Merchants of Milan

by Edale Lane

  “You recall the armor order that you arranged with Gian Giacomo Trivulzio, for the French army?” Alessandro nodded. “It seems, my lord, that Don Benetto Viscardi went to the general and undercut your bid. He stole our customer; Trivulzio has cancelled the order with you and is not buying from Viscardi.”

  Alessandro smirked and Madelena fumed. “Ally, he can’t do that!” she protested angrily. Although not officially a partner, Madelena had assisted her brother in running the business since their father passed. There were many tasks to be accomplished, and she was a skilled bookkeeper as well as a persuasive seller. “We have already paid for that armor; it is being delivered to our warehouse tomorrow. We’ll be out our investment. That rat’s bastard!” She was sure her brother was aware of the level of hatred she felt toward the man she suspected of having her husband killed, and at that moment of further betrayal her blood boiled.

  “Calm yourself, Maddie,” he said placidly. “We can always find a buyer for fine armor.” While the family’s main trade was in cloth and textiles and Alessandro detested the idea of selling sharp objects that men used to kill each other with, he had no such moral qualms about trading in armor plating that protected men from the sharp objects. He undoubtedly expected no less of Viscardi. “And the other news?”

  “Well, it’s about Viscardi also, but Don Alessandro, you won’t believe it,” Carlo said, his eyes widening.

  “Still, I would hear the report.”

  “You know Viscardi’s caravan was attacked last week, and did you ever think he may suspect you, and perhaps that is why he stole your contract? Anyway,” Carlo continued after shaking his head. “They had an intruder last night, a burglar who–get this–sprouted big, black wings and flew off the roof of his warehouse! I know, right?” he questioned his own report. “It’s all over town this morning, so who knows how much is exaggeration. People are calling him the “Night Flyer’. Do you believe it?”

  Madelena’s eyes moved from the incredulous Carlo back to her brother whose mouth had dropped open most uncharacteristically. He blinked, then started to smile. “That is very interesting indeed. I suppose we must be on more careful watch lest he break into our warehouses.” Then he burst into laughter, followed by his wife and children. “Spread his wings and flew away, you say?”

  “That is all the talk, my lord.”

  Madelena sat back in her chair. “I hope he made off with a fortune of Viscardi’s cash.”

  “I don’t know what was stolen, but what a tale!” Carlo declared.

  She watched Alessandro’s expression change to one of intrigue. “What a tale indeed,” he echoed.

  Chapter 6

  As the day’s lessons came to a close, Matteo sat in a child-sized wooden chair beside the student desk while Betta snuggled cozily on Florentina’s lap gripping a small chalkboard where she had correctly written her name five times in a row. Matteo turned a page in the large print primer. “The dog ran after the cat. The cat ran after the rat. The rat ran into a hole. The dog and the cat sat.” He grinned up at Florentina with two permanent teeth looking much too large for the rest of his mouth.

  Florentina smiled, honey eyes sparkling with delight. She had only been with them for two weeks, but already she found their progress to be remarkable. “What brilliant children you are; what exceptionally bright students I have!” Betta gleamed up at her, bubbling over with joy while Matteo sat up a little straighter and raised his chin proudly. “As a reward, I have made a present for you both; however, you must share. Can you do that like good siblings?”

  “Yes, we can!” Matteo blurted out excitedly while Betta nodded and batted her lashes above incredibly wide, blue eyes.

  Florentina reached into the leather bag beside her grownup-sized chair and withdrew a carved wooden box. “This is a puzzle box,” she explained. Betta quickly laid her writing board aside and grasped for it, an expression of awe on her rosy, round face. “Right now it is all put together.” Matteo stretched over and opened the lid revealing its empty interior. “But it comes apart into 10 pieces and there is only one way to fit them back correctly.”

  “Let me see,” Matteo said. “I’ll bet I can figure it out.”

  “I’m the littlest,” declared Betta. “I get to try first.”

