by Debbie Rix
They went together to her bedchamber, where Aurelia brought jugs of steaming water up from the kitchen, pouring them into the bath that had been set up in the room. The water was perfumed with herbs and essential oils – lavender, chamomile and rose water, made from the dark damask roses that grew in the garden behind the house. To wash her mistress’s back, Aurelia took soap from the cofanetto, the decorated casket where she kept her toilette treasures. Handmade each summer, it took weeks to produce: plain soap was steeped in rose water in the sun, after which cherry kernels, ground into powder, were added, along with balsam and musk oil. The mixture was then moulded into little balls and wrapped in cotton for storage.
As Berta lay relaxing in the hot water, Lorenzo wandered in and out of the bedchamber demanding his wife’s attention. Aurelia noted her mistress’s irritation with her husband. Eventually he was soothed and banished… and Berta lay back with a sigh of relief in the soapy water.
Aurelia washed her mistress’s hair, pouring the water carefully, making sure not to splash Berta’s face. Then, wrapping Berta in a large sheet, she dried her limbs and combed through her hair with the ivory comb that Lorenzo had given her the previous year. It would take several hours to dry, and Berta insisted that it was fanned out across her back before she sat in the window of her room, overlooking the garden, the sun streaming through the open casement, falling onto her hair and making it sparkle like fire while it dried.
While Berta read a little to calm her nerves, Aurelia set out her mistress’s gown and jewellery for that evening.
The dress Berta had selected was of pale cream silk, which she knew made her porcelain skin glow with a luminescent quality. The necklace was of heavy pearls brought back from the East, with a single diamond suspended from the centre, the size of a quail’s egg. When her hair was dried, and combed again, it would be coiled onto her head, set off with a silk cap embroidered with pearls and emeralds that would sparkle in the candlelight.
Her shoes were made of silk and were very pointed in the latest fashion. They too were embroidered with pearls, set onto a little heel of leather and wood, to give Berta extra height. As she moved, they would peep out beneath her dress, drawing the eye to her slender feet. The overall effect was magnificent, and Aurelia stood back in admiration when Berta was finally dressed.
‘You look very beautiful, signora.’
‘Thank you, Aurelia,’ the older woman smiled, knowing full well the impression she had created. Then, remembering her little maid, she said kindly, ‘We must find something pretty for you to wear this evening too. I would like you to be on hand in case I need anything. Just stand at the back of the room and I will call for you. But you cannot wear that,’ and she gestured at the simple woollen gown that was Aurelia’s everyday wear.
She went to one of the chests in her room and drew out a dress in pale grey silk. She had worn it only once, when attending church with Lorenzo. She had removed it as soon as she returned home, announcing that the colour did nothing for her complexion. Now, she held it up to the girl, declaring it would ‘do very well’.
Then, once Aurelia had put it on, Berta combed her hair, holding it in place with a simple linen cap. Rubbing a little rose water onto the girl’s neck, she said, ‘There. Now go and see if there is anything you can do to help downstairs. I shall be down once the guests arrive.’
Aurelia descended the staircase to the dining hall. She felt very elegant in the new silk dress. She had never worn anything other than a simple woolen or linen gown, and she enjoyed the sensation of the fabric rustling when she moved. She imagined herself the mistress of the house, surveying the vast oak table laid with the finest glass and bowls that the household possessed: Syrian glass decorated with elaborately coloured enamel, ewers in the shape of lions, filled with warm water for guests to wash their fingers at the table, and majolica dishes painted in bright colours filled with coriandoli – candied coriander seeds to be thrown by the guests at the end of the banquet like confetti. In the middle of the table stood two gold plates, covered with marzipan calisconi – ravioli-like parcels made with almond paste and rose water. Aurelia reached over and took one. She slipped it into her mouth, revelling in the sweetness.
She was interrupted by Maria, who had come into the room with a huge plate of candied fruit. Seeing Aurelia taking the calisconi, she said sharply, ‘that is for the guests. Get back to your duties,’ gesturing up the stairs.
Aurelia stood her ground: ‘La Signora has asked that I remain here for the evening in case she needs anything.’
