Merchants of Milan

by Edale Lane

  She had caught Bernardo’s eye thinking he may contribute to the conversation. The lad was at that in-between stage that signaled the onset of puberty. He was not a man like Antonio, nor a child like Matteo, but he was now the oldest male, save his father, at the table. She recognized he would soon be assuming new responsibilities within the family.

  He cleared his throat, and she thought he was concentrating on his speech lest his changing voice squeak. “Being grateful is a virtue. Voicing thanks for our food aloud helps us to remember to be thankful for all of our blessings and good fortune.”

  “Well said,” she praised giving him a smile and nod before turning an approving gaze to Alessandro.

  “What?” he questioned innocently. “If the boy says the right thing, that is his mother’s doing. I just earn the money around here.”

  That drew a refreshing laugh around the table.

  “So,” Bernardo ventured, “Tell us about Master Leonardo.”

  “Let’s see,” she pondered while buttering her bread. “He was born in Vinci, which is in Tuscany, and his parents weren’t married.” She was bemused by the stunned expressions of the others. “Not that scandalous,” she dismissed. “It was a small village and both his father and mother were commoners. His talent was recognized at a young age and he moved to Florence where his career began. But here are a few things you may not be aware.” She used her story-telling voice to hook her audience and noticed Bernardo’s attention was riveted as he spooned porridge into his mouth. “Leonardo is ambidextrous. Who knows what that means?”

  There was a brief silence until Pollonia’s quiet voice ventured, “Doesn’t that mean that he was both handed, like for writing and such?”

  Florentina beamed approvingly. “Excellent! Leonardo mostly paints with his left hand, but he can use both with proficiency and I have even witnessed him using brushes in both hands simultaneously. But do you want to hear something truly amazing?”

  Now she even had Portia and Alessandro hooked. “He can write forward on a piece of paper with one hand, while starting at the other side of the page and write backward with the other creating a mirror image of the line.” Little mouths dropped and Alessandro shook his head, chuckling in disbelief.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Betta. “I am doing good just to write normal. Do you think I could do that some day?”

  “It is possible, Betta,” Florentina said with speculation. “But Master Leonardo is a special kind of genius.”

  “He did that drawing, the Proportions of Man,” Bernardo said then took a bite of his bread. “We studied that in school. You can always measure how tall someone is by their arm-spread.”

  “That’s correct,” said Florentina.

  “Don’t talk with food in your mouth,” Portia whispered. “Manners make the man.”

  “Yes, Mama,” he replied contritely.

  “Maddie,” Alessandro spoke in his usual good humor. “I think we made a wise decision asking Florentina to join us for meals. There is no telling what new directions our conversations will take.”

  Madelena had been quiet, but Florentina had felt her positive energy and support from her close proximity. “I concur,” she said with a knowing smile to her brother. “Now children, get washed up and meet Florentina in your room for lessons.”

  “Yes, Mama,” they responded. Matteo grabbed one more handful of grapes before hopping up from his chair and trying to beat Betta to the door.

  Florentina was unaware if Alessandro had told Portia about his sister’s new love interest, but she determined to act in a manner consistent with no one having knowledge of their relationship. It was safer that way. She wanted to brush a hand across Maddie’s shoulder and caress her hair before leaving the room, but she restrained herself. She must to be content with stolen moments and secret rendezvous.

  Alessandro had much weighing on his mind early Wednesday morning. In addition to dealing with the absence of his eldest son and speculating about his military training progress, there was the revelation that his sister was engaged in a romantic liaison with a member of the staff, and then this business about the Night Flyer. Who was he and what was he about? At first he had considered the reports exaggerations, but now he wasn’t so certain. One thing Alessandro had deduced was that he was most likely carrying out a vendetta against Don Benetto.

  Not surprising, he thought as he shrugged into his oldest, least ornate coat. It was a long, gray, sleeveless outer garment that covered his every day wear. He hadn’t worn this garment in years and judged it to be his most common, least conspicuous one. After selecting a matching beret, he carefully arranged it on his head to produce a haphazard look. Taking a glance at himself in the mirror, he sighed. Who am I kidding? I can’t disguise my unusual height, so what difference will a coat and hat make?

