The Sublime Seven

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  “Hmmm...” Corto couldn’t trouble himself to glance up. He sat cross-legged between the rows of medicinal herbs he had planted earlier in the spring. His father had allowed a small section of the family’s garden to be used for his son’s experimentation.

  “You’re making notes? About your plants?”

  “Not plants. Medicine.”

  “Very well. What is this one?” she asked, pointing to some daisy-like greenery.

  “You’re pathetic, Julietta. Even you should know chamomile when you see it.” Indignation finally made him look up. She could almost see the mental tentacles releasing from the paper and onto her. For one so young, his gaze was quite intense.

  She grinned. “Got you.”

  Her friend smiled in return. “I’m sorry. I was concentrating. I still don’t know why the oil from the castor bean is beneficial to the digestive organs, but the beans themselves are rather fatal.”

  “Rather fatal? How do you know? Oh, Corto. You didn’t.”

  “I had no choice.”

  “Which cat this time? Please don’t tell me it was a dog.”

  “Not a dog. I promised never any dogs, remember? It was the laundress’s cat. The thing was on its last life anyway.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Sacrifices must be made in the quest for knowledge.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course. I always am.”

  “Usually, not always.”

  “Hmmm.”

  His attention had begun to drift back to his work, so she spoke quickly. “I had the dream again.”

  That did the trick.

  “The one about the man with the missing tooth?”

  She nodded. Some of her flaxen hair had escaped her caul and framed her face in a way that the older boys would have appreciated.

  “That’s thrice this week.”

  “I know. It’s difficult to explain how it makes me feel. Sad and happy at the same time, I suppose.”

  “Nostalgic?”

  “How can one be nostalgic for a stranger?”

  “True.”

  “He has the most wonderful eyes...so dark they look like obsidian marbles. And even though one of his front teeth is missing, he is still handsome.”

  “Dreams are fascinating. I had one this week about a flying contraption that carried people in its belly.”

  “That’s madness. Only birds can fly. People certainly cannot.”

  “Maybe they can. With the correct vessel.”

  “How would such a heavy vessel become airborne?”

  “There’s the rub. The laws of physics must be respected, but I think there may be a workaround.”

  “I don’t believe it. I have some other news, too. About a possible future husband.”

  “What? You’re only thirteen. Your father can’t possibly be thinking about marrying you off so young.”

  “No, of course not, but these things are planned years in advance, you know.”

  “Only for royalty and the well-heeled.”

  “Have you been living under a rock? Tradespeople do it as well.”

  “Is that what we are?”

  Julietta blinked, dumbfounded. “Yes, that is what we are. Your father is a notary, and my father is a shopkeeper.”

  “Whew! I’m relieved to know we’re not peasants.”

  She watched the smirk vanish as quickly as it came. He had been toying with her. For someone as brilliant as Corto, he could be shockingly oblivious to social norms, thus his reputation as an oddball.

  “Very funny. Anyway, he’s old. Well, not so old, but still old. I think he’s twenty-eight.”

  “Is he handsome?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t met him.”

  “Perhaps you should demand to meet him before you agree to marry him.”

  She sighed. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “It should,” he replied with a thoughtful expression. “I want you to be happy, Julietta. You are my best friend. Actually, you’re my only friend.”

  “I know, amico. And you are mine. We make a strange pair, yes?”

  The boy nodded, earnest now. “We have at least two years, though, before we have to worry about this husband?”

  “Perhaps. Fifteen is an acceptable age to marry, although sixteen is more common.”

  “Will you stay here in the village? I couldn’t bear it if you moved far away.”

  She laughed. “You’ll be moving before me. Did you forget your father has been discussing apprenticeships for you in Florence?”

  He frowned. “I haven’t forgotten. I don’t want to leave this place. It’s the only home I have ever known. Everything I need is here.”

  “Silly boy. Your talent and intellect should not be limited to this backwater. Florence is the place for you. The pearl of the world,” she said wistfully. It was her hope to visit that illustrious city one day.

  “I’m not ready for it. Not yet.”

  “Let’s make the most of the time we have now, before we grow up and move on.”

  “Do you want to play a game? Knucklebones?” he asked.

  “You’re sweet. I like that game, but I know you don’t. It’s all luck and no strategy. How about Fox and Geese?”

  There was one thing that could tempt her brilliant friend away from his studies and artistic endeavors, and that was any game that involved an intellectual challenge. She never won at those games. Despite being quite clever, she was no match for Corto and she knew it. She considered it a lesson in humility to submit to his superior intellect. Humility would benefit her after marriage, too, when she would became the possession of a man other than her father.

  The thought made her uncomfortable because it went against her independent nature. But there was only so much power a female could wield in this day and age, and it amounted to very little. She knew of a woman – a widow – who had refused to remarry after her husband passed unexpectedly. As no children had been produced during the short marriage, she had inherited a comfortable income from her dead husband’s properties. The village elders had been pressuring the woman for years to select a husband – it was unseemly for her to manage money and run businesses. Yet, the woman was doing just that, and from what Julietta could see, flourishing at it.