‘Then get to the kitchen and eat something before the guests arrive.’
The girl, taking a last glimpse of the beautiful table, ran downstairs in search of food, her stomach fluttering with excitement. Here every surface was covered by glazed earthenware bowls and beaten copper pots as Maria and the kitchen maids prepared the main dishes - roast quail spiced with cloves and ginger, chicken sweetened with dates, nutmeg and cinnamon, and hare civet – all to be served once the guests had arrived. Taking a bowl of broth she sat at one end of the long table, trying hard not to spill anything on the beautiful silk and wondering if Gerardo would notice her in the new grey dress.
The sound of musicians and laughter outside alerted Aurelia to the guests’ arrival. From her position at the back of the dining hall, she observed the men and women, most of them older than her mistress, being greeted and welcomed. As was the custom in Pisa, even the wealthy walked everywhere – the streets being too narrow for carriages. At all times, but most especially on grand occasions, the family were accompanied by a retinue of servants and musicians, all dressed in the costume of their household. As the servants were sent down to the kitchens, their masters were brought upstairs to the grand salon on the first floor of the tower house where Berta and Lorenzo awaited them.
As the guests enjoyed the spectacular views from the loggia looking out over the Arno in the late afternoon sunshine, Berta, her face radiant, her jewels sparkling, laughed and flirted, putting her guests at their ease, guiding the servants with plates of food and ensuring that glasses and cups were filled at all times.
Gerardo, however, had not arrived and both women felt his absence keenly. At one point, Berta excused herself from her guests and hurried across to Aurelia.
‘Where is he? Are you sure he understood that he was to come today?’
‘Yes, signora, I am sure… perhaps he has been delayed.’
‘Well, go and find him. All the other guests are here now and we need to take our places at the table. Take the cart… hurry.’
Aurelia, thrilled to be given this task, rushed down to the kitchens in search of Giuseppe, who was in charge of the stables. For, while the family did not use a carriage to get about the city, they had a horse and cart to transport goods and food from their farm outside the city gates. Giuseppe’s job was to take care of the horses and make the deliveries once or twice a week, bringing produce for the household. He was eating his supper when Aurelia found him, and was in no mood to go out again that evening. Reluctantly, he harnessed up one of the horses and soon they set off down the alleys towards Gerardo’s house, with Aurelia bouncing around in the back of the cart.
When they arrived, she jumped down and knocked loudly at Gerardo’s door, which was opened some minutes later by his grandfather.
‘I am here to collect Gerardo; he is expected at my mistress’s house this evening.’
The old man gestured behind him and the girl tentatively stepped inside the house. Their table was laid out with a simple supper of bread and some sort of soup. There were two bowls and a flagon of wine. Sitting at the table was the object of her quest.
‘What are you doing? You’re supposed to be at my mistress’s house. You’re not even dressed yet.’
The young man looked on rather miserably. ‘I’m not coming; I cannot.’ He blushed and shifted uneasily in his seat.
‘Why? My mistress will be so upset… you must come. What is the matter?’
&nb
sp; ‘Those clothes she gave me, they are too good for me. I don’t feel right in them.’
Aurelia laughed now. ‘Don’t be so silly,’ she scolded, ‘they are beautiful clothes for a beautiful boy. See, she gave me a beautiful dress too.’ And she spun round for the boy to admire her.
Earlier that day, Gerardo had resolved to have nothing to do with the beautiful Berta. Coming back from work, he had held the tiny camel his grandfather Carlo had carved for him on that last fateful trip with Calvo. As he washed the day’s dust away, his mind had been filled with thoughts of his mother’s sweet face, weeping and raging at her own father’s death.
But now, he felt himself weaken, bewitched by Aurelia’s sweetness and innocence.
‘Please come… for me,’ Aurelia said gently. ‘We can travel in the cart together, look.’ And she gestured out of the door at the waiting vehicle and driver.
Worn down by her pleading, Gerardo reluctantly assented, and climbed up the ladder to the rooms above.
