“Do you truly feel I would cast you aside so easily?”
“Alonso, do not behave like a bleeding twit if you wish me to be serious about the night’s endeavor.”
His shoulders stiffened, but his face was calm. “I am concerned.”
“Have you been visited by dire portents?”
“No, I was… realizing how much I would miss you if…” He looked away.
I dearly wanted to embrace him. I had not expected such words. Yet I forced myself to merely smile lightly and say, “Let us get this night’s work behind us, then retire to the house with a bottle.”
He nodded and urged his horse between a set of carriages. I quickly followed him. We stayed clear of the baroccios and their alighting passengers at the steps, riding further into the courtyard to dismount and hand our horses to the livery boys. I passed a coin to the lad who took Hercules’ reins, and bade him care well for the animal. The boy smiled and bowed with sincerity; Alonso rewarded me with a frown and an annoyed shake of his head. I grinned as I followed him through the battleground of arriving vehicles. He never understood my generosity with servants; he was a true wolf, and viewed all things created by God as existing for his convenience and little more. It was a sad philosophy, and I often tried to relieve him of its constraints.
In surveying the arrivals, I decided that anyone of any import in Florence was in attendance tonight. I remarked for Alonso alone, “You know, all who live here have told me that their beloved Florence is well past her prime, that she saw the flower of her glory a good century ago. However, I find it difficult to give credence to such dour pronouncements on nights such as this, when her entire populace seems to have arrived rolled in gold and splendor.”
Alonso shrugged. “I wonder how it seemed when she was in her prime.”
Teresina waited for us on the steps. She, of course, did not appear to be awaiting us. Teresina is a creature of appearances, and waiting upon men is not an image her reputation could bear. So she was deeply engaged in conversation with a wealthy widow, the Baronessa di Pantaglia, who was of sufficient status not to fear being seen conversing with a courtesan. This stratagem worked well for all of the parties involved. It gave the widow the opportunity to eye Alonso and myself appreciatively, Teresina the leisure to wait upon us without appearing to do so, and we tardy boys the chance to escape a scolding from our patroness. Of the utmost importance, though, we gained the additional piece on the board I had been hoping for: an unescorted woman who would be announced upon entry.
Raven-sharp eyes were everywhere, hungry for gossip and any scrap of drama. We had stepped onto the stage the moment we entered the palace courtyard. I maneuvered beside the Baronessa and commented, “It is indeed a regrettable situation when a woman of your grace, beauty, and stature should arrive at such a fête unescorted.”
She was amused by my overture, and not at all naïve. “I would be delighted to have a fine young gentleman as escort. I have not danced in…” She paused and smiled demurely. “Let us say it has been far longer than I am willing to own.”
“I will be honored to escort you and share the floor with a lady who has practiced more than once or twice,” I said.
She laughed and took my arm. And so I entered the soiree with a woman of sufficient status to be announced as we entered the hall. The moment her name was called out, several hundred eyes were upon us. I was assured the individuals I had business with tonight were aware of my presence, without my having to seek them out or do more to attract their attention.
Alonso followed with Teresina on his arm. It would have been exceedingly unacceptable for Teresina to be announced, but of course she did not require it. A ripple of eye flicks and whispers spread through the ballroom as she made her entrance.
The Baronessa led us through the crowd, greeting this person and that. She was gracious in her introductions, treating me as if I were what I actually am, a nobleman’s legitimate son and heir, and not what she thought me to be: an English noble’s bastard turned rogue. Though I must admit the rogue appellation would be correct in either opinion of my person. She was a handsome woman who carried her years gracefully, as they had not been harsh to her in the slightest. I found I enjoyed her company, and I was almost loathe to go about my business. As we parted, I vowed to call on her, and she seemed pleased with my offer and all it might imply.
