Daughters of the Silk Road: A beautiful and epic novel of family, love and the secrets of a Ming Vase (7 page)

She covered her mouth in embarrassment, and blushing, looked down at her plate. Andrea noticed instantly that something was amiss.

‘Are you well?’ he asked Maria.

‘Quite well, thank you,’ she responded curtly, taking a large gulp from her cup of wine.

Having composed herself, she looked up again; the man was still smiling at her. She smiled back briefly and continued to eat her food and chat to her brother and Andrea. Their meal finished, she stood and gathered her cloak around her ready to leave.

‘Come along, Daniele; we should be getting back.’

As she passed the blond man’s table, he stood up and barred her way.

Andrea pushed himself between this interloper and Maria. ‘Out of the way of my mistress,’ he said firmly.

‘Forgive me,’ said the blond man. ‘I merely wished to give the lady something.’ And he took out from his doublet pocket a delicate lace handkerchief.

‘It is Bruges lace, my lady. I hope you will accept it.’

‘My sister cannot accept any gift from a stranger.’ Daniele spoke loudly and clearly and now inserted himself between Andrea and the blond stranger. ‘She is a lady and you show her no respect.’

‘I assure you, I wish the lady no harm, nor do I mean her any insult.’ The young blond man seemed utterly self-assured and stood his ground. He was a good head taller than either Andrea or Daniele, and Maria had the impression that he was mildly amused at the young men’s attempts to protect her reputation.

‘Thank you,’ she spoke at last. ‘I would be delighted to accept your gift; it is beautiful. I have never seen such fine work before.’

Daniele cast her an angry glance, and Andrea stood back dejectedly.

‘The lace-makers of Bruges are famous for the delicacy of their workmanship,’ said the young man. ‘You will not find a finer example anywhere in Venice. I import it myself. I have the monopoly.’

‘Then I am grateful to you,’ said Maria, tucking the handkerchief into the pocket of her gown.

‘May I know your name?’ she asked the young man.

‘Peter,’ he replied, ‘Peter Haas. And yours?’

‘Maria dei Conti. My father is Niccolò dei Conti – merchant and traveller. We are recently returned from the East.’

‘I am honoured to make your acquaintance,’ said Peter, as he bowed low.

‘I think we should leave now,’ said Daniele anxiously.

‘May I call on you?’ asked the young blond man.

‘You may…’

‘Maria,’ interjected her brother.

‘Please do, but when my father has returned. I think you know where we live,’ Maria continued.

And with that she shepherded her brother and Andrea out of the
cantina
and home.

P
eter Haas was
twenty-seven years of age and had lived in Venice for nine years. He was the son of a well-respected German merchant, Franck Haas from Nuremberg, and Beatrix van der Beke. Her family were merchants in Bruges and their marriage, and consequent unification of their two businesses, had enabled the family to dominate trade in a significant belt stretching from Bruges in the north – with its monopoly of the northern sea routes, through Nuremberg, at the centre of twelve of the major trade routes in Europe – to Venice in the south, with its firm grip on trade to the East.

Peter had spent his young life travelling between Bruges, where his mother’s brother Tobias ran the family business, and his father’s home city of Nuremberg. Linens, paper, ironwork, brass, armour and printing were that city’s major exports. Together, the family prided themselves that the extent of their mercantile territory, which also stretched from Venice to the English Channel, was unsurpassed by any other German merchant. They were ambitious, industrious and courageous. They were prepared to take financial as well as physical risks. Peter in particular was a young man of huge determination and with a strong sense of adventure. He had two brothers who had remained in the north: one based in Nuremberg with their father and the other working with Tobias, who had no sons of his own.

Peter had first come to Venice aged just eighteen, to trade on behalf of his family business. Having spent time in Bruges he was familiar with canal life and felt at home instantly in his adopted city. Germans had traded and lived in Venice for hundreds of years, and his native tongue was widely spoken, or at least understood amongst the merchant class. But Peter was bright and enthusiastic and determined to mix fully in his adopted city, and soon mastered Italian. He lived in the German
fondaco
– the lodging house reserved for German merchants – and revelled in the freedom of being away from his family. He was a young man with a fondness for beer and wine, in a town filled with ladies of uncertain virtue, and he took full advantage of all that the city had to offer. Each Sunday he would make his way to the church of San Bartholomew alongside his fellow German merchants. There he would worship and mix with the respectable German families who lived and worked alongside him in Venice. But by the evening, he would be in a
taverna
near the Rialto – a bright, high-spirited young man enjoying his life to the full.