A few minutes later he jumped down and Aurelia clapped her hands with excitement. ‘Oh! You look wonderful.’ Then seeing the tunic caught awkwardly, she undid the clasp on his belt and, gathering the fabric, correctly fastened it again. Brushing the tunic down over his legs, she stood back and admired her work.
‘That’s better. Shall we go?’
Bidding his grandfather goodnight, she shepherded the young man outside.
They chatted easily as the cart clattered through the streets. Aurelia, in particular, was full of excitement about what he could expect to eat for dinner. She had the whole menu in her head and chattered away about the sweetmeats and the wine and the quails cooked with spices. All the while, the boy looked on, noticing her hair falling around her shoulders, her soft skin, the pretty full lips and her sweet, sweet blue eyes. As they drew up at Palazzo Calvo, Aurelia made to climb down, but the boy held her hand.
‘Thank you for bringing me here this evening… this has been wonderful. You are wonderful,’ and jumping down onto the street, he held out his arms to lift her down. Sweeping her to the ground, he held her for a moment, and before she could break away, he kissed her sweetly on the lips.
As Guiseppe drove the cart away, the pair stood together outside the palazzo, their fingers intertwined, gazing up at the great doors. As they opened, she pulled away from him, nervous of being discovered, and once inside, hung back, as a servant escorted the young man upstairs to the salon. When Berta caught sight of him, she stood excitedly, too excitedly she realised, knocking a precious glass onto its side. Lorenzo looked up curiously, the sudden movement interrupting his conversation with the merchant on his left, surprised by his wife’s clumsiness.
Remembering herself, she smoothed her dress and, making her excuses to her guests, walked over to the young man who now stood in the doorway. Aurelia, she noted, hovered a little way behind him, her cheeks flushed.
‘Gerardo… how good it is to see you, and how smart you look. I’m afraid we are already at the table, but come and join us; there are many people I want you to meet.’
Then, gesturing to Aurelia to go and stand at the side of the room, she drew the young man to her side.
During the dinner, the older woman introduced the young man to architects, patrons and artists. Together they listened as the guests discussed their latest projects and, where possible, she encouraged him to make suggestions of how a building might be made safer or more beautiful, demonstrating his knowledge. The big news of the day was that funding was tight on the Baptistery, and Deotisalvi was gloomy about the chances of finishing his project. They would be able to complete the first storey but would not be able to go any further. Gerardo, as a humble mason on the building, had heard nothing of this before and was dumbfounded. Finding his voice eventually, he spoke out: ‘What will happen to all the craftsmen working on the building? Where will they find work?’
The capo magister spoke: ‘They will have to find work elsewhere, of course. What do you think? There is plenty of work in Siena and Florence and there are other projects here in Pisa, if we can get the funding. I myself am starting work soon on the tower at the church of San Nicola; we have yet to recruit a team there.’
The conversation then turned to the plans Deotisalvi had been asked to draw up for another tower, a campanile to be sited on the Piazza del Duomo. To be asked to design two of the three major works at this important site filled his audience with a mixture of admiration and envy. Deotisalvi was without doubt unequalled at the time, the uncrowned king of design in Pisa, and to have been granted this commission was a huge honour. But the old man was characteristically gloomy nevertheless.
‘There is always a problem with the money,’ he explained. ‘First the Baptistery has to stop… and now this; everyone wants the tower, but there is no money to build it, so we must wait and wait. It is very frustrating.’
The guests at the table murmured their agreement, but Berta only had eyes for her young protégé. Seeing the young man’s distress at the news about the Baptistery, Berta deftly enquired from the various guests at the table whether any projects might require a master mason and his apprentice. By the time the guests were standing up to leave, she was confident that she could secure some work for Gerardo and his grandfather on Deotisalvi’s tower at San Nicola.
As Deotisalvi took his leave that evening, she took his old bony hand in hers. ‘I am grateful to you for coming to my house this evening, signore. You do me a great honour. And I would like to help you with your exciting campanile on the Piazza. Perhaps I can make a deal with you? I will somehow find the money for you to build your tower, if you in turn will employ young Gerardo to be a mason on your next project, the tower at San Nicola.’
