Daughters of the Doge (51 page)

Once again, I was reminded that I was not the centre of all conversations, and that the members of this little community talked amongst themselves on a daily basis, whether or not I was present. Of course, Veronica knew the portrait was intended for her, and of course she knew she could not accept it. Everything else was merely a matter of timing.

‘You know he is distrusted here in Venice?’ Jacopo did not feel the need to speak quietly here in his own
bottega.

I nodded. ‘And I don’t expect the appointment of the new doge, whoever he is, will change that?’

Jacopo shook his head. ‘There is little chance. Venice is ruled by tradition and moves slowly in such matters. No new doge would alter policy immediately. Besides, Veronica says his reputation is ruined, if it was ever otherwise. The only reason Doge Venier protected him was because he was affronted by the idea of the English presuming to tell Venice how to act. He was not going to allow
bravi
under Vannes’s control to kill someone on his own doorstep; it’s disrespectful. But they are all seasoned politicians and they understand power, and the realities of holding on to it. No king (or queen) is going to leave a potential usurper waiting in the wings.’

Again, I nodded. We were simply telling each other things we already knew, as if to affirm the facts for the sake of the record.

‘What will you do if the earl decides to move elsewhere?’ Jacopo looked genuinely concerned.

‘If possible, I would choose to remain in Venice for the present time. May I continue here? In the circumstances?’

Jacopo pulled a face and turned to Yasmeen. ‘Well, you are the business manager. What do you think? Can we afford it? Is he worth the effort?’

Yasmeen tried to look equally serious, but carried it off less well. ‘I think we have the resources, Maestro. He does not waste much charcoal, uses paper sparingly and pays promptly for any paint he uses.’

Jacopo’s head swayed from side-to-side as if he was trying to make a fair decision but having difficulty in coming to a conclusion. ‘But is he making any progress?’

This time she could not lie, even for the joke. She flicked her eyes at me then back to her master. ‘Oh yes, Maestro. His drawing has improved enormously. On balance, I would continue with him. I am sure you can make something of him.’

Jacopo nodded slowly, as if considering a weighty decision. ‘And you, Yasmeen?’

She looked at him, confused by this change of script.

‘Could you make something of him?’

I looked at her for her reply. She reddened and her eyes lowered. ‘I think so, given the opportunity.’ She lifted her eyes and looked directly at me. ‘In fact, I am sure I could.’ She paused. ‘Given the opportunity.’

Tintoretto looked from one of us to the other and stood up. ‘Well, it seems you two don’t need me. I had better go. I have a studio to run.’

Yasmeen looked across the table at me, with doubt in her eyes. ‘Did you mind? My saying that?’

I reached a hand across the table and took hers, looking into her eyes, willing her to believe me. ‘I would have died had you said anything else.’

C
HAPTER
61

June the 14th 1556 – Piazza San Marco

‘There will be no change of policy.’

Edward Courtenay rejoined Thomas and me as we stood on the side of the Piazza San Marco, listening to the bells pealing. Every church in Venice seemed to have joined in, making a joyous cacophony.

‘I have just spoken to John Neville,’ Courtenay continued, ‘he says Doge Lorenzo Priuli will change nothing. Venice is devoid of direction at the moment, laid low by plague and famine among the general population and unsure where its future lies. Trade patterns are changing and it is said the financial strength of the Fuggers has been hit hard by a number of disastrous decisions, which means they are unwilling to extend any new loans for the present. And whilst half of the Council concentrates on Lisbon and the new trade routes around Africa, the other half is preoccupied with Byzantium and the risk of another war with Constantinople. So Venice does what she often does: she holds to tradition and waits.’

‘And how do you propose to respond, Your Grace?’ I felt it was time to lay our cards upon the table. I had too many issues in my own life that I needed to resolve to allow it to drift on at the whim of someone else – particularly someone I considered to be selfish, unpredictable and, in the long term, not part of my life.

‘I shall do as the Venetians are doing. There are too many uncertainties to read, so I shall hang on and wait and see, at least for the summer.’ He faced both of us, for although Thomas had not asked the question, it was clear that the answer was of interest to us both. ‘I understand that each of you has to make a decision about his future. You have been good companions to me and I am grateful for that.’ He turned to Thomas. ‘I know that you plan to return to England in the autumn at the latest, before the worst storms hit the English Channel.’