His father tasked him with purchasing goods that could be shipped north and sold either in Germany, the Low Countries, or in England. He bought woollen and silken cloth manufactured in Venice; he purchased spices from the Near East, carpets from Damascus and porcelain from the lands of further India. He imported goods into Venice too – many originating from Russia and the Baltic – furs, leather and metals, including gold and silver. Through his uncle Tobias came lace from Bruges and raw wool from England, which was considered the only wool of choice for Venetian fabric manufacturers. Business was good and the family prospered.

In spite of their long association with the Venetians, German merchants were forced to live and work under certain restrictions. They were not permitted to conduct their own business in the Adriatic and beyond, or to run ships to Alexandria and trade directly. Instead they had to buy their goods from Venetian traders, and conduct their business under the watchful eye of the authorities, paying taxes and duty for goods they wished to purchase and transport on to northern Europe. In return, the Venetians agreed not to do business directly with Germany, although Venetians did trade with Flanders and England.

The Germans were obliged to live and work in the Fondaco dei Tedeschi
.
This large building on the Grand Canal served as trading centre, warehouse and lodgings. One hundred and twenty guests were housed there and leased rooms from the authorities of San Marco. Apart from their rent, they paid for extra services such as meals and cleaning. In return, the authorities provided security for their goods, but also applied a curfew on the residents, locking them up in the residence at night.

For the most part, the merchants coped with these regulations. For they understood that Venice was the most important trading route to the Middle and Far East, and the advantages outweighed any personal disadvantages or irritations. But occasionally, frustrations erupted to the surface, usually in the guise of rivalries between different groups of German merchants. The citizens of Cologne and Ulm fell out and refused to dine together. They insisted on separate kitchens, cooks and ovens. The authorities’ response was conciliatory, but firm; they must share a kitchen, but would be allowed to retain separate cooks and ovens.

P
eter’s attitude
to this squabbling was one of mild amusement. His nature was cheerful and optimistic, and he refused to allow his compatriots’ irritations to spoil his life. He was not particularly anxious about the curfew either, and found ways to escape at night, with one or two other bold young men in the
fondaco
, to meet with prostitutes who frequented the streets and brothels near the Rialto. Prostitution in Venice at that time was widespread. It was said that there were eleven thousand prostitutes amongst a population of one hundred thousand people. But it was carefully regulated by the city’s authorities. Prostitutes had to live and work within the
Castelletto
, near the Rialto, and as long as they followed the rules, conducted their activities discreetly and paid their taxes, they were allowed to play their part in society. It was not exactly encouraged, but was seen as a necessary part of a healthy social mix. The reasons for this were complex. All patrician and high-born women in Venice were required to offer a large dowry in order to marry. This often led to younger sisters being left with no dowry at all, and consequently no possibility of marriage. The only future for them was to take the veil. And as the pool of suitable brides diminished, many of the young men of the city were forced into a life of permanent bachelorhood. Added to which the needs of a large population of unattached merchants and travellers in the city had to be satisfied and prostitution was considered the answer. The alternative, in the minds of the Church, was for these young men to seek pleasure amongst one another and that was considered a worse sin. Better that they visit a woman of ill repute than they take pleasure in sodomy.

Peter had made frequent use of the brothels in
Castelletto
since he had lived in Venice. It was rather fortunate that they were within a few minutes’ walk of the
fondaco,
next to the Rialto Bridge. Prostitutes were forbidden from forming lasting relationships with their clients. As a young man, Peter had impulsively fallen in love with several of the ladies at the
Castelletto
. His head was full of their beauty and generosity. On more than one occasion he would arrive at the brothel begging to be allowed to visit one particular girl, only to be refused by the madam and sent in to visit another girl altogether. Sometimes, late at night, when he had indulged in more wine than was good for him, he was inclined to take advantage of one of the unregulated ladies of the night that lurked in dark corners of the street – an experience that he usually regretted seconds later.

Tiring a little of these unsatisfactory liaisons, he was introduced by a friend from the
fondaco
, to the nuns of the Sant’ Angelo convent. The convent had a rather racy reputation, populated as it was with beautiful young women from good families who were there, quite frequently, against their will. They were young, charming, accomplished and artistic. Many were daughters of the nobility who had been forced to take the veil when no dowry was forthcoming, and as such were completely without religious conviction, and refused to wear either the garb of a nun or practice their rituals. Their clothes were extravagant and colourful, and their dresses cut low over the breast. They were fond of dyeing their hair blond, a craze that had swept through the ladies of Venice for some time. And rather than passing their days in prayer and good works, they spent their time painting, playing music and sewing. Their parties were legendary gatherings filled with music, laughter and fornication. It was to one such occasion that Peter was taken by his friend Jacob.

