The Secret of the Glass (31 page)

“I have made inquiries into the matter myself,” he said, his voice once more lowered to a deep rumble. “I have learned nothing as yet, and can neither deny nor confirm what you say, therefore can take no action.”

“Something must be done.” Teodoro remained standing, removing his fists from the desk, and lowering his uncoiling hands to his sides.

Donato thumped an elbow on the arm of his chair, flopped his face into his hand and rubbed hard at his chin, his fingertips scratching at the late-day stubble.

“I’m fighting so much already. My council is polarized by the problems with the Vatican. They are a monster, look what they’ve done to Sarpi. “

Teodoro scowled. “We know for a certainty it was Rome?”

Donato dropped his hands into his lap as if they were too heavy to hold up any longer.

“Not irrefutably, but the evidence is mounting. They are animals—you know this, Gradenigo.”

Teodoro nodded somberly. “
Sì
, I know. But I also know it is a sin, a travesty to treat our own people the way the Holy See treats us. How can their needs not take precedence? How can we so coldly turn our back on them?”

Teodoro’s long, thin hands curled into fists, as the flesh covering the knuckles stretched tight and paled. The Doge stood and strode around to the front of the desk with a few quick, long strides. He laid his hands upon the young man’s tense, raised shoulders. He squeezed gently, calming, until they lowered and relaxed.

“Your passion and commitment are commendable. You are a great credit to the Council.” Donato smiled at the scowling, youthful countenance, the grin flickering on his thin-lipped mouth prideful, one of a father for an accomplished, beloved son. “Who knows, someday you may make an inspirational doge. But this fight you must surrender, at least for now.”

Teodoro stared into the eyes of the man he admired, one he held in the highest esteem. With Donato’s words, a small slash of betrayal rent his heart. He jerked one shoulder up and back, throwing off the Doge’s large hand as a child tosses away the clasping hold of a parent, and stepped away.

Donato lowered his discarded hands to his side.

“I can only ask for support of so many difficult issues at one time.” He tried to explain but found no understanding in the young man’s silent regard. “I promise I will try to assure it does not happen again, at least until our problems with Rome are resolved. Then I will try to do more.”

Teodoro gave a small quiver of a shake. Without a word, he spun from the Doge and headed for the door, his disgust preempting his need for dismissal. At the egress, he swung back.

“If it does, if this should happen again, then we are murderers, just like them.”

Twenty-four

L
ayers of undergarments, caged within a farthingale, and still Sophia felt exposed under Oriana’s intense scrutiny. Her sister sat sullenly on the floor, watching in silence as Viviana and Lia assembled Sophia’s evening attire upon her inert body.

“You always get to do everything,” Oriana whined, pouting like a child.

All day Sophia had suffered the angst of nervous anticipation as yet another evening with Pasquale approached, another evening in the company of a man who thought of her as an investment, a vehicle to further his own interests and ambitions. Her sister’s ill-conceived comment stoked the fire of her burning discontent like a bucketful of lantern oil.

She flung herself from the confines of the women’s ministrations, and stomped toward Oriana.

“You ungrateful, selfish child.” Sophia’s face mottled with purple splotches. “Do you think I am happy…about any of this?”

Oriana leapt up. Thrusting her arms out behind her, she thrust her face a hair’s breadth from her sister’s.

“You should be happy, and I’d wager you are. You only feign despondency to get sympathy.” Oriana’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “In secret you are happy. Admit it!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sophia spat, throwing her arms up and out. “You’ve seen him, you’ve seen Pasquale.
Schifoso!
”

“But the prestige, the events, you are so lucky—”

“It is no more than bondage, can’t you see that, to a man who cares nothing for me—”

“While I am left behind with nothing—”

“Viviana!”

Their father’s strangled, weak lament found them from the hall.

“See what you’ve done, you’ve upset him,” Viviana hissed, shoving the pearls and comb into Lia’s fumbling hand, stalking out of the room to attend to her husband with a backward glance of fuming reproach.

The sibling combatants glared at each other, struck dumb by their shared guilt at disturbing their ailing father. With scathing scrutiny, Oriana’s truth lay revealed, the fear and uncertainty—her father was ill and dying, her older sister was leaving home.

