Daughters of the Doge (44 page)

The day was over. Painfully, I remembered seeing Veronica with the fat cardinal, seeming as comfortable in that stratum of society as she had been among the common prostitutes on the canal bridges.

And what of Yasmeen? Was she, too, a plaything of some rich merchant? If so, how had she appeared in Tintoretto’s studio, acting, so Veronica had said, as his business manager? It did not make sense, unless she led two separate lives. I found the thought deeply troubling and walked home with a heavy heart.

C
HAPTER
53

April the 26th 1556 – Fondamenta della Sensa

‘So, this is the house you have chosen?’

Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon, and Dr Thomas Marwood completed their tour of inspection; the earl carrying his travelling gloves in one hand as if he might need to use them to brush away the dust before sitting down. I waited for his criticism but to my surprise there was none.

They had arrived at late morning, having left Padua just after dawn and travelled the whole way by barge. They had caught the tide well and had been able to bring the barge right alongside the fondamenta and close in front of the house. As a result, all their possessions were transferred within the hour and the bargeman was sent back to Padua on the same tide.

Courtenay was in remarkably good spirits. On first arrival he had asked for confirmation of where we were in relation to the Grand Canal and the Rialto. Knowing exactly what his real concern was, I had mentioned the proximity of the house where Veronica lived and he immediately moved on to other issues. I showed him the suite of rooms I had in mind for him and the smaller rooms remaining for Thomas, myself and the house servants. He looked at his rooms, satisfied himself that he would be able to entertain important personages there without embarrassment and, again was satisfied.

Thomas, meanwhile, merely stowed his things in his room and went out to find the easiest route to the Oratorio.

‘Richard. About the portrait.’ Courtenay called me into his rooms, already cluttered with open chests. ‘I have been catching up on the private letters which arrived while we were away and which you so kindly brought here with you. One is from Cardinal Pole. He writes of events in England and tells me that another seven heretics were recently burned for their beliefs and that Archbishop Cranmer himself went to the stake on the twenty-first of March, having publicly denied his supposed recantations on the scaffold, saying they were forgeries made by Philip II’s Spanish friars.

‘Although I am a committed Catholic, the prospect of the Spanish Inquisition worming its way into English society leaves me seriously concerned, Richard. Other Englishmen feel the same, I know. There are active plots against Queen Mary and Philip.’ He looked at me enquiringly.

‘Really?’ I tried to look shocked. ‘Our country must indeed be a troubled place.’

He continued, in the same vein. It did not appear his remarks had been directed at me.

‘Yes. According to my letters, a number of conspirators were put in the Tower on the twenty-eighth of March. No doubt someone’s version of ‘the truth’ will have been racked out of them for the benefit of Queen, Church and nation?’

I continued to play the innocent, and as I had expected, he soon got bored and changed the subject. ‘But to happier things.’ The earl brought out a small box from which he drew a coin-sized bronze medallion. ‘Duke Ercole had his man make this likeness for me. It’s honest, don’t you think?’

I presumed by ‘honest’ he meant flattering, and as he passed me the small medallion, I fully expected an Adonis to confront me, but again my prejudices were confounded. The profile showed how much weight the earl had put on in the last few years. His beard was nicely trimmed in the latest fashion.

‘It is, as you say, an honest likeness, Your Grace.’ As I handed it back to him I asked the one question I really cared about. ‘How does this affect the portrait from Tintoretto, Your Grace?’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Richard. This medallion has confirmed to me that my profile lends itself to portraiture. At the same time, the situation in England has convinced me that my future lies over here on the continent of Europe. Duke Ercole made a number of opening gambits on behalf of the French Court, but I am not stupid enough to fall for that. France has been too long an enemy to become my salvation now. No. On balance, I shall resign myself to remaining over here, and what more comfortable way to consolidate my position than to marry into a good family and settle down to domestic bliss with a good wife at my side?’

I nodded without great enthusiasm. He continued regardless. ‘I believe such a prospect may not be too far away. A certain lady here in Venice has responded to me with – how can I say? – with
encouragement.
Yes, that’s it. With encouragement. I believe I may yet win her hand if I am diligent in my pursuit of it. She has a number of – er –
qualities
that might encourage an English earl. Don’t you think?’