Jacob had recently become the lover of a particularly pretty red-haired nun named Elena Marcello, otherwise known Sister Angelica. He had seen her one day as she sat in her window that overlooked the Campo Sant’ Angelo. He had smiled at her and she had begun a conversation with him. He visited her window several times before she invited him into the convent one afternoon. There he had met a number of other young men who had been invited by like-minded ‘nuns’. The women had sung and danced, sharing wine and sweetmeats with their guests. Before long, he and Elena were lovers – a state of affairs that appeared to be overlooked, or even condoned by the abbess of that establishment. Elena suggested that Jacob bring along a friend to their next evening’s entertainment and so Peter was invited. Fascinated and not a little horrified at the implications of what he was doing, he and Jacob were silently let in through a side door into the convent garden. They walked along the cloisters past several older nuns who appeared to be engrossed in conversation, their prayer books resting in their laps; religious music escaped through the door of the chapel. But at the far end of the cloisters, they were shown into a brightly lit room filled with young women wearing colourful gowns, their hair elaborately coiled, who danced, sang and laughed gaily. In the middle of the room, playing the harp, sat a beautiful blond girl wearing a low-cut scarlet velvet dress. As she sang a sad love song, her eyes fell on young Peter. By the end of the evening, after much wine, food and song, she had taken him to her room, where she proved a more than able guide and mistress, enthusiastic in her desire and appetite for sex. He was bewitched by her and came to visit her regularly after that. They formed a strong attachment, and spoke from time to time of how he might ‘rescue’ her and take her from the convent. But in his heart, Peter knew that his parents would never countenance such a relationship being formalised. The risks to any young man who eloped with a nun, even a nun who had been placed in a convent against her wishes, were severe. A prison sentence was almost guaranteed, fines would be imposed and his family’s reputation would be destroyed. As a visiting merchant in Venice he was bound to suffer a more severe punishment as a deterrent to others. With a heavy heart and a sense of guilt that he had never felt before, he had put a stop to the affair. It was rumoured that he had broken poor Sister Theresa’s heart.

At twenty-seven, Peter was growing weary of this dissolute life and in truth had begun to yearn for a wife. His father had suggested much the same in his last letter to his son.

M
y dear Peter
,

Your mother, uncle and brothers send you their best. We have been thinking of you and hope you may be able to visit soon – perhaps you might travel north with the next consignment of cloth and carpets you mentioned in your last letter. I hope so, for we have someone we would like to introduce to you. She is the daughter of a respected member of our community, Friedrich Drenyn. The family are from Nuremburg. Her name is Agnes and she is a God-fearing girl, and strong and sensible. We believe she would make a most suitable bride and partner for you. Her father’s business would be a good association with our own. Write soon, my boy, and tell me when you intend to travel north. I will make the arrangements.

I
t was
, of course, quite natural for families at that time to arrange marriages for their children. And it was important that those marriages would benefit the families involved. Uniting two big mercantile dynasties through marriage was something that Peter had long been led to expect. And yet, he felt uneasy and not a little distressed at the prospect of being introduced to his future wife in this way. Her name alone filled him with anxiety. Could he really love a woman named Agnes, however ‘strong and sensible’ she proved to be? And while he could see the advantages of marrying such a woman, his time in Venice had taught him that he would prefer a wife who was soft, yielding, amusing, beautiful and exotic.

He had been reading this letter and considering the implications while working his way through a large flagon of wine when his eye fell upon the beautiful blue-eyed girl he had espied the previous day in the window of the house on the Rio dei Greci.

He had been spellbound by her eyes then; were they blue, or green? It was impossible to say, but either way, they contrasted wonderfully with her long dark hair and olive skin, and together created a vision of exotic beauty that he was quite sure was unsurpassed in Venice. He had forced the
gondoliere
to row past her house twice and had been delighted to see her on both occasions; he had then spent much of the following twenty-four hours musing on how he might manage to actually meet her. To find her sitting not a few feet away from him in the
taverna
on the Rialto was an extraordinary coincidence – or perhaps a sign?

He had loved her uninhibited laughter and he had smiled at her subsequent blushing embarrassment when she saw him. When she rose to leave, he could not allow the opportunity to introduce himself pass. And she had liked the handkerchief, he could tell. Perhaps she even liked him too, a little. He was amused by the two young men who had sought to protect her. She was obviously a lady of some standing and respectability. But there seemed to be a spirit and freedom about her that he did not normally find in the well-born but dull young northern women of his acquaintance – this girl was different.

When she had left, he resolved that he must be bold and find his way to her house on the Rio dei Greci. Perhaps if he could be introduced to her father he would be admitted to her presence and they would be allowed to spend time together, chaperoned of course. Perhaps, he might never have to marry the unappetising-sounding Agnes.