Merchants of Milan

by Edale Lane

  He emerged in his perpetual black attire adding a thigh length cape to guard against the unpleasant weather and strode toward the shopping district. Florentina followed at a safe distance but was careful to not lose sight of him. It was fortunate that he was not an intuitive man; he never bothered to glance behind himself.

  His initial stop was the barber’s shop. While it was common to see the red and white pole of a barber-surgeon in Northern Europe and the British Isles, the Milanese, Florentines, and other Italian city-states were ahead of the times with educated physicians and apothecaries, and while some local barbers still performed tooth extractions, they mostly stuck with cutting hair and giving shaves, both to the relief of their customers and themselves.

  Barbers of Milan transacted important services for their high-class clientele as to the Italian fashion was everything. They had their own guild, and to run a shop such as this one, the barber must be qualified as a master. Less proficient artisans would have to practice as an apprentice and then a journeyman assisting a master until he proved himself adept and gained regulars of his own. A good haircut and a proper shave declared one’s station to the world, so it did not surprise Florentina that this was the major-domo’s first destination.

  Afterward she followed him about to various shops where he browsed but always left empty handed. Why does he shop and not make a purchase? The very concept baffled her, but still she trailed him in a slow march across town. When he stopped to have brunch at a café, she determined she must do the same. Her feet were tired, and she was hungry; she could keep an eye on him from the eatery across the street.

  She ate quickly to be done before her quarry and was ready to follow when he made his next move. This time he left the shopping district and hiked to the part of town where several of the Great Houses had their mansions and warehouses. Now it gets interesting, she thought as she took slow, quiet steps, stopping now and again to approach a doorway. The dreary drizzle had given way to cloudy gray, so at least her shoes would no longer slosh.

  When he rounded the next corner, her blood began to race. That is the way to Don Benetto’s! She quickened her pace to be sure to see if he entered the residence. Since the rain had stopped, there were other pedestrians on the sidewalks and a few carriages rolling down the street, so it was easier for Florentina to blend in until he turned down a narrow alley that led to the back of Casa de Viscardi and their servant’s entrance.

  She waited for him to exit the other end of the lane, then scurried through herself, disturbing a cat that yowled at her. She arrived at the far terminus just in time to see the flap of his cloak pass through Benetto’s servants’ door. I’ve got you now, you rat’s bastard!

  It was not Florentina who delivered the news to Alessandro. She decided the report must come from a source outside the household. Instead, after her evening rendezvous of tender kisses and caresses with Madelena, she donned her persona of the Night Flyer, scuttled down the drainpipe, and skulked around the house to fire a bolt with a note attached at the door post to Don Alessandro’s balcony, which faced the main thoroughfare. She waited to see if he heard the sound and when he did not appear, she threw a pebble at his window. This time a light came on and a tall robed figure opened the balcony door. He looked about, and spotting the bolt and paper, retrieved it. She had written, “To discover the traitor in your midst, follow Iseppo next Wednesday. It will be worth your while.” He raised his eyes searching the rooftops, but she was crouched in the shadows below. Presently he retreated inside, the shaft and note still in his hand.

  At last, that dirty old man who violated Angela and filled Viscardi’s ear would get his just reward!

  Chapter 15

  “Are you certain you want to do this?” Florentina asked as she and Madelena struck out for a Saturday morning walk which would lead them far from the comfort and security of Casa de Torelli. “It is cold and raining, and it may not be safe.”

  “Drivel,” Maddie replied. “We have parasols and cloaks to keep dry.” Florentina glanced up at hers. It had a straight ash wood handle that extended beyond the top of the octagon shaped gray canvass covering. The mechanism pushed open and folded closed, much as the Night Flyer’s wings. Then she glanced over at Madelena’s fashionable deep plum silk parasol with a maple hook handle that could be hung on a peg to dry, or looped over a lady’s arm for easy carrying when not in use. She had seen Maddie shortly after they first met use a white, lacy parasol to block the sun from her delicate porcelain skin, but this one was designed to keep off the rain. While its origin dated back thousands of years, the accessory had been lost to European use during the Dark Ages and only recently returned to popularity in France and the Italian city-states–one more reason Florentina was glad to live in this modern age of learning and invention.

