Merchants of Milan

by Edale Lane

  Alessandro stopped and gazed down at his rival with a look of bemusement. There was no way he would allow this insect to rile him. “It is true that the tutor my sister hired for her children is as skilled as her father, an assistant to Master Leonardo. I could waste my money like some people by employing another to repair my equipment, but I chose to wisely allocate my resources. As to your innuendo, Benetto, you may recall my wife is very attractive and able to meet my needs quite satisfactorily. Is yours?” Benetto’s face reddened, and he refolded his arms. “And as we are talking of word spreading around, I hear you will bottle no wine from your vineyard this year.”

  “Someone snuck in and salted the ground; I have lost that vineyard for the next ten years!” he shouted in angry frustration, his aspect descending into a deeper crimson. Alessandro’s eyebrows rose and his lips parted. He had no idea the misfortune ran so deep. “Who would do such a thing? How could they get away with it? Rest assured I dismissed everyone in charge of the property, useless morons!” Then Benetto pushed a finger into Alessandro’s chest and spoke in a low, menacing heat. “If I find you had anything to do the attacks on my House, there will be nowhere you can hide from my retaliation!”

  Alessandro raised open palms out to his side. “On my oath” he said. “How would ruining your vineyard profit me? I raise sheep in the countryside, not grapes?” The heated discussion attracted attention and others began to gather around them.

  “Enough of this,” commanded a distinguished older man wearing eyeglasses and a red velvet beret adorned with a peacock feather. The other merchants moved aside as he strode up between them. “Don Benetto, I presume you will bring up the matter of these attacks on your shipment and the intruder at your warehouse in our meeting today. At point is the fact that we are all vulnerable to such intrusions.” He shifted his gaze from one man to the other and they both nodded. “Gentlemen,” he said to the assembly. “Let us gather now in the hall.”

  With Antonio at his side, Alessandro fell in behind the guild leader. Giovanni Sacchi, perhaps the third richest merchant in the city, was serving his two years as chairman of the guild council. While the guild was designed to be as democratic an institution as possible to prevent any one member from creating practices that unfairly favored his own House, to be efficient and well organized required some hierarchy and leadership. So long ago rules had been adopted stipulating the creation of a seven-member council comprised of the most successful master merchants. Whenever one died or retired, his position was filled by the next most worthy candidate from among the membership. It was further established that members of the council would take turns presiding over the guild as chairman with the primary responsibility of making sure meetings ran smoothly and trouble within the ranks was avoided.

  In his early fifties with distinguished silver hair cut shorter than the prevailing fashion, Don Giovanni‘s face was long and studious, with bushy brows, and a crooked nose. The absence of a beard revealed hollow cheeks and a cleft chin while his spectacles hid dark bags sagging beneath hazel eyes that alluded to a lack of sleep. Of average height and build, he moved with the confidence and grace of a nobleman despite his common birth. Alessandro knew that unlike Benetto and himself, Giovanni had not inherited his fortune; he had earned it, along with the respect of his peers. He also supposed this was likely to be a contentious discussion and drew in a deep breath as he entered the hall.

  With the official portion of the session concluded, Antonio was restless to leave the chamber crammed with older men whose only thoughts were of money and profits day and night. His father turned to him and asked, “So what did you learn from today’s meeting?”

  Burying his true opinions, he replied, “First, I learned that powerful men of wealth tend to acquire enemies, but it is notable that on this occasion it would appear only Don Benetto has acquired a new enemy, a very elusive one who seems to have developed the singular ability to fly.”

  “Take note, Antonio,” Alessandro instructed, “that while underhanded practices may bring you coins in the short term, when one aims to harm others through his business methods or otherwise, it often comes back to bite him.”

  Antonio flashed an agreeable grin. “With that, Father, I wholeheartedly agree.” After exchanging a knowing glance, he stood a bit straighter and said, “I wish to spend time with my friends before returning home.” At Alessandro’s nod he relaxed and added, “I will see you at dinner or send word if I’ll be dining elsewhere.”

