The next day was hard. Mixing with the other apprentices Carla already felt different. Up to now she had hidden her secret well, but now that Piero not only knew she was a woman but was treating her like one, her secret had become a conspiracy, and that made her uneasy. She was constantly looking out for searching glances, or listening for pointed remarks. At every moment she expected someone to notice the swell of her breasts under her tunic or to smell the odour of her sex, although she had scrubbed herself almost raw to remove all trace of it.
It was worse when they talked of the show they would put on for the carnival. They ribbed her mercilessly for being cast in the rôle of a woman, their comments being rather too near the mark at times.
‘You’d better watch out for Piero on Carnival night,’ Giovanni said. ‘He might just forget you’re a boy dressed up as a girl and take you for the real thing.’
‘Yes – he’ll “take you” all right,’ Matteo grinned. ‘If he’s drunk enough he won’t know the difference between a cunt and an arse.’
‘Shut up, don’t frighten the lad!’ Marco intervened. ‘I think we should start thinking about his costume, not putting the frighteners on him. He’ll need a wig to go with his mask, and some sort of padding to go under his gown. And we should be rehearsing, as if we were on the float. There’s only a few days to go.’
‘He can make his own wig, can’t he?’ Giovanni grunted. ‘We’re all far too busy.’
So Carla was set to make a ‘womanly’ wig for herself. Marco helped her design it. They fashioned it out of flax dyed bright yellow, and she twisted bunches of the fake hair into the semblance of an elaborate coiffure, studded with ‘pearls’ and ‘diamonds.’
‘I’m going to look a fright in this,’ she told him at last.
‘That’s the whole idea. We’re all going to look like exaggerated versions of real people. It helps the crowd to understand at once what sort of characters we’re playing. When you’ve only a couple of minutes to tell a story you need bold effects and big gestures. It will be very effective, you’ll see.’
As night-time approached Carla found herself growing impatient for the newly-discovered joys of the bedroom. Despite the fact that her last night with Piero had left her more frustrated than satisfied she couldn’t wait for more of the same.
He seemed eager to get her alone too, making an excuse to take her upstairs as soon as the evening meal was ended. Once they were alone he fell upon her, his lips ravishing her neck with kisses and his hands tearing off her clothes.
‘You’ve awakened such an appetite in me,’ he confessed. ‘Seeing you dressed up as a boy all day, and knowing what you really look like under your clothes, only makes me want you more.’
He took her to his bed this time. It was larger and more substantial, and she sank on to it with a sigh. Soon he had her spread-eagled on the mattress while he took her from behind, not in the arse but passing between her thighs to the smooth, warm channel of her sex where he plunged in with gusto. Carla moaned, writhing against the bunched bedcovers and feeling the rough cloth abrade her swollen nipples. Then his hands passed beneath her and he squeezed her breasts, sending new tremors of delight throughout her willing body.
‘Oh, I could get used to this!’ he grunted, as she moved her buttocks in rhythm with his thrusts. ‘You may have been a virgin, maybe not. Either way, you’re learning fast how to please me. I love a woman that moves her hindquarters the way you do.’
His words inflamed her lust so that the throbbing sensations grew stronger, inflaming her to fever pitch. She was dangling on the edge of satisfaction, sure that a few more of Piero’s lusty thrusts would bring her whatever consummation her body craved, but then came his sudden backward slide and the soft curses as he spurted all over her naked buttocks.
‘God, I nearly didn’t make it that time!’ he exclaimed, as he rolled over onto his back beside her.
She lay quietly while he wiped himself with the sheet then made his way over to the piss pot once again. The light of a full moon was flooding the attic room, and Carla felt its coolness on her overheated flesh, but it wasn’t enough to soothe the disappointed ache deep within. What was it that she wanted? She had no idea, yet the sense of being left high and dry was overwhelming.
