The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  Carriages, Carts, and wheelbarrows abounded, as the evening progressed, while local people mingled about the streets surrounding the Campo dei Miracoli. In the hubbub of activity, the pair spoke quietly to one another as they took in the look of the people of the times, and the people themselves looked back and muttered. Some looked on with discreet curiosity, others with necks craned in surprise at seeing such fine and well-dressed people walking around. Most onlookers took the pair for a wealthy foreign merchant with his splendid wife. Others just took them for a pair of attention seekers wandering through town: strange as they were.

  After a short time, the pair found a Trattoria they liked. So Illawara and Hermes sat down and ordered some of the region's good local wine, to celebrate, and a mediocre pizza: it arrived without cheese. Illawara pulled a face. Hermes struggled to sit still, almost overwhelmed by old and new feelings that responded to the stimuli around him. Hermes wiggled his fingers in anticipation. In defiance of convention, Illawara ordered an egg of mozzarella cheese, before tearing it up and scattering it over the hot bread and topping, and had it baked again till the cheese melted. Some people on other tables nearby gossiped and took Illawara for a madwoman as the pair tucked into their new pizza. Another guest, however, impressed by Illawara’s tastes and finery quietly ordered herself some of the said cheese and had her pizza done the same.

  Hermes didn’t care about the glances. He just marvelled in the sensation of eating solid food again - almost forgetting how to chew - he could not remember the last time he had eaten in that way. Illawara cut Hermes’ pizza for him – he not knowing yet how to handle utensils. Illawara forgave her friend’s table manners, while she looked at Hermes as he grappled with his pizza as if it were a live octopus. He slurped, chewed and mewed at the sensations of eating – like a baby trying solids for the first time.

  ‘How can anyone have a pizza without cheese?’ Illawara bristled, between lady-like mouthfuls, ‘it's such a classic combination' she said before reaching for the salt,

  ‘Keep your voice down and just be grateful Illy’ Hermes whispered, between munches, before wiping sauce from his chin, ‘you said yourself that things would be different here, we’re not in America now – we’re not in Pizza Hut.’ Illawara shrugged,

  'I know, but I forgot about the cheese' she tittered, as a man ambled by, declaring his goods to help sell his trinkets. She shook her head. ‘But look’ she whispered, ‘it's already a tourist trap around here.'

  'I think the food is delicious' said Hermes. Illawara paused her chewing to eyeball her friend, before her expression softened.

  ‘And what would you know? You’ve only seen me eat pizza’ said Illawara, reflecting on Hermes words with nonchalance, ‘before today all you ate was juice and sugar syrup. Your pallet is starved. I bet if I’d sprinkled salt on a cow pat you'd think it'll taste good.’

  Hermes chuckled and then threw his head back and laughed, which further liberated his voice from the squeak of its previous form. His voice continued to broaden and mellow out. The other diners looked on as the pair chatted, joked, bickered and speculated, lost in their quipping, as they, in innocence, provided others with entertainment and contemplation. No one had seen such a couple of characters, like them, in town for some time.

  …

  The meal they started ended somewhat scoffed and hurried, realising the time as they sampled their desert, as it would take the best part of a day for them to reach Florence by carriage. Over the evening, and many glasses of wine, the pair had discussed an overnight stay at a tavern along the way, as Illawara, with discretion, consulted a photocopy of an old map. Illawara was only part satisfied with the meal, but she joined Hermes in praise of the vintage. Hermes who was accustomed to drinking nectar for so many years complained the wine burned his throat, like fire, but did not refuse his refills. The contents of almost two bottles of wine found a home in their stomachs. The pair paid up, with Illawara’s manufactured coins, and left, light headed, before attempting to flag down a carriage. After a few frustrated attempts to flag carriages down - which all seemed to be full or unwilling to stop - much bickering ensued between the pair at the roadside, as Illawara struggled to remember the proper custom to go about such things.

  ‘Sweet Lord, this is a nightmare!’ Illawara declared with a flap of her arms and wobbling on her feet, ‘we’re never going to get to Florence at this rate. We’ll have to walk for it.’