  “Very well,” his father approved and rapped an affectionate hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “Enjoy company with your friends. I’m glad you have started coming to meetings with me. I know it hasn’t convinced you to embrace the merchant profession, but I am pleased you are trying to show an interest.”

  “Yes, Father,” he said with a nod then struck off down the street toward the fashion district. Before the meeting had commenced when everyone was milling about, he recalled hearing mention that Don Benetto’s daughter was shopping for a new dress. A warm glow filled his heart as he thought of the fair, demure Agnese. He remembered that as a child she had dark hair, but now it was as golden as wheat. Her soft sky-blue eyes had not changed, yet too often he noted sorrow in them. He would solve that problem–as soon as he could arrange to marry her. The only obstacle was that their parents hated each other, and he admitted that was one momentous complication.

  Anticipation swelled in the young man’s heart as his light feet skipped along the cobblestones and eagle-eyes scanned for the object of his affection. He smiled and nodded politely to people he knew on the street and occasionally paused to peer into the window of a dress shop. “Have you seen Agnese Viscardi?” he asked to a few passersby. It seemed an eternity before he spied her exiting the front of Tomisina’s Fashion Boutique. With a spring in his step, he trotted over, a bedazzled grin on his smooth face. “Good afternoon,” he greeted and extended a violet rhododendron blossom he had plucked from one of the decorative shrubs.

  Immediately her anxious eyes began darting left and right, up and down, and even over her shoulder. He could tell her breathing grew quick and color drained from her cheeks as if she had seen a ghost. “Antonio,” she articulated, “how nice to see you. What a pleasant surprise. I hope you have been well.” His brows drew together in consternation at the formality of her words and tone and he slowly withdrew his outstretched fist of flowers. Then she whispered, “Meet me behind that shop across the street in ten minutes.”

  Though he wasn’t sure what she was about, he played along. “It is good to see you looking as lovely as the weather,” he declared in a resounding voice. “Have a pleasant afternoon. Mayhap I’ll see you at Mass.”

  “I should hope to see you then,” she replied ceremoniously and then continued on her way into the seamstress’s shop across the boulevard. Antonio possessed a sharp wit and deducted that she did want to see him, but that she didn’t wish anyone to know about it, so he proceeded down the street into a men’s establishment and then out the rear to circle back. Ten minutes later she emerged into the deserted alleyway. Antonio stepped out of the shadows with more trepidation than enthusiasm, no longer harboring the makeshift floral bouquet.

  “What is wrong, Agnese?” He came to her and reached for her hands. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck in a trembling embrace.

  “Oh, Antonio!” She buried her face in his shoulder and he hugged her close, a flood of emotion swirling through him like a tornado. When she pulled back, he detected tears welling in her eyes. “Father saw us together at the Friuli’s ball and became very angry. He forbade me to even so much as speak to you again!” Now the tears came and Antonio’s spirits fell with them.

  “There now,” he consoled as best he knew how. “We’ll just have to be more careful and only meet in secret.”

  She shook her head violently and dabbed at her eyes. “You don’t understand; he has spies everywhere, probably watching me all the time. He threatened to marry me off to some old fat man if I
ever… if we…” Her bottom lip began to tremble and she dropped her gaze remorsefully.

  “I’ll not have that!” Antonio declared. “I want to marry you myself, I just need time to get established.”

  She answered him with an incredulous stare. “Are you mad? That will never happen. He would never allow me to wed a Torelli.”

  Antonio swallowed, holding panic at bay, and gripped Agnese’s hands firmly. “Then we shall run away together,” he proposed. “I have money saved from my allowances and more that my father doesn’t even know about. I am skilled at gaming and often win substantial funds. I may not be able to keep you in finery, but neither will we live in squalor. We could go to Venice or Florence, even as far as Sicily. I can apprentice with an artist there–I do have talent; everyone says so.”