I had sighted my quarry, Caterina Garibaldi, shortly after my arrival an hour ago. She had maneuvered to stay within sight, and appeared relieved when I broke away from the widow. I went to make casual greeting, and found us under the watchful gaze of her cousins. This was as planned. I enjoy predictable people almost as much as I enjoy unpredictable ones. I made a clumsy go of surreptitiously suggesting that Caterina meet me in the gardens. She nervously agreed, her darting eyes ringing in her intent like the bells of a cathedral heralding mass. I was pleased with her.
Venus had not smiled upon Caterina, merely smirked. The young lady possessed all the features of an attractive woman, but they did not work in concert to provide her with beauty in form, body, or air. If matters were not as they were, I would not have given the girl a second glance. Yet, as matters were as they were, I had paid her great heed at all of our prior encounters. I had even gone so far as to intimate she was the beauty of any given soiree. My lingering glances, dancing, courteousness, and attentiveness had taken their toll. I was sure she would meet me in the gardens in an hour as I wished, even though she was betrothed to Giancarlo Damazza, the nephew of one of Florence’s wealthiest and most influential citizens.
While awaiting the appointed time, I sought out Alonso and the other young men of our acquaintance, where they were smoking on the balcony. I pretended to consume far more alcohol than many would consider prudent. Alonso pulled me aside to discuss the matter, and made a show of removing the bottle from my hand.
“Oh, stop, I am not drunk,” I complained loudly, as if I were indeed intoxicated.
He towed me farther from the others, making a greater show of trying to quiet me. Once we were far enough removed to be able to speak in private, he grinned slyly. “And?”
“She is well hooked,” I said quietly in Castilian. “We will meet at the clock’s strike in the gardens.” I grinned.
The tension left his shoulders, and he took a long pull of wine.
“I think I will pay the Baronessa a call,” I said.
He rolled his eyes. “Uly, why?”
“She is a most pleasant lady, and I feel she has been too long without a good tumble. It is the least I can do in repayment of her unwitting assistance this night.”
He shook his head and grinned. “You are an incorrigible philanthropist.”
“You say that as if it reflects poorly on my character,” I teased. I moved closer and pulled the bottle away in an unsteady manner, so that I lost my balance and leaned into him. Pretending embarrassment, I stepped back too quickly, and was forced to grab his arm to steady myself. He gave me a warning glare. I smirked and drained the bottle.
“Uly, you are so convincing at playing the fool you often sway me.” His eyes were filled with admiration, and I laughed at his compliment, even though I bridled a little at the actual meaning. I knew his words to be true; he did often fall for my acts, though not always the ones he was aware of. However, after two and a half years, I felt he should know me well enough not to fall for the masks I showed the world.
I was almost distracted into sobriety by the arrival of Giancarlo Damazza on the balcony. He was with his older cousin, Vincente, who was the son of the wealthiest man in Florence. Even though the ball was not in his honor, Vincente was the reason of all of my night’s activities. For Alonso and me, he was the focal point of several months’ worth of work.
Vincente noticed my gaze. The guilt he may have seen in my eyes was sincere. I made little attempt to hide it. Then I made a show of nervously glancing at his cousin and slipping away.
Caterina met me in the gardens. We walked among roses, and flir
ted around the marble pillars of the galleria. I played the gallant swain who was too intoxicated with both wine and love to resist my infatuation. She played, with all sincerity, the blushing maiden who was too excited by the prospect of dallying with one of Teresina’s boys to recall she was betrothed.
On the pretext of showing me a flower she plucked, she darted in and pecked my check quite sweetly. As we were still surprisingly alone, I decided to amuse myself by teaching the girl to kiss; and I swept her into my arms and claimed her mouth. Her initial modest protest smothered, she surrendered to passion, and the lesson proceeded smoothly enough to garner the heretofore missing interest on the part of my manhood.
This pleasantness was interrupted by a great deal of commotion, as Giancarlo and his companions finally found us. I looked over Caterina’s head and past the apoplectic rage of her betrothed, to find Alonso playing the part of the placating friend and attempting to make excuses on my behalf to Vincente. The stage was set and the cast had arrived.