  An idea flashed into her head. “Actually, Corto, I’m not really in the mood for a game. I think I’m going to go have a chat with Signora Moretti.”

  “Signora Moretti? The property owner?”

  She smiled. He hadn’t called her the widow, a moniker that reduced the woman’s importance to only what she was in terms of her late husband. “Yes. I’m curious about how she’s doing it.”

  “Doing what?”

  “What only men are allowed to do – owning land and buildings and overseeing them as well.”

  “Ah, I know where this is going. You’re planning a rebellion. I will help you. I don’t want to see you wedded to some nitwit who doesn’t respect that fine mind of yours. What does a wife do all day? Rearrange the linens? Polish the pewter? Insipid drudgery.”

  Corto’s mother and father had never married, and since he lived with his father, he was ignorant of the variety of services a wife was expected to provide. His father employed two servants: a female to cook and clean, and her husband who tended the garden, chopped the wood, and fixed anything that broke. As a prominent notary, he could afford to pay others to run his household. Corto benefited from his father’s success as well. He had no chores to speak of and could use his time and energy on an incredible array of creative and intellectual enterprises. Fortunately for Corto, Ser Piero grasped the genius that was his son.

  “Rearranging linens and polishing pewter wouldn’t be as bad as working in the fields. Or the tannery,” she added. The stench from the leather processing facility pervaded the area when the breeze wafted from the south. Peasants provided the labor for one or both of these industries. The thought made her shudder. Better to be a bored housewife than an impoverished
peasant.

  Better still, however, to be a self-reliant business woman.

  “I’ll see you later. Please, no more using the nearby feline population for your test subjects. Someone is bound to find out.”

  “No dogs, Julietta. That’s all I can promise.”

  His attention had already returned to the scrap of paper.

  ***

  “Buongiorno, Signorina Julietta. What brings you to my home this afternoon?”

  The woman standing before her was not beautiful. Most would call the face plain-featured, if not downright homely. Yet the fierce intelligence emanating from the dark brown eyes rendered her captivating.

  “Buongiorno, Signora Moretti. Pardon me for coming to your home without invitation, but I wonder if we might talk, solo noi ragazze. Just us girls.

  “Of course. Caterina, please bring some watered wine.” The woman spoke to a pockmarked maid hovering nearby. Julietta had seen the girl on occasion and always felt a stab of sympathy for her. The combination of bad skin and cleft pallet would make finding a husband nearly impossible.

  “I know this is forward of me,” she said, feeling shy suddenly as the woman led the way to a small but immaculate garden. Two wooden chairs and a table beckoned from beneath the feathery limbs of a towering cypress tree. A light breeze kept the temperature pleasant for June. Did she hear a fountain bubbling somewhere? Utilizing water for something so extravagant bespoke considerable wealth.

  “Nonsense. It is my pleasure to converse with anyone for any reason, especially those with so much going on up here.” A slender finger tapped at Julietta’s caul. Blond ringlets had escaped its confines.

  “I apologize for my untidiness.” She felt heat rising in her cheeks.

  “Again, nonsense. Do I look like someone who worries about such things?” The woman’s laughter was low and musical. Her own uncovered hair was a mass of careless, auburn coils.

  Julietta smiled. “You don’t. I think that’s one of the reasons why I wanted to speak with you, Signora Moretti.”

  “I’m intrigued. And please call me Francesca.”

  “Francesca,” she repeated the name, liking the intimacy of using an adult’s Christian name and feeling quite grown up now.

  “I’m curious about how you do it. How you own buildings and land in your own name, and how you make a living from them.”

  “Right to the point. I like that. Saluti,” the woman added sipping her wine, and swirling it in its fluted vessel. Venetian glass was another indication of affluence. The cupboards of Julietta’s family contained only pewter, plus the prized silver saltcellar included in her mother’s dowry.

  “Saluti.” Julietta took a bird-sip. The vintage was delicious. She must be careful not to drink it all. It wouldn’t do to return home tipsy.

  “You would like me to tell you my secrets? Of how I elude the village elders who would see me married off to some dull cloth merchant with cold hands and bad breath?”

  “Yes! That’s it exactly.” She felt the intensity of the woman’s gaze on her, sizing her up, an event that seemed to be happening more frequently these days. Usually, though, it was done by older boys and men who assessed the length of her eyelashes and the fullness of her lips.

  “It is not easy. And, frankly, you may be too pretty for the life I lead.” Francesca’s hand gesture encompassed the modest but elegant villa and the surrounding garden – symbols of her independence.

  Julietta’s eyes opened wide. “How so?”

  The woman leaned in close now, taking Julietta’s hand in her own. “Do you think men would let a beautiful woman, as I can see that you will one day become, slip through their greedy fingers?”

  “You’re saying I’ll be forced to marry because of my beauty?”

  Francesca’s expression turned thoughtful now. “Perhaps not, if you play the game well. I can see that your intellect rivals your beauty. For us, that combination can be a blessing or a curse.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The woman smiled, transforming her unremarkable face into a lovelier version. The change was striking.