  Patiently, Florentina lifted the box from the children’s hands and disassembled the pieces on the desk, mixing them around several times. “I know you are both very smart, but are you also very wise?” she asked.

  Betta scrunched her face peering up at her tutor. “What do you mean?”

  “Anyone can be smart,” Florentina shrugged nonchalantly. “Given enough time anyone could put the puzzle together. But,” she changed intonation, drawing in their attention, “wisdom is a rare thing indeed. Do Betta and Matteo want to be smart and wise?”

  “Yes, yes!” they both chanted in excitement.

  “It is wise to work together. Ecclesiastes 4:9 in the Bible teaches us that two are better than one. To be both smart and wise, rather than compete with each other over who can solve it first, you should work in harmony with one another. That way not only will you solve it faster, but you can both be proud of your accomplishment.” Hearing a faint noise from the doorway, Florentina turned her head to spot Maddie watching and listening, a radiant glow on her face. “Here,” she said getting up and setting Betta on the seat. “Play together and solve the puzzle.” She and Maddie met in the center of the room.

  “It is such a joy to see you with my children,” Madelena confessed. “They both simply adore you, and they are learning so quickly, why I can scarcely believe it!”

  “They are quite bright and very well mannered,” Florentina replied, her breath catching in her throat at the expression and words coming from the beautiful donna whom she dreamt about. “It is impossible not to love them. But there is so much for them to learn.”

  “So much you can teach them.” Madelena peered over at her youngsters discussing quietly and trying to fit pieces together. “Where ever did you find that charming puzzle box?”

  “I made it,” she acknowledged blithely with a shrug of her shoulder. She wished to spend more time with Maddie, to get to know her better, to form a relationship–any relationship other than merely that of employer-staff. But who was she kidding? How could there be more, and what more could there be? Still, her heart raced whenever Maddie entered the room, whenever her melodic voice sung in her ears. And she felt warmth emanate from the red-haired widow. Was that her imagination?

  “You made it!” Madelena exclaimed and rushed to stand over the children and inspect it.

  “Look, Mama,” Betta gushed. “Florentina gave us a present!”

  “I’m about to,” Matteo started to say, then corrected himself. “We’re about to solve it.”

  “How clever you both are!” their mother praised and turned astonished eyes to Florentina. “And how clever you are, Fiore.” Her tone sounded suddenly sensual and her lush green eyes darkened. Florentina’s heart skipped a beat, and she forgot to breathe. Her mouth fell agape, and she found she could not produce a sound. Maddie crossed back to her and asked, “Could you make one of those for me? Perhaps a bit more challenging? It would be a wonderful diversion for my guests at parties, not to mention a good mental exercise for me as well.”

  “Certainly.” Mouth dry and palms sweating, Florentina at least found her voice. “I would be pleased to.” She lowered her gaze lest Maddie read the desire that smoldered in her eyes. Then an idea popped into her mind. “Next week I plan to take the children on an outing to the monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie to see Master Leonardo’s painting of the Last Supper. I thought it would be polite to ask if you wish to join us.”

  She was relieved to read the pleasure in Madelena’s expression. “I would be delighted to join you for the outing. Do you have a particular day in mind?”

  “Weather will be a factor, now that autumn winds and rains have arrived. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

 
“There will be no inconvenience,” Madelena stated. “I shall simply arrange the rest of my schedule to accommodate the trip. I shall have a carriage drive us all there on the fairest day of the week. Actually I have only seen the masterpiece once, and should love to experience it in the light of your personal expertise.”

  Florentina bowed her head once more. “You honor me,” she replied, almost trembling.

  “I believe it is you who have honored me,” Maddie echoed before turning to glide out.

  Florentina was still flying on an emotional high as she got into bed that night, her mind ablaze with imaginings about her upcoming excursion with Maddie and the children, which threatened to replace strategizing the next move of the Night Flyer as upper most in priority. The Night Flyer, she pondered. So my avenging persona has been given a name. A soft rain fell carving patterns and streaks on the windowpane. Angela was not in yet, so she took out a book to read while she waited keeping the lamp lit for her. She did more staring at the page deep in other thoughts than actually reading the popular romantic adventure novel, Orlando Innamorato.

