Daughters of the Doge (55 page)

The nun who opened the door recognized me and, despite my normal street clothes, decided to play the game, but the old
discrete
who were due to act as
ascoltatrici
that day clearly did not believe that I was Suor Faustina’s lawyer and refused to leave until Faustina, in a rage, called for the abbess herself, who duly gave the instruction.

It was not a good start, and in my view the situation was made more difficult by Faustina’s insistence that Felicità join our discussion. They sat close together, opposite me, and already I felt we were taking sides.

‘We have not seen you for a long time.’

Her tone was almost accusing, hardly the prisoner asking for assistance from outside. Ruffled, I replied more angrily than I had intended.

‘There have been complications.’

‘Complications?’ Her long neck arched as she lifted her head.

‘Developments.’

‘Developments?’

I looked at Felicità and back to Faustina. She stared at me, her blue eyes unblinking. It was as if we had commenced a battle of wills. I tried to recover the situation and to explain my confusion.

‘I was not aware about . . .’ I nodded towards Felicità, who sat nervously. ‘I thought I was only acting for one. I didn’t realize that I had to find a solution for you both.’ Felicità’s presence was frustrating me, and my tone must have implied that I thought I had been misled.

Faustina’s colour rose and her neck lengthened even further. She raised herself half out of her chair and leaned over me as I sat opposite her. ‘Felicità is my companion and will remain so when we leave here. That has always been the position since our first discussion.’ Her words came out in an aggressive hiss.

I was on the defensive now. It was obvious that Faustina would want to bring Felicità with her; I simply had not worked it all out. But at the same time, it was I who was doing her a favour and I did not take kindly to being attacked like this. Before I could apologize and back-track, Faustina continued.

‘Did you think as those other boys out there think? That saving a nun will buy her thanks, delivered in the time-honoured fashion, lying on her back with her legs apart? I had you marked down for something better.’

It was an outrageous suggestion. I had thought no such thing.

‘Then you and she are . . .?’ I had simply intended to confirm that the two of them would leave the convent together and remain together thereafter, and that any arrangements I tried to make needed to address that situation. But Faustina was standing and shouting at me before I could find the right words.

‘We are what? I am a nun of noble birth. Felicità is a
conversa
and has become my friend. What do you wish me to say? That she sleeps in my cell? So what if she does? That I find her beautiful and comforting? Why should I not? Who are you to judge us? You, who stood with the others outside, sniggering and leering?’

I decided at that point that I had made a mistake. Veronica had made my options clear and the best course of action was to forget about Faustina and to leave her to stew in her own mess.

I stood to leave. ‘I am sorry. We seem not to understand each other. I appear to have misled you as much as you have misled me. For that I apologize. And if I have raised your expectations unfairly, then again I apologize. But before I leave, I will make one thing absolutely clear: I have never had any motives towards you that could or should be misinterpreted as anything but honourable. Now I had better leave.’

As I turned, Felicità gave a little cry and clutched Faustina’s arm. Faustina, in turn, reached across to me and held my sleeve, in restraint. Her face had changed completely.

‘In all sincerity, sir, I never set out to mislead you in any respect. I told you of my position and responded to your generous offer of help. I answered your questions truly. It did not, it really did not, enter my mind that you were anything but honourable. But Felicità is dependent upon me, and I will defend her against anything I perceive as an attack.’

Angrily I pulled my sleeve away, but she grabbed it again. Now her eyes were imploring.

‘Richard. I did not mislead you. In God’s sight, I did not. Ask Veronica, she knows everything.’ She crossed herself and sat, on the verge of tears.

Her last sentence echoed round in my head. Suddenly, with a sick feeling in my stomach, I knew I was making a terrible mistake, one that anger and pride had prevented my retreating from. I took a number of deep breaths, looking from one to the other. There was no guile in their faces, just fear and upset.

If I had wanted dominance, I had it now. I walked forward, bent, and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them. Perhaps it was Faustina’s invocation of God’s sight, perhaps the atmosphere of the convent itself, but something made me put a hand on Faustina’s foot, and the other on Felicità’s. I sat before them, contrite. Their eyes were huge as they looked down on me.

‘I apologize, and withdraw anything I have said which hurts or offends you. I was wrong, and I am so sorry. Is it possible we can start again?’

They looked at each other, and then back at me. Felicità gave a tiny nod and Faustina nodded back to her. As she looked down at me, her expression began to soften. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand toward towards me. It hovered half-way between us as she spoke.

‘We are very alike, you and I. Each of us is capable of the sin of anger when we believe we are being wronged. But now you have shown me a lesson in humility. Please let me return the compliment by saying I, too, was wrong; I, too, am sorry; and I too withdraw anything untrue or hurtful in what I have said.’

I took her hand. The three of us stood and embraced each other, then sat again, somewhat embarrassed. Cautiously, I began again.

‘As I understand it, there are only two ways I could bring you from here. The first would be marriage, but that would not be . . . appropriate.’

