Daughters of the Doge (Richard Stocker)

by Edward Charles

  I thought she was now beginning to put problems in my way for the sake of it. ‘As far as I am concerned, we will bring them up with an understanding of both religions and when they are old enough, allow them to choose.’

  She nodded. ‘It’s a good answer if you can make it work. I hope Yasmeen thinks the same way. You need to talk about it.’

  I nodded my agreement. This was getting better.

  ‘Finally . . .’ (She was counting off the issues on her fingers). ‘Finally, you need to conclude your commitment to Suor Faustina and Felicità.’

  I tried to sound in control. ‘The plan is falling into place. I know how much I need to pay to release them and I shall negotiate such an arrangement with the abbess. Faustina has told me she no longer feels constrained by the wishes of her family. All I need to do is find her suitable employment.’

  ‘And where will you, an outsider to our city, find her employment that is suitable for a noble lady and former nun, against the wishes of the Contarini family?’ She spread her hands in challenge. My face fell. ‘I don’t know.’

  Veronica leaned forward on her elbows and looked at me closely. ‘There is one more problem to overcome.’

  My heart sank. This was getting too difficult. I waited.

  ‘When you marry Yasmeen – and assuming, for a moment, that you decide to go to Padua to study medicine – how will Jacopo find a replacement for Yasmeen?’

  I stared at her. There was something in her expression that told me I was missing something.

  ‘Think. Think of tidiness. Think of architecture. Think of symmetry.’

  I stared at her, confused.

  Veronica cupped both her hands and offered them towards me. She lifted the right hand and let it fall, as if weighing something in it.

  ‘Here we have an educated lady looking for employment. A lady who is trained in negotiating with suppliers, understands the Church and is qualified in book-keeping.’ She lifted her left hand and weighed it in similar fashion. ‘And here we have a poor painter, who is about to lose his business manager, and needs to replace her with someone who can talk to his customers, either members of the nobility or the church, negotiate with suppliers and keep the books.’ She looked at me, hands held out. ‘Well?’

  I looked at her in amazement, and she smiled back. ‘With one hand God giveth and with the other he taketh away. Elegant isn’t it? Symmetrical?’

  It was so easy. Why hadn’t I thought of it? I leaned forward; this time it was my turn to pose the question.

  ‘What about Felicità?’

  Her unwavering smile told me she already had the answer. ‘Jacopo’s wife, Fausbina, gave birth to a daughter, Marietta, earlier this year and, God willing, it looks as if the child will survive. They plan to have more children, with the Lord’s blessing, and they need someone to look after little Marietta and help Fausbina around the house.’

  Hers was the smile of one who has just announced checkmate. ‘Ecco! Que hello, ehi?’

  I had to agree. It was beautiful. Now all I had to do was make it all work.

  I walked home, feeling elated. Reaching the top of a little bridge over a canal, I stopped, in sheer happiness. As I looked down the length of the narrow canal, my mind ran through all the pieces of the jigsaw we had been puzzling over. I had enough common sense to know that I was not alone in driving all of these sheep into the one pen. I walked on and paused again. Was Yasmeen using Veronica as an intermediary? I pictured her face, smudged with tears, and could not believe she was. Reaching the next bridge, I paused again. Perhaps while I was trying to create a future for myself and Yasmeen, Veronica was manipulating both of us? Somehow, I no longer cared. I was simply grateful for her assistance.

  CHAPTER 69

  July the 10th 1556 – Convento di Sant’ Alvise

  ‘Dear Abess, it is very good of you to see me, and at such short notice.’

  ‘Ah, you must be the “family lawyer”. Unusual. Not many of our noble families use English lawyers these days.’ She scoffed at my attempted former disguise, but I had expected it: all part of the negotiating process, trying to weaken my position before I started. I maintained my calm and continued.

  ‘I have come to you in good faith. Suor Faustina has been put in a difficult position by the demise of her family’s fortune. You, in turn, have a problem: she is high-born but soon will have no income. I have a proposal. I am willing to extend her allowance, and that of the conversa Felicità, at my own expense – say, six ducats – on the understanding that on or before the first of October, you will release them both to my safekeeping on payment of a single sum of fifty ducats. That is my proposal.’

  I saw the abbess’s eyes gleam, but she wanted more. The offer was derisory, she said, the family would be insulted. In truth I knew she had no position of strength from which to negotiate.

  ‘I cannot even consider an offer so meagre.’

  I stood to leave. ‘Those are my terms – reject them and you have nothing. I shall not negotiate.’

  It was easier than I had expected. Realizing she was in danger of losing everything, the abbess called me back. For fifteen minutes we played with words, but in the end she agreed and asked that a paper be drawn up for signature. With a considerable degree of pleasure, I reached into my pouch and withdrew two copies of an agreement I had already written before my visit. She glared at me, but read it and, without further ado, signed it in duplicate. I signed both copies also and returned one to her, together with the six ducats. I had an agreement and had also bought three months in which to deliver my side of the bargain.

  She was no fool. With the document signed, her mood changed and she became remarkably friendly. She asked how I came to be in Venice and how I had become aware of the plight of Suor Faustina. I told her only that I had heard about it from a Venetian friend. I was sure she did not believe me, but she did not press me further. There was little more to be said. As she showed me to the door, I turned back to her.