Sleep came slowly that night. Carla spent hours lying in the eerie moonlight, wondering where her life was going. A part of her felt trapped, obliged to serve her master in bed while being unable to serve him properly as his apprentice. Yet she knew it had always been a wild dream of hers to become a bona fide artist. Women were banned from such work, and she had been a fool to think she could get away with her disguise for long. Perhaps she should count her blessings and settle for a life under Piero’s protection, doing such work as he gave her and being his mistress in private.
Carla might have accepted such a fate willingly if it wasn’t for the presence of Marco in the household. Her feelings for him were growing daily, strange longings that she had only been able to identify properly since Piero came to her bed. If only it were Marco making love to her she would be perfectly happy. His kindness and friendship had kindled a deeper desire in her than the merely physical and she was sure that, if only she were given the chance, she could give herself to him body and soul.
It was far too dangerous to think that way in reality, but nothing could stop her fantasising. When she finally fell asleep her imaginings pervaded her dreams, and she replayed her love-making with Marco taking Piero’s place. This time the sweet sensations haunted her all night long and were still with her when she awoke next morning, feeling stiff and sore. She washed and went downstairs to prepare Piero’s breakfast, as she always did, and the sight of Marco in his shift made her blush.
He looked at her closely, then took her aside. ‘What is it, Carlo? You look so strange this morning. Is it something Piero has done to you?’ Carla shook her head but she could tell he was not convinced. His expression grew more concerned. ‘He’s abusing you, isn’t he? Buggering you. Is that it?’
‘I – I’d rather not say.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t get you into trouble. But tonight I’ll get him off down the whorehouse then he won’t come to your bed. Perhaps he can be persuaded to let you sleep downstairs with us in future. I’ll see what I can do.’
Carla was grateful for his offer but she knew it would be futile. Piero had no need of a whore while he had her, and he certainly wasn’t going to let her sleep elsewhere. As she looked into Marco’s dark, kindly eyes she longed to tell him the whole truth but she dared not.
The apprentices made a sortie into the streets of Florence to see how the carnival route was being prepared. Carla was amazed to see blue canopies hung between the houses bearing patterns of suns, moons and stars like a false sky. The carnival was only days away and there was a general air of excitement throughout the city. Stands were being erected in the main squares where the spectacles were taking place, and there were floats being constructed in yards and back alleys everywhere. Jugglers and fire-eaters were practising their skills, singers, musicians and actors were rehearsing and all the bakers were busy making extra pies and sweetmeats for the hungry masses.
Carla was thrilled at the thought that she would be a part of it all. Yet she felt apprehensive too. What if people found her a bit too convincing as a girl? Would they suspect the truth, or would they think she was one of those effeminate males who preferred lying with other men? Worst of all was the fear that she might not be able to trust Piero to keep her secret. He had already been making suggestive remarks to her. He had told her not to worry about her costume, that he would borrow clothes from a whore to dress her up in. What if he dropped hints to the others that she not only looked the part of a whore but she acted it too?
That night Marco did succeed in dragging Piero out for a night on the town, and when he finally returned to his bed he was too drunk to do anything more than lie there snoring the night away. Although he kept her awake, Carla was relieved that her body was t
o be given a rest. The exciting feelings that he aroused in her were like a drug: she couldn’t get enough of them, but they left her only craving more.
Sometimes she felt disgusted with herself and wished she had fled instead of remaining to become Piero’s sex-slave. He was not unkind, but his treatment of her was purely selfish. After a few preliminary gropes to make sure she was wet enough for him to slip in easily, he was inside her and pushing away. She longed for him to kiss her breasts more thoroughly, to give her gentle caresses instead of rough ones, to whisper endearments instead of grunts and curses. She knew she was being unrealistic, but she feared that their animalistic couplings were damaging her soul.
Always the hot craving for him was there, forming a torrid undercurrent to her day and coming to a head at night. Even as she lay there, relieved that he was too incapacitated to make love, her body wanted him, blindly and hungrily like a beast that must be satisfied. She began to fear that she would never be free of the bonds of lust that bound her to him.
Chapter Five
CARLA WOKE ONE morning to the sound of music, singing and laughter. At first she was mystified but she soon remembered: it was the Feast of St John the Baptist, Carnival Day! Last night they had joined the candlelit procession through the town to the cathedral, walking behind the priests who bore holy relics, including the thumb of Saint John. It had been a magical evening, full of mellow light and music, but now the day itself had dawned and promised to be even more exciting.
Carla leapt from her bed only to find that Piero had already left his. While she was splashing water over her face and hands he entered, with a bundle of clothes over his arm. ‘Here are your carnival togs – fit for a lady!’ he grinned at her, first dumping them on the floor then picking up a dusky pink cioppa which he held out to show her.
‘I’m to wear that?’ she exclaimed in wonder.
The overgown was of rose sarsenet trimmed with green brocade. Under it she would wear a white chemise with full, embroidered sleeves and a pale green underskirt. There were green velvet slippers to match. The whole outfit was far more luxurious than she had ever worn before and, despite her misgivings, Carla was excited at the prospect of dressing up like a lady. There was padding for her hips and a corset, which Piero said he would have filled out with wadding if she were a boy.
‘But since you’re not, you can fill it with your own titties,’ he laughed. ‘Fortunately they’re not so large as to give the game away. Put this lot on then, and be quick about it.’
He helped her get dressed. It was even stranger being in ladies’ garments than in men’s because the fashionable clothes were quite different from the loose-fitting shifts and woollen gowns that she used to wear at home. The long, heavy skirt meant she could not move quickly and the tight corset restricted her breathing. But what alarmed her most was her womanly shape. Although the neckline of her chemise was not particularly low it showed the swell of her small breasts quite plainly.
‘I can’t wear this!’ she protested. ‘No one will believe I’m only a boy dressed up!’
Piero was leering at her. ‘Oh yes they will, if I tell them so! They’ll marvel at how much like a fine lady you look in that get-up.’
‘But I shall be discovered!’ she moaned. ‘Let me wear something else, please! Or at least take off this corset.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew the trouble I went to to get hold of all that finery.’
‘But I can’t wear it!’
She was near to tears, terrified that if she were on public display with the other apprentices she would be arrested as an impostor and clapped in jail.
But Piero was growing angry. ‘You’ll wear those clothes and like it!’ he snapped. ‘No more of your mealy-mouthed excuses. Put on your wig and bring yourself and your mask downstairs. They’ll be loading the float soon and you must practice on it with the rest of them.’
By the time she descended to street level the float was parked outside the house and the other apprentices were hanging up the last of the decorations. Garlands of fresh flowers were suspended from the four posts at each corner, and the platform was decorated with shields alternating between the apothecary’s emblem of a jar with two spoons and the artist’s emblem of palette and brushes. The horse that was to draw them along was caparisoned with a surcoat showing the Madonna and Child – the arms of the Apothecaries’ Guild.
The others greeted her with cries of surprise but the only one she paid any heed to was Marco. He came up and examined her closely, his eyes widening as they drifted to the shadow of a cleavage above her neckline and the curve of her bosom below. ‘I’d never believe you were a boy,’ he murmured. ‘You appear so feminine!’ His smile grew cheeky. ‘I’ll have no difficult pretending to be your lover now!’
Although she knew it was futile to feel cheered by his words, nevertheless Carla drew comfort from them. She realised with pride that had he known she were a woman, he would find her attractive, and what had seemed like an ordeal to come now seemed more alluring. She thought about the part she was to play, that of a young wife shackled to an impotent old husband and responding to the advances of a handsome young lover – an artist, who had been hired to paint her portrait. Piero had put the finishing touches to the ‘portrait’ that morning, once he had seen Carla dressed up in her costume.
Carla was confident that she could play it convincingly, since all she had to do was respond with exaggerated cries and gestures to what the other characters did or said. Her face would be hidden by the grotesque mask.
‘Here,’ Marco said, ‘let me colour in your lips to blend with the red lips of the mask.’
Carla stood still while he gently applied some rouge to her mouth. The touch of his fingertips was soft and sensuous, making her whole body tingle with light arousal. She saw the warm light in his brown eyes and her soul trembled when she remembered that, at some point in the masque, he would kiss her.
They practised standing on the float in their positions, making sure that they could go through their moves without hindrance, then the cart was drawn away to some secret destination until later, when they would be joining in the procession. Carla took off her mask but she kept her dress on. She was going to be a woman all day!
Meanwhile there were many other sights to see. The streets resounded with music from strolling players or the thunder of hooves from the hectic horse races that ran from end to end of the town. There were wedding parties too, since many chose to marry on that day, and in the Square of the Signoria the elaborate gilded castles and huge wax candles were displayed, each representing a town that was subject to Florence.
Carla walked with Marco through the crowds and felt so happy she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. At last she could show herself in her true colours and, although he believed her to be a boy and was constantly marvelling at her womanly appearance, it was easy for her to imagine that they were a couple of lovers, just like the others she saw around her. He even put his hand on her elbow to guide her through the crowds, and warned her of puddles or mud in the road to protect her gown.
‘He’s treating me just like a real lady,’ she thought, and her heart glowed with pride.
The time came for the apprentices to join in the grand procession through the streets, and as Carla climbed up on to the stage she felt a wave of apprehension. Was she courting disaster by putting herself publicly on show? They arranged themselves in their positions for the tableau, which showed Giovanni as the old husband in a long beard hunched over his walking stick while Marco, dressed in a wine-red doublet and grey hose that showed off his shapely calves and thighs, kissed the young wife’s hand. In the background was a chorus of gossipy neighbours, played by the other apprentices who also doubled as rough-and-ready musicians.
Piero was driving the horse, an old nag he had borrowed from a friend. When they were ready to go he led them through to the main procession where they found their place amongst the other floats. Although she was supposed to stand stock s
till, not moving a muscle until the time for their little play began, Carla squinted at the floats in front and behind, marvelling at what she could make out.
Immediately in front of them was the decorated car of the barbers’ guild, with the appropriate theme of ‘Samson and Delilah’. Behind were the furriers, showing off their wares even though it was the height of summer, their theme ‘Orpheus taming the wild beasts’, with one of them playing his lyre while the rest of them crouched submissively beneath animal pelts.
The cart went rocking on its way through streets lined with cheering onlookers. Some tossed coins and sweetmeats onto the floats but sometimes the occupants of the floats themselves distributed gifts. The bakers threw little fancy pies decorated with crescent moons into the crowd. At certain set points the procession halted and some of the tableaux came to life, performing brief scenes, while others burst into song. Priests threw holy water over the crowds or sang special hymns before the small statues of the Virgin that were found high up in niches on some street corner buildings.
When the time came for their play to be performed Carla was very nervous. Shaking like a leaf she moved over to Giovanni and pretended to fuss over him while the ‘neighbours’ sang a bawdy song about her ancient husband not being able to get it up any more. Then her ‘husband’ beckoned to Marco and the easel was set up. While Giovanni retreated behind a curtain held by two of the neighbours, Marco pretended to paint her portrait but kept coming over to steal a kiss.
At first he kissed her lightly on the lips, but as the play progressed he grew more bold. Carla was delighted to see how eagerly he threw himself into the performance. Soon he was kissing her with a feigned passion that nevertheless roused her thoroughly, and he even began to caress her upholstered breasts, much to the delight of the crowd. His lips fastened on the bare flesh of her cleavage and the crowd roared obscene encouragement.
‘Go for it, lover boy! Give her what her husband can’t provide! Make the young woman happy and the old man a cuckold! Show her what a real man can do!’
Artistic Licence Page 7