The old man pulled away from the woman’s soft touch. ‘That boy! What experience does he have?’
‘He has worked for over ten years on your Baptistery, signore. Along with his grandfather who is a lapicida, also called Gerardo. They are a fine team and would make a wonderful contribution, I am sure.’
‘Well, maybe. I know old Gerardo; he is a good man. Well, we will see. Tell them to come and see me. And if I do this, you will find me the money for the campanile, you say?’
‘It might be possible… yes. But I will have to speak with my husband. If he consents, do we have an agreement?’
Deotisalvi called for his household, pulled on his black cloak, and, nodding at his hostess, went out into the night.
With his guests gone, Lorenzo had fallen asleep at his end of the table, his head lolling awkwardly on one side. Gerardo remained, anxiously hovering in the hallway of the house, unsure whether to leave, unsettled by the news about the Baptistery and filled with dread about how to tell his grandfather of their uncertain future.
Berta came back into the hall, and after glancing quickly over at the sleeping Lorenzo, took Gerardo by the hand, and out into the garden. There she pulled him over to a little seat that stood at one side surrounded by lavender.
‘Please, sit down, Gerardo. I have some news for you. I could see how distressed you were about the Baptistery, but I have made some enquiries and have secured some employment for you and your grandfather on the tower that Deotisalvi is about to begin at the church of San Nicola. I have suggested your grandfather as lapicida with you as his apprentice. I hope you are happy.’
Gerardo was relieved, certainly. ‘You are very kind, thank you. My grandfather will be very grateful, if the other work is assured.’
‘I am sure of it. Trust me… I will make sure you are well paid and looked after.’
Gerardo found himself confused at the generosity of the beautiful signora. All his life he had been brought up to believe in the utter wickedness of Berta di Bernardo and her husband Lorenzo Calvo. But the tale his mother had told him, of how her father was drowned at sea due to the cruelty and greed of Lorenzo and his demanding wife, was at odds with this woman’s concern and care for his welfare. He wondered if perhaps his mother had been mistaken.
H
e was jolted back from his thoughts by a hand brushing his leg.
‘I thought you looked very handsome this evening, Gerardo; do you like your new clothes?’
The young man was awkward now, embarrassed by her forwardness. ‘The clothes are very fine, too good for me; but Aurelia persuaded me to wear them.’
‘Aurelia? What has she to do with anything?’ The older woman felt a sharp pang of envy.
The boy, who knew something of jealousy, saw her distress. His future, and that of his grandfather, lay in this woman’s hands. It was up to him to protect that future now. Gently, he took Berta’s hand in his and kissed it. Then, sensing her desire, he took her face in his hands and gently caressed her closed eyelids with his lips. Berta gave a little gasp at the tenderness of the boy and kissed him then too, opening up her mouth to him with a desperate longing that made her body ache for the young man. He, feeling her softness pressing against him, forgot all thoughts of family feuds, or work, or even of little Aurelia. He could think of nothing but the beautiful, scented, powerful Berta.
Aurelia, who had been watching closely from the door at the back of the kitchen, wept as she saw the boy kissing her mistress and realised that she had lost his love before it had even begun.
Chapter Thirteen
June 1999
The house in Chinzica continued to prey on Sam’s mind. It was curious, because in truth it probably had nothing to do with the matter in hand, which was to identify the designer of the Tower and discover, if at all possible, the significance of the woman Michael had mentioned in his notebook, the mysterious Berta. And yet something about that house stayed with her throughout the following days. Michael obviously knew, or felt, that Berta and Calvo were connected in some way with the Tower, and the painting she had seen at Signor Visalberghi’s shop clearly showed a man named Calvo with a woman standing behind him, who might well prove to be Berta. The painting was done on the loggia of a house that dated back to 1150, and the house she had visited the previous day bore a striking resemblance to it. This was what went through her mind as she jotted down her thoughts in Michael’s notebook, next to his spidery instruction: ‘follow the money’, which he had penned next to Berta’s name. What, she wondered now, had he meant by that?