  “Why are you rising so early, Amore Tanto?” A sleepy Portia pushed herself up to one elbow, her long golden hair falling around her shoulders.

  In her late thirties, three children, and still she takes my breath away! He turned from the mirror to his wife of twenty years. “I have a mission this morning,” he answered solemnly. “Something important needs tending to.”

  “Dressed like that?” she queried with a timbre of dread. “Let me find you something better to wear,” she offered as she slid out of bed. “No one will take you seriously dressed in those old rags.”

  Alessandro laughed and caught her shoulders. “It’s all right, Tesoro Mio; I don’t want to stand out.” She stared at him for a moment and then they both burst into laughter. “I know, I always stand out.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. “Go back to bed and don’t give a care. I shall be home for dinner if not sooner. I’m sure you can manage without me.”

  She frowned and fussed with the shirt beneath his coat. “It’s Iseppo’s day off. I’ll need be in charge of the staff, and you know how they laze when he isn’t lurking about.”

  “I have complete confidence in you,” he declared and placed an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

  Alessandro followed Iseppo through his rounds, attempting to be as discrete as possible. He had a great deal of experience in conducting secret undertakings himself, but sneaking about physically was another matter. His physique stood out and everyone in town could recognize his face, so he had to follow at as far a distance as he dared. A couple of times he feared he had lost his quarry, but each time he was able to spot his butler once more.

  After consuming his noon meal, Iseppo’s path took them into a rich district that riled Alessandro’s senses. He was familiar with this neighborhood and the prominent men who lived here. That Night Flyer was right. Have I been made a fool? How could I have not known? But chiding himself served no purpose now. He would reserve his blame for the man who had betrayed his House.

  He peeped around the corner of the lane to watch his long-time butler step through the arch of Casa de Viscardi’s back door; then he crept to the door-post and peered inside. “I am here to see Don Benetto,” Iseppo uttered dourly.

  Tucking his head back, Alessandro listened as footsteps approached. “Ah, Iseppo.” Benetto’s tone was quite agreeable.

  “I bring some very tasty news for you today, my lord,” chimed a sound Ally had never heard from his dull major domo. It was bright, excited, and almost youthful in its exuberance. He ventured a peek. The two men stood inside the alcove ten or twelve feet away. Alessandro was patient. He wanted to discover what the treacherous bastard was going to reveal of his private affairs.

  “Do tell.” Benetto sounded intrigued and his voice was accompanied by the tinkle of coins in a pouch.

  Alessandro stiffened as a storm of fury raged beneath the surface. This betrayal was for money?

  “It is about Don Alessandro’s son, Antonio–you know the one, his eldest.”

  “Yes, I know him, go on,” Benetto prodded.

  “The foolish lad has defied his father’s wishes and joined the army; can you believe that? Don Alessandro was able to secure
a commission for him, but still…” Iseppo’s pitch was that of glee.

  “The family must be devastated,” Benetto replied in a mocking tone. Ally locked down the violent rage that sought to burst forth. He was a temperate man, well-practiced in the art of self-discipline. He would not lose control in the presence of his enemies. “Why, anything could happen to young Antonio. He’ll probably end up dead and I would not have a thing to do with it.” He could overhear them both laughing now.

  “Have you ever heard of anything so absurd?” Iseppo cackled.

  “Now Agnese will see how wise I was to forbid her to associate with that fool-hearted boy. He must possess a death wish, one I would have been more than happy to grant had he ever laid a hand on my daughter, but now I shall win. He will be killed and I will stand totally innocent in Agnese’s eyes.”

  Alessandro, standing coolly with his shoulders back, chest raised, head high, and an expression of mild disappointment stepped through the open back archway. He saw the self-satisfied smirk on Benetto’s face as he dropped the coin bag into Iseppo’s hand while patting him on his treacherous, bony shoulder.

  Iseppo’s gaze turned to the sound of heavy footsteps and the little color his face once possessed vanished in an instant. His eyes flew round and his mouth dropped in abject terror. Seeing his distress, Don Benetto pivoted to see what had this effect on his spy.