The tense muscles of Sophia’s neck faltered, her head fell back as she heaved a heavy sigh. She stepped forward and clasped Oriana by the shoulders.

“You must be strong, as we all must. You will have the life you desire, I promise.”

Oriana bobbed her head, a small quiver playing about her tight-lipped mouth.

Sophia hid her eyes before her sister glimpsed the nagging dubiety she felt.

Sophia entered the
Sala del Maggior Consiglio
on Pasquale’s arm, sweeping along gracefully, her visage transforming into that of the dutiful wife of a courtier, her words, her manner, the picture of poise and comportment. She offered genial greetings to each of his acquaintances as she and Pasquale made a turn about the room. The music of the stringed orchestra struggled for dominance with the sparkling jewels resting against almost bared breasts and the delectable savories offered on shimmering salvers covering every table surface. She smiled at the flamboyantly plumed guests with a well-practiced expression; she smiled at her intended with false, almost pained intimacy. To all outward appearances, she was one of them. On any given night, she became enmeshed in the vivacious, privileged crowd with quick assimilation, and the knowledge of it scared her. She feared that which she became.

The monstrous chamber overflowed with aristocrats, plutocrats, and foreign dignitaries, everyone longing to be a part of this event to honor Galileo Galilei. Talk of his creation had spread like the summer weeds and he had become a phenomenon, a celebrity. Rich and poor vied for his attention. He dined with senators, visited with sailors, and lectured at the small
albergo
that had become a meeting ground for those who wished to hear him speak of his astounding device.

Sophia’s own zeal to see the professore, to attend this occasion, had triumphed over her anxiety about being with Pasquale and she came eagerly, inordinately pleased when the formalities were complete and she could detach herself from her future husband’s company.

The long line of those eager to greet and praise the scientist stretched along the lengthy windowed outer wall and Sophia took her place at the end. She tapped her toes to the rousing song, her lips twitching with playful smiles. She had seen a spark of light in the gloom and it pleased and empowered her. If she were not betrothed to Pasquale she would not be in the Doge’s Palace, would not be able to share this moment with her brilliant acquaintance; it was a small concession but she allowed it. She cared little that her own contributions to the creation were unknown, the approbation going to her father and La Spada. She knew her part in it and it sufficed.

The last courtiers between her and Galileo stepped away and Sophia entered the warmth of his recognition. She dropped into a curtsy and spread her skirts with a flourish, an exaggerated gesture, but one meant to acknowledge his achievement and vaulted status. With a laugh, the elder scientist offered a deep bow in return, his eyes as sparkling as the thick gold chain that lay across his teal brocade-covered chest.

“Signorina Fiolario, I am so pleased to see you.”

Galileo smiled and brushed a chaste kiss across the back of her hand.

“Dear professore,” Sophia replied sincerely, “it is my honor to be here with you. You should be so proud of your achievement.”

“I am,” he said with a nod. “Already I have seen things that will change how man will think of himself.”

Galileo’s small eyes darted about the crowded room.

“Is your father here?”

Sophia shook her head.

“No, I’m afraid he couldn’t make it after all.”

“He received my invitation, did he not?” Galileo’s smile faded a bit. “It is not because his status—”

“No, signore, rest assured,” Sophia insisted. “It is business that keeps him away, nothing more.”

Sophia offered God a quick, silent prayer that her small lie would be forgiven; her father’s health prohibited him from going anywhere these days but she could not share such knowledge with the scientist.

Galileo nodded.

“Ah, that I can understand.”

“I am so happy for you, for your success,” Sophia said, moving the subject away from her father. “Your device is being hailed by everyone.”

“For good and for bad,” Galileo agreed with a cynical lilt.

As Sarpi and Sagredo had warned him, there were many adamantly opposed to his creation, those that were calling it heresy and a device of the devil.

Sophia smiled, thinking how to encourage him.

“I’m sure it is only ser Priuli who is embarrassed now that everyone knows of his wife’s activi—”

Sophia bit her tongue so hard she tasted the acidic flavor of her own blood. Her enthusiasm had loosened her tongue; she’d said too much.