Thomas nodded.

‘Richard, you have indicated that you will not return to England while Queen Mary is on the throne. I understand that. If you are to pursue a career in medicine, you ought to enrol at the university in Padua in September, in order to join this year’s students after the harvest season.’

He faced us squarely, opening his hands expansively.

‘I give you this commitment, gentlemen. I shall remain here in Venice, unless physically driven out, until September. I am yet undecided where I shall go then, but in any case, I absolve you both from any further commitment. Until September, I shall keep the house at my own expense and you are welcome to remain here under the present arrangement, coming and going as you please. Should you wish to leave earlier, I shall fully understand, and you will have my support in such a decision.’

We both mumbled our thanks for such a clear statement of his intentions. For some reason, Courtenay took each of our hands in turn and shook it. ‘Freedom, Gentlemen. I give you freedom.’

We shook hands again, before Courtenay saw someone across the piazza he wanted to talk to and quickly made his farewells.

Thomas looked at me quizzically. ‘What do you think that was about?’

I shook my head. ‘I have no idea. It was as if he had suddenly had an attack of clear-mindedness.’

We turned for home, fortified by the knowledge that each of us could now begin to put his own plans into place without feeling he was failing the others. As we walked I heard Thomas mutter to himself. ‘Strange disease, this syphilis. One minute the mind is addled, the next clear.’

I asked myself when the next change of mood would be sprung upon us and what its implications would be. In the meantime, I had been given my freedom and I did not intend to give it back. Too many decisions were reliant on it and too many lives potentially affected: mine, Yasmeen’s and Faustina’s.

C
HAPTER
62

June the 16th 1556 – Fondamenta dei Mori

Veronica stretched and yawned. Tintoretto saw the movement and responded. ‘Time for a break.’

She saw me looking at her and, as everyone put down his brush, walked across to me. ‘Did you want to talk?’

‘If you have the time, yes please.’

Together we wandered through into the courtyard where everything was quiet.

‘Is this a private conversation?’

I nodded. ‘In the sense that Yasmeen is involved, I would welcome your advice.’

By now, Veronica was used to my little questions. She pulled the loose robe around her and settled down. I went through the history of recent events, up to and including Courtenay’s statement of his intentions.

‘So, in short, I have until September to make my decisions. I think I know what I want to do in most respects; the remaining difficulty is Suor Faustina. I have committed myself to saving her from the future she describes, but time is passing by, and whilst I have increasingly clear ideas about the other great decisions in my life, I do not know what I can do for her.’

Veronica smiled her maternal smile.
‘Caro,
you talk as if your decision is about money or power; as if the decision will be made in your head. You are a young man. You have hot blood coursing through your veins. I have seen it.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘And I have felt it.’

I flashed my eyes towards Yasmeen’s office and the wooden grille over the window, but Veronica waved me down. ‘Your decision will not be made in your head – it will be made in your heart.’

As always, I was surprised at the speed with which Veronica had apparently reached her conclusions. Gently she took my hand and stroked it, as if to calm a fractious five-year-old. ‘You want it all ways; you want the sun to shine all day and the rain to fall conveniently at night.’

I shook my head. I didn’t follow any of it.

‘The Nun, the Muslim and the Harlot. In your mind, you approached each of us as a separate person, a separate
opportunity –
or perhaps, as you now see it, a separate problem! But you do not understand. We are not separate: our lives are interrelated and controlled by the same influences. We are all daughters of the Doge, Richard, each of us sustained by the laws and regulations of La Serenissima, but at the same time imprisoned by them.

‘Consider each of our positions. Suor Faustina is imprisoned in a convent as a direct consequence of the Libro d’Oro. And Yasmeen? You think she is free to choose whatever vocation she wishes? Ask yourself what would happen if she tried to become a doctor? Ask yourself what opportunities exist for a Muslim woman in the administration of this city, or in the businesses and trading companies run by Christian men? And, if you can step away from your own position for a moment, ask yourself what marriage prospects there are likely to be for a woman like her in a city where Muslims are denied any of the freedoms others take for granted.