‘Have you heard?’ she said, excitedly. ‘A betrothal has just been announced and there’s to be a big feast.’
‘Who? Tommaso?’
‘No, Bruno! The master’s hired a marriage broker, and he’s to wed Lady Isabella Salviati.’
‘What? Does Bruno know of this?’
Lisa looked at her quizzically. ‘That’s a funny question! Why should he not know?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nonsense, you’re hiding something. What is it, Carla? What are you not telling me?’
‘It’s just that I saw him only five minutes ago and he said nothing about it.’
‘Hm. Perhaps he meant to keep you dangling on a string, Carla, to have his cake and eat it. Men are like that, you know.’
Carla thought of the desperate way he had tried to get her to agree to an elopement and realised that he probably had known about his father’s plan to get him married off. Old Giorgio must have been desperate to put a stop to the romance if he was prepared to see his younger son wed before the elder one. But now her position seemed all the more insecure.
‘Why are you frowning so?’ Lisa asked, scenting secrets. ‘You’re not sweet on the man, are you? If so, you’re more of a fool than I thought you.’
‘Thanks!’
Carla went over to the bench and began helping to shell peas. She was still in a state of shock and needed time to absorb the news and make plans. Perhaps she would be safe if Bruno were betrothed. At least she could more legitimately object if he approached her. But the situation was confused, and she thought again about simply leaving while the going was good. Upstairs she had quite a cache of jewels and money that would tide her over for a while until she could find a new position.
But she was forestalled. That very night she was summoned to the downstairs study and there stood the formidable figure of Tommaso. He was standing in front of the large desk with his stout legs astride and his hands behind his back, looking the very model of masculine power and authority. She shrank from him the minute she entered the room, guessing from his stern expression that he was standing in for his father who, so rumour had it, disliked dealing with the servants directly.
‘Carla, I will come straight to the point,’ he began. ‘You have formed an unnatural alliance with my brother Bruno, and my father wishes to have you dismissed from this household.’
Carla’s blood boiled at the injustice of it. She knew it was unwise to protest but she couldn’t help herself. ‘It was not my fault! He approached me, seduced me, then said he had fallen in love with me. What could I do?’
Tommaso’s tone dropped to the level of dark insinuation. ‘I know you girls. I know what you are capable of. You are a wicked hussy who bewitches men’s souls and holds them in thrall. You would have done the same to me, had I not had the strength of will to resist you.’
‘It isn’t true! A girl in my position has little option when a man like you approaches her. Not if she wants to keep her job and her reputation. Bruno has taken callous advantage of me, and now you will cast me out. Shame on you both!’
Tommaso came up very close and placed his hand beneath her chin. He stared down insolently into her eyes. ‘Hush, woman! I know your sort. You are lascivious and wilful, you will do anything to get a man into your power. My brother is sorely smitten, and I admit that I am not immune to your charms either. It’s best you leave this house before you lead us both into perdition.’
‘What nonsense you do talk! It’s yourselves you are leading into perdition. I have very little to do with it!’
His eyes flared with outrage. ‘How dare you address me so! Do you realise I could have you denounced as a wily witch?’
‘You would have a hard time proving it!’
‘Would I, indeed?’
He took a hank of her dyed hair and yanked her head back so that she couldn’t help but look him in the eye. She flinched, but remained outwardly cool. He was bluffing, but there was no telling what he might do next. She must appear as composed as possible.
‘I’d say you bound me with magic cords, more secure than the strongest chains. I’d tell the court that you tormented me with lewd visions of yourself, that you appeared naked before me and taunted me with your sex. Would that be so far from the truth, little one? I think not.’
Carla was trembling now, afraid of the manic glint in his eye. She knew he might twist the truth convincingly, that his testimony might well stand up in court, and she was terrified. Two witches had been publicly hanged in the town hall square just a month ago, and Carla had heard gory tales of how they danced in the air as the rope tightened around their windpipe, and how their blood-curdling screams were cut off and a terrible silence ensued.
‘I am no witch, as well you know,’ she said quietly, sounding far more calm than she felt.
‘Perhaps not, but you have thrown our family into turmoil and I cannot forgive you for that. As the firstborn I should have been married off before Bruno, but our father is afraid that my brother will go raving mad if he is not stabilised by marriage. And it’s all your doing! He dotes on you, I can’t think why. It would not be difficult to convince people that you dosed him with a love-philtre when you waited at table.’
Carla felt the blood drain from her cheeks. So he was serious about branding her as a witch! This time she was unable to hide her consternation and Tommaso laughed to see her looking so scared.
‘That’s got you really worried, hasn’t it? But if you do exactly what I say you’ll come to no harm, I can promise you. Just agree to follow my instructions to the letter and you have my word that no one will denounce you as a witch.’
‘Your – instructions?’ she said, faintly.
‘Yes. You must do me one last service before you leave our employ. Kneel down!’
Her knees were trembling as she sank down on them, wondering what on earth she would be obliged to do now. She thought of telling him that she knew what he had made Lisa do to him, but decided only to use that information as a last resort. Terror was growing in her as she realised that her word counted for nothing against that of a nobleman.
Tommaso opened a drawer in the desk and took out a brocade sash which he proceeded to tie around her head as a blindfold.
‘What is this?’ she whispered, fearful once again.
‘You’ll see. I won’t ask you to do anything that you haven’t done a hundred times before, I’m sure.’
There was an ominous pause. Carla heard the rustling of clothes and smelled the faint scent of male musk. She realised what service she was to perform just seconds before the confirmation came, in the form of a thick, rearing cock that was placed between her lips.
‘Now suck!’ she was unceremoniously commanded.
Although the circumstances were distasteful to her, Carla was relieved that she was being asked to do nothing more arduous than perform fellatio. She set to work with a will, licking at the stubby member with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. It was a relief to find that, even when thrust hard into her mouth, the short cock barely reached her throat although it filled her mouth with its girth.
Soon she developed a. technique of alternately licking his shaft and sucking his glans that seemed to please him, judging by his satisfied groans. Absorbed in her work, she scarcely heard the door of the room open behind her until it was too late and rough hands had seized her skirt. She gave a startled cry as her clothes were pulled up to reveal her naked buttocks and her thighs were summarily pulled apart, almost making her collapse.
‘Careful, clumsy oaf!’ she heard Tommaso say, as she narrowly missed biting on his prick. Unsure whether the crude reprimand was directed at her or the newcomer, she flinched. ‘Carry on, Carla!’ he commanded her. ‘Don’t let anything put you off now.’
Obediently she continued to suck at his turgid penis despite the fact that her buttocks were being parted and another cock positioned between them. She was sure the intruder must be Bruno, yet she dared not utter a syllable but could o
nly submit to him. Her mind was in a whirl, trying to understand what was happening. Was the man who, until recently, was swearing undying devotion actually about to take his revenge on her in this bestial manner? Recalling his tender attempts at poetry it seemed incredible, yet she was now convinced that he was the owner of the cock that was attempting to bore its way into her anus while she sucked on his brother’s member. Sandwiched between the pair of them Carla felt her flesh mingle with hot, sweaty, maleness.
Carla moaned with pain as the glans entered her arse but the initial discomfort of penetration lessened after a while and she felt the old yearnings return, although she was still bewildered by being at the mercy of the two brothers. Bruno had his hands on her breasts, less for her benefit than for something to hang onto, and he was banging into her as hard as he could, overcoming her resistance and making her gasp as she tongued the length of Tommaso’s cock.
Although there was a certain abandoned excitement coursing through her veins, the situation seemed unreal, too weird for her mind to encompass. Giving herself up to the voluptuous gratification of the arse-fuck and the vicarious pleasure of the fellatio, Carla sought refuge from the disturbing thoughts that filled her mind. Instead she focused on the image she had once helped to make in that dark, peaceful chapel, the glowing fresco whose colours she had mixed and applied, working alongside her master. That was another world, a peaceful heaven where she could lose her worldly self and become better acquainted with her soul through contemplation.
Try as she might to enter that rarefied world of the imagination, Carla was brought abruptly back to earth by a hot spewing of liquid into her mouth. She gagged, and then gasped as the pace accelerated from behind and her sphincter fought against the battering she was getting from Bruno’s penis. It didn’t take him long to come too, and then the human sandwich fell apart and she collapsed face forward onto the rush-strewn floor.
The scent of newly-laid herbs was soothing to her spirit, although her body ached from the punishing double abuse it had suffered. Dimly she heard the two brothers leave the room and, minutes later, one of them returned and dumped something in front of where she lay, utterly exhausted. After a while she opened her eyes and saw the linen bundle which contained all her possessions. The message was clear: take your things and get out at once!
Wearily she rose to her knees and was astonished to see a shiny silver florin on the floor. It was obviously meant for her. She slipped it into her purse and staggered to her feet, picking up her bundle. What a fright she must look! Dragging her horn comb through her hair she attempted to smooth down her clothes, wishing there were some water to hand so she could splash her face at least. She spat on her hands and wiped her grubby cheeks, drying them off with her skirt, then made for the door. The stench from her loins was embarrassing, but perhaps it would dissipate in the cool evening air. With a deep sigh she walked towards the side entrance of the villa which led towards the garden gate and freedom.
She would make for the farm where the woman had been kind to her. With luck she might let her sleep in a barn, and even offer her some bread and milk. It was a while since supper and Carla knew she would be hungry after a long walk in the dark. She was frightened too: were there wolves in these parts? Not many men would risk venturing out at night into open country, let alone a girl. She wished she had kept her old disguise, but it was no use wishing, she must make the best of it.
A hooting owl serenaded her as she began her journey, trying to remember how long it had taken her to walk from the farm to the villa when she had arrived. How long ago it seemed, yet it was only a few months. The thought of returning to Florence both attracted and repelled her, yet she could think of nowhere else to go. At least she was street-wise now, and knew how to manage things better. She would feel safer on her own for a while. She could go back to painting portraits for a living. Her heart lifted with joy at the thought of plying her former trade once more. How she had missed it!
She had missed Marco too. Her mood saddened when she thought of him, and she was filled with an almost unbearable yearning. Gazing up at the almost full moon she whispered a silent prayer: ‘If I should see him again, please let Marco love me this time!’
Chapter Fourteen
FLORENCE. THE CITY seemed to beckon Carla like a fond parent as she stood on the hill gazing down on its gilded splendour. She had spent the night at the farm and the woman had given her a bowl of milk with sops for breakfast. She now she felt strong enough to face whatever the day threw at her.
As she walked along the dusty road her dream of being an artist resurrected itself. She would return to the loggia where Claudio plied his trade. He would surely remember the ‘boy’ who had shown such talent when he drew his portrait. Cheered by the prospect of a friendly face she quickened her pace as she reached the outskirts of the city.
Around noon Carla found herself passing the street where Marco’s workshop was. She hesitated, but then remembered that she was still dressed as a girl. Would he recognise her like that? It was tempting to try him, but she feared the consequences. He might be angry that she had duped him, or embarrassed because he was still with Elena, and she could not bear the humiliation. Better to nurture his memory as a beautiful dream than risk shattering the illusion and have no-one to dream about.
When she reached the grand square of the Signoria Carla found the place being prepared for a spectacle of some sort. The area where the artists used to congregate had been cleared, so the nobility could have the best vantage point, and she felt at a loss to know what to do or where to go next. Finding some loose change in her purse she bought a pie and some wine near the market and sat down at her old pitch. As she ate the comforting food it seemed to her that she had never been away. As soon as she had refreshed herself she brought out her chalks and began to sketch a Virgin and Child on the stone flags in front of her.
Absorbed in her work, she scarcely noticed when a small crowd gathered around her. The hubbub grew louder, with many more stopping to point and stare or make remarks, and it wasn’t long before the gathering attracted the attention of an officer of the law.
‘Hey, you!’ he called gruffly. ‘What d’you think you’re doing, defacing the pavement?’
Some of the onlookers tried to defend her. ‘She’s good – can’t you see that? She’s as good as a real artist. Let her be!’
But the officer only sneered. ‘She should get back indoors where she belongs, or she’ll have the Guild on her back. Move along now, all of you. You’re causing an obstruction!’
Hastily Carla gathered up her chalks and thrust them back into her sack. She had no wish to attract the attention of the law so soon after her return to the city. Evidently they had tightened up on vagrants since she was last there, or was it because of the festivities that day?
Either way, she was at a loss to know what to do once the man had let her off with a caution. He made it quite clear that if he caught her again she would be thrown in prison and it was not worth the risk. She felt tempted to return to Piero’s house and beg for his help, but her pride would not let her. Then she remembered her intention to visit the church of Santa Maria Immacolata and view the fresco she had worked on. Her step lightened at the prospect.
The church was full of people since it was a public holiday – the feast of Cosmas and Damian, patron saints of doctors. Carla remembered that the great artist Fra Angelico had painted the saints at his monastery at the request of Cosimo de’ Medici. The artist-monk had been reported, ironically, by Piero as saying that anyone practising the art of painting needed a quiet and untroubled life.
In the Verazzi chapel, where the scenes from the Virgin’s life were depicted, the atmosphere was one of quiet reverence. Carla fell to her knees, mindful that she had neglected her spiritual life of late, and prayed that the peace she had experienced while working on the fresco would visit her again. She prayed for inspiration and guidance, feeling like a soul adrift, then spent a long time gazing at the work she had don
e, remembering this detail and that. How perfectly at one with her Creator she had felt back then, creating that work of art herself! Before long the tears began to roll helplessly down her cheeks.
A passing priest noticed her distress and asked, ‘Do you wish to confess, my child?’
She shook her head and hurried from the church in embarrassment. The time had long since passed when she would look to any priest for help. If she was to survive on the streets she must count on her own resourcefulness and the help of God – or maybe ‘Lady Luck’ would be more appropriate.
The festivities were beginning when she left the church and she went with the flow towards the square where a jousting contest was about to take place. Most of the shops were closed so she could not buy any new clothes, but she intended to revert to her disguise as soon as she could. There was a stall in the market that sold second-hand clothes and she would make her way there as soon as the spectacle was over. She would feel safer on the streets once she was dressed as a boy again.
Once the parade began, with the pages in brightly-coloured uniforms twirling their banners and tossing them high into the air, Carla soon lost herself in the pageantry, relishing the sight of so many handsome young men, some of whom reminded her of Marco. As a preliminary to the action there was bear-baiting, but Carla preferred to see the knights on horseback tilting at the quintain or engaging in single combat. It was very exciting to be in the midst of a crowd who were all cheering on their favourites and booing their adversaries, laughing and joking as they outdid each other in oaths, both of encouragement and disparagement.
When the show was over Carla had a terrible thirst and made her way to the market where she intended to buy herself a drink and then some clothes. She found a stall selling grape juice and went for her purse but, to her horror, it was no longer on her belt. With a sinking heart she realised she had been robbed.
The stall-holder witnessed her distress and shrugged. ‘You should have taken more care of your money, today of all days. There’s cut purses a-plenty about whenever the crowds roll in for a tourney. You should know that by now.’
Artistic Licence Page 21
