by Debbie Rix
‘I have written to her every day,’ he told Peter one night, as they sat in a taverna on the Rialto. ‘But she will not see me. I think I shall go mad for love.’
One day, as Peter sat musing on how to get to see Maria once again, Giovanni rushed into the taverna.
‘Peter, I am so glad to have found you. I have some wonderful news. Polisena has agreed to meet me. I must break into the convent of course; there is no way that the Abbess will allow us to enter through the door.’
‘Us?’ queried Peter.
‘Yes, us. I thought you would help me. Please Peter. I am desperate. I must see her, or I will go mad.’
‘And how do you propose to make this break-in, may I ask?’
‘I will climb over the wall, of course. There is a strong vine on the convent side, she says, but I will need your help to get up there. Say you will help me?’
‘Yes, of course I will help you. But don’t blame me if the Abbess finds you and you are arrested by the authorities!’
‘I knew I could count on you.’
The assignation was arranged for a few days hence. On the appointed evening, the pair lingered in the narrow alley that ran beside the convent. Peter realised that the alleyway ran down as far as the Rio dei Greci itself, and that Maria’s house was just a little further on. Leaving his friend waiting for Polisena’s call, he wandered down the lane until he came to a door that led to one of the houses on the canal. It was without doubt that of Maria dei Conti. The urge to knock on the door or even to try the handle and enter was overwhelming, but he restrained himself. He wandered back up the lane, and soon the young men heard Polisena’s whispered call.
‘Giovanni – are you there?’
‘I am cara... I am here.’
‘Climb over the wall… There is a strong vine on this side that you can climb down. Is there someone there to help you?’
‘Yes. My good friend Peter is here.’
‘Thank him for me.’
Peter lifted Giovanni up until he was standing on his shoulders. Giovanni could just reach the top of the wall. Peter lifted him by the ankles just long enough for him to grab hold of the top of the wall and pull himself up. In a matter of moments, Giovanni was up and over.
The following evening, he begged for Peter’s assistance once more; and again, the next day. In fact, the young man secretly entered the convent every night for the next two weeks. He and Polisena would wander together in the moonlit cloisters of the convent, safe in the knowledge that the virtuous nuns slept soundly in their cells. He professed his undying love to the girl, and begged her to marry him, and eventually, to his great delight, she allowed him to take her to her cell and make love to her.
Peter had been a kind and patient accomplice. And one evening, as they waited for Polisena’s call, he mentioned that he had fallen in love himself.
‘A nun?’ asked his friend.
‘No. She is the daughter of a merchant. They live just over the wall of the convent there, in a house that backs onto the canal.’
‘Why do you not present yourself?’ asked his friend.
‘I have met with her once, in a local cantina, but I cannot visit her house; her father is away on business and her brother is very protective. But I wish desperately to see her again.’
‘Maybe Polisena can help us,’ said his friend.
The following evening, when they met in the taverna, Giovanni had news for Peter.
‘Polisena knows the girl. They wave to each other when she works in the convent gardens. She is beautiful I hear, with dark hair and startling blue eyes.’
‘That’s her!’ said Peter excitedly.
‘Polisena has offered to help you. She says that she will endeavour to speak to the girl tomorrow, when she is in the garden. If Maria comes to the window, and she often does, she will tell her to meet you tomorrow night.’
The following evening, Peter lifted his friend up and over the wall, before walking a little further on to Maria’s door. Polisena had sent word that Maria would be waiting for him. He was to tap three times on the door and she would on the other side. He tapped as directed and within moments, he heard the bolts of the door being delicately slid back. At last the door opened and Maria stood before him, her hair braided and falling in a long dark plait down her back. She wore a simple green velvet dress over a white linen camicetta. It was as much as Peter could do to stop himself embracing her there and then.
‘You are here,’ was all he could say.
‘Yes. I am here,’ she whispered. ‘I cannot ask you in. I’m sure you understand. But we could walk a little way up the alleyway if you like.’
The pair walked up and down together, their fingers just touching. They were lit by the sharp light of a new moon, a slender arc that hung over the dome of San Marco.
‘Tell me everything about yourself,’ begged Peter.
‘There is so much to tell,’ replied Maria.
‘Then tell it.’
And so her story unfolded. Of her family’s life spent in the East; of their travels in India, and further India. She told him of the Emperor and the Admiral, and of the tragic loss of her beloved mother and little brother and sister in Egypt; she even told him about the vase, and how it was supposed to bring the bearer good luck.
‘My father always blamed our mother’s death on the fact that he had let the vase go on to Alexandria without him.’
‘And where is the vase now?’ asked Peter.
‘It is in my father’s study. Because it is supposed to be a gift for the Doge, there is no duty to pay. He was not required to leave it in the Punta with his other merchandise. But when he gets back from Florence, I suppose he will have to pass it on. I wish he could keep it though.’
They talked all night, until the arc of the moon had long since faded from the sky and the glow of the sun began to spread up from the lagoon. The birds in the convent garden were beginning their dawn chatter when Peter heard his friend’s soft leathered tread on the alleyway.