  Just as she was about to nod off, Angela scurried in, head down, and quickly locked the door. Florentina thought she heard a sniffle, but she absolutely felt an abrupt change in the atmosphere of the small chamber. Setting the book aside, she pushed herself up in bed, focusing her attention on the young blonde maid. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Angela lied, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She proceeded to pull off her uniform and toss it on top of her trunk. She slipped a robe over her undergarments, and went to the basin to wash her face. Florentina watched her in silence, assessing the situation.

  “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it; I certainly shan’t attempt to coerce you,” she said in a soothing, compassionate manner. “But it is quite evident that you are upset, likely due to an unpleasant occurrence that happened this evening.” She paused but Angela shook her head. Florentina continued. “I am also aware that you haven’t known me long, but truly, Angela, you can talk to me. It may help–I may can help. Honestly, who else is there aside from your family who are far away?”

  Angela put down the wash cloth, and slowly turned toward Florentina, but refused to raise her damp, red eyes. “There’s nothing you can do; there’s nothing anyone can do. I’ll just have to get used to it I suppose.”

  That sparked a whole different line of suspicion than Florentina had been previously considering. “Come, sit on your bed and tell me what happened. I am not too much older that I can’t be your friend. I’m twenty. How old are you?

  Angela gingerly made her way around to sit on her bed before answering in a dull, listless tone. “Fifteen.”

  “Well, you see,” Florentina responded amiably. “That might have been a lot when I was five and you were an infant, but now it is nothing at all. We are both single young women forging our futures together in the service of one of Milan’s great Houses.”

  The younger woman expelled a sigh. “I suppose.” Then she looked up at Florentina and cocked her head curiously. “Has anyone ever, or has anyone tried to… no,” she answered before asking her question. “I should think not. Look at you and look at me!”

  At first Florentina was baffled. “Si, you’re beautiful with your light skin and blond hair, youthful figure, cute little nose, sweet laugh, while I’m so ordinary and undesirable.” Something clicked within her sharp mind.

  “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant at all!” Angela rushed to say, an aspect of embarrassed panic covering the previous distress. “I don’t think you are ordinary or unattractive. You are tall and strong and smart and confident, while I’m… none of those things.”

  “Angela, did someone hurt you? Did one of the men,” she hesitated trying to figure how to draw it out of her. “Was it Don Alessandro?”

  That elicited an immediate and dramatic response as she had hoped it would. “Oh, no, not Don Alessandro! He is a perfect gentleman, he would never-”

  “But someone did,” Florentina stated with assurance. She slid her feet over the edge of her bed to face the frightened young woman directly and gentled her voice. “Who was it? We can go to Don Alessandro and-”

  “No, no!” she replied with a horrified expression. “You must promise to never tell anyone! He is too important, has too much authority. It would be my word against his–and who am I? A little girl from the countryside? The lowest maid in the pecking order. I can’t tell anyone; I would be dismissed without references! Then where would I go, what would I do?”

  It was Florentina’s turn to sigh. “Alright, Angela, we won’t tell Alessandro. Perhaps we could take the matter to the chief butler, that scarecrow Iseppo?” Angela covered her face with her hands and laughed a ridiculous, humorless laugh. Florentina’s eyes widened in shock and her mouth fell agape. “Iseppo?” she asked incredulously. “But, he’s so old, and practically half dead already!”

  The laughter was snuffed out and Angela’s eyes burned. “He is boney, old and disgusting, but he is still a man–the man who runs the staff, who is in charge of everybody. A word from him and I’d be out on the street. ‘Men have needs,’ he said, and ‘it would be in your best interests to be nice to me.’ I told him no, that I was a virgin, but he just grinned and backed me into a closet.”