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’ said Hermes, trying to concentrate on keeping his balance on Illawara’s arm, ‘I’m just getting used to walking again’ Hermes hickuped, ‘you said Florence is over forty miles away from here. What state do you think we’ll be in by the time we get there?’ He belched, ‘not fit for a Medici party I know that much.’ Hermes then began to cackle to himself quite amused at his observation. Illawara formulated her response as the full effects of the wine took hold of her upon exposure to the freshening air.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what state we arrive in; I could make us some brand-new clothes with the tincture, silly.’

  ‘Where?' said Hermes leaning into Illawara, as if half his blood were red wine, 'would you be turning leaves into piles of clothes at the roadside? We’d both be burning on stakes in the town square before you could say Shish Kebab - you, you…’ Hermes then laughed again, tottering, as he groped for words, and began to enjoy the effect the wine had upon him - allowing him to feel like a youth once more.

  ‘HA’ said Illawara, gulping at the air and holding her sides as the sound of a carriage approached. But before she could formulate a reply the speeding Carriage, being pulled along by four horses, had scattered a collection of geese pecking at the ground as their owner walked them home from the market. The old man set forth a spirited torrent of imaginative abuse at the surprise, while his geese shrieked as they dispersed, only to quiet himself when he saw the imposing wealth of his disturber.

  The coach then clattered to a juddering halt next to the pair where they stood. The elegant four-seated carriage with large ‘U’ springs looked attractive in its dusty yellow livery. The horse's shiny bridles jangled like cow bells in the early night, out chiming the honks of the agitated geese in the distance. The coach driver sat illuminated by the orange light of the coach-lamps after bringing the vehicle to a standstill to obey a prompt from the passenger inside. The window glass of the carriage opened, and a gloved hand beckoned them to come closer. Illawara and Hermes forgot their bickering but then muttered to each other in Italian for some time, exchanging gestures with one another, and whispering, before they moved with care in the direction of the alighted carriage. Upon getting closer to the vehicle, a refined voice called to them from inside,

  ‘Do you speak English?’ said the voice. The perplexed pair made eyes at each other before they nodded. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To the Uffizi’ Illawara inflected in an Italian accent - with her native English then becoming somewhat awkward in her mouth.

  ‘Good, I thought so - that’s where I’m also going’, came the jovial reply.

  Illawara and Hermes, quite drunk, whispered to each other again, eyeing the carriage before they looked at the gathering darkness around them. After more glances around and muttering they shrugged at each other, and then resigned themselves with upturned hands. The inhabitant of the carriage bid his footman stationed at the back of the vehicle, to welcome his new guests into the coach. The footman looked immaculate dressed in his pale blue uniform as he skipped down to open the carriage door, and unfolded velvet-padded steps, concealed within, that matched the coach’s soft blue interiors. The pair, both a somewhat unsteady on their feet, were granted access. First Illawara and then Hermes teetered in assisted with confidence by the footman into their seats, as orders were then given to continue to Florence. The pair, still marvelling at their good fortune, had realised that they would be in the company of two distinguished guests: as the carriage made its way through the night like a pale-yellow moth.

  Chapter 6<
br />
  The Strangers

  The Road to Florence

  W ithin the carriage, Illawara and Hermes discovered that they would be sharing their journey with not one, but two people; both were men and seemed to be in their late twenties. Sitting opposite Illawara, and to the right, sat the man that gave the command to stop the carriage. His apparent youth struck in contrast to the plush, and mellow tone of the voice that had greeted them. He wore a small powdered wig that complemented his face well, but his nose, protruding with a hump and ending with a curve, dominated his face and gave the impression of being held up in the air. Illawara noted that his taste could not be faulted, and admired his tailored clothes that hugged his physique.

  'Allow me to introduce my Valet, Antonio' he said, in English, gesturing to the man that sat next to him with a waft of his hand. 'I'm Edward de Vere...' he added, and then went on to announce himself as an English aristocrat: The Seventeenth Earl of Oxford. The Earl spoke with as little fuss as if announcing teatime. Illawara arched her back and tried not to look impressed as if she expected the man's announcement. Casual and breezy, with the turn of his wrist he informed Illawara and Hermes, after they introduced themselves, that he had decided to take himself on a Grand Tour of Italy. Illawara then saw coats of arms, stately homes, and moonlit rides on horseback next to the Earl in her mind's eye: but drew a blank on references to Earls of Oxford. She struggled to keep her face vacant as her eyes and mind searched him for clues.

