Lady of Asolo

by Siobhan Daiko

  ‘We had a good cry together. My therapist was always urging me to un-bottle my emotions. It might take a little time, but I think Chiara will get over the hurt.’

  Vanessa put down her coffee. ‘I’m sure she will. Now fill me in on everything that’s been happening with Cecilia.’

  Fern told her about her visit to Venice, the celebration of the Republic’s victory over the Emperor, and Cecilia posing for Giorgione’s Sleeping Venus. Then she recounted how Lodovico had been spying for the Duke of Ferrara.

  ‘I’ve just remembered something,’ Vanessa said. ‘Luca asked me to do some research at the library for him, to find out about Ferrara’s stance towards Emperor Maximilian. I was going to tell him, but Chiara falling off her horse and breaking her leg put it out of my mind. Just a minute, I’ll get my notes.’

  Vanessa went to the desk in the corner of the room. She rummaged in a drawer then padded back across the carpet. ‘On 10 December 1508,’ she read, ‘Representatives of the Papacy, France, the Holy Roman Empire and Ferdinand I of Spain concluded the League of Cambrai against the Republic. The Marquis of Mantova and the Duke of Ferrara also joined in, thereby isolating Venice.’

  Fern’s pulse jumped.

  ***

  The final rehearsal for the re-enactment over, she strode with Luca down Via Canova towards the palazzo where he had his flat. It was a warm night, the ever-present scent of honeysuckle from the town gardens perfuming the air. Up the wide marble staircase, and he let them into his apartment.

  In the kitchen, he poured them both a glass of Prosecco. ‘Cheers! How are you feeling?’

  ‘A bit nervous, given what your mother told me about the alliance against Venice. What if Lodovico has declared his true colours and has taken Cecilia with him to Ferrara?’

  Luca took a sip of the wine. ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’

  ‘Definitely,’ she said, making an effort to sound positive.

  ‘It’s a bit like conducting a séance.’ He gave a wry grin. ‘Only we don’t need a medium.’

  ‘Indeed,’ she said, her stomach fluttering and her bravado of earlier in danger of toppling. ‘If I can, I’ll tell you everything as I experience it. Then you can try and pull me out if it all starts going pear-shaped.’

  ‘What if nothing happens? What if you don’t connect?’

  Fern laughed. ‘True, we could sit here all night just staring into space.’

  ‘Is there something you can do to…to, oh, you know what I mean . . .’

  ‘Maybe if I think about her, maybe that’ll help.’

  ‘What about if you relaxed a little, sat back, closed your eyes? … Fern? … Fern?’

  My lady’s brother is visiting again and there’s the usual banquet in his honour. At least, on this occasion, he’s here with only a small entourage. Lodovico and I have been placed at the top table. Such an honour! I watch my husband circling around Giorgio Cornaro like a moth around a flame. Lodovico refills the noble Cornaro’s goblet from the flagon on the table. Why did he not wait for a servant to do it? What a toad he is, and to what avail?

  Spring has arrived in this year of our Lord 1509, and peach blossom fills the vases lining the side of the banqueting hall. My true love is also here, the first time I’ve seen him since our tryst at the hunt. Zorzo strums his lute and sings:

  ‘I find no peace, but for war am not inclined;

  I fear, yet hope; I burn, yet am turned to ice;

  I soar in the heavens, but lie upon the ground;

  I hold nothing, though I embrace the whole world.

  Love has me in a prison which he neither opens nor shuts fast;

  he neither claims me for his own nor loosens my halter;

  he neither slays nor unshackles me;

  he would not have me live, yet leaves me with my torment.

  Eyeless I gaze, and tongueless I cry out;

  I long to perish, yet plead for succour;

  I hate myself, but love another.

  I feed on grief, yet weeping, laugh;

  death and life alike repel me;

  and to this state I am come, my lady, because of you.’

  ’Tis one of Petrarch’s sonnets, I know, for I have read it. Zorzo catches my eye. My heartbeat quickens as I remember that day last autumn when I let slip he’d fathered my child.

