Harem (9 page)

Antonio Gonzaga had noticed a subtle and worrying change in his daughter. He fretted over the flush in her cheeks and the nervousness in her manner. Such signs, small as they were, were not commensurate with a young lady whose time should have been fully occupied with religious instruction and lacework.

The maid set two plates of
squazzetto
, a broth made of rice and chicken, in front of them. Gonzaga watched his daughter take up her spoon. Her hands were shaking.

'Put your shoulders back.'

Julia did as she was told.

He frowned, irritated. The sooner she was married and off his hands, the better he would like it. 'Soon you will be the wife of a member of the
Consiglio di Dieci
. He will expect proper manners.'

What could be wrong with her? He had seen such cow eyes on a woman before; his wife, on their wedding night and his mistress, whenever she was pregnant; something that happened with too frequent regularity.

He drank his wine, ignoring his food. Surely the thought of marrying Serena had not raised such a blush in her cheeks? The very idea that his daughter might entertain lewd thoughts about such a union was unlikely. So what, then?

The realization came to him and he gave a long sigh.

Julia looked up. 'Father?'

'I feel unwell,' he said to her. 'I need to rest. You must excuse me.' He left, leaving her to finish her supper alone.

***

Ludovici and Abbas reeled out of the tavern, arm in arm and stinking of wine. Ludovici bent over, his hands on his knees, and retched on the cobbles. Abbas leaned against the balustrade of a stone bridge and stared at the moonlight at the canal. 'I have never felt so alive,' he said. 'I love her, Ludovici.'

Ludovici wiped his mouth. 'You don't know anything about her. You are in love with the danger of it. If you are in love with anything, you are in love with your own daring.'

'You live in such a bitter world.'

'I am not bitter. I see the world as it is and no more. What is plain to me is that if you could marry this girl tomorrow with the blessing of her father and yours she would hold no more allure for you than a whore in a doorway.'

'One day it will happen to you.'

'Only if I lose my wits. Abbas, you are my greatest friend in the world. But I wish you would listen to me. A woman is just a woman and the world is full of them. She is something soft to lie on and a warm and giving place to spill your seed. I allow that a woman might be a boon companion and one day I shall have a wife to keep my home and children. But when I marry I will let my head do the choosing and not my heart. A man who does otherwise is a fool.'

'Then I am a fool because I promise you I will love her forever.'

'If you love her until next week I will give you two gold ducats.'

'I feel sorry for you, Ludovici. You feel nothing inside. But one day you will, life will seek you out and make you feel again. As for me, I shall find the greatest part of me in loving truly.'

'You're just in love with loving.'

'You'll see, Ludovici. You'll see. You should give me the two ducats now.'

Ludovici laughed and shook his head. He dropped the wine flask he was holding and it shattered on the cobblestones. Somewhere above them a man in a nightshirt ran up the shutters and called for the night watch. Ludovici and Abbas ran away down the
calle
, laughing.

***

Gonzaga sat in his study, staring gloomily into the candle. A painting of the Death of the Virgin by Carpaccio dominated the room; two smaller offerings, a Virgin and Child by Bellini and a portrait of himself, for which he had commissioned Palma Vecchio five years before, hung on either side of it. Two bronzes by Il Riccio stood above the fireplace.

There was a timid knock at the door.

'Yes?'

'Signora Cavalcanti, Excellency.'

'Enter.'

The
duenna
crept into the room and bent to kiss the sleeve of his velvet gown. 'You sent for me, Excellency?'

'I did. I am deeply troubled, Signora Cavalcanti.'

'No failing on my part, I hope?'

Gonzaga examined the sumptuous alto e basso weave on his gown and picked at a piece of lint. He removed it with elaborate care. 'I do not know, Signora.'

She wrung her hands. 'I assure Your Excellency I have been most diligent in my duties.'

'Have you?'

The old lady looked terrified.

'I believe Mistress Julia is concealing something from you.' The
duenna
was trembling, he noted with satisfaction. An old trick, of course, eliciting the fullest confession from mere suspicion, but it always worked.

'I do not think so, Excellency.'

'Really? Has she spoken much to you about the joyous occasion of her wedding?'

'Very little, Excellency.'

'The anticipation of it brings her no pleasure?'

'Well … I am sure she is most overjoyed.'

Gonzaga gave her time to think, or at least invent something. He busied himself with the stole that hung around his shoulders. 'She is never left unattended?'

Ah, there it was! The slightest lowering of the eyes, the merest hint of a blush in her cheeks. He watched her prepare the lie. 'No, Excellency.'

He sighed and pretended to relent. 'Keep an eye on her. A very close eye. Do you understand?'

'Yes, Your Excellency. I understand very well indeed.' She turned with uncommon haste towards the door.

Well, that should do it, he thought. He had frightened her badly, as he had intended, and put her on notice. If there was something he should know, she would find out about it and bring her discovery back to him as an offering, like a dog with a rat. A murmured word of thanks and his great disappointment in his daughter would be her lavish reward.

He spared a glance for the Virgin in her
extremis
. He was sure she would approve of his intent, if not his methods. But then, she never had a beautiful daughter.

Julia and Lucia sat on the
terrazzo
, their lacework resting on their knees, as the late afternoon sun dipped below the roofs of the
palazzi
. The
duenna
had retired but Julia had not yet heard her draw the heavy drapes at her bedroom window, which was directly above them. She suspected it was a stratagem to try and eavesdrop.

Lucia leaned forward and whispered: 'Did you meet him?'

Julia shrugged and mouthed: 'Perhaps.'

'Well?'

Julia smiled and said nothing.

A few moments later Signora Cavalcanti suddenly reappeared on the
terrazzo
. 'What are you two girls whispering about?'

'Nothing, Signora,' Julia said.

'I thought I distinctly heard voices.'

'I was singing to myself,' Julia said.

The
duenna
sat down and picked up her lacework, her face pinched into a scowl. The rest of the afternoon passed in silence. Julia felt two pairs of eyes fixed on her, watching her every movement, but she did not look up or say another word.

Julia drew back the hood of her cloak, slowly and deliberately, savouring the look on his face. It was just vanity, the vice of the Devil, but she so loved the way he stared at her.

She had not intended that there should ever be a second time. But one afternoon, a week or so after their first meeting, the gondola had appeared again by the water gate and the temptation had proved too great to resist. She just needed to feel alive again.

The second time had made it easier to do it a third time, and even easier the next. How many times had they met now? Half a dozen, more? She had never possessed a secret until now and it afforded her a feeling she had never experienced before; she had power. She was no longer utterly in the thrall of her father and Signora Cavalcanti.

'Just for a few moments,' she said. She spoke the same words every time; it was like the bargaining chip that she tossed to Fate. Who could condemn for a few stolen moments? The rest of the day my Confessor will find me faultless.

He reached for her, his palms upwards. On the last two occasions she had allowed him to touch her and this was their signal. She put out her hand and he took it. He cradled it in his palm like a small, wounded bird.

'I love you,' he murmured.

'You cannot love me. I told you, it is impossible. This will be the last time. We have to stop.'

'I cannot stop. If they consign me to all the fires of Hell I could not be in worse torment than I am now. I will stop when they put me in the earth.'

'Abbas, I am to be married soon …' She wondered how she would live without this now. He had made her feel as if she were the most beautiful and important woman in the world. She felt more alive than she ever had. How could she ever go back to watching the world through her window now? In a way she wished this had never begun. Not knowing how life could be better was worse than knowing how it could.

'Come away with me.'

'What?'

'I can arrange passage on a ship.'

'Leave Venice?' She could not believe he could even contemplate such a thing. 'No!'

'We can go to Spain. We will be safe from your father there. My father will give us money …'

'Stop it. This has gone far enough. Take me back. Now!'

'You don't have to marry an old man! You don't have to spend your life shut up in a rich man's palace. You can be free!'

Julia was horrified. It had been easy, until now, to pretend to herself that this was just a game, to forget that the summer was passing quickly and that soon she would be married. But the game had gone far enough. Run away, leave Venice? To even contemplate such a thing was madness.

'What should I do in Spain?' she heard herself say.

'You will be my wife. I will find employment as a soldier there. My father knows many grandees who …'

'You say now you would marry me but what if you changed your mind? What if you grew tired of me? What should become of me, then?'

'I should never grow tired of you.'

'You say this now, of course. But Lucia has told me stories of men who have dishonoured their women and abandoned them. This is madness!'

'You would rather spend the rest of your life trapped in an old man's palace?'

'At least I should be safe there. And what of sin, Abbas? Do you know of it, in your religion? If we should do this, God would punish us, if not in this life, then the next. I should never find absolution anywhere.'

'Please Julia. Don't say these things! Ever since I saw you in the church, I knew I must marry you. I will do anything, anything! I would die rather than give you up.'

He means it, she thought. He will stop at nothing now. Suddenly he terrified her. 'Please take me back.'

'Tell me you will come with me!'

'I cannot.'

He took her by the shoulders and pulled her towards him. She felt his lips brush against hers, as gentle as his grip was fierce. She closed her eyes and kept perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, aware only of the soft scent of his clothes and the sweet cloves on his breath. Finally he pulled away from her.

'Come with me,' he repeated.

Oh, I will miss this, she thought. But I cannot throw away my whole life for the look in a man's eyes. 'I must go back.'

She jumped out of the gondola onto the water steps and climbed the stairs back to the
palazzo
in a daze. She looked back once, he had thrown aside the curtains and was watching her. He smiled and she smiled back.

She inched open the door at the top of the stairs. It creaked slowly open. The
duenna
stood waiting, her arms crossed across her chest. 'So, you have deceived me,' she said.

'Signora Cavalcanti!'

'What have you been doing?'

Julia turned around, slamming the heavy oak door behind her. She ran back down to the canal but the gondola was already gliding away from the steps. She would have shouted to him to come back, but then she heard her
duenna
's footsteps on the stone flags behind her and knew that to call out his name would be to betray him.

The old lady grabbed her by the arm and wrestled her back inside. She was surprisingly strong. Julia looked around a final time and thought she saw a movement of the curtains on the gondola as it rounded a bend in the canal, but she could not be sure.

***

Antonio Gonzaga wore the scarlet robes of a
Consigliatore
. He stood at the window, hands clenched into fists at his sides, staring over the roofs to the campanile of San Marco across the square from the Ducal Palace. What would they say about him there if word of this scandal ever leaked out? What would happen to his alliance with the Serena family?

His daughter! Behaving like a common prostitute! He wanted to cut her throat.

Julia stood in the middle of the room, one arm crossed across her chest. She would not meet his eyes.

'Who is this boy?' he growled.

She did not, would not, answer.

'I said, WHO IS THIS BOY?'

He saw Signora Cavalcanti waiting in the shadows, her eyes glittering with satisfaction. He would deal with her later. This situation would never have come about if she had done her job properly. Besides, if she had leave to wag her tongue, the story would be all over Venice tomorrow.

He crossed the room and slapped his daughter so hard across the cheek that the blow sent her crashing to the floor. He stood over her, daring her to stand up again and defy him. 'I will beat you like a dog until you give me his name.'

'Never,' she said.

The unexpected steel in her infuriated him further. He grabbed her hair and shook her, then dragged her across the room to the window. Handfuls of hair came away in his hand. He kicked her in rage, then again because he felt like it. Julia put her hands over head to save herself from further abuse and curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing.

'Excellency,' Signora Cavalcanti said, and even had the temerity to take a step towards him. She seemed shocked. Did she think a man of affairs did not know the way of the street? What did she think she might do - intervene? A look from him sent her scurrying back into the corner.

'You will tell me his name.'

He hooked his fingers around the puffed sleeves of her vesture and pulled her to her feet. He cuffed her twice more around the head with his open hand while she twisted and writhed to try and escape the blows. Finally he released her and she crumpled to the floor a second time.

It seemed he would get no sense out of her tonight. Well, no matter, there was plenty of time to change her mind.

He had torn the sleeve and bodice of her dress, exposing her breast. 'Cover yourself up, whore,' he growled. Julia fumbled to reclaim her modesty but her hands were shaking so violently she could not do it.

'Take her to her room,' Gonzago said to the
duenna
. 'Lock it from the outside. Then come back here. I want to talk to you.'

***

Signora Cavalcanti had never been so frightened in all her life. She had always revered His Excellency as a stern man; grave and menacing, a little like God, she supposed. But the scene she had just witnessed had shaken her. A righteous judge was within his bounds to pronounce sentence but to take a turn himself at the wheel of the rack was just plain savagery.

When she returned to the study Gonzago had composed himself. He sat at his desk, hands folded in his lap, and only his hair, still awry beneath his
bareta
, evidenced the violence that had taken place in the room just a short time before. 'My daughter is shamefully stubborn,' he said.

Signora Cavalcanti did not know what to say to that. She looked into the sorrowful face of Carpaccio's Virgin and felt ashamed.

'Is it possible she does not realize the extent of the injury she has done me?'

'I have instructed her faithfully in her filial duties, as well as her duty to the Republic and to God, Excellency.'

'Perhaps.' He pursed his lips and tapped a forefinger against his temple, as if deliberating a change to the tax on wool. 'But if what you say is true, why does she defy me this way?'

The
duenna
realized that it was she who was now on trial. But what was there to say in her defence? Perhaps she should have kept her discovery to herself, handled it her own way. Well, it was too late now.

'Many questions arise from this,' Gonzaga said. 'For instance, how were these meetings arranged?'

Signora Cavalcanti swallowed the urge to say: 'I don't know.' It would be tantamount to expressing incompetence. 'I will find out,' she said.

'I hope so, Signora Cavalcanti,' he said and smiled at her. 'In fact, I rely on it.'

She never liked it when His Excellency smiled. The effect was never pleasant.