  The Valet Antonio, also well dressed, held himself back, chin lifted, with his hands cupped in his lap: unable to avoid the yawning legs akimbo of the Earl, who's knee batted his as the coach moved along. His head lay uncovered, which showed how his blond hair entwined with itself - reflecting the lamplight. Illawara - quite drunk - resisted an unexpected urge to stand up and ruffle his golden locks.

  But if the Valet’s body remained stiff, then all life lived in his eyes. Like two blue thunderbolts, Antonio’s look had fixed the pair as they entered, assessing them: inspecting Hermes and Illawara as if the pair lay sandwiched between sheets of glass. It seemed to him the couple looked almost too grand. Illawara and Hermes also sat with their hands in their laps and tried to avoid the Valet’s gaze. But the Earl, in his way, sensing tension, did his best to put his new guests at ease in his company. Illawara avoided Antonio and focused her attentions on the Earl when he addressed her:

  ‘So, fine Lady…’ the Earl said in English again, then paused, before changing into heavily accented Italian, ‘if I may address you as Lady?’ Illawara nodded that he may. Hermes almost smirked with wry surprise at the new Illawara emerging. He looked out of the window to keep his face straight. ‘What business takes you to Florence and the Uffizi?’ The Earl enquired continuing in Italian.

  ‘Well, I assumed you had guessed my business already?’ she said. The Earl acknowledged the remark, despite her not answering his question.

  ‘Well, seeing a pair so finely dressed on the first of October, one could assume that you’re both to be guests of the Medici?’ he added, 'there is no other gathering of such merit in Florence, and I doubt you're both going there for cock fights and dancing bears' Illawara lifted her nose, and stretched out her neck before responding,

  ‘You assume correctly, as we are indeed to be guests of the Medici’ she paused to glance at Hermes, eyes unfocused, her diamond choker catching the light, ‘we have a friend of ours who is part of the Medici court’ she added. Illawara put out her hand to steady herself. Hermes shifted in his seat and glanced at Antonio, who continued to scrutinise the pair. The Earl nodded before pausing. The insincerity of the statement seemed to register with more with Antonio, however, whose eyes flashed in the candlelight.

  ‘Is that so?’ the Earl continued ‘I also have some friends there, who are very close to the Duke.’ Hermes swallowed, and clenched his fingers, anticipating the Earl asking who their friend was, and if the fictitious person had any relationship with his contacts. ‘So what is the name of your friend at court?’ the Earl asked in innocence. A bead of sweat began to form on Hermes' forehead. He waited for Illawara to reply as adrenaline rippled through his body. Illawara, misty eyed, smiled at the Earl.

  ‘He’s called Rodrigo Salvatore. He tutored us in English while we grew up in Torino - so now we are fluent in both languages.' Hermes looked as if all breathable air had emptied from the carriage, but Illawara, although tipsy, carried on to deliver her improvisations like an actress. Antonio interjected in a light tenor that cracked his exterior:

  ‘So… a Spaniard tutored you in English? How curious.’ Illawara didn’t flinch, and answered Antonio in his native tongue,

  ‘Yes, it is, but only his father was Spanish – a carpenter - his mother was Italian, and from Torino. Like me, he grew up there. He travelled across Europe frequently, and also spoke French and German.’ The Earl looked impressed. Hermes then pulled down the door window to let in more air: whistling the breeze into his nostrils as Illawara’s yarn spun forth. Antonio's eyes narrowed as he listened to Illawara, his gaze then flicking to Hermes while he formulated a response. Hermes beat him to it.

  ‘So have you both travelled all this way for an audience with the Duke of Tuscany?’ interjected Hermes in English, somewhat revived, but still fuzzy headed.

  ‘Well yes, I'd say that's obvious’ answered the Earl looking unsure for a split second, ‘Haven’t you?’ Hermes and Illawara hesitated, and the Valet's eyes narrowed again.