I feigned drunken shock and surprise at Giancarlo’s presence and rage.
“Good sir,” I sputtered in English, and then switched to Latin. “Good sir, this is not as it appears,” I avowed loudly, with the appropriate slurring, while still clutching the horrified girl.
“Release her! Release her at once!” Giancarlo bellowed. He was a boy of slight build and a braying voice, and it was rather like being confronted by a belligerent goat. I let Caterina go; she slumped to her knees between us, sobbing and clutching at Giancarlo’s breeches. Everyone ignored her, except for one of her brothers, who quickly pulled her to her feet and out of the way.
“I fear I…” I began.
“Fear, yes, you have much to fear, sir. I demand satisfaction,” Giancarlo brayed. Vincente stepped forward and placed a restraining hand on Giancarlo’s sword arm; but the boy would have none of it, and shook him off with vigor.
“I understand, good sir,” I said with as much dignity as a supposedly intoxicated Englishmen should have been able to muster. “Please name a time and place.”
“Now!” the lad yelled.
It was as I had hoped.
“I s-s-s-ee, with what weapon…?” I stammered and checked to ensure I was wearing a sword with a fumbling hand. His hand was already on his hilt. I watched in amazement as he drew.
He was truly enraged beyond reason, and had no intention of following any of the proper etiquette for a duel. This was better than I had hoped. The other men stepped back. Alonso was giving me a worried look, and I gave him the subtlest of shrugs. I was not truly concerned. I had seen the boy practice with the sword, and he had of course never seen me do the same. This was better than pistols; once a bullet was involved, there was at least the remote possibility that the idiot would injure me. With swords, there was little probability of my suffering a wound at all, unless I wished it or the Gods took a sudden disinterest in my person.
I pulled as quickly as I dared without revealing that I was not intoxicated, and blocked his first rush, making sure I stumbled back. The fight continued on this way, with me swinging as badly as he, and both of us gaining and retreating in a seemingly haphazard manner around the pillars of the galleria, until I marked the position of everyone present and developed a plan. I began to drive him in the desired direction.
When he tripped on a broken tile, I pressed on with a drunken rush that brought us toward Vincente and Alonso. My excellent fortune held out, and Giancarlo tripped again, toward his cousin, who felt obliged to catch him. A sober man in a serious duel would have stopped and allowed his opponent and a non-combatant to recover. I kept charging; and a moment later I ran Vincente through, seemingly by drunken accident in the heat of combat. It was nearly perfect. Unfortunately, Giancarlo was not aware of this, and was still flailing about with his weapon. I was forced to block with my arm, getting myself badly cut in the process.
Then all was silence as everyone, including the now-cognizant Giancarlo, watched Vincente slump to the ground with my sword in his chest. Giancarlo dropped his weapon and stepped away, as another of their cousins checked Vincente’s condition. Alonso rushed to my aid and wrapped a kerchief around my wound. Caterina’s wails were smothered by one of her brothers. The man kneeling next to Vincente raised his eyes to Giancarlo, and shook his head sadly. I gasped in feigned horror, and stumbled forward to check the body myself. Vincente was quite dead. Our job here was done. It was time to leave.
“Oh my God, please forgive me,” I said quietly and stood.
Giancarlo would not meet my gaze; but the man who had checked the body regarded me with sympathy and whispered, “It was an accident. All here saw that.”
I looked around, and found myself regarding Federico, Vincente’s younger brother and the man who would now inherit their father’s fortune. Federico was tractable and manageable in all the ways his brother Vincente had not been. Once their father passed, his power would be in the hands of Federico; and the boy would be in the hands of the individuals who had asked Teresina to task Alonso and myself with this little drama. Federico’s eyes were filled with rage and sorrow. He had been quite fond of his brother, and was not at all aware of the plot he was now in questionable benefit of.
“I am sorry,” I breathed.
“I cannot accept that,” Federico whispered. I wanted to laugh at the irony.
