Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2)

by Hogarth Brown

  Hermes and Antonio stood agog at what they saw, as person after person reached into their purses to give their coins and their appreciation. Signore da Barretto, with his cap full and his work done returned to his mistress, careful with his heavy burden, and deposited the gains in her hands. Vincenza transferred the coins to a hidden pocket in her dress. She cooed with praise and patted the monkey on his well-kept head before he clambered up to her shoulder, and she gave him a sugared nut. Antonio had never seen such a thing in his life. The crowd, after some time, returned to its own business when the elegant woman sat at Giovanni’s table, after first helping him down into his chair. Antonio and Hermes wriggled through the mass to re-join Antonio's father. Giovanni glowed with contentment as he exchanged hushed words with the glamorous woman by his side:

  ‘Father, we return’ said Antonio, quite breathless, who’s previous mood had evaporated upon witnessing the spectacle.

  Giovanni, his face reddened by wine, flung open his arms again in greeting to his son, although he did not stand.

  ‘Vincenza’ he said, ‘this is my son.’ The singer turned and feigned surprise, as she swept Antonio with a look, smiled, and then reached her hand towards him.

  ‘It’s a pleasure’ she said with a silken voice. Her hand hung in the air, and Hermes' eyes narrowed for a moment before Antonio placed a hesitant kiss on her hand.

  ‘The pleasure is all mine’ said Antonio, but Hermes felt his words lacked feeling.

  ‘You must join us’ she said before she swept her vast skirts to one side to reveal two stools below the small table. ‘You’re also welcome’ she added, gesturing to Hermes who had begun to marvel at the commanding effect Vincenza had on father and son. Antonio then sat down with obedience, and Giovanni hesitated as if waiting for instruction. No one spoke for a short while, both father and son seemed absorbed, as Vincenza continued to feed her monkey sugared nuts:

  ‘Were you singing Ariadne’s story?’ said Hermes to break the silence, and explore a hunch.

  ‘Yes’ she said, impressed, ‘it’s her lament for Theseus’ she paused, ‘after he abandoned her…’

  ‘On Naxos’ he continued, to complete her sentence: father and son looked surprised.

  ‘Very good’ she said turning more fully in his direction, and Hermes felt himself be studied, ‘you’re familiar with mythology then?’ The youth nodded.

  ‘The song was beautiful’ he said, