Daughters of the Doge (27 page)

C
HAPTER
32

March the 11th 1556 – Convento di Sant’ Alvise

Peace and privacy were on my mind again the following afternoon, as I made another of what Thomas teasingly called my ‘pilgrimages’ to the convent of Sant’ Alvise. The continuing rain seemed to have dampened the spirits of the normal crowd of youths and there were only four of us outside the window. Luckily one of the gang had brought a sturdy boat and we had a more stable platform than usual to stand on.

At first there was no sign of her, but eventually Suor Faustina joined the group of nuns at the window and, in her usual fashion, hovered at the back. I managed to find myself a position by the corner of the window and tilted my head to indicate to her that she should make her way to the corner also. At first she was reluctant, but slowly her courage seemed to improve and she came close to the window for the first time. Standing as tall as I could, and holding on to the bars for support, I was able to bring my face close enough to hers to whisper with a reasonable degree of privacy.

She was so close I was aware of her scent – clean, soapy, fresh, just as I had known it would be, and so different from all those around me every day

‘I need to talk to you properly I want to help, but it’s hard to make arrangements like this.’

She nodded, carefully, and I could see the pale blue of her eyes, both hope and fear passing across them. She gave a little frown and I wondered if I had made a mistake, but then I realized she was considering her reply. She signalled me to come closer still, and then she leaned forward until we were almost touching.

‘I have responsibility here as Chapter Clerk, I keep the books of account for the abbess and am responsible for buying all our needs from the market. It gives us an opportunity. Come back tomorrow, at nine in the evening, to the side canal. Make sure you have a low boat, not a gondola, and a boatman you can trust and in whose presence we can talk openly. There is a door to the convent warehouse in the canal side, the low grey one with two large handles. It will be open – push on the handles and the door will open inwards. There is a little dock inside for unloading provisions from the boats. Bring a sack of flour or something similar as cover, just in case.’

It was more than I had expected, and I realized that she had now made the decision to trust me, and saw me as the route to her salvation. It was encouraging, but also a responsibility. I only hoped I could live up to whatever expectations were building in her mind. ‘I shall be there. Nine o’clock in the evening. Is there anything else I should bring? Is there anything you need?’

She looked for a minute, thinking. Then a broad smile crossed her face. ‘Flowers. I would love it if you brought me flowers. It has been such a long and dark winter, with so little colour in it. Yes, flowers.’

I looked at the smile on her face, the first I had seen there. It lit up her whole face and made her look five years younger. Her face was always elegant, but when she smiled she was truly beautiful.

‘Nine o’clock. Flour and flowers. I think I can remember that.’

The memory of her smile remained with me for the rest of the day.

C
HAPTER
33

March the 12th 1556 – Convento di Sant’ Alvise

I had the trusted boatman, and he had a suitable boat. Paulo Arnaldi, one of the gang who met up outside the convent, had agreed to bring his family’s delivery boat round to the Rio di Sant’ Alvise just before nine o’clock. He was bringing the sack of flour and I was carrying a large bunch of early spring flowers.

We edged up the side canal, our eyes searching the darkness, for we dared not light a torch this close, and found the doorway. A gentle push had no effect. Perhaps she has been unable to unlock the door, I thought.

Paulo had a go and shoved hard against one of the doors while I held the other to prevent the boat from drifting across the canal. His efforts were more successful and we both peered inside to see what we were getting ourselves into. A pale hand appeared, offering us a rope’s end, and with it we pulled the boat quietly into the dock. There was just enough space inside to close the door after us, and as it closed the cover was removed from a storm lantern.

She was alone and, as before, looked frightened.

I introduced myself and Paulo, who greeted her but retreated to the end of the boat, leaving us to what he described as our ‘private conversation’.

‘There is a storeroom behind here. It has a good door and we will be private.’ Her voice was almost a whisper.

I passed the flowers to Faustina and lifting the sack of flour on to my shoulder, followed her down the corridor. As soon as the door was safely shut, Faustina looked at the flowers. Her smile returned and she shyly took my hand in thanks.

‘They are beautiful. I shall put them in my room and say my mother sent them. Thank you so much. It is very kind of you. Before I tell you about my situation, please tell me why you are being so kind? What you are doing is dangerous and you could be exiled from the Republic and even flogged by the authorities. Worse, if my family found out, they might send
bravi
to kill you. I am an embarrassment to them – and doubly so, now that they cannot afford to pay my allowance. If what you are doing became public knowledge, their name would be ridiculed. So why do you take such risks for someone you do not know?’

What could I say? The truth was I had no real idea why I was pursuing this dream of getting her out of the convent. It simply seemed the right thing to do . . .

‘I am new to Venice and stumbled on the convent purely by accident one day while walking and exploring the area. I saw a crowd of young men and decided to see what they were doing. When I saw you for the first time, something about your expression singled you out. I resolved to discover your story. I apologize for the impertinence, but I wanted to know about you. That is why I wrote the note.’

She smiled. ‘It was no impertinence and I am glad you did it. Otherwise I should not have had the confidence to speak to anyone outside and my fate would have been sealed. It took me a long time to pluck up the courage to reply to your note, but I am glad I did.

‘My story is not unusual. It is a tale of many women in this man’s world. The very lucky ones marry for love, the less fortunate are placed in arranged marriages with someone they may detest. For the remainder there are typically only two directions. If your family can afford it, you become a nun; if not, you go into trade. As far as the men in this city are concerned, there is only one trade women are suited for.

‘When I first came here I was not unhappy. My aunt and an elder sister were here and I became an
educanda,
studying under their wings. Within the last five years, my aunt and my sister have both died; my aunt from a fever and my sister from a tumour in her head.

‘With both of them gone, life was less happy, but I concentrated on my studies and became the Chapter Clerk. In that role I have responsibility for keeping the accounts of the convent, buying food and other necessities and ensuring we live within our means. It is work I enjoy and I am good at it, but the convent relies heavily on annual payments from the choir nuns’ families to supplement our other sources of income.

‘But when my family lost three ships in the same season, their fortunes were destroyed, and my father had to write to the abbess and inform her that he could no longer continue to pay. At that point my fall from grace began. We have three powerful nuns in this convent, older nuns called
discrete –
the so-called discreet ones – whose families have always thought themselves rivals with my family. Whilst my aunt and sister were alive they could not harm me, but now they take every opportunity to make my life a misery. They resent my gaining the position of Chapter Clerk, which each of them felt she deserved, and wait like vultures for my position to worsen.

The abbess has told me that when my income ends in July, I can no longer continue as a
suor
and must be degraded to the position of
conversa.
The
discrete
have great power over the
converse –
including the ordering of beatings for any misdemeanour. Since they determine who has or has not committed a misdemeanour, their rule is absolute.

‘Suor Angelica (never was anyone so inappropriately named) administers the beatings personally, and the
converse
say she is a tyrant. They say she makes them undress before accepting the beating and beats them to the point of drawing blood. She insists that the punishment is not complete until she sees tears fall. This is absolutely against the rules of the order but the abbess is weak and no one dares go against Angelica. I know that as soon as I become a
conversa
I will be found wanting by the
discrete
every day, and beaten by Suor Angelica, finally to the point of death.’

She dropped to her knees in front of me, hands clasped together as if in supplication.

‘I have to escape this place, to save my very life.’

I was appalled. ‘Do your family know this? Can they not take you from here?’

Tears welled in her eyes.

‘It is a matter of pride. They would not believe my story if they heard it, and in any case the abbess would deny it. Furthermore, they cannot take me out of here, for they cannot afford a dowry for me to marry into a noble family, and the family name is too esteemed for them to allow me to marry a merchant or a person of the lower orders. So they turn away from the situation and try to deny my existence.’

It was clear to me I had no choice. I had to save her from the future she described.