  “We live in a man’s world, mia cara. If we are to get what we want – I assume you desire the same autonomy that I enjoy – we must carefully navigate their egos and their natures. Success requires sacrifices.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Our appearance, for one.”

  The words compelled Julietta to scrutinize her new friend. Contemporary notions of attractiveness demanded pallor, but Francesca’s skin was tan, like that of a peasant. Fashionable women plucked their eyebrows, yet Francesca’s were untamed and unshaped. In an age when women of means utilized products to smooth and darken hair, Francesca had allowed gray strands to meander through her coarse, copper tendrils.

  “You’ve intentionally made yourself plain!” Julietta felt her face flush again. She was shocked by her own rude outburst.

  “It wasn’t that difficult. I’m no natural beauty, like you,” Francesca replied, flashing that lovely smile again.

  “Look at you. Your teeth are perfect.”

  “Why do you think I so rarely show them in public, mia cara?”

  “If I make myself ugly enough, perhaps the man my father has selected for me will decline my hand.”

  “It won’t be that simple. Some men only want a dowry and children. Who is the man your father has chosen?”

  “The middle son of Signor Cavelli. Do you know him?”

  She watched the older woman’s face with rapt attention, marveling at the trickery that had transformed an attractive woman into a homely one. Was she even now wearing cosmetics to downplay her looks? Facial powder of a drab olive hue? Incredible!

  “I do. By all accounts, he is a decent fellow. The family is as well. You could do much worse. Their star is on the rise, and marriage to even the second son would provide a comfortable life with plenty of interesting distractions.”

  This was the very thrust of Julietta’s inner struggle: settle for a life others would be happy to have, or risk everything to gain power over herself and her decisions.

  Caterina returned to refill their vessels.

  “No thank you, dear,” Julietta said kindly. She had taken pity on the poor girl, with her downcast eyes and unfortunate face. “It would be unwise to go home stumbling and smelling of wine.”

  “And bristling with rebellious notions,” Francesca said.

  Julietta watched the girl shuffle back into the house. She pondered the life of a lowly servant, but working for Signora Moretti must be a boon. Her reputation was one of flawless morality and a generous nature.

  “You must be quite circumspect, I imagine. In your words and behavior.”

  “Indeed. I see you are grasping the entirety of what it means to be an unmarried woman living as an equal in a man’s world.”

  “Do you miss being with a man? I mean, the physical aspect of it. I’ve heard some women...find pleasure...in the marriage bed.” Again, the heat rose in her cheeks. She was aghast at her own boldness, but her new friend seemed to bring it out in her.

  “Yes, I miss him, and I miss that part of it very much. He was a good husband. He treated me well and even indulged my suggestions for improving the businesses. Acting upon my ideas increased our holdings twice over. He used to call me his piccola genio. His little genius.” The brown eyes turned wistful.

  “That could happen with me, too. Perhaps Lorenzo Cavelli will see me as your husband saw you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Or he could regard me as a chattel...a plaything to decorate his house and provide him with children.”

  “That’s usually the way it goes.”

  Julietta sighed. “I’m no closer to knowing what I should do.”

  “Have you met the prospective groom yet? You might find him comely, and then the decision will make itself. That path is certainly the easiest. I’m only in the position I am now because of my husband and his untimely death. Forgoing matrimony entirely?
I’m not even sure how you would go about it. Your father will force you to marry, if that is his wish.”

  “What if Lorenzo doesn’t find me attractive?”

  “How could any man not find you attractive?”

  “Our family is not wealthy. My dowry is the smallest of all the girls in the village.”

  “But your beauty compensates for it.”

  “What if it didn’t?” Julietta said, tilting her head to one side and glancing at Caterina, the servant with the unfortunate face.

  ***

  Julietta’s thoughts were on everything except the muddy road under her feet and the long shadows stretching out from the surrounding forest. She barely noticed the physical world as she headed home from Signora Moretti’s villa a mile from the village proper. It felt wonderful to have a grown-up friend, especially one so wise and worldly. She hadn’t intended to stay until evening, but the woman had been positively fascinating. Julietta was no closer to knowing what she should do – or not do – but she had so thoroughly enjoyed herself it didn’t matter. Their talk provided plenty of thought-provoking morsels to dissect in the days to come.

  “Isn’t it late for a young lady to be out walking by herself?” a voice called from the tree line.

  Julietta snapped out of her reverie, seeking the source of the voice. She pivoted to face the denser side of the forest in time to see a form detach itself from the shadows. The figure stepped onto the path twenty yards ahead, blocking her route home.

  She recognized the man immediately. He was an elder who owned the village’s only inn as well as the largest farm in the area. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her first thought had been of the villains who lived deep within the woods and preyed upon travelers.

  “And such a comely lass, too,” Signor Rizzo said. His voice had taken on an odd, husky tone she had never heard before.

  “Buonasera, Signor Rizzo.” She gave the man a polite smile. “You startled me. I thought at first you were a blackguard.”