible.
His whole being was prey to the most terrible anguish. The former century had seen two thirds of the population of Florence annihilated by the plague. Since then there had been a succession of outbreaks, but of minor importance. How virulent would the plague be this time? It was impossible to foresee. The plague might be a passing summer storm only snatching away a few hundred lives or an endless downpour decimating the entire city. His stomachache had magically disappeared
and even his annoyance concerning the Lorena affair seemed of minor importance. Francesco, Lorena’s father, had told him that perhaps his daughter’s vocation lay more in entering a convent than contracting matrimony. Luca’s anger had been immense, although he had shown exquisite courtesy toward Francesco, extolling the virtues of women whose sole commitment was to God. Nevertheless, rage was consuming him from within. Had Lorena not been seen strolling alone toward the outskirts of the Medici villa accompanied only by that contemptible foreigner going by the name of Mauricio? That certainly was no correct behavior for novices or nuns. Florence was a city where everyone knew everything in the end …
With time, he would get satisfactory revenge for such an affront. Now, however, he had to face imminent dangers. On the one hand, he could rely no longer on Lorena’s dowry to pay off his debts. On the other, if the plague spread throughout the city, the walls of his palace would be unable to protect him from death. Turning necessity into a virtue, Luca made a decision: he would move immediately to his country villa in order to avoid dealing with people liable to infect him with the sickness. After a few days, he would travel discreetly to the city of Urbino to visit Leoni, the Roman. If he were offered enough money, he would risk collaborating with them to finish once and for all with Lorenzo de Medici.
25
“Are we going to die?” Maria asked her.
Lorena stirred in the bed she shared with her sister. So she could not get to sleep either? That was certainly news. Her little sister would usually sink into a deep slumber no sooner had her head hit the pillow. Especially when they had spent the day in their villa in the country, like today.
“If God wills it, we shall live.”
“When there is a plague, many people die, do they not?” asked Maria in her piping and innocent childish voice.
The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring Page 10