‘Peter, we should go,’ Giovanni whispered.
‘Yes. Maria may I come again?’
‘Of course. Tonight if you like. I shall wait for you.’
The pair met each night for the next week. They walked and talked. He told her of his life in Bruges and Nuremberg. She told him of life at sea, and in the Emperor’s palace. She talked of Damascus and of Persia. She was, without doubt, the most exceptional person he had ever met. He knew – had known almost from the first – that he was in love with her. But did she share his love?
One evening, as they strolled near the church, he held her hand and turned her to face him.
‘Maria … you must know that I love you.’
She smiled a little to herself.
‘And that I wish to marry you…’
‘Oh, Peter! But my father…’
‘I know – I must wait until I can meet him.’
‘I do not know if there will be any dowry. He has goods to sell when he returns, but how much they will bring I do not know. I am not a rich woman, Peter.’
‘I do not care if you are the poorest woman in Venice,’ he said. ‘I am going to marry you, Maria. When your father returns, I shall pay him a visit and everything will be well; you will see.’
Maria smiled up at him. ‘Well, you should know that I love you too. I’m sure my father will love you just as I do. I will write to him tomorrow and beg him to come back to Venice.’
‘I am the happiest of men,’ he said, as he leant down and kissed her.
Standing in the shadows of the convent just a few yards away from the couple was a man who also loved her; a man who had shared her house since her arrival in Venice. A man who had adored her from afar, but was – he could see now – of no consequence to her. Andrea watched her kiss the blond stranger and felt such rage and jealousy that it was as much as he could do to stop himself rushing over to them and striking the man.
He could not allow this love to continue. He would stop it in any way t
hat he could, and the sooner the better. She would soon see that he only had her best interests at heart.
Chapter Eight
Andrea’s revenge
Maria wrote to her father the following day. She did not mention Peter’s proposal, of course, but told her father that all was well, that Daniele was working hard at his studies – a slight exaggeration – and that they yearned to see him again. As an aside, she also mentioned that she had some interesting news for him and that he must come home as soon as possible.
She handed the letter to Andrea that afternoon.
‘Could you see that this is sent to my father as soon as possible,’ she asked. ‘I am taking Daniele to San Marco for a walk and then we shall visit the apothecary. He is feeling a little melancholy this afternoon and I think he needs some fresh air.’
Daniele had recently developed a skin condition; the skin on his elbows and knees had become rough and raw. Maria had acquired a herbal remedy from the apothecary but it had not worked as well as she had hoped and she intended to take her brother to meet her that afternoon to discuss an alternative.
As soon as the pair had left the house, Andrea broke the seal on the letter and read its contents. He had done this before and knew that he could easily re-seal it once Maria had gone out. She was trusting and never locked her seals away as she was supposed to do.
He read the letter with a beating heart; he realised that he must act quickly. If Niccolò returned to Venice, the German would present himself at the house and ask for Maria’s hand. He had no idea if Niccolò would agree, but he knew his master well enough to know that he could refuse Maria nothing. He was not like other well-born men. He did not set as much store by the customs and practices of his class. It would be no surprise at all if Niccolò gave Maria permission to marry her German merchant.
Andrea considered destroying the letter, but he knew that when Niccolò next wrote to Maria, she would expect him to mention her request. So the letter would have to be sent, and he must find another way. Somehow he had either to remove the merchant or Maria – and so, an idea began to take shape.
Andrea had recently become acquainted with one of the two men who patrolled their sestiere investigating possible plague cases. Since the great plague of 1347, Venice had been in a state of alert. There had been occasional slighter outbreaks in recent years and the authorities understood that a city which had as much foreign trade and as many visitors as Venice must be constantly vigilant to the possibility of plague arriving in their midst. He knew that quite often people were taken from their homes mistakenly. A young man of his acquaintance had only just recently been sent to the plague island because he had a bad case of acne. Another suffered from psoriasis and he too had been removed. Both were now languishing in the Lazzaretto Vecchio on the island of Poveglia, where they must endure a minimum of forty days’ quarantine. Forty days was widely recognised as the length of time it would take to discover if someone was suffering from the disease or not. If they recovered, they would be sent for another thirty days to the Lazzaretto Nuovo on an island nearby before finally being returned home, where they would be quarantined for a further ten days. Of course, some of the patients really did have the illness, which made the quarantine of the unaffected even more dangerous – for they would be liable to actually catch the disease from infected patients at the hospital.
Andrea knew that if Daniele were suspected of carrying the disease, he would almost certainly be taken to the island. The house would be evacuated and the residents sent away, usually to the island where patients recovered in the Lazaretto Nuovo. If this were to happen, he and Maria would be quarantined together, and he would have a chance to show Maria how much he cared for her. She would see that he was brave and dependable. She would, he felt sure, forget her German merchant and perhaps, when Niccolò returned, he – Andrea – might be able to ask for her hand in marriage. He gave little thought to the predicament of Daniele, whose life would be put in danger in the plague hospital. He had little regard for the young man, thinking him a fool with little ability. If he died, perhaps it would be as well. Then he and Maria would be married and he would become the important, learned figure that he had dreamed of becoming, a surrogate son to Niccolò with a beautiful and intelligent wife by his side. And so he set in motion a sequence of events that once begun could not be undone.