  Agnese sighed leaning her head to one side as her shoulders slumped and pinned him with damp sky-blue eyes. “That may be, but it would never work. My father would send out as many men as necessary to hunt us down. He would drag me back in shame and humiliation, and you he would have murdered!” Her eyes widened in a mask of desperation. “He’s killed men before, or had them killed, for lesser offenses than absconding with his daughter.”

  “But–” he tried to protest, but she placed two fingers to his lips.

  “You are the best thing in my life; I shan’t let him destroy you. That is why we must never see each other again. If we pass on the street, we must force ourselves to look the other way. Don’t you see?”

  Gradually her words and the passion behind them began to register in his mind and in his gut. She meant it. He knew Don Benetto was unscrupulous as a businessman and wouldn’t hesitate to place his thumb on the scale if he could get away with it, but murder? Then everything he had ever observed about the man and his daughter whom he loved began to slide into place–her timidity, apprehension, sadness. What kind of hell must it be to live in her household, to be in constant fear from the one who is supposed to protect her? He may have arguments with his father, but he was secure in his place. Alessandro loved him, even if he didn’t always understand him. In that instant he coveted nothing more than to scoop Agnese up and carry her far away to somewhere safe and start a life with her!

  “I’m not afraid of Don Benetto,” he uttered quietly.

  With a sound of stone resolve she replied, “You should be.” The next moment her arms were around his neck and her lips pressed to his in a frenzied, impassioned kiss. He responded in kind, with the hunger of a condemned man lapping up his last meal, even as he felt his heart breaking. The fever gave way to tenderness as he caressed her back and she stroked his cheek. When lungs demanded breath, they eased apart. “I do wish to thank you,” she began. “Your attention and affection has made my life bearable. You have given me moments, memories, and feelings that I can draw upon, remember, and relive for the rest of my days. Many women never even have that. I do love you, Antonio. But Father will arrange my marriage to the man of his choosing. You should move on. Why, any young woman in Milan would be giddy to gain your eye! You have everything a woman desires in a man–a handsome face, a gentle touch, and a true heart. Be happy.”

  She started to turn away but Antonio caught her. “Agnese, because I love you too, I will do as you ask, except…” He waited for her eyes to return to his before continuing. “You are young, barely of an age to wed. It could be a year or two, perhaps three before your father makes his decision and much can occur in that time. So I will stay away, hard as that is for me, but I shall not give up on us, not yet. You are kind and generous. I have seen you pass coins to beggars when you thought no one was watching. I have even stayed behind at church to listen to you pray. You deserve so much better.” He raised a hand to her face and wiped aside a stray tear with his thumb. “You deserve to be happy too.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them tenderly before letting them slip from his grip. Then he lowered his head, so he didn’t have to witness her pass through the back door of the shop and out of his life–at least for now.

  Chapter 8

  After two days of rain and drizzle the weather turned fair and sunny. Madelena had arranged a carriage to convey Florentina, the children, and herself to the monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie to view the celebrated masterpiece of Leonardo da Vinci. Maddie enjoyed listening to Florentina whet the children’s appetite with stories designed to heighten their anticipation of studying the painting. “So who can tell me the story of the Last Supper Jesus shared with his disciples?”

  “That’s when he poured the wine and broke the bread and why we have the Eucharist today,” Matteo answered matter-of-factly. “Everyone knows that story.”

  “Do we really?” Florentina questioned in a sly, knowing manner. “Were you there?”

  Betta and Matteo giggled. “Of course not,” Betta replied, an infectious grin across her round face. Florentina flicked her eyes from the girl to her mother who sat beside her and Maddie returned her gaze, stifling a chuckle of her own. “That’s silly,” she continued. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Yes it was,” their tutor agreed. “So we don’t know everything that happened that night, only what the four Gospels record, and they didn’t write down everything that was said, or where each person sat, or what clothes they were wearing. That is why the artist, Leonardo, had to use his imagination. When we get there, I want you to notice as much as you can about the painting. Play like it is a hidden objects puzzle and see what all you can find. Can you do that?”

