The Sublime Seven

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

The man’s sudden laughter was like the braying of a donkey. She frowned, hearing a strange undertone. Nervousness? She dismissed the notion. A man of his stature would never be nervous around a girl like herself.

  “Hardly, child.” He moved closer, wearing a grin and gawking at her with such intensity that she was compelled to pull her shawl tightly across her bosom.

  “I’m just on my way home.” She cast her eyes demurely downward as she began to circle around him.

  “Not so fast.” He grabbed her arm and held it in a painful grip. “There’s something I need your help with.” His voice was low and raspy. If serpents spoke, they would sound like that.

  He yanked her off the road and into a thicket. She started to scream, but his other hand quickly covered her mouth and nose. Within seconds, she felt as if she were suffocating.

  “I could snuff the life out of you as easily as the unwanted offspring of the barn cats. Do not make a sound and perhaps I will let you live. If you please me.”

  Julietta felt a wave of dread wash over her. She was ignorant of the details of carnal acts between humans, but had seen animals fornicate. She had a general understanding of what was about to happen to her.

  “Not a sound, remember?” he said, releasing the hand from her mouth and tossing her onto the ground. A sharp stone stabbed her back, making her eyes water from the pain.

  Rizzo stood over her, staring at her face, as his hands fumbled with the belt holding his breeches and hose in place.

  “You’re so very lovely,” he muttered, naked below the waist now.

  She was shocked by what she saw. She had never seen a man’s body without hose. It was horrifying to think that thing could fit inside her. She hadn’t bled yet and her hips were narrow even for a thirteen-year-old.

  “I am still a maiden, sir. Please...” Her voice sounded like a stranger to her own ears. How could she be so calm under these dire circumstances?

  “Precisely the point. Now, lie down. This won’t take long.”

  A glistening trail of saliva slid from the open mouth to the stubbled jaw. He breathed like an ironsmith’s bellows. Moans emanated from his throat, while a tongue darted out to capture the escaped drool. A starving man gazing at a forbidden feast would have more dignity than this creature.

  The composure she had heard in her own voice seemed to take over her mind. A cool detachedness replaced the panic she had felt moments ago. Rape was imminent unless she acted now.

  She locked eyes with the man, willing him to focus on her face, her mouth, her eyes...anywhere but on the hand that searched for a rock of sufficient size and weight.

  He grappled with her skirts, thrusting them up above her waist, groaning when he saw her naked, prepubescent body. What kind of depraved fiend desired sexual relations with a child?

  He lowered his body, forcing her legs apart.

  At that moment, her fingers located salvation, latching upon a rock. Without hesitation, she bashed it against the skull of the man who would defile her. Her next movement was to draw up one knee and jab it into his groin, hard.

  He never uttered a sound as he fell to ground, partially trapping her beneath his bulk.

  “Despicable monster,” she said, rolling him off and standing on shaking legs. She studied the unconscious man with the same cool detachment that had saved her life.

  He’s breathing. I guess that’s a good thing. Now what to do about this?

  She walked a few steps away, keeping her eyes on the unmoving body, then sat down on a smooth boulder. The path was just behind her. She could keep her eyes on the would-be rapist as well as the road with just a turn of her head.

  What to do?

  Finally, a surge of nausea forced her to bend over and empty the contents of her stomach – Francesca’s wine and the shared snack of bread and olive oil – onto the ground. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then resumed contemplation of the half-naked man.

  He will deny it, of course. And who would believe me over one of the most prominent men in the village?

  Her mind raced, not just with a solution to this immediate problem, but with implications of how any action she took now would impact her life. She felt as if the place she now sat was a metaphorical fork in the road. Which way should she go?

  ***

  “It’s nothing, Papa,” Julietta said to her father, who scrutinized her bruised face with concern and something else. Mild horror?

  “I don’t understand why you were out so late.” Now that he was sure she was essentially unhurt, he became distracted. She knew exactly what preoccupied him.

  “I told you. I left Corto’s house and decided to go to the woods to gather some herbs.” She flashed him a smile meant to be disarming but was rather ghastly now that she was missing a front tooth. “It was growing dark before I noticed how late it was. That’s why I stumbled. I didn’t see the felled tree branch in the gloom.”

  “What are we to do?” Her mother injected herself into the conversation, a rare event for the meek woman.

  “About what? I’m not seriously injured. Thankfully no fractured bones. Or worse...”

  “You know what she means,” her father said.

  Julietta sighed. “Yes, I know what you both are worried about. Instead of being relieved and happy that a villain didn’t rape and kill me, you’re afraid my broken tooth will diminish my value.”

  Neither of her parents bothered to reply. She had anticipated this reaction as she sat on the boulder pondering her future. It was to be expected. A daughter is a burden. The labor she provides rarely offsets the expense of a dowry, which is nothing more than a thinly veiled bribe to another man for taking custodianship of her.