  “What do the poor people we are going to help own to keep them dry?” she asked. Florentina didn’t answer, but she knew–nothing. “Besides, should we need protecting I have no doubt your quick wit and youthful athleticism will take care of any problems we may encounter.”

  “I suppose.” Florentina had no doubt she could fight her way out of jam, but she did not want Maddie to suspect she was a night-flying vigilante. “I think we go right at the next corner.”

  “Oh, Fiore, I wish you had met him!” Madelena gushed, her eyes blazing with excitement. “He was so unearthly in that black suit, swooping out of the sky onto our rooftop, nimbly floating across the tiles. I think he may be from Venice, from the way he talked,” she speculated.

  “If I didn’t know better, I would think you are infatuated with him,” Florentina mumbled, feeling oddly jealous of… herself.

  She sensed Maddie’s touch on her arm. “I am infatuated with you,” signaled the sultry assurance in Madelena’s voice. “I just find him fascinating, that’s all. And, by targeting the Viscardis, he is providing a service to the community.”

  Madelena’s mind and emotions were prodded by Fiore’s question; was she infatuated with the ingenious masked man? The notion was too silly to consider! She had no idea who he was, if he was a virtuous person, or if he had a wife and family somewhere. The whole idea was preposterous. Besides, she had an exciting romance blooming with Florentina–a real live, flesh and blood person, with a name and face, and with whom she enjoyed easy access. Why would she even think about this mystery man? And after the pleasures she had been experiencing at the hands and lips of this amazing woman, why fantasize about a man?

  It isn’t that, she thought. Not really. But he stimulates my imagination, and he wants to bring down the proud and raise up the humble… he’s unique and mysterious. That’s it! I just want to discover his secrets, not go to bed with him.

  “I’ve heard he’s committed all kinds of crimes and is very dangerous,” Fiore said.

  “Nonsense.” Maddie waved the notion away with a flick of her wrist. “Lazy constables would rather blame an impossible target than do their jobs. And have any reports noted that he killed anyone? No. I don’t think he’s bad, just misunderstood.”

  The farther they walked from their neighborhood, the more neglected the buildings became. Some were constructed of materials other than brick, and many had no plaster at all. Madelena wrapped her cloak around herself a little tighter. She had expected this, but she had not expected what they found in the alleys off of Slues Street.

  The smell hit her first, with a powerful rankness of smoke, urine, garbage, waste, decay, and death all mingled together into a stew of misery. She had to watch her step on the cracked and crumbling remnants of paving stones and tossing propriety to the wind, she reached for Florentina’s arm to steady herself. “I didn’t know an area of our city was in this dreadful condition,” she whispered.

  “Neither did I,” Florentina concurred as she kept an even pace with Maddie.

  “I think you ladies took a wrong turn,” said a small grimy man who stepped out of a broken doorway.

  Her heart raced, but she kept her head high; even she was a more
physically intimidating figure than this poor soul, and Fiore could step on him. “We know what we are about and are not here to seek nor find trouble.”

  He bowed his head as they passed but a disfigured woman who appeared to be wearing a sack replied, “Nothing but trouble here on Slues Street.”

  She ignored the comment and tried to look away from the hideous form. One of her arms was shriveled, she bore a deep facial scar, and most of her hair had fallen out. Maddie heard a severe coughing fit emanating from the next alley up the road and was almost afraid to continue lest she contract some dread disease. Madelena retained intimate knowledge about dread diseases, and the incessant coughing sound triggered a forgotten memory–one of her earliest.