  ‘And Reverend Mother – you will give me your assurance that until their final moment in this convent, both Suor Faustina and the conversa Felicità will continue to be given the respect they have always received, by all of your little family. I shall seek assurances before the final sum is paid.’

  She understood. ‘You have my word on that, Signor Stocker. I shall issue the necessary instructions. We are a disciplined order.’

  I could imagine how the discipline worked, and how it was enforced. I left the building less than half an hour after I had arrived. I had until October the 1st to complete my plan.

  CHAPTER 70

  July the 28th 1556 – Fondamenta dei Mori

  For the last two weeks I had attended classes every day alongside Tintoretto’s apprentices, but Yasmeen had remained reserved and distant. We had exchanged pleasantries, but she had avoided any opportunity for a lengthy private discussion and I began to feel we were drifting apart. What kept me going was the look of pain on her face; I could only conclude that she loved me still, but that she believed the obstacles were simply too large to overcome.

  Veronica had been as good as her word, and had spoken to Ayham. She confirmed that he had, in principle, withdrawn his absolute rejection of me as a potential son-in-law. But he was still concerned about the future, about my prospects and about the risks to his daughter’s happiness. I decided I must talk to Yasmeen. At the end of the class I confronted her in her office and asked her to walk with me.

  ‘We cannot go on like this, Yasmeen. I can see it is hurting you and I can tell you that, for me, every day like this is hell.’

  She nodded and mumbled something, but she was so withdrawn I could not catch her words. We reached the corner of the Fondamenta dei Mori and stopped. I decided to force the issue.

  ‘Yasmeen.We must tell each other the truth. I need to know whether, in principle, you might consider marriage to an Englishman if he remained in the Republic – either here or in Padua. This is not a proposal, you understand. You know I am no
t in a position to do that; I am just asking where you stand.’

  She responded coyly, her speech mumbled, as if she did not want the words to come out. ‘It is difficult, Richard. I have commitments – not only to my father, but to Tintoretto, who gave me a chance when most people would not employ a Muslim girl in a position of responsibility, especially with the problems the Republic has with Turkey these days. The threat of war with Turkey has made the position of my people harder this last three years . . .’

  I nodded, not wanting to stop her now that she was beginning to talk.

  ‘I am also worried about my religion. I have thought a great deal about it and I would not be happy to convert to Christianity, or to undertake a Christian wedding. It would be untrue and I don’t believe you would ask it of me.’ She paused, choosing her words carefully.

  ‘There is, too, the problem of my father. He is suspicious of England, where Muslims and Jews are expelled, and would be afraid for me if I were to live there. I am sorry; I wish it could be as it was in Al Andalus. But my father has explained to me on many occasions now, that is not the world we face.’

  She looked up at me with pain in her eyes. ‘Please do not misunderstand my words, Richard. This is hard for me to say.’

  Slowly, the nature of the problem began to clarify in my mind. She was using her father as an excuse. No doubt he, as a lonely old man with no one in the world but his beloved daughter, was concerned about losing her. . .

  But there was something else. Her father’s fears had been feeding a canker of doubt in her own mind, and in reality, although her father remained a barrier, the real reason she could not convince him was because she had remaining concerns for herself – concerns she still had not admitted to me fully and honestly I could not force her to do so. All I could do was wait.

  She paused again, swallowing, and picking at her fingernails. I knew that whatever she wished to say was not coming easily to her. She looked hard at me, then took a deep breath.

  ‘I have many uncertainties; many of them no doubt fed by my father’s concerns about both my future and his own. Perhaps I have been guilty of using my father’s worries as a cover, as a shield in our conversations. If that is the case, then I apologise, for it has never been my intention to mislead you. The truth is, I also have a nagging fear which lies solely within me. My fear is this, Richard: I do not wish to be diminished by marrying you.’

  The words finally came out in a rush, as if she expected me to respond angrily when I heard them. But to me they were entirely logical.

  ‘I feel exactly the same. The last thing I want is for our marriage to diminish you in any way. Quite the reverse – I want to see you enriched. And I want my love to be the source of that enrichment. I know Venice is better than England in this respect, but even here Muslims are treated with suspicion. Between us, that problem will not exist. You can teach me Arabic and I will understand and respect your culture.’

  She looked at me as a prisoner might look at a gaoler, fingering his ring of keys. Dare she hope I was sincere?

  I continued. ‘Please remember, Yasmeen, the process works both ways. I too have my religion and feel I must honour it. I cannot give it up any more than you feel able to become a Christian. Nobody can tell either of us what to believe, but what I do believe is this – we can each hold on to our respective faiths in true sincerity and still love and respect each other.’

  She looked at me, nodding her agreement but remaining uncertain.

  ‘It is not you, Richard, it is . . . the uncertainty. There is too much potential difficulty and too much is unclear for me to make a decision for myself, never mind being able to convince my father. Give me time. Give him time. I do love you, but surely you would be the last person to ask me to be untrue to myself. I have too many questions and not enough answers. Surely you understand.’

