by C. De Melo
Everyone gaped at her with a stunned expression before bursting into laughter. “I have work to do, girl. Stop wasting my time.”
“I know how to make things with silver and gold. I can prove it to you.” She reached into her bodice and pulled out the pendant. Holding it out for his inspection, she added, “I made this by myself.”
He took a step closer and frowned. “That pendant is worth quite a lot of money. Where did you get it?”
“I—I told you, I made it.”
Peering dubiously at Allegra, he demanded, “Did you steal it?”
“What?” This was definitely not the reaction she had envisioned.
“I’m going to ask you one last time—”
“I made it in my father’s workshop.”
“Not only are you a thief, you’re a liar,” he said, snatching the pendant from her hand.
“I’m telling the truth, I swear. Please, I need to be apprenticed to a bottega so that I can learn more things.”
He smiled derisively. “Do you see any girls here?”
To Allegra’s mortification, all the boys were staring at her with contempt in their eyes. Defeated, she replied, “No, I don’t. I assumed you’d make an exception if you saw what I was capable of.”
The goldsmith picked up his tools and turned his back on her. “Never assume anything of anyone. Go home, girl, before I have you arrested by the Otto.”
The Otto di Guardia policed the streets and markets with the authority to arrest anyone who disturbed civil order. Allegra remained unfazed by the threat, however. “I’m not leaving without my pendant.”
“I’m taking it to the authorities. They’ll eventually find the rightful owner.”
Allegra’s hands balled into fists. “I am the rightful owner, you fool!”
Resisting the temptation to strike the girl for her impertinence, the goldsmith eyed one of the boys and cocked his head to the side. A tall, thin apprentice with reddish hair ran forward, grabbed Allegra by the arm, and forced her outside. She struggled as he marched her toward the market.
“Let go of me! How dare you!”
“How dare I?” he sneered. “You barge into the bottega with a stolen piece of jewelry—”
“Are you deaf? I didn’t steal it! I made it!”
The boy rolled his eyes. “Of course you did.”
“Obviously, you’re as thickheaded as your master.”
“Go away, you stupid girl.”
Furious, Allegra pushed the apprentice, who stumbled slightly but easily regained his balance. Angered by her provocation, he shoved her, causing her to fall to the ground.
Allegra fervently wished she possessed the physical strength to beat the boy senseless. Staring up at him from the slimy cobblestones, she choked back tears of indignation.
“Serves you right for stealing and telling lies,” he snapped, evoking snickers from those within earshot.
A nearby cabbage vendor eyed her with a mixture of amusement and disdain. She wanted to hit him, too.
“Where are your parents, anyway?” he demanded, his eyes darting around the Piazza delle Cipolle. “I hope they administer a sound beating to teach you some manners.”
I should never have come here. Had she been born male, none of this would have happened.
The apprentice gave her a withering look and mumbled under his breath before retracing his steps to the bottega.
No one spoke a single word of comfort or offered assistance as Allegra rose to her feet on shaky legs. To her dismay, the hem of her dress was soiled with horse dung. Feeling the heat of mocking stares, she tilted her head back and glared at the people in the market.
A flamboyantly dressed man strode across the piazza to where she stood. Doffing his plumed hat, he bowed, drawing curious looks from passerby. “Ignore these simpletons,” he advised, sotto voce. “They cannot possibly fathom the extent of your talent.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The man straightened and smiled. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Messer Mancini, and I’d be happy to escort you home, Signorina Allegra.”
Eyeing him warily, she demanded, “How do you know my name?”
“I know everyone’s name in Florence, my dear girl—everyone worth knowing, that is.”
Allegra’s eyes slid to the bottega. The goldsmith and the impertinent apprentice hovered in the doorway. “Do you know them, too?”
Following her gaze, he nodded in response to her question. “I also know that you’re far more determined and clever than they’ll ever be.”
“I am?”
“Oh, yes. In time, you’ll learn to hone those traits and use them to your advantage—like weapons.” He offered Allegra his arm. “Shall we go?”
Weapons against men, she vowed, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.
They walked the short distance to the Palazzo Castagno in relative silence, and were ushered inside by a flustered servant. Stefania rushed into the main hall and stopped short at the sight of the astrologer.
“Buona sera, Signora Stefania,” Messer Mancini said. “I came across your daughter in the Piazza delle Cipolle and took the liberty of escorting her home.”
Stefania shot Allegra a reproving glance while taking in her disheveled appearance. “Thank you for your courtesy, Messer Mancini. The entire household has been searching for her.”
Looking from mother to daughter, he said, “Well, I’m sure you two have much to discuss, so I’ll take my leave.”
“Please show him out,” Stefania mumbled to the servant.
“There’s no need, I remember the way. I can show myself out. Good day to you both.” He walked away, feeling extremely satisfied with himself.
“Mother, how do you know that man?”
“Never mind that now,” Stefania snapped. “Have you lost your wits?”
“I can explain—”
“Explain? I’ve never laid a hand on you, Allegra, but you deserve a sound beating for this act of…of…sheer recklessness. Why did you sneak out like that? What were you trying to accomplish?”