  There had once been four children in their family, two other sisters born between Alessandro and herself, but they both died of whooping cough when she had been a toddler. She remembered the “whoop” sound as her sisters gasped for breath and she recollected having the symptoms as well. As her mother had relayed the story to her, she and her sisters, all under seven years of age, had gotten sick; only she had recovered. After that, she gained her brother’s constant attention and affection, despite the difference in their ages. He doted on her and once he discovered her aptitude with numbers, insisted that she receive a more well-rounded education than was commonly granted to girls.

  A chill ran down her back and she must have visibly shivered because Fiore was asking, “Are you all right?” with a tone of deepest concern.

  She nodded, but then began to notice a small crowd gathering around them. Naturally, they stood out–they were both clean and had all their teeth. Apprehension began to needle at her chest as she counted more than a dozen of the unfortunates, some wearing curious expressions and others extending soiled, calloused hands in their direction.

  “What are you going to give us, you sweet cherry blossoms?” asked a young cripple who leaned on a tree branch he had converted to a crutch. The tone in his voice was much too covetous for her liking.

  Madelena stood tall, pushed her shoulders back, raised her chin, and lifted her hand from Florentina’s arm. “I spoke with the Night Flyer, and-”

  She paused as the crowd began murmuring among themselves taking steps of retreat. Then the old woman who suffered from consumption rose from the crate she had been sitting on and tittered toward the gathering, all of whom had no choice but to stand in the dismal rain. “That fellow in black, the one what flies sent you?” she asked followed by a shallow hack.

  “Si.” Florentina answered this time, taking a step in front of Maddie. “He told us that you fellow citizens of Milan have fallen on hard times and need a small measure of assistance.”

  A few snickers arose from the crowd, but the old woman shushed them. “Your kind don’t never come here.”

  “I know,” Madelena replied. “But we are here now.”

  “Let’s rush them, take their coins, and have our way with them!” the lusty young lame man suggested.

  “You fool!” denounced the scarred woman. “Do you wish to call the fury of the Night Flyer down upon us?”

  “Indeed,” agreed a hunched bald man whose clothing hung on his bones like a tent. “If you kill the goat, you may get one meal, but keep her well and you have milk for many years. I say if these fine women wish to become our benefactors, we thank them–not attack them!” The lame man hung his head at the rebuke.

  “We brought some coins,” Florentina said. “They will help, but only temporarily. We wish to do something more constructive.”

  “Are these your dwellings?” Maddie asked as she began to distribute the coins into the outreached hands of the beggars.

  The sick woman laughed setting off a new coughing fit, and she lifted the stained rag to her mouth. A tall, thin man with a grizzled beard who had not spoken yet stepped forward with his hands cupped to receive his coins. “We have no houses,” he replied with a dry voice drawn from between thin, chapped lips.

  Madelena’s heart sank. No shelter, no medicine, and winter in almost upon them. The mood of the crowd transformed from suspicious and malignant to appreciative and hopeful, all the while the cold, pelting rain was chilling them to the bone.

  The two women exited the alley to the tunes of, “Thank you,” and “God bless you,” and began the walk back to Casa de Torelli. They moved in silent contemplation, not sure what to say. Madelena had encountered a higher class of beggar outside the doors to the cathedral from time to time; these sort were too dirty, too ill, and too unseemly to be allowed near “respectable” citizens.

  After a few blocks, Maddie asked, “How do you suppose they came to be in such unfortunate circumstances?”

  “Hard to say,” Florentina replied. “Lost their jobs, maybe due to injury or illness, were evicted from their apartments, have no relatives to take them in… the possibilities are endless.”

  “But by the grace of God I am what I am,” Maddie quoted in wonder. “The Apostle Paul said that, then added, ‘and his grace toward me was not in vain’.” Back on the main thoroughfare, she stopped and took Florentina’s arm again, turning to face her wearing an expression of deep revelation. “Fiore, I understand I am privileged, that I come from wealth, that my life was spared from a childhood illness, and that while I have faced tragedy, I have also been blessed… I enjoy my health, my sweet children, a brother who loves me, and now you. I don’t want God’s grace toward me to be in vain. If I can’t use my position to do some good in the world, then I don’t deserve it.”