  ‘Yes of course. We seek an audience with The Duke, as you wish to, but also with our friend and tutor - there’s much we want to ask him’ said Illawara, trying to stay upright.

  ‘I see, good, good’ said the Earl rocking with the movement of the carriage. ‘I’ve heard Duke’s an excellent fellow, and the finest amongst men - so I’m told - and as for your tutor I look forward to meeting him.’ Illawara hesitated, and Hermes sensed that she wished to say more. Illawara wrung her hands for a moment in her lap, before glancing at Hermes.

  ‘But we also seek words with a very eminent professor', she added, unable to hold back. Hermes twitched in his seat. The Earl leant forward to listen to her. Illawara’s neck grew hot.

  ‘So you seek an audience with Galileo?’ said the Earl, before raising a gloved hand to the side of his mouth, ‘it’s rumoured that the great man is to be guest of honour at the gathering tomorrow’ the Earl added in a stage whisper.

  ‘Oh yes, we’d love to meet him too’ she said,

  'So there's another professor you know attending? You seem to have remarkable connections’ said Antonio. Illawara hesitated and forced a smile,

  'Oh, it's nothing really, just someone that once tutored us...' Illawara then trailed off. The Earl and Antonio seemed intrigued, as Hermes made eyes at Illawara for her frankness. A smile crept across the Earl’s face.

  ‘So you were also tutored by a professor you say? What an education you've both had - I'm impressed, and what a curious pair you both are.' The Earl rubbed his chin.

  'So you were both raised together in Torino, and seek not only your former language tutor but two professors at the gathering?’ The Valet said. Antonio peered at them both like a falcon: noting the clear differences between the pair. Hermes seemed to read the Valet’s mind.

  ‘We were not quite raised together, but we’re cousins. I lived nearby.’ Hermes interrupted to try to add plausibility to Illawara’s statement. Illawara gave Hermes a side look.

  ‘Only cousins? I thought you were brother and sister’ the Valet chortled, 'my, my, it's quite something to be in the presence of two such curious, educated, well connected, individuals - you’ll both be a triumph at court I’m sure’ Antonio mewed, with some irony, as the pair fidgeted like children. The Earl and Antonio then exchanged glances with one another. The Earl could have spared them discomfort by changing his line of questioning but saw the sport as too good, so he decided to continue.

  ‘So this professor that you seek' he said sliding into a smile, 'what are his powers of thou
ght? And is he more eminent than the great learned Galileo? Can he describe the heavens and the motion of the stars?’ The Earl accompanied his remark with an extravagant gesture to the ceiling of the carriage, as Hermes and Illawara looked perplexed at such questioning: both caught short and unprepared.

  The pair sank back into the cushioned chair of the carriage, like freshly laid dung steaming in the frosty air. Neither Illawara or Hermes could sit still, as they fielded questions directed at them by their hosts more numerous than flies. The pair struggled, as both were sucked dry of inspiration; their sobering minds chilling to crusts as the questioning continued. The pair glanced out their windows as if seeking escape, the moonlit Tuscan countryside rolling by, as the carriage rattled toward its destination. Illawara tried to assess their speed and pondered how harmed she would be if she leapt from the carriage before she composed herself.

  After a long pause, she chose to gamble with some truth. ‘Well, it could be argued that our professor is excellent indeed' she replied to the Earl, who would not stop pestering her with enquiries about her father. 'He doesn’t yet have the fame that the great Galileo enjoys, but he’s no less significant in his way - someday, with help from his friends' said Illawara turning to Hermes, 'he'll be one of the most famous men in history.'

  ‘He sounds like a fascinating man’ added the Earl; eager to hear more, ‘is he also Italian?’

  ‘No, he’s Englishman like yourself. He went to Oxford’ Illawara declared, throwing caution out the window instead of herself. Hermes held his breath.

  'So you must have really learned English from him then?' said Antonio. But the Earl raised his hand.

  ‘A man from my country no less' the Earl hesitated, 'as one would imagine, I went to Oxford too. What’s his name pray tell?’ Illawara had reasoned the Earl could never have met the Professor at Oxford, with another side glance, it seemed like Hermes had reached the same conclusion.