“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
Gianna appeared in the doorway looking both relieved and irritated. “There you are! I’ve been searching all over—” She stopped short as Vittorio’s voice called out from the courtyard.
Stefania ran to the window. “Santa Madonna! Your father is here.”
Allegra panicked. “I thought he was due to come home tomorrow.”
“I thought so, too.”
Gianna crossed herself. “What now?”
“Please don’t tell him, Mother,” Allegra pleaded.
Stefania shook her head. “There’s no way I can hide this from your father. He’ll find out sooner or later. People talk.”
“Signore Vittorio will be furious,” Gianna murmured.
Stefania turned to look at her maid. “And rightly so!”
Everyone tensed at the sound of Vittorio’s footsteps on the stairs. When he entered the room and saw the scene before him, the smile vanished from his face. “What in God’s name is going on here?”
“Our daughter crept out of the house to wander around the Piazza delle Cipolle alone,” Stefania replied.
Vittorio frowned. “Is this true, Allegra?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“You had better explain yourself immediately.”
Allegra told her parents about making the pendant, sneaking off to the bottega, and being publicly humiliated by the apprentice.
Stunned, Vittorio demanded, “What possessed you to do all of this in the first place?”
“I heard you and Mother talking in the library,” Allegra confessed. “You said that if I had been born a boy, you would apprentice me to a goldsmith. I wanted to prove my worth despite being a girl.”
Stefania shot her husband a sharp look.
“You eavesdropped on our conversation,” Vittorio said icily.
“I didn’t mean to—”
He held up his han
d to silence her. “Get cleaned up and meet me in the workshop.”
“Papa—”
“At once.”
Gianna offered her hand to Allegra. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Stefania watched them walk away, then quietly followed her husband into the workshop. “Vittorio…”
“Stefania, not now.”
“This is partly our fault, husband.”
“Do not try my patience by attempting to defend her actions.”
“I’m as upset as you are, but put yourself in her shoes.”
“What Allegra did today was foolish and dangerous.”
“Our child suffered disillusionment and humiliation for the sin of being a girl,” Stefania pointed out gently. “Had she been born a boy—”
“But she was not!”
Undeterred by his anger, she persisted. “Had she been, however, she would have gained an apprenticeship immediately, I’m sure of it.”
“You know this for certain without even seeing the pendant in question?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Allegra wouldn’t have taken such a risk if she hadn’t created something truly worthy.”
Encouraged by her husband’s words, she suggested, “What if we hired someone to instruct her privately? Here, in our home?”
“Stefania, please.”
“Are we to let our daughter’s talent go to waste simply because she lacks the necessary parts between her legs?” Her vulgarity evoked a dark look from Vittorio, so she hastily added, “Forgive me.”
“Leave me be, wife,” he said tiredly.
“What are you going to say to her?”
“I don’t know.”
Stefania hesitated. “When I was carrying Allegra in my womb, I dreamt of a baby girl covered in gold dust and seated upon on a bed of jewels. I believe it was a sign.”
“Why am I only hearing of this dream now?” he demanded angrily. “Why didn’t you share this with me sooner?”
“What does it matter? Allegra is only a girl,” she retorted coolly before stepping out into the hallway and closing the door on him.
Vittorio ran his hands through his hair. Stefania could be obstinate at times but, in this case, she was right. Had Michelangelo or Botticelli or Bronzino or any of the great artists been born female instead of male, the world would have never known their talents.
He picked up a stack of vellum sheets from the table and leafed through his daughter’s sketches. Fantastic shapes, whimsical curlicues, intricate etchings—he’d never seen jewelry like this anywhere. The girl had unique ideas, but so did Brunelleschi. None of the city’s architects took him seriously until Cosimo il Vecchio commissioned him for the interior of San Lorenzo basilica. After seeing what he was capable of doing, Brunelleschi garnered respect and admiration from the guilds. He later designed the cupola of Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral and became a legend within his own lifetime.
Is it possible that Allegra possessed the same kind of artistic genius?
A knock on the door forced him back to the issue at hand. “Enter.”
Allegra stood in the doorway, scrubbed clean and wearing a fresh gown.
“Come in and close the door.” He waited for her to obey before continuing. “Do you know how easily your chaste reputation can be ruined in this city?”
“I only wanted to prove my worth.”
“By stealing my gold and wandering the streets like a peasant?”
“Please—”
“You went behind our backs! Did you honestly think you would gain an apprenticeship with your childish scheme?” He softened when he saw the pain and remorse in his daughter’s eyes. “Your mother and I have provided you with the best life has to offer, but there are limitations. I’ve allowed you into my workshop because you exhibit exceptional skill, but I will not tolerate this kind of behavior.”
“I’m truly sorry.”
Allegra’s sincere apology tempered Vittorio’s anger, and he studied her for a long moment. “Let me ask you something. Would you have accepted an apprenticeship at that bottega?”
“I would.”
“Why? It’s not an establishment of great repute, nor is the master goldsmith particularly skilled.”
“May I be honest with you?”