  He smothered me with kisses and begged to see Lorenza before Lodovico’s return from Ferrara. So I took him to the house in Asolo, and he swung her above his head just like the time when he sketched her for The Tempest. Then I showed him her paintings, where the mix of colours spoke of a maturity and skill beyond her years. ‘She takes after you in beauty and talent,’ he said, and I swelled with pride.

  After dinner the court dances the saltarello. Bouncing on our toes, we appear merry. ’Tis a farce. Pope Julius has issued an interdict against Venice, and has excommunicated every citizen of the Republic for the non-restitution of the Papal States. Excommunicated! We are no longer to receive any of the sacraments, and, when we die, we won’t go to heaven. Maria Santissima! This is serious and here we are, dancing as if we didn’t have a care in the world.

  There’s a sudden commotion at the far end of the hall. Gesù bambino! My Lady’s brother has collapsed. A sick feeling washes through me and I shoot a glance at my husband. He’s smiling. Smiling! Quickly, Lodovico wipes the smile from his face and goes to Giorgio Cornaro’s side, helping to lift him from the floor to a chair.

  The musicians have stopped playing and there’s a stunned hush. ‘Call my physician,’ the Queen commands. People start scurrying to and fro’ and the courtiers break into small groups to gossip.

  I take advantage of the commotion and hurry to our quarters. My husband’s travelling chest is by the window, and ’tis unlocked. I rifle through it, not knowing for what I am looking. If he has poisoned my lady’s brother, Lodovico wouldn’t be so careless as to leave the poison lying around. Yet, I’m certain that’s what he’s done, for why else would Giorgio Cornaro collapse so soon after Lodovico poured his wine?

  I let out a sardonic laugh, thinking of when I slipped valerian into Lodovico’s drink in Venice. The two of us are as bad as each other, although I didn’t go so far as to try and poison him. I’m angry with myself, for I was supposed to keep watch over my husband and have failed in my pledge to the Queen. I have to find evidence, but where?

  Lodovico’s cape is hanging from a hook on the back of the door. I go to it and slip my hands into the pockets. At first, I feel nothing. Then my fingers encounter a small package. I pull it out and open it. Seeds. I take a couple from the package, which I then return to Lodovico’s garment before I dart back to the hall.

  Giorgio Cornaro’s eyes flutter open and I cross myself. Praise God! He’s still alive. The physician is ordering an emetic to be prepared. Clearly, he suspects poison. What to do? Should I point my finger or should I keep quiet? No. The future of the Republic is at stake; I need to flush out the traitor in our midst.

  ‘I beg a word, domina,’ I say to the Queen.

  ‘Yes, my dear. What is it?’

  I show her the seeds I found in Lodovico’s pocket, and start to describe what I’d witnessed at the banquet. From the corner of my eye, I spot my husband watching me. One minute he’s there, the next he has disappeared.

  ‘Guards!’ my lady calls out. ‘Arrest that man!’

  In the meantime, the physician tastes one of the seeds. ‘Apple,’ he says. ‘The fruit itself is perfectly harmless. However, apple seeds are poisonous and contain cyanide. If you swallow one or two seeds at a time it is unlikely you will feel anything at all. But crushed into a powdered form, they’re lethal.’

  I put my hand to my mouth. This is terrible. Terrible! Such shame my husband has brought upon us. ‘My lady, I beg your forgiveness.’

  ‘Not your fault, my dear. Tis mine for allowing that vermin anywhere near us. When you voiced your suspicions six months ago, I thought we were too strong for him. I’m sorry, Cecilia, but I
’ve always considered your husband such a little man. More like an annoying flea than anything else. How wrong I was!’

  I can’t help smiling at her description of Lodovico, and cover my mouth with my hand.

  My lady’s guards burst into the hall. I stare at them. Where’s my husband?

  ‘Gone, domina. The stable-boys report that his horse is missing.’

  The sound of retching comes from my lady’s brother. He’s vomiting. Praise the Holy Mother of God! The Republic needs him to live, for we are surrounded by enemies and Giorgio Cornaro is the only man with the experience to lead our army against them.

  Zorzo has materialised at my elbow, his eyes wide with concern. ‘How fare you, dolcezza?’

  I take in a deep breath and straighten my back. ‘Ashamed of my husband and fearful of the future.’