  “Well, well,” Alessandro began as one might say to a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He planted his feet shoulder width apart and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “What have we here?”

  Benetto’s expression was overtaken by a wicked grin, that of a snake that had been successfully stealing eggs from the henhouse for years. Iseppo stuttered. “Ah, Don Alessandro,” was all he could squeak out before having no breath at all.

  “Iseppo Castillini, you have been serving House Torelli for, what, twenty years? Certainly long before my father died as I recall. You have risen to the highest level of your class and have been paid quite handsomely compared to those in other Houses. But I see you acquired another source of income,” he stated, nodding to Benetto whose pride was beginning to unravel before Alessandro’s intimidating presence.

  “Guards!” Benetto called warily.

  “Oh, please, Don Benetto, there is no need for that,” Ally brushed aside carelessly then moved fists to his hips. “I only want to know for how long? And was it just for the money, or have I wronged you in some way?”

  “I, I…” Iseppo still could not speak and Alessandro feared he may fall victim to a heart attack on the spot. Two guards arrived but Benetto motioned for them to hold their positions. Then he spoke for the quivering man.

  “Iseppo has served me for years. I may not pay better than you,” Benetto explained, “but am more persuasive in other ways. You are likely unaware, but Iseppo fathered a child by a woman in my service years ago. When I threatened to have her and the infant killed, she told me the most curious thing–that a prominent member of the Torelli household loved nothing more than to take advantage of inexperienced maids and serving girls. I knew you would not tolerate such lack of character under your roof, so I called him in, had a talk with him, and we came to an arrangement.” His self-satisfied grin returned as it seemed he tried to look down his nose at a man a foot taller than he was.

  The jagged twist in Alessandro’s gut sent a jolt of fire through his veins, but he was determined to maintain his composure. “Touché, Don Benetto,” he replied with a nod of his head. “Very clever indeed.” Then he sighed. “Iseppo, you are most assuredly never allowed back in my domicile under penalty of death. I will see that your belongings are placed out on the street where you may collect them at your leisure.” Then he added with a dry humorless smile, “You know Benetto, you may have kept a spy in my household, but ask yourself this–how did Alessandro find out about him? Perhaps I retain my own spies.” He gave Benetto a wink out of searing eyes, turned his back deliberately, and strode out.

  Chapter 17

  Agnese and her mother, Daniella, had been standing near enough to catch the entire exchange and with Don Alessandro’s departure, they scuttled down the hallway into the ladies’ parlor. Daniella reached for her needlepoint and Agnese grabbed a news sheet that lay atop a small table and they hastened to occupy seats across from each other.

  Agnese trembled as she could not help but overhear the heated exchange. “You fool! You idiot! You let him follow you?” Benetto raged.

  “I didn’t know,” followed a mournful cry. “He has never shown the least suspicion of me. I’ve done all that you asked, Don Benetto.”

  “No, actually, you have not. I recall telling you not to be found out. It appears I no longer require your services.” They heard the coin pouch fall to the floor and the scuffle of feet over the floorboards.

  “But I wasn’t, I haven’t been, for years my lord. I am loyal to you, truly I am!”

  As the panic trembled in Iseppo’s voice, so it rose in Agnese’s heart. She sat as still as a stone, staring with unseeing eyes at the paper in her hands. Please, God, don’t let him kill him; don’t let him kill him; don’t let him kill him!

  “Loyal?” Benetto laughed. “You have been spying on your own master, reporting to his enemy anything worth sharing, and you expect me to trust you? You are dirt! You are slime!” he railed contemptuously. “At least when I get urges I can find a willing wench or courtesan and have never felt the need to force myself upon a woman. You are almost too pitiful a specimen to bother killing,” he spat in disgust.

  “Oh thank you, my lord, Don Benetto,” came the gushing sound of relief in Iseppo’s voice. “You are as wise as you are benevolent. I can still be of service to you in other ways.”

  Then the steel hardness that lay at the core of Benetto’s being issued forth in a biting tone. “I said almost.”