“You may.”
“You can no longer teach me anything new.”
Stunned by her reply, he couldn’t deny it. Allegra’s skill and talent had surpassed his own a long time ago. Turning his back on her, he wandered to the window and gazed at the sky.
“Forgive me if I’ve offended you, Papa.”
“Your mother and I only want your happiness, my dear.” Turning around to meet her eyes, he added, “I’ll hire a goldsmith to privately instruct you here in our home. Consider it a secret apprenticeship.”
Allegra hugged her father. “Thank you!”
Later that day, Vittorio retrieved the pendant from the bottega and was duly impressed by his daughter’s handiwork.
Chapter 7
Domenico Spinelli, one of the most respected goldsmiths in Tuscany, smiled at the sight of an old friend. “Vittorio Castagno,” he said. “The last time I laid eyes on you was at your father’s funeral. God rest his soul.”
“Forgive me for not coming to see you sooner,” Vittorio said sheepishly. “The business keeps me constantly occupied.”
The old man chuckled. “Carlo’s clients were many, if my memory serves me well, and difficult to please.”
“They are exigent, yes.”
“Your father was a good man. I miss him.”
“I do, too.”
After a silent pause, the old man inquired pleasantly, “What brings you to my bottega this fine morning?”
Vittorio removed Allegra’s pendant from his pocket and placed it in Domenico’s hand. “It appears that my—child—is destined to be a goldsmith.”
“This is good work,” Domenico commented while examining the pendant by the light of a nearby window. “Very good, indeed. Did you have any hand in its creation?”
“None whatsoever.”
“A talented apprentice is always welcome here. How old is the boy?”
Vittorio cringed inwardly. “Thirteen.”
“When can I meet the lad?”
The midday bells began ringing in the distance and Vittorio suggested, “We can discuss this matter further over a good meal and some wine. My servants are preparing a tasty peposo as we speak.”
“I cannot refuse my favorite dish.”
The two men navigated the streets from Domenico’s bottega in the privileged Mercato Nuovo, which sold luxury goods, toward the Palazzo Castagno. Stefania stood in the main hall, waiting to greet their guest.
“Welcome to our home, Signore Domenico.”
“Signora Stefania, you are as lovely as I remember.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Please, sit.”
A servant entered and doled out chalices filled with watered wine.
Vittorio inquired, “How is your son? He must be a grown man by now.”
“Bruno is twenty-three years old. He completed his apprenticeship a few years ago, and has been helping me run the bottega ever since.”
“You must be proud of him,” Stefania said.
“Indeed, I am.” The old man’s face lit up and he added, “He’s to be married this summer.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Domenico glanced around. “So, where is your son? I’m looking forward to meeting my future apprentice.”
Stefania shot Vittorio an accusatory look. “We don’t have a son.”
The old man appeared confused. “I don’t understand.”
“The student would be our daughter, Allegra,” Vittorio confessed.
Domenico frowned. “A girl?”
“She knows how to cut metal, set stones, and solder the tiniest details with impressive skill. I haven’t taught her how to cut and shape gemstones, only because I don’t kno
w how to do it myself.”
“You’re not a goldsmith,” Domenico pointed out.
“True, but my father taught me a few rudimentary techniques.” Vittorio looked down at his hands. “I’m clumsy, whereas my daughter is not. She has true potential. If you decide to become her instructor, you’ll find an apt pupil, I promise you—perhaps even more advanced than the boys her age who are now in your bottega.”
The old man’s rheumy eyes lit up. “That’s quite a claim, Vittorio.”
“A claim that I stand behind with full confidence,” he stated, earning a smile of gratitude from his wife.
Domenico rubbed his chin. “I never suspected you capable of such radical ideas.”
“Before you make a decision, would you at least see her sketches?”
“I do not approve of women trying to do men’s work,” Domenico admitted, casting an uneasy glance in Stefania’s direction. “No offense.”
“None taken, Signore Domenico.”
He continued, “But since I have always thought highly of you and your father, I agree to meet the girl and judge her potential.”
“Thank you,” Vittorio said, relieved.
Stefania dispatched a servant to fetch their daughter. Allegra entered the room a moment later with a pile of sketches in her hand.
Vittorio said, “Signore Domenico, this is my daughter, Allegra.”
“Hello, Signorina. Your father tells me that you can design and make jewelry. May I see your sketches?”
Allegra nodded and handed him the stack of sheets. No one spoke as Domenico carefully studied each and every drawing.
Finally, he looked up. “You drew these by yourself?”
“I did,” Allegra replied.
“Where have you seen such fantastic shapes?”
“In my head.”
Domenico stared at the girl, perplexed.
“Well?” Vittorio pressed.
“I need to give it some thought.”
Hearing this, Allegra did her best to hide her disappointment.
Domenico set off for the Palazzo Castagno to give his answer the following morning. Allegra, who barely slept that night, stood alongside her parents wearing an anxious expression on her face.
“I will instruct your daughter,” Domenico said, his face and tone serious. “But it must never be made public knowledge. Neither the magistrates nor the guilds can ever know.”