  My lady must have overheard us, for she says, ‘Fear not, Cecilia. You are under my protection.’

  I drop into a deep curtsey, relief washing through me. To live in my lady’s shadow will be an honour; I shall serve her for the rest of her days. ‘Thank you, domina.’ I put to the back of my mind my worries about her health. The future will look after the future.

  The Queen’s brother staggers to his feet and is taken to his quarters. My lady orders the court to retire. I go to my room, and ’tis not long before Zorzo comes to me.

  Our lovemaking is unhurried this night. He kisses my hairline, the lobes of my ears, and my chin; his lips are soft and warm. His fingers probe my figa and then his lips are where his fingers were. It occurs to me that I should give him the same pleasure. How? He lets out a soft groan, and runs his hands though my hair as I swirl my tongue over the tip of his prick; it tastes of salt and of Zorzo. Then I swallow him further into the hot wetness of my mouth.

  He moans and flips me over. And now we are loving each other together, and he’s thrusting into me, my legs wrapped around his body, and ’tis so, so good to reach our joy at the same time. Zorzo kisses me deeply. ‘I love you, dolcezza.’

  ‘I wonder if I’ll ever see Lodovico again?’

  ‘I expect he’ll not show his face around here anymore.’

  ‘Then you and I can love each other when we want. And you can teach our daughter to paint. Make her your apprentice, when she’s old enough.’

  Zorzo laughs. ‘And what if we have a son? Will you want that for him too?’

  ‘If he shows talent. Why not?’

  ‘Do you love me, dolcezza?’

  ‘With all my heart, amore mio.’

  He enfolds me in his arms, and I snuggle against him. Finally, we shall have the time for love to take a firm root in both our souls. My body relaxing and, a smile touching my lips, I drift off to sleep.

  ‘Fern! Fern! Wake up!’ Luca was shaking her gently. ‘We should return to the villa.’

  ‘With all my heart, amore mio.’

  ‘Fern!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The villa, we need to go.’

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked, dazed.

  ‘Gone eleven.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit late? We could spend the night here.’

  ‘For you to continue your communion with Cecilia?’

  ‘You heard me tell you everything that was happening?’

  ‘Yes, my darling. Perhaps it’s not such a good idea. Let’s go back to the villa and recharge our batteries. Tomorrow is another day, as they say.’

  ‘You sound worried.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He frowned. ‘How did you think I felt when you told me about making love with the painter? And the treachery of Cecilia’s husband doesn’t bode well.’

  ‘It wasn’t me with Zorzo, Luca. Please don’t be jealous. I need to see this through. If I leave Italy without finding out what happened to Lorenza, Cecilia will be waiting for me when I get back from London.’

  He kissed her on the forehead. ‘You plan on returning?’

  ‘I love it here, in spite of everything that’s happened.’

  ‘Oh? And what about loving the people?’

  ‘That too. Especially a certain person.’

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. ‘And who might that be?’

  She lifted her chin and his mouth came down on hers, kissing her so thoroughly her knees began to swim away from her. He ran warm kisses across her cheek and down her neck. ‘You, of course. I love you,’ she said.

  And she did. She knew that now. A warm feeling spread through her. Harry would want her to be happy. It wasn’t her fault that he’d died. A tragic accident that took the life of so many. She owed it to him to live hers to the full.

  ‘Lorenza!’

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Yes, amore mio,’ Luca said.

  24

  Chiara was out of bed and sitting on the patio, plugged into her Walkman whilst Fern and Vanessa were sorting through boxes of correspondence that the contessa had found stored in the villa’s basement. ‘These date from the time when the family had its palaces on the Grand Canal,’ Vanessa said. ‘I never knew they were here until the other day.

  ‘Do you think we’ll find anything useful for your genealogical research?’

  ‘Hopefully. Oh, by the way, when I was sitting with Chiara last night, I read an old book that was stored with the letters. And I found out a lot more about what happened in 1509.’