  Her face was as plaintive as her voice, and both made me feel deeply unhappy. Veronica was right. I was being unreasonable, expecting her to take too much on trust, expecting her to join me in a future whose components I had not even yet decided for myself. It would not work. If I was to convince her to marry me, I first had to make my own decisions, and tell her what they were. Only then would she fully understand the opportunities she was being offered and the choices she was being asked to make.

  PART 5

  Parting of the Ways

  CHAPTER 71

  August the 12th 1556 – Fondamenta della Sensa

  I felt relieved. After a night spent tossing and turning, trying desperately to find a route through all the problems which I felt beset me, I had woken early to a clear dawn and with a clear mind. Yes, there were many issues, and yes, they were all interrelated, but someone had to turn some of the uncertainties into certainties by making a decision, and in the cold light of dawn, I realized that someone was me. The starting point was to confirm whether or not the university would accept me as a medical student. If they would, then many of the other uncertainties, including some of those that appeared to be in Ayham’s head, could be addressed. Relieved, I had taken a piece of paper and a pen and written my plan out, no longer as a circular list of problems, but as a simple list of tasks. The first task on the list was to approach the university, and I had asked Thomas to accompany me to Padua to plead my case.

  Thomas put the piece of paper back on the table and walked to the window. The day was warming up and already the haze was thickening. It was going to be uncomfortable before the storm broke. Thomas stood by the open window and sniffed the air. Part of him still had farming blood.

  ‘The problem is that the university will not restart until the harvest is over – near the end of October. In midsummer there are unlikely to be enough men of influence there to get a decision.’

  I knew he was right, but the inactivity burned away at me.

  ‘Think carefully, Richard. Nothing has changed as far as we are concerned. The earl will make a decision by the end of September. In the meantime, you have my commitment that I shall not return to England without speaking to all of my friends in Padua and doing everything I can to secure you a position. Indeed, I have already had most promising preliminary discussions.’ He turned away from the window and faced me, smiling, with slight embarrassment. ‘I had your best interests at heart, Richard, and I was sure you would opt for medicine in the end. Anyway, the long and short of it is that your acceptance there is almost a certainty, and for the purposes of your plan, I think you can assume they will accept you.’

  Although feeling slightly manipulated, I was delighted. It was excellent reassurance. But was it enough to base a proposal of marriage on?

  ‘That’s a difficult one, Richard. I could not be more sure myself, but to base a marriage proposal on my word? Only you can decide that.’

  For a few moments our conversation fell flat, but soon we were chatting fluently again, and Thomas began to speak of his plans for his own future.

  ‘It is by no means clear where Courtenay will go next. Return to England for him is now clearly impossible, and he knows it. I myself might pause briefly for some further education in Padua, but in my mind I am committed to being back at home before the Christmas season commences.’

  I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I am glad you have made such a decision. This must have been a long year for your dear Dorothy. She will be so pleased to see you.’

  Thomas nodded. ‘You are right. It has not been such a difficult decision for me, having a wife and two children awaiting me at home. In recent weeks I have missed them especially. And although I have been able to help the poor with the measles outbreak here, I am increasingly reminded that I have patients at home who need me just as badly.’

  He turned suddenly, knocking my arm away. ‘Have you heard, by the way? The latest news from England is that the plague is spreading westward along the coastal ports.’

  I shook my head. ‘We have weathered such storms before in our part of Devon.’

  He nodded, seeming far away, and I knew h
e was thinking of his family. ‘I hope you are right, Richard. I hope you are right. But you never know what life holds in store, and if you delay, who knows?’

  He paused, looking wistfully out of the window, and I knew in his mind he was already preparing for the long journey home. The first crack of lightning ripped across the sky and he jumped back, startled, then looked at me as if re-energized. His eyes had regained their focus.

  ‘I have changed my mind, Richard. I will go to Padua, seek out those who are there, and do my best to ensure that your place is guaranteed. You are sure it’s what you want?’

  I nodded and shook his hand. ‘I am sure, Thomas, and thank you.’

  He smiled as lightning once again lit the sky. ‘Then I shall leave tomorrow, as soon as this storm blows out.’

  CHAPTER 72

  August the 15th 1556 – Palazzo Ducale

  We ran up the steps of the Ducal Palace, the earl five steps ahead of me and racing on in his enthusiasm. The message had come the previous evening, requesting his presence at a meeting with the new doge and his Council of Ten at noon the next day. Thomas had asked to be excused, on the basis that he was about to leave for Padua, and the earl had agreed, without comment.

  Courtenay had immediately assumed that his royal status was about to be recognized amongst the Venetian nobles, and that, finally, he was likely to be given a position of authority. All evening he had discussed it with me, but since neither of us actually had the faintest idea what the purpose of the meeting was to be, I had found the whole exercise futile.

  The earl slowed as he led me from the courtyard up the steps to the first floor, and approached the leading official. Handing over the document of summons, we were led by a servant up further stairs and along a corridor into the Sala del Maggior Consiglio, the enormous hall where the Great Council met. Neither of us had been invited into this room before and even Courtenay was overawed as we skidded to a halt in the doorway.