Faustina nodded. ‘If I am able to leave here, it is not my intention to marry a man. I stand by my commitment to Felicità. Where I go, she goes, and where she goes, I shall go.’

I nodded; that much, at least, was clear. ‘So the only course of action is to buy you out of your vocations, both of you, and to find you employment, or the protection of a family of which your own family would not strongly disapprove.’

Faustina straightened her back and replied. ‘The position my family places me in is an impossible one. I have thought about this issue night after night since we last spoke, and have come to a decision. They can disapprove all they like. It is over. They have rejected me twice; I shall not offer them another chance. Find me a position – one for both of us – and I – no,
we –
shall accept it. We have little choice; we are desperate and time is running out.’

I nodded again, beginning to feel more like the lawyer I was still pretending to be. ‘I must ask you a personal question, if I am to assist you. How much is – was – your allowance here at the convent? They will use it as a bargaining tool.’

She replied instantly, and without embarrassment. ‘It is twenty-two ducats a year – one of the highest here – but it runs out next month.’ She half-turned toward Felicità, a protective smile on her face. ‘That is our only support: my companion, being a
conversa,
has no allowance, since her family is not in a position to provide one.’

Felicità looked at me awkwardly, as if she felt she was being a nuisance.

It was an awkward and embarrassing moment and I felt the need to break any atmosphere before it became an encumbrance. In any case, it was clear that time was not on my side; their world would turn upside-down as soon as Faustina’s allowance came to an end, and with it her protected status as a noble nun, a protection which extended to her companion. It seemed there were plenty of resentful old nuns waiting to respond to their diminished status with chastisement born of years of pent-up envy. If I were not careful, two lives might be ruined.

‘Then I must move quickly. The issue of the payment to the convent is not likely to be a difficulty. I will make an appointment to speak to the Abbess. Then we must find you a place where you can be safe, happy and able to fend for yourself

Faustina looked at me carefully. ‘Both of us?’

I extended my hands and took one of theirs in each. ‘Both of you. You have my word on it.’

C
HAPTER
66

July the 7th 1556 – Calle del Fonte, Fondamenta dei Mori

‘Father, this is Richard. He is English, and is in Venice with the earl of Devon, on a long visit. You have heard me talk about his joining our morning classes to draw with the
maestro
.’Yasmeen turned to me. ‘Richard, this is my father, Ayham.’ She pronounced the name carefully, as if spelling it for my benefit.

I had been invited to meet Yasmeen’s father in the house they shared at the end of a narrow alleyway only a few doors away from Tintoretto’s house. It was tiny. From the front it appeared to be no more than three small rooms stacked one above the other, and there was precious little light from the small windows. But unlike many buildings in Venice, it was dry, warm and welcoming.

Yasmeen’s father shook my hand and waved me to a large divan against the wall. Like the floor and the wall behind, it was covered with a rich carpet. Before me on a low table were sweetmeats, orange juice and a brass tray carrying a slim-necked brass jug with a stopper and three small silver goblets inlaid with coloured glass.

‘Will you take tea?’Yasmeen asked.

Carefully, I sipped the infusion. It was very hot, but refreshing. ‘It is good, Ayham. Thank you. Where did you discover it?’

He smiled, seeming satisfied that the first awkward moments were past and we had something to talk about.

‘I discovered it in Constantinople, on my last visit. It comes from China. There they call it cha. I travel the whole of the Mediterranean Sea and sometimes beyond, finding spices and bringing them back to Venice to sell. It was very good business, but now it is becoming more difficult.’

I inclined my head to show interest.

‘Fifty years ago, Vasco da Gama established a Portuguese trading post on the Malabar Coast, and opened up the sea route to India. You can imagine the effect it has had on our traditional trade routes overland, along the Silk Road. There is no comparison between the capacity of a caravan of mules and a ship loaded to the decks.’ No wonder the trade patterns were shifting, Ayham continued.

‘The Portuguese claimed Mozambique on the east coast of Africa, and in 1509 beat the Arab fleet in battle, taking control of the old Arab trading routes. This further starved the Silk Road of supplies from the Arab traders. Then, in 1513, they reached Canton in China and even more of the eastern trade began to switch to the southerly sea route. But it has not all been plain sailing, even for them . . .’

He looked up at me and winked to ensure I had got the joke, and I smiled back.

‘They set up trading posts in China but were kicked out by the Chinese a few years later, from Canton and Ningpo. It serves them right. They got so greedy they had begun to threaten the Chinese traders’ own business. They are still visiting and trading heavily. Even at this moment, they have a delegation in Macao, trying to negotiate for a permanent settlement and trading post. It’s only a matter of time.’

‘Of course, Venice itself is threatened by all this change. In the days when all the trade came over the Silk Road to Constantinople, and Venice was on good trading-terms with the Ottoman Empire, it was Venice which became the hub of the trade, and the point where the goods began their overland route along the Fuggers’ road to Augsburg and beyond.’