  Vanessa reached into her handbag and pulled out a notepad. She started reading, ‘Shortly after issuing his excommunication interdict against Venice, the Pope’s forces invaded Romagna and seized Ravenna. They had the assistance of Alfonso d’Este, Duke of Ferrara, who’d been appointed Gonfaloniere della Chiesa, Standard-bearer of the Church. He went on to seize Rovigo, which belonged to the Republic, for himself.

  ‘I expect Lodovico was caught up in that battle,’ Fern said. ‘He was a cavalryman.’

  ‘In April the French King left Milan at the head of his army and moved rapidly into Venetian territory,’ Vanessa continued reading. ‘To oppose him, the Serenissima raised what they called “the greatest and best-paid army ever seen on Italian soil”, under the command of two cousins - Bartolomeo d’Alviano and Nicolo di Pitigliano.’

  ‘That’s interesting. So Giorgio Cornaro was no longer in charge of the troops. I wonder if he survived the poisoning attempt?’

  ‘I think he did. I seem to remember he didn’t die until sometime in the 1520s.’

  Vanessa looked down at her notes. ‘Alviano and Pitigliano disagreed on how best to stop the French advance. When Louis crossed the Adda River near Brescia in early May, Alviano advanced to meet him. But Pitigliano, believing it best to avoid a pitched battle, moved away to the south.’

  ‘With half the army?’

  ‘Yes,’ Vanessa continued to read, ‘On 14 May, Alviano confronted the French at the Battle of Agnadello. Outnumbered, he sent requests for reinforcements to his cousin, who replied with orders to break off the battle.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘Pitigliano continued heading south,’ Vanessa read. ‘Alviano, disregarding the new orders, carried on with the engagement and his army was eventually surrounded and destroyed.’

  ‘How terrible!’

  ‘Pitigliano managed to avoid encountering Louis. His troops, mercenaries, hearing of Alviano’s defeat, had deserted in large numbers by the next morning, forcing him to retreat to Treviso with the remnants of the Venetian army.’

  ‘Was there any mention of the Emperor’s attack on Asolo?’

  ‘That’s as far as I’ve got. If I have time, I’ll read on and fill you in when you get back here after the re-enactment this evening.’

  ‘That will be perfect, thanks.’

  ***

  Watching the re-enactment was a bit like seeing the film of a favourite novel. Not a patch on the real thing. The woman playing the role of Caterina Cornaro was tall and dark, whereas the Queen had been short, blonde and rather stout.

  The costumes were only an approximation of the clothing Fern had
seen through Cecilia’s eyes. The men wore longer doublets than those she’d known as her nemesis, not showing their codpieces, perhaps for modesty’s sake. The women’s hair, her own included, held back in garlands, didn’t sport the intricate plaits woven with jewels and hair-nets with which she was more familiar. The smell of unwashed bodies that had pervaded in the past, not to mention the lack of sanitation (outside privies were the norm), made the early 16th Century a much smellier period of history, however, than 1989. Only the music and dancing were authentic.

  Tonight was too warm, and very humid. Fern felt the perspiration trickling down the back of her neck and legs as she moved through the steps of the dance. There was an excellent turn-out to watch the performances, however. Good for Asolo’s cafés and restaurants, and made people aware of the history of the town. She could sense the pride of the locals in the uniqueness of their heritage.

  After they’d finished their dance, Luca took her for a drink in the Caffè Centrale. They managed to find a table on the terrace, in spite of the crowds. Aunt Susan, who’d said she wouldn’t have missed seeing the re-enactment for the world, had sat herself down next to them. ‘I’m dying of thirst,’ she said. ‘I’d love a fresh orange juice.’

  ‘It seems we’ll have to wait to be served,’ Luca said. ‘Or perhaps not.’ The barman, in a white jacket and black bowtie, was approaching their table.

  ‘Una telefonata urgente!’

  Luca leapt up. ‘A phone-call for me.’

  Fern watched him stride towards the bar and pick up the receiver. He returned within a couple of minutes. ‘That was the police. I’m needed at the villa. My brother, Antonio, has been trying to get in touch with me. There’s been an intruder.’

  ‘Would you like me to come with you?’ Fern asked, her heart thudding. What the hell?

  ‘Better not. I want to find out what’s going on and make sure Ma and Chiara are all right.’

  ‘It would save you having to come back and fetch me.’