  Florentina placed her free hand over Maddie’s as it rested on the arm that held her parasol. She had been blessed, too, she realized, with a keen mind and creative abilities, with physical strength as well as strength of will. She had created the Night Flyer as simply a way to carry out her vengeance on Benetto Viscardi, but what if she could use it to do so much more?

  “You have such a kind heart,” she said, feeling the words flow emotionally from her core. “It is one of the characteristics I love about you. You do good every day running an honest business and raising two charming children who brim with possibilities; now you can add allotting money to charitable deeds, knowing that there are those in need who can benefit from your generosity.”

  “I don’t want anyone to know about it,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t think it means anything if you just give excess coins to appear generous in front of others.”

  Florentina smiled, admiration for Maddie growing, burning deeper in her soul. “Speaking of others, don’t you have your ladies’ brunch to attend?”

  “Oh, that.” Madelena’s voice was dismissive. “I suppose I am obligated to appear. If I stop attending meetings, they will become suspicious and spread all sorts of gossip about me.”

  “Nice friends you keep,” Fiore said sarcastically, exchanging a glance with Maddie.

  “Indeed,” she chimed in cheerfully. “They are one of the reasons I decided I must keep you!”

  “Oh, in that case, I love them, one and all!” Maddie’s smile warmed Florentina and soon they were both laughing.

  “You could not abide five minutes with them,” Madelena commented as she batted her eyes flirtatiously at Fiore. “So much prattle about nothing!”

  Becoming conscious of people out on the street despite the rain, Florentina removed her hand from Maddie’s and looked away. “You are a singular, extraordinary woman, Madelena.” She stared ahead at a passing carriage lest she lose her self-control under the spell of those seductive eyes. “You may keep me forever, if you wish.”

  She felt Maddie’s hand lift from her arm and they continued their stroll. Florentina sensed the energy and heat between their bodies and held tight to her parasol handle. She wanted to hold her lover, to shower her with kisses, to run her hands over that satin skin, to declare her love unequivocally; instead she put one foot in front of the other, daring not to glance her way. Then she heard in melodic tones, “That sounds like a good plan to me.”

  Chapter 16


  “The morning meal is lovely, Bianca,” Alessandro commended the plump, full bosomed cook as she set the final touch, a bowl of succulent Barbera grapes, in the center of the table, their purple so deep it looked almost black.

  “Grazie,” she replied before returning to the kitchen.

  The bread was fresh, the cheese aged, the porridge hot, and the fruit divine. Florentina felt incongruous her first time eating with her new family; Matteo and Betta knew no different, but the others were aware this was an unusual arrangement. Thankfully, word had spread as to the reason she was there, officially anyway, and that Matteo had decided he should be the one to sit in Antonio’s chair to the left of his uncle. Florentina was especially grateful to him for that as it placed her between Pollonia, with whom she had engaged very little, and Madelena.

  Matteo, beaming with importance, sat up straight, placed a cloth across his lap, and made sure to keep his elbows off the table. He started to reach for a grape then heard his mother clear her throat. “Uncle Alessandro hasn’t said grace yet.” He withdrew his eager hand.

  Alessandro closed his eyes. “Thank you Lord for your bounty which we now do humbly receive. Amen.”

  Florentina gathered her courage, deciding she may as well initiate a teaching moment. “Matteo, why do people say grace before eating?”

  “Because we’re supposed to,” he answered without concern while legally reaching for a handful of grapes.

  “Betta?” Florentina turned to the proper little girl.

  “Because God sees everything and He will know if we don’t.”

  Fiore caught Maddie’s repressed smile and resisted the temptation to wink at her. “Would anyone else like to offer a reason?”