  Florentina could feel her blood boil. She had disliked him from the start, and now she comprehended why. “I would have stomped his foot, thrust my knee into his groin, smacked him across the face with my elbow, and run. He’d have been too embarrassed to tell anyone about the encounter.”

  That brought a fleeting smile to Angela’s lips, but then her shoulders slumped. “That’s because you’re you,” she gestured toward Florentina. “You’re like one of those heroines in a Greek tragedy, but not me. I’m weak, small, uncertain, afraid. I don’t want any trouble. I’m sure he will tire of me. At least I wasn’t beaten, only…” Her head drooped again.

  “Are you sure, absolutely certain that you don’t want to tell Don Alessandro?”

  “Without a doubt! You promised I could trust you, Florentina; please!”

  She sensed that Angela was becoming distressed again, so she acquiesced with a nod. “Maybe I can rough him up for you,” she suggested and winked.

  One laugh lightened the mood as Angela shook her head. “Please don’t. One punch may do him in and how would we explain that? I just want to forget it happened. Dirty old man! I want to take a bath and wash him off and forget the whole thing.”

  “Then let me accompany you down the hall to the bathing room,” Florentina suggested as she rose to her feet. “I agree that a nice, hot bath will make you feel better, and I’ll be there so no one will bother you.” She reached a hand out to her distraught roommate.

  “Now that’s something I will let you do!” she declared leaping to her feet.

  Florentina had promised not to tell anyone what happened and pummeling the little old pervert would not serve either of them. However, she determined to keep a very close eye on Iseppo from that moment forward.

  Chapter 7

  Alessandro and Antonio joined colorfully silk-clad merchants strolling down the walkways and through the high-arched entry to their impressive guildhall, as they, more than all, could afford the luxury. Every craft and trade in the city had a guild, a professional organization that looked out for their well-being along with setting standards and determining who would be allowed to operate within their jurisdiction. By the turn of the sixteenth century in Milan, the guilds held almost as much power as the government–in some cases more–and foremost among their number was the Gilda dei Maestri Mercanti, the Guild of Master Merchants. The city had guilds for weavers, dyers, metalsmiths, shippers, and every phase of the production process, but atop the pyramid of tradesmen sat the merchants. Then one had to pass stringent requirements and be approved by the council before being awarded a seat within the ranks of masters. Verily, the vast majority of Milan’s wealth was represented by its membersh
ip. Master’s were allowed to bring their sons as guests, but Antonio was still a mere apprentice to his father, and should he choose to dedicate himself to the occupation it would be many years before he could prove himself a master. Madelena’s late husband, Vergilio, had been a journeyman employed by Alessandro, though close to achieving the coveted master status.

  The fall weather was pleasant that afternoon with gusts of wind swirling harvest colored alder and elderberry leaves about. Situated in the Po River Basin in the north of the peninsula, Milan was prone to hot, humid summers and cool, rainy winters, leaving spring and autumn as the favored seasons. Snows had begun to blanket the mountains surrounding the basin presenting a spectacular panorama. None of the three major rivers that crossed the valley flowed through the city proper; that would be too unpredictable. Instead the navigli, a system of canals, was built connecting Milan to Lake Como, Lake Maggiore, to the lowest part of Switzerland, and to the Adriatic Sea, an impressive feat which began in 1179 and was not completed until 1475 when Leonardo da Vinci made improvements and added the final pieces–an innovative arrangement of locks that connected to the Alps. Therefore, while being many miles from any coastline, Milan was linked to the sea allowing goods and ideas to stream freely in and out maximizing the profits and importance of the city.

  As father and son passed under the arch into the portico, Alessandro spotted Don Benetto leaning against a pillar with his arms folded across his chest. The head of House Viscardi met him with a steel glare. Alessandro was going to pass him by but Benetto stepped out in front of him and sneered. “Word is that the great man Torelli has employed a woman as a tinker,” he stated loudly enough for all hear. “Just what is it you wish her to tinker with?” He raised his eyebrow, a smile edging outward as the sound of a few snickers could be heard.