And a Venetian cardinal.
I managed to stop the words before they left my mouth. Instead, I offered him my very best man-toman, understanding smile.

‘Indeed.’ It was a courtier’s word, and no less useful for that. ‘And the portrait?’ I was beginning to wonder if he would ever get to the point.

‘The portrait is clearly now a matter of urgency.’

‘You would like me to resume the conversation with Tintoretto?’

‘No.’

My heart sank. I might have guessed it: another change of plan. What was it to be this time? Back to Titian?

‘Not merely resume it, Richard. I would like you to hasten it. This whole business has dragged on for far too long. This man Tintoretto may be a good painter but he has no sense of urgency. I would like your assurance that sittings will commence in the very near future. Meanwhile, I shall have to talk to the lady and enquire, very discreetly of course, what her favourite colours are. I may only have one shot at this target and I must get it right.’

I made my departure and looked for Thomas. I found him sitting outside, talking to Pietro, who, by some little accident, had chosen to fish close to our doorstep on this very afternoon. ‘The mud stirred up by your barge will have attracted the fish.’ Pietro always had an excuse ready. I wondered if there was a job for him in the diplomatic service, for he had a natural flair for such matters.

‘How are the bread deliveries going? I asked. Any new orders?’

Pietro looked at me with his quick eyes. He had long ago found out about my messages to and from Suor Faustina at Sant’ Alvise through his brothers and Hieronimo, and had on occasions delivered the bread to the convent himself. I trusted him, but only in small things. He looked from me to Thomas and read the enquiring look on Thomas’s face immediately. ‘I am not sure. I will go and ask my father.’ He turned to Thomas. ‘Will you mind my rod and basket?’ I watched him run along the
fondamenta
towards the trattoria.

‘What was all that about?’ Thomas watched him turn into his father’s doorway.

‘He runs errands for me. His family delivers bread to the convent where my nun is. We send each other notes through the delivery boys.’

Thomas scratched his head, smiling. ‘You and your intrigues. And there’s always a woman involved. Any new ones in your life since I saw you last?’

I thought of Yasmeen and looked at Thomas. In truth I could not say she was ‘in my life’ in the active sense that he meant, but in the sense of occupying my waking moments (and many of my dreaming ones, too) she was as important to me as anyone at this moment.

‘There might be.’

He saw me hesitate and guessed complexity. ‘What’s the difficulty this time? Don’t tell me she’s a Catholic?’

I stared blankly across the canal. ‘I am not sure, but I think she may be Arabic, and of their faith.’

Thomas too stared across the canal. We did this sometimes when the issue we were discussing was difficult or personal, avoiding eye contact but each attuned to the silences between the other’s replies. ‘You don’t make it easy, do you? I assume she is unmarried?’

I stared across the canal at the terracotta brickwork. ‘What do you mean by that?’

His reply was immediate. ‘It hasn’t stopped you in the past.’

‘That was different. Lady Frances pursued me.’

Thomas leaned back lazily. Sometimes this way of talking worked. ‘So you admit you are pursuing this one?’

I was starting to find the conversation irritating and, to my surprise, inappropriate. ‘I admit nothing, Thomas. I have only met the girl once and have hardly spoken to her. I am not sure if there is any opportunity to pursue, but I will tell you one thing – if the opportunity exists, then it’s probably serious.’

‘Have you had any more thoughts about returning to England?’

I considered my reply. ‘Yes, but I have come to no conclusions yet. I believe my future lies here, at least for the next few years, but at this moment I cannot see the full shape of it.’

‘And medicine? In Padua?’

I sat up and faced him. ‘Yes, Thomas. I think medicine may play an important role, but at the moment there are too many loose ends in my life.’

‘A noble nun, a courtesan to the nobility and a Muslim. It sounds like a difficult choice.
Loose ends,
indeed.’

I leaned back against the warm wall. ‘If it is a choice, it is a choice I shall have to make myself, Thomas. For the meantime, I should be grateful if you would not make disparaging remarks about people for whom I have both a liking and a respect.’