  Agnese jumped in her seat as did her mother, both too horrified to move a muscle. Agnese kept her head down and she assumed Daniella did the same, but she could perceive the cry of shocked pain, the gurgling sounds, the moans, and the body dropping to the floor. Probably stabbed him; sounds like he stabbed him. I didn’t see at least. She swallowed, terror clawing at her soul, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Maybe I didn’t hear. That’s it, I heard nothing, nothing at all. Just my imagination.

  “Get this cleaned up,” her father instructed and then his footsteps were marching down the hall.

  Reading. I’m only reading. “What are you staring at you fat, ugly slug?” He was in the doorway, yelling rudely at her mother. Agnese peered at the visage of a monster while Daniella cringed.

  “I’m, I’m not loo-looking at anything,” came Daniella’s timorous reply. “You are the master of the household; I am merely embroidering a pillowcase.”

  “That’s right, you good-for-nothing lump,” he sneered. “Alessandro’s wife is about your age and she still has a pleasing shape and her natural hair. What happened to you? I suppose you heard all that.” He waited for a response. Agnese was frozen in place, unable to move, speak, or even breathe.

  “Hear what?” Daniella’s voice and hands both trembled.

  “The part about the wenches and courtesans,” he retorted with a laugh. “Well, you can’t blame me.”

  Relief poured over Agnese like a waterfall as her father continued down the hallway leaving her and her poor, distraught mother alone. When she was certain he was gone, she moved to the settee and nestled in beside Daniella, closing an arm around her mother’s hunched shoulders. Silent tears streamed down a face that was warped by despair.

  “Pay no mind to him, Mother,” Agnese consoled. “It isn’t true.”

  “What part, Vita Mia?” Daniella buried her face in her hands and shuddered. “Didn’t plan for my hair to fall out,” she sobbed. “I didn’t want to get fat. I never wish for…” The sobs began to flow in waves and Agnese held tight to her mother.

  “I know; it doesn’t matter. You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve the
way he treats you.”

  “I tried to be a good wife,” she sputtered. Agnese dug out a laced handkerchief and handed it to her. Daniella lifted it to her face, dabbing at her eyes and wiping beneath her nose. Then all at once, it was as if the tap ran dry. No more tears, no more sobs–only morbid resignation. “I wished to live long enough to see you wed into a good family, to see you move away from this dismal place. I wanted your fate to be a better one than mine.”

  “What are you talking about?” Agnese gently chided. “You will be.”

  Daniella lifted old, tired eyes to her daughter. “I don’t think so. I have not been well for some time and am only getting worse.”

  “What do you mean? Have you seen a physician? Why did you not tell me sooner?” Like a raptor’s claw, fear seized her heart and squeezed. You can’t die! You can’t leave me alone in the house with him!

  “I didn’t want to worry you, Agnese,” she explained. “The physician ordered me a tonic, and it helps some, but my nerves are in shreds, and I can barely get through each day. At times I’m sick to my stomach or my bowels don’t move properly. Other days I get headaches that pound so ferociously that I wish I was dead.” She sighed, sniffed, and continued. “I have trouble sleeping and always feel exhausted. I become confused, lose track of what I was doing, and sometimes forget when and where I am. My chest is tight, my joints ache, and maybe I’m just getting old. Maybe this is what old feels like.”

  “You aren’t that old, Mother,” Agnese stated with concern. “Like he said, you’re almost the same age as Antonio’s mother and she appears to possess plenty of energy. You must be suffering from some chronic ailment. Perhaps if you keep taking your tonic and get enough rest, your health will improve.”

  “Antonio’s mother doesn’t live with the stress I am pressed beneath day after day. Did you hear Don Alessandro? He never even raised his voice. He possesses a powerful stature and could have squashed Benetto like a rat beneath his boot. I wish he had,” she added in a dark whisper, then continued. “But he didn’t even raise his voice.” Agnese leaned on her mother and began to shed her own tears. “Now, now, child. I don’t mean I’m dying right this minute. I may yet carry on for another year.”