  They both nodded enthusiastically. Matteo, who sat beside Florentina, gripped the edge of his carriage seat as if he strained to hold himself still. Madelena draped an arm around her daughter to keep her from bouncing right off her cushion. She truly has a way with my children, she thought, her eyes on the dark haired beauty. She had decided that although she was not fashionable, she found Florentina to be quite beautiful indeed. Maybe it was not her look, she considered, but her manner, her mind, her aura. Something inexplicable drew her to the singular woman increasingly each day. It was as though a wave of some unseen substance washed over her whenever Florentina was near. She knew she shouldn’t feel like this about an employee of the House, but it was beyond her control. All she could do was to refrain from acting on her feelings, for she could sooner dam up the Po than prevent their flow.

  When they arrived at the monastery Madelena instructed the driver to wait for them, but that he could take a break as they would be a few hours. Then holding her children’s hands, she followed Florentina through the main entrance. They spoke with one of the monks explaining the reason for their visit and he motioned them toward the refectory. “This way. It is in the dining hall, but there is already a young artist in there making a copy of the work, so please do not disturb him.”

  After entering through an arch, Madelena was immediately struck by the impending size of the painting that dominated the room, filling an entire thirty-foot wall. She had to stop momentarily to catch her breath and orient herself. She didn’t even notice the artist until he spoke.

  “Fiore!” exclaimed a gangly young man about Florentina’s height. His long, flowing acorn hair was tied back from an amiable, blocky face lit by luminescent olive eyes. He appeared to be only a few years older than Florentina, although the errant facial hair that was trying to decide if it was a beard or not could have influenced that estimate.

  “Cesare!” she exclaimed, an aspect of nostalgic affection flooding her features as she skipped across the room to where the painter had set up the tools of his trade. He met her halfway and lifted her off her feet, spinning her around laughing. Madelena was struck with mixed emotions. Who was is man, and why is he so free with my tutor?

  By the time he set her down, Madelena and her progeny had crossed the room, now paying more attention to this upstart than the masterpiece on the wall. “Cesare, how have you been?”

  “Good,” he grinned and motioned to the canvas on his easel. “I’ve been commissioned to create an exact replica of the ma
sterpiece. The powers that be decided that since I was Leonardo’s student, I could do it justice.”

  “Oh, forgive me,” Florentina flushed as she turned to Madelena. “This is Cesare da Sesto. We practically grew up together. Cesare, this is Donna Madelena Carcano of the House Torelli, and her children Matteo and Betta. I am currently their tutor and we are here to study the painting.”

  The eager young man bowed to Madelena. “I am pleased to meet you, Donna, children. There is much I can tell you about it, but no more than Florentina can. We both spent many days in this room playing, studying, and assisting Master Leonardo while he worked on it.”

  Madelena did want to learn about the great masterpiece, but at that moment she was far more focused on the exuberant artist whose hand still held Fiore’s. “I am honored to meet a student of Master Leonardo’s,” she replied as Matteo and Betta wandered over to observe his collection of paints and brushes. “Don’t touch anything,” the mother in her absently instructed. Focus returned, she had to ask. “So, you and my Florentina seem to be quite close though she has failed to mention you. May I inquire, were you two perhaps young lovers at one time?”

  Cesare burst into laughter letting go of Florentina’s hand to wave that idea away. “Oh, goodness no! You could say we are like siblings, but lovers? No. She prefers women and I prefer men.” Florentina kicked him in the shin, an embarrassed scowl darkening her face. “Ouch!” He lifted his sore leg and gave her a disbelieving stare. “What’s that for? Was it a secret?”

  Seething, she crossed her arms and uttered in a low voice, “Just consider everything I ever said to you a secret.”

  Relief and unbridled joy rushed through Madelena at the revelation that spilled from Cesare’s lips. So she does prefer women! I have a chance! This is so wonderful! I should close my mouth from gaping now and say something to reassure Florentina. “You should not be self-conscious, Fiore,” she stated calmly and took a step closer. “After all, we live in the modern age of Humanism, the revival of the ancient wisdom set down by the great Greek and Roman civilizations. They found nothing wrong with having a lover of the same sex; why should we?”