  After the near-rape, she thought long and hard about her life. Men already had so much power. Why would she willingly enter into a marriage contract which could strip her of all independence? Signora Moretti – Francesca – had been fortunate. Her husband had respected her intellect, even deferred to it. What were the odds she would also be lucky in her father’s choice? Better to remain unmarried and suffer the societal stigma than to relinquish what little self-authority she now had. The devil you know, as they say. Her father was no devil. He had a soft spot for her. She knew how to get her way with him. And although she was no longer comely, he still loved her, of course. An unwed daughter would be an embarrassment to him, but she had a plan to elevate her status within the family and beyond. If she contributed to the family’s wealth, surely he would come to see her as an asset rather than a liability.

  It was a bold and risky strategy. But when she sat on that boulder, her mouth throbbing from Rizzo’s hand and the image of his disgusting genitalia fresh on her mind, she experienced an epiphany. Francesca’s servant, Caterina of the unfortunate face, should evoke more respect than a woman who merely married well. The girl worked hard to provide for herself and perhaps a family. There was no shame in that. Shame should be prescribed to the female who abandoned her autonomy to gain a comfortable life. After that revelation, she had picked up a rock – a different one than she had wielded moments earlier – and smacked it against her tooth before she could talk herself out of it.

  There was no going back now. She had been tempted to do more damage to her face, but the tooth would surely be sufficient.

  She eyed her father appraisingly before casting her eyes down again. She used her most deferential voice. “Papa, I know what you’re thinking. You believe Giovanni Cavelli will no longer wish to marry me. I’m sorry.”

  “It was an accident, bambina. If your dowry were larger, your beauty would not be so important. The fault lies with me, not you.” His tone of resignation made her heart soar. “I will go to his father tomorrow, tell him of this development, and release him of any obligation.” He sighed.

  Julietta fought the urge to smile. She glanced up at her mother who stood to the side, watching her with narrowed eyes. Did she suspect something?

  Feeling her mother’s gaze still upon her, she fabricated a f
orlorn demeanor. She thought of the saddest moment of her life – two years ago when her beloved dog Macchiato had been struck by a wine cart – and managed to work up a few tears, which spilled from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.

  “Don’t cry, bambina. Everything will be fine.” Her father patted the top of her head before lumbering out of the room. Her mother followed silently behind him.

  She took a deep breath and released it, careful to contain her jubilation. If she were to succeed, she must learn to govern herself in every way, as Francesca did.

  ***

  “You have a missing tooth. Like your dream man!” Corto said, his mouth agape as he stared at hers. The two friends stood in the boy’s kitchen while the female servant hovered nearby, pretending not to hear.

  “Let us go outside,” she said. “I’ll explain everything.”

  “Signor Rizzo nearly raped you?” he squealed a few minutes later. In the farthest corner of the garden, they were out of earshot of servants and neighbors.

  “Yes. At first I thought I might have killed him with that rock, but he was still breathing when I left the forest. This morning I saw the beast strutting about the village, so it seems he suffered no lingering ill effects. I wager he has a pounding headache, though.” Julietta grinned, again revealing the gaping hole in her smile. Corto seemed fascinated by it.

  “He broke your tooth after you hit him with the rock?”

  “No. I did that to myself.”

  “What? Why would you do such a thing?”

  “To make myself unattractive to men.”

  “I see,” he said with obvious admiration. “A drastic move, but probably an effective one. You’re still somewhat pretty, though. Your eyes are still blue, and your hair is still flaxen. What will you do if you encounter Rizzo again?”

  “Nothing. And neither will he.”

  “True. Any accusations he makes against you would only implicate himself.”

  “Exactly. Best just to pretend it never happened. I’ll leave him alone, and he’ll leave me alone.”

  Corto frowned. “What if he tries it again with another maiden? Rarely is such a thing a singular event.”

  “I’ve considered that. I intend to warn all the girls in the area. I’ll be discreet, though. No one will suspect the warning’s origin was me. I’ll say I’m just passing on a rumor I heard from someone else.”

  “You’re quite clever, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know. But I need your help for the next part.”

  “As I said, I’m delighted to facilitate your rebellion. What can I do?”

  “Look at these and tell me what you think.” She pulled several sheets of vellum from her satchel. She had stolen the blank paper from her father’s shop after everyone had gone to sleep. Their living quarters conveniently resided above their business establishment. The thievery had been quick and simple. If everything went as planned, it would ultimately lead to the expansion of the family’s fortunes.

  “Oh my,” he said, examining the sketches.

  She laughed at his evident distaste. “I know my artwork is terrible, but try to see past it to the gown designs themselves.”

  “That won’t be easy.”

  “Please, just look at what I’ve created.”

  “Hmmm...yes, yes. Oh, that’s quite nice.” He pointed to one of the design elements.

  “I thought so, too. See how I’ve raised the waist a bit and also lowered the neckline? And the sleeves are more fitted than what ladies are wearing now. Not so puffy. I think the overall effect is more flattering.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said, handing them back to her. She could see he was losing interest.

  “This is where I need your help. I need you to elevate my renderings. If you make them as lovely as any of your other drawings, I will be successful.”

  He arched an eyebrow, and gestured for her to return the papers to him. His curiosity piqued, he studied them more intently. “There’s no question I can improve upon these. I’ve never drawn women’s clothing before, but it can’t be difficult. Shall I add a face? Or just a bizarre oval blob wearing a snood, as you’ve done.”