Maria returned from the apothecary later that afternoon with a salve made of carline, which was known to be helpful with skin conditions. She applied it carefully to Daniele’s affected skin. She noticed that the eczema had spread a little and he had developed a small patch near his hairline. His forehead was also developing spots – painful and puss-filled. She applied a little of the salve to those to.
‘Ow,’ he said, pushing her hand away.
‘I’m sorry Daniele, but this will help. The apothecary said it was the best thing.’
‘Well, there’s no need to rub.’ Daniele’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Oh darling brother,’ said Maria sitting down next to him and holding him closely. ‘I’m so sorry that this has happened. But the apothecary was certain that we would be able to make it all go away. You need to get out in the sunshine as often as possible and I shall make you a nice tisane each day to purify your liver. You’ll see. You’ll soon be better.’
‘I am a monster,’ muttered her brother.
‘You are not a monster, my darling. You are a beautiful, handsome, brave boy.’
‘I am an idiot,’ said the boy.
‘That is ridiculous, Daniele. Why would you say such a thing?’
‘I am no good in the schoolroom. Why, even Andrea is quicker at learning than I am. Why am I so stupid? I cannot even read properly. I am fifteen, nearly sixteen. I would be better away from here. I belong on the sea, or travelling. I hate Venice; everyone here is interested in art or books. And I am no good at either.’
‘Oh Daniele, when Papa gets back we will talk to him. Maybe you could be apprenticed to a merchant here. Would you like that?’
‘Yes, oh yes, Maria! That would be the best way for me to live. I am not stupid, Maria.’
‘I know that! You are bright and brave, my dearest brother. Don’t be sad. I’m sure that we will make you well and everything will work out. You will see.’
The following morning, there was a loud knock on the door in the lane. Bella the maid went to the door. Before her stood two men dressed in dark cloaks. They wore masks over their mouths.
‘We are here to see the master of the house.’
‘He is not at home. He is abroad.’
‘Who is in charge here?’ asked the taller of the two men.
‘My mistress, the master’s daughter, Signorina Maria dei Conti,’ replied Bella with as much dignity as she could muster. She did not like the tone of the two strangers. Besides, it was unusual for guests to arrive by the side door. It was customary for anyone of note to arrive by gondola at the front of the house. The side entrance was for tradesmen and the servants; she was understandably suspicious.
‘Take us to her,’ demanded the shorter of the two men.
‘I will first go and ask if she is receiving visitors; wait here please,’ said Bella and she attempted to push the door closed. But the taller man stuck his leather-clad boot between the door and the frame and pushed past the girl.
She chased after the men as they ran up the large oak stairs two at a time. They pushed open doors until they found Maria and Daniele sitting quietly on the window seat overlooking the canal.
‘Mistress, I am sorry; these men just forced their way in,’ gasped Bella, arriving a few seconds later.
Maria stood up to greet them, and Daniele leapt to his feet, ready to protect his sister. ‘It is all right, Bella, thank you. Gentlemen, can I ask if you would like to sit down? I’m afraid my father is not at home.’
‘So we understand,’ said the taller man. ‘I believe it is this young man that we are here to see.’ He pointed at Daniele, who blushed and took a s
tep back.
‘My brother? Why should you be interested in him?’ asked Maria.
‘It has come to our attention that you are recently returned from the East. Is that correct?’
‘Many weeks ago now, yes. We travelled from Alexandria with Captain Marco.’
‘You were in Egypt, we understand.’
‘Yes, that is correct. But who are…?’
‘Where your mother, brother, sister and servants died… Of the plague.’
A flicker of alarm and comprehension seeped into Maria’s mind.
‘That is correct. But they passed away many, many months ago now. They were buried in Egypt.’
‘Your brother…’
‘Daniele?’ said Maria, glancing anxiously at her brother.
‘Yes, your brother Daniele would appear to have the marks of plague. We are here to remove him for examination.’
‘What!’ Maria exploded. ‘What nonsense is this? My brother has a mild skin condition, which the apothecary is treating. He does not have the plague.’
‘Are you a doctor?’ asked the man imperiously.
‘No, but …’
‘Then you cannot know if he has the plague or not. I have with me a plague doctor.’ He indicated the stocky man at his side. ‘He will now examine your brother for signs of the illness.’
The examination was brief. The doctor, his mouth covered by a mask of dark cloth to prevent the miasma, or bad air, affecting him, turned Daniele’s head this way and that studying the spots and the rash on his forehead. He asked the boy if he had other ‘marks’. Daniele showed him his elbows. The doctor tutted and sighed before finally declaring to his companion: