Wait; how was Lauro to have died? It took a moment for Cassandra to remember. Yes, of typhus in the year 1511, leaving him only two more years after she and Jake met him to continue his work.
“It’s because of this,” the maestro continued, flailing his arms into the air. “Yes? Because I came to the future with you, Contessa? It is because of this disappearing into the ether that I was not able to continue my work. I was to have been great but my work was cut short by this…debacle.”
“Wait a minute,” cried James, but Cassandra put up her hand.
“Listen to me carefully, Lauro. There are two realities. One in which you did not travel into the future, and one in which you did. If we determine that you coming to the future seriously disrupted the past, then we must return you. You will have to take your chances with the wrath of the Guerrini family.”
“However, it is because of you and your brother that I was put in that position.”
“Then,” Cassandra said calmly, “we can send you back to before you met us. Jake and I can do things differently, to be sure Guerrini doesn’t get killed. But the whole situation is so complicated, if Guerrini doesn’t die on that day, Francesco Marino does. Each thing affects the other. We will work this out methodically, and decide how to best rectify what we might have altered in the past.”
“This time - travel is an evil thing.”
“I hope you will come to see it differently,” said Professor Carver.
“What are you all talking about?” asked Rosa. “Francesco Marino killed by a Guerrini? He is one of the most renowned painters in the world! He painted the portrait of Giuliana De Lucca Guerrini, the great patroness of Siena!”
“And so Francesco’s fame exceeded mine,” Lauro broke in. He sat on a chair at the great dining room table. He ran his hand across it and seemed to focus on the wood. “This is my table.”
The four scientists and the housekeeper stood silently. A maid walked into the room and began to put silverware away in the credenza.
“Not now, Giuseppina,” Rosa said to her quietly.
“Wait a minute,” said Lauro, noticing the young woman. “Let me see that.”
The girl handed him the utensil she was holding.
“It’s my mangia-bene,” he breathed.
“Actually, it’s called a f….” James started to say.
Cassandra jabbed her son with her elbow. “Yes! A mangia-bene. Everyone in western civilization uses it. They have for centuries, and you invented it. You see? Your inventions did survive. And perhaps we will discover more did as well.”
The man slowly smiled. “Forgive me. I have been behaving like a child. Please, continue with the tour, signorina. Let me see the kitchen. Perhaps my rotisserie is still in use.”
“Rotisserie?” questioned Rosa as she led the way downstairs into the kitchen.
There, a modern stove, oven, refrigerator, and other appliances glistened, but, indeed, the fireplace where Lauro’s rotisserie was once used was long gone. He stood still, mouth agape, looking around at all the shining metal. Methodically, the professor led him around the room and explained each appliance in detail. This led to an explanation of electricity.
Finally, Rosa kicked them out of the kitchen, explaining she needed to prepare the midday meal. “If you don’t mind me saying,” she whispered to Cassandra as the group was leaving the room, “our Renaissance genius could use a bath and a change of clothes. Why don’t you take him up to the spa suite on the roof? There’s a luxurious bathtub up there where he can relax. It will do him good.”
Cassandra grinned broadly. “I think I will do just that.”
Chapter Two
“Are you awake?” Cassandra tiptoed into Jake’s hospital room.
He opened his eyes and smiled sadly. “Yes.”
She went and sat next to him on his bed, picking up his hand. “You look good.”
“Thanks. I feel okay. They say I should be out tomorrow.”
“Oh God, what a relief!”
“Yoshi and Shannon were here before.”
“I know, but they’ve gone back to London. Everyone who isn’t needed here right now is working on James’s upcoming Elizabethan journey. He’ll be returning in a few days too.”
“And how is our living, breathing piece of Renaissance history?”
“He’s adjusting slowly. He’s with Professor Carver and the others at the moment. This is very hard on him.”
“I can’t even imagine.” He squeezed her hand. “We screwed up, sis.”
“I don’t know, Jake. We saved the painting.”
“But we extracted Sampieri from his life! And got Guerrini killed. How do we know if that was supposed to happen?”
“Yes, well, think about this…do you remember that Lauro was to have died of Typhus in 1511?”
“No, I’d forgotten....”
“So his life and work was cut short anyway. We may have saved him from that fate.”
“Cassie, we can’t play God.”
“No, but now that we have him here, maybe he can choose his own fate.”
“It’s risky….”
“He’s going to have to have a say in what happens to him. Also, well, have you had access to the net?”
“They don’t allow patients access.”
“Okay, well, I don’t want to get you riled up—”
“What? Is it about Giuliana?” He propped himself higher against his pillows.
“Yes. I know Elton told you that the owner of Lauro’s house is Ottavia’s descendent.”
“Yeah—”
“Well, she said Giuliana De Lucca Guerrini became this sort of Medici-like patroness of Siena. I checked it out. It seems she had claim to Guerrini’s fortune and his estate. After he died, she used the money for all kinds of good: to help the poor, to build an orphanage, and to create a kind of haven for artists in her home. She fostered musicians, sculptors, painters….”
“She was happy,” Jake said slowly.
“I think so. Guerrini’s death was the best thing that could have happened to her. We know they never had children, and, well, since he was gay, I’m sure there was no illegitimate issue from his genetic line. I don’t think his death had a very big impact on history, other than for Giuliana’s and the city’s good.
“Yet those good things weren’t supposed to have happened either, Cass.”
“What’s our choice, go back and do it again? You know as well as I do there’s no point in that. No matter how much we try to set things straight, everything was set in motion by your initial journey to Florence, and you can’t go back and change that whole six months. I think we need to move forward from here and figure out how we can help Lauro.”
Jake remained silent as he looked down at the sheet covering his lap. “I can’t believe I did it again—just left her there, without knowing what became of me. What could she be thinking, right now, six hundred and fifteen years in the past? She must be suffering horribly, and dealing with Guerrini’s death and Lauro’s disappearance.”
“Still, the important thing is she overcame all that.”
“Maybe so, but knowing that doesn’t heal my broken heart. I was ready to give up my whole future for her. I love her so much, Cassie!” Tears trickled down his cheek.
“I know, Jake, I know.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more sympathetic when we were there. I just felt you were throwing your life away. I knew you were caught up in the spell, and I didn’t know how to reason with you.”
“I was an idiot, I know. But that will never stop me from loving Giuliana.”
“You won’t try to go back again will you?”
Jake looked at her with blue, watery eyes. “No, I have to let that dream go. It was really just a dream after all.” They sat quietly for a moment. “Where is Giuliana’s portrait now?”
“It’s in the Louvre.”
“Really? That’s strange.” He dried his eyes on the edge of his sheet.
“Why do you
say that?”
“Well, I wonder who sold it or gave it to the Louvre. Giuliana couldn’t have, the museum didn’t exist yet.”
“There’s something else that’s bothering me too. Francesco wasn’t having an affair with Giuliana. That’s clear now. He was killed because he dared to sketch her in the nude behind Piero’s back, and Piero obviously misunderstood what was happening when he burst in on them. But…what did your influence on Giuliana have to do with that? My theory used to be that knowing you opened her heart to real love, and she went in search of it, finding it in Francesco. But that was wrong. She didn’t love Francesco, nor he her.”
“Not romantically, maybe, but, you know, when Giuliana and I were together in Florence, we spent hours talking about art. I learned from her, obviously, and I think what she learned from me made her see she could be more than just an observer of art. She could participate in the creative process. She could be a muse. I believe that’s what she was to Francesco. They weren’t lovers, but she inspired him, and she must have come to love the role she played in doing so.”
Cassandra nodded, thinking over his words.
A nurse stuck her head in the door to tell them visiting hours were over. Cassandra kissed Jake on the cheek and caught a transport back to Villa Girasole.
She found Lauro and Professor Carver in Rosa’s study, looking at old books. Lauro stood as she walked in. They stared at each other.
“Contessa,” he declared.
“Lauro, what are you—”
“I am speechless. This gown you’re wearing!”
She ran her hand over the thin strap of the blue sundress dotted with light green flowers she had on. Her legs were bare to just above the knee―it must seem indecent to him. “What about you? What are you wearing?”
“Your son tells me it is the latest fashion for men, and I like it much better than the long, loose breeches he wears. How do they show off a man’s form? This is much more like what I’m used to.”
He was indeed wearing the latest style for men, straight out of Milan: a straight sort of skirt, or kilt, made of dark gray fabric. It came to just above his knees too, and on his feet he wore a pair of heavy, roman sandals. His shirt was thin, white cotton, form fitting, but not tight. He looked good.
Professor Carver rose and grinned at her sheepishly. He had on a similar outfit.
“Where did you get these?” She asked.
“We put them together from my stuff and James’s. I can be quite fashionable when I’m out of the office, you know.”
She stifled a laugh. “Okay. We’ll all have to get used to our new looks, won’t we?” She went to the table.
Lauro touched her arm with a certain wonder, and then drew it back quickly. “So much skin.”
Cassandra’s face grew warm.
“What are you doing?” she asked, looking at the books they had laid out on the table.
“Rosa had a collection of these old encyclopedias, and so I am showing Lauro pictures of nineteenth and twentieth century transportation, and explaining the internal combustion engine, steam power, coal, et cetera.”
She nodded. “Do you understand, Lauro?”
“Yes, yes, I’m getting it. Though I am equally amazed at how far the process of printing has come.”
She raised her eyebrows at her boss. Explaining how and why paper books were rarely used anymore was going to be a lengthy discussion.
“We’re going to get to the explanation of the computer next. After that, I can begin to talk about how our vehicles operate today, and then maybe we can take Lauro outside.”
“What do you think?” she asked the Italian.
“I don’t know. It seems very frightening out there. Everything moves so fast.”
“We’ll take it slow. We’ll go when you’re ready, and not before.”
“Yes, all right.” He gave her a shaky smile.
Cassandra left them to their work and went to her bedroom, the same she’d stayed in when she was Lauro’s guest. So much had changed , she’d hardly recognized it at first. She went to a chair by the balcony and sat. She spoke a command into the flexible, skin-like device attached by a thin strap to her right palm, and the sens-net opened before her, a holographic page of choices: news, messages, entertainment, and all variety of information. “Tell me about Francesco Marino.”
A female voice spoke: “Francesco Marino is the painter of Giuliana, which is how the iconic portrait of the Renaissance patroness is generally referred to. This is the most famous of Marino’s work. Most of his other pieces were frescos, now destroyed or faded beyond recognition. I will show you the sketches of his that are archived in the Museo Civico.”
These were the sketches of Marino’s she and Jake had already seen when preparing for the trip. The computer voice went on. “Though Francesco Marino is renowned for this one work, his life produced little else of note. He took over an art studio that had previously belonged to artist Lauro Sampieri, and because of the support of Giuliana De Lucca Guerrini, its artists flourished for a short time until 1512, when Borghese Petrucci took over rule from his father Pandolfo and squelched free expression. As a result of the new stringent policies, Francesco Marino was imprisoned in 1520 for stealing corpses from the morgue of a hospital for the purpose of artistic study. Though Giuliana De Lucca Guerrini pleaded for his release, he remained and finally died in prison.”
Siena was plagued by political unrest for decades more, to the extent that it was seized by Spain in 1555 and belonged to that country briefly.
“And when did Giuliana De Lucca Guerrini die?”
“April twenty-first, 1550 at the age of sixty-five.
The following morning, Jake was transported to Villa Girasole, and Cassandra and the others made sure he was comfortable in bed with his sens-net and communications link, his holo-port, and everything else he needed to be busy and entertained in between rests.
Lauro said he was ready to go outside, though Cassandra had her doubts. At least she’d convinced him to forgo the kilt, the Senese citizens not being in the habit of sporting high fashion like their Milanese counterparts. Wearing a pair of slim-fitting trousers and a tunic-like shirt, he looked more like a common man of the twenty-second century. For the occasion, Cassandra had donned a reddish-orange dress with short sleeves that conformed closely to her shape, and sandals that matched.
“Wait,” Lauro said as Cassandra reached for the door.
She stopped. Professor Carver was holding him by one arm, Suhan standing behind.
“I-I wonder if you will be protected from the sun, Cassandra, with your fair skin. Maybe you should go change.”
“I am protected. My clothing emanates a shield that protects me from the sun. Yours does too. Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”
He turned around and looked at Suhan. “Shouldn’t a gentleman be escorting you, my dear? A lady shouldn’t walk alone, especially one as beautiful as you.”
The Turkish scientist laughed. “I’ve been wandering around Siena by myself for a couple of months now, I’ll be fine.”
“But….” He looked into Cassandra’s eyes; she could see the fear there.
“We don’t have to go, Lauro,” she said to him softly. “Maybe it’s too soon.”
He looked at Carver, who threw him a reassuring smile. Finally, Lauro puffed out his chest and pulled his shoulders back. “I am a man. If this young woman can walk around the city alone without fear, I should be able to do it in the company of capable friends. No, we should go.”
“Wait for me!” James hurried up to them.
“Ah, good, you can escort the young lady. Very well, let us go.” With his other arm, he took Cassandra’s. James went ahead and opened the front gate. They emerged onto the sidewalk of a busy street. They all stood still while Lauro, mouth open, watched the cars and public transports zoom quietly by on the grooved street.
“This is too much, this is too much.” He trembled against Cassandra’s arm. “If one of these
monstrosities were to hit us, we would be hurled to our death.”
“Oh, no, not at all. Watch,” said James. He stepped off the sidewalk into the oncoming path of a large, streamlined bus.
Lauro screamed, but the bus had already halted well before it reached the young man.
“It’s automatic,” James yelled.
“Damn it, James,” Cassandra cried. “You could have given poor Lauro a heart attack. Cut it out.”
James came back to the sidewalk and the bus benignly continued on its way.
“I don’t think I will be trying this myself,” Lauro said.
Cassandra glared at her son, who slunk behind her and took his place next to Suhan.
Lauro exhaled loudly. “However, the demonstration was educational. I am ready.”
They walked along the sidewalk on the same road she and Jake had walked so often back and forth to Lauro’s studio. It was a residential road now, lined with houses and apartment buildings. As the city had grown, the town planners had made the attempt, at least close to the historic center, to continue building in the same style and with the same reddish bricks that were so famously hewn from the clay of the surrounding countryside.
Lauro clutched tightly to Cassandra’s arm, his head swiveling from side to side to look at everything. Once they were within the old city, he seemed to breathe easier. He pointed out the buildings he recognized, the homes and shops of the people he once knew. Finally they arrived at the building that had once housed his studio. It was now a private home, but they could see through the front gate that the courtyard had been kept somewhat intact. They stood for a while, taking it in. Finally Lauro nodded and they walked on to the Campo.
“Gesu, Giuseppe, Maria,” he cried the moment he laid eyes on the plaza filled with tourists. He stood, gazing at the Palazzo Pubblico, the Mangia Tower, and the other remaining buildings. “So much has changed but so much remains the same! There is Della Quercia’s Fontana Gaia.” He pointed to the fountain on one end of the Campo. “I have never seen the water so clean! I suppose with all the modern marvels, people no longer use it for doing laundry.”
The Time Contessa (The Time Mistress Book 3) Page 17