The other man stepped between us. “It was an accident.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “You should leave.”
I nodded mutely, and allowed Alonso to help me retreat. We quickly skirted the building and made the courtyard to retrieve our horses. Within the hour, we were at the house Teresina had loaned us for the last two years. A surgeon had been summoned to see to my arm; and I had retired to my room to shed clothing and boots and drink in earnest while awaiting his arrival.
Vincente was not the first man I had killed for purposes other than my own. I was relatively sure he would not be the last. Since I had left my father’s house, I had learned to forgive myself a good many things. Still, the initial guilt was strong, and I wanted nothing more than to drown it before it pulled me into the murky depths of melancholy.
Teresina and Alonso joined me. She was still in her gown and dripping jewels, but he had shed his jerkin. She gave me a deep kiss filled with promise, as all her kisses were. It did not drive the darkness away.
“Alonso said you were magnificent as always.” She smiled beautifically as she sat on the footstool and arranged her skirts.
I had planned and executed the deaths of three men at her request. I had not done it because of her exquisite bone structure, or the bewitching conformation of the curves of her breast and hip. I did not do it because she occasionally granted me the privilege of her bed, or because she had taught me things I had not dreamed were knowable in the pleasing of myself or others. I did not do it because she provided me with a house, servants, horses, weapons, clothing, and anything else I might fancy in order to live at the level of comfort I was born to. I did not do it because she was one of the more formidable powers in Florence, and crossing her meant certain death or destruction. No, I did it because I loved her. Even though I well knew that loving her was lunacy of a high order.
Teresina did not love. She doted, nurtured, befriended, and adored on occasion, but she did not love. Yet any man in her presence understood why a man would dash himself against the rocks of her fortitude for even the hope of entrance into her heart – even while any wise man knew that it was probably a barren place to obtain, and the journey was worth far more than the arrival. I am the sort of man who enjoys journeys and romantic notions and idealistic foolishness, and so I loved her.
Gazing upon her now did not make Vincente’s death taste any better, but it did make it easier to swallow.
She leaned forward and took my hand. “Uly, my love.” She paused and sighed. There was such sadness in her eyes.
My breath held in my chest, and fear clutched at my bowels.
“What is wrong?” I whispered.
“You need to leave Florence now. All are saying Vincente’s death was an accident. Yet you are still responsible. If you stay, I will be forced to deliver you up to appease the father’s anger. I would rather miss you than lose you.”
My heart thudded painfully, as it understood her words far more readily than my flailing mind did. I was unable to speak or move, except for my eyes. I looked to Alonso, hoping he would make a lie of her words. I wished to see him grinning as if this were some grand jest they had concocted. Alonso did not appear surprised, and his eyes were sympathetic. He had known.
“Ulysses, you knew this day would come,” Teresina said softly.
This was true. I forced myself to breathe and smile.
“Lady, I know death will come but I avoid it because I can rationally foresee the devastation it will wreak upon my life. Yet after death, I will be beyond this mortal coil, and either in eternal pleasure or damnation. This thing that you do is worse than death, as it will leave me alive and in a perpetual state of agony. You may as well cast me into Hell.”
She shook her head with a sad smile. “Uly, if you feel this is Heaven... well, then, how very little you expect of perfection.”
I chuckled. “I strive to ask little of life in order to avoid disappointment.” I studied her. “There is truly no other way?”
She shook her head again.
“You knew this was the outcome.” I was not asking; I was merely stating what all in the room now knew, now that I had achieved some degree of understanding. I felt betrayed. Yet I wondered what I would have done differently, if I had known; perhaps devised a strategy that would have accomplished the objective without our involvement being known. Why had no one suggested that very thing?
In answer to my statement and the questions she must have guessed at, she squeezed my hand. “Please do not hate me.”
She wanted me to leave. She was through with me. I managed to say, “At the moment I do not feel that is possible. I cannot offer guarantee as to my future feelings, though.”
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