  She took a deep breath. “I would like you to draw the face of Signora Moretti. I will present these to her for my first commission.”

  “I see your plan. You create these sartorial confections for Signora Moretti, who wears them about town as a form of advertisement. Thus you will gain more work, and so on, and so on.”

  “Yes. With each client, my business will grow. I will fund future commissions with money from the previous ones. Once I’ve established myself as the most fashionable seamstress in the village, everyone will want my services, and I can charge more than the going rate. When it comes to ladies of means and their apparel, reputation is everything. If I’m providing something no one else can, I’m justified in charging more.”

  “I can’t deny that. Your designs are remarkable, though the renderings are utterly incompetent. Fortunately, you have me.”

  “Truly. I couldn’t do this without you, Corto.”

  “Certainly not. I will begin immediately.”

  Without another word, he walked away. She smiled as she watched him, pondering their friendship. When she had taken pity on the local oddball boy three years ago, she had done it out of kindness, not because she imagined the combination of their creative talents could buy her the independence she craved.

  ***

  “I would like to meet the young man who drew these,” Francesca said the following week. Her intelligent eyes were wide in astonishment as she pored over the drawings.

  “I’m not sure I can get him here. He’s rather averse to socializing. And he’s always busy doing something, either of an artistic nature or a scientific one. He’s quite brilliant. The only reason I was able to coerce him to help me is because we’re friends. I’m his only friend, actually. The other children think he’s peculiar.”

  The two sat under the same cypress tree in Francesca’s garden. The weather was cooler, and the sky above the feathery leaves was the color of pewter. Julietta had shared everything that had happened to her since their last meeting, including Rizzo’s attack.

  “These are exquisite. You have a rare talent for fashion design, but this boy – this artist friend of yours – has a gift from God.”

  “Yes. Fortunately, his father recognizes that. He intends to send him to Florence when he’s fifteen to apprentice with Andrea somebody or other.”

  Francesca’s mouth dropped. “Andrea del Verracchio? The premier artist in all of Italy?”

  “Yes, that sounds right. He is important?”

  “Santo cielo! Of course, he is important. The father has already secured the apprenticeship?”

  “I think so.”

  “His fortune is thus made. And yours as well when the boy achieves the accolades he deserves and it becomes known he had a hand in your enterprise.”

  “He’s that exceptional?”

  Francesca smiled. “Yes, I believe so. I know a little about the arts. I have been to Florence, of course, and Milan, Venice, Genoa. I have met many talented painters and seen their work. Verracchio is the most sought after of all. Everyone wants to commission him. If your friend apprentices with him, his future is bright indeed. And since the boy clearly has talent, there will be no limits. He may even surpass Verracchio himself.”

  Now it was Julietta’s turn to be astonished. “I knew Corto was special, but I didn’t realize how special.”

  “Corto?”

  “That’s my nickname for him. His real name is Leonardo.”

  “That’s more suitable,” Francesca smiled. “You were wise to befriend him and even wiser to entice him to create these for you. Now, back to the more pressing issue: is your dressmaking skill equal to the designs? It is one thing to imagine them and put them on paper, but quite another to bring them to life with the proper fabric and materials, solid construction, and perfect fit.”

  It wasn’t in
Julietta’s nature to boast. But she knew she had to convince Francesca to give her payment for one of the gowns now so she could purchase the fabrics and launch her business.

  “I am the best seamstress in the village, though I’m still just thirteen until next month. Mother says my talent surpasses her own, and my embroidered handkerchiefs sell quite well in my father’s shop. I can do this. I know I can.” She tapped the top piece of paper. “I’d like to begin with this one, if you agree.”

  “That is my favorite of the three. Very well. I will fetch the money. I see you have written the amount at the bottom there.”

  “I know it’s high, but I promise you will be more than satisfied.”

  “Even if I am not, I am happy to assist such an indomitable female in her quest to win autonomy. To say Rizzo is a pig would be an insult to pigs. And his debauchery is not unique in this man’s world. We females need to stick together if we are ever to achieve anything near to equality. That you had to disfigure yourself to acquire some control over your own life is a travesty. It makes me sad yet proud.”

  “Thank you.” Julietta felt a heavy weight slip from her shoulders, even though she was shocked by the vehement tone in the woman’s voice. It was a side not displayed outside of the villa, she wagered. Francesca navigated this man’s world carefully.

  “What if your father finds another prospective husband for you? One who doesn’t mind the small dowry or the missing tooth?”

  “I’ve thought about that. I may need to take...additional measures.”

  “You mean further disfigurement?”

  Julietta nodded. The notion nauseated her, but she resolved to do whatever was required.

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I admire your dedication. How does it feel knowing that people no longer see you as a pretty girl?”

  She thought a long time before answering. The servant, Caterina, lurked nearby. She thought about the girl’s homeliness and her own gap-toothed smile.

  “Humbling,” she said.

  “Yes. And that’s not a bad thing. Humility is good for the soul. Now, let me get those coins and you can be on your way before it gets dark.”