Startled, Galileo’s gray-haired head twitched, his eyes narrowed with confusion.

“You…you know about Priuli?”

The sweat broke out on her skin, her heart trilled.

“Of course. Signore da Fuligna, my b…betrothed, told me.” She forced a laugh and leaned in toward the professore, a tremor in the hand covering her mouth in conspiracy. “But perhaps we should not mention that to anyone. For a man to be known as a gossip would be unseemly.”

Sophia stared at Galileo, as he ate upon the food of her words, as he considered their veracity. The relief washed over her as his age-spotted brow smoothed and a soft smile appeared upon his slim lips.

“Of course, my dear, I understand.”

“Professore Galileo.” The deep voice saved her.

The man waiting behind Sophia had no wish to wait any longer, and thrust his hand past her toward the guest of honor. Sophia had never been so grateful for a nobleman’s rudeness. With a much less flamboyant obeisance, she took her leave of Galileo, who twinkled an eye in her direction as he took the man’s offered hand.

Sophia rushed to the broad collation of refreshments along the far wall, her heavy and voluminous pale pink skirts rustling noisily. She grasped at the first full glass she found and chugged back its contents in one long gulp. The powerful burgundy wine coursed down her gullet and into her belly. She breathed deep and felt a smidgen of stillness settle upon her. In silence, Sophia chided herself for her carelessness; she
must
be more circumspect in the future. She balanced upon the thin, murky path between two worlds and she must not confuse them. She was a simple woman who had led a simple life, such intrigues were new to her.

Sophia grabbed another glass of wine, turned, and scanned the room. She sipped the beverage, taking the time to enjoy the flavor, lips lingering over the glittering crystal rim as she searched the faces in the crowd.

Through the dense jungle of jeweled aggregation, she spied her new friends Leonora and Florentina; her lips curled up in anticipation of the amusement the night might yet offer with the companionship of these two young, spirited women. She waved at them, holding up a lone finger in request as she continued to scrutinize the room and its mulling inhabitants.

Her flickering search caught sight of the dark-haired head rising above the crowd, moved on, and jumped back again. There he was; she had found him. Her breathing, having slowed to match the peaceful ballad offered by the orchestra, quickened once more at the sight of Teodoro Gradenigo. She didn’t know she searched for him, had not, at least, admitted it to herself, but the truth lived in her reaction at finding him. Now that he was here, everything changed, as if the very air in the room became charged, warm and crackling with excitement, colors bursting with vivid hues.

Sophia studied him surreptitiously as she slithered slowly along to gain a better vantage point, ignoring completely any other partygoers who feasted from the table. His navy blue eyes sparkled as he laughed at another’s quip, his sensual mouth spreading into an easy and casual smile. Teodoro wore no robe tonight, had chosen instead to wear deep blue silk. The waistcoat and breeches, embellished with frogs and braiding of gold, fit snugly against his muscular body. Little else in the crammed room existed now for Sophia, sound became muffled as if from a distance—until scathing, vicious laughter rang out from beside her. Pulled by its coarse sound, she found a small bevy of young noblewomen staring at her, the same women that had so rudely dismissed her all those nights ago when she had first visited the palace. Sophia felt her patience wane, but she offered them a shallow curtsy nonetheless. Not a one of them returned her gesture.

“
Buona sera
.” She pressed them to acknowledge her. The wisest course of action would be to walk away but righteousness impelled her. “May I share in the jest?”

The young woman was raven-haired and angular, facial features forming jutting points beneath heavily powdered, pale skin.

“You, you are the jest,” she said snidely with an abrasive appraisal assaulting Sophia from top to bottom and back again. “That stone in your necklace is so small, it can barely be seen. It is like a pimple upon your chest.”

The extravagantly attired women giggled together, drawing closer to each other within their cattiness.

Sophia clasped the small heart-shaped ruby hanging from the end of the fine gold chain, and rubbed it with the pad of her thumb. Her father had given the trinket to her when she was a young child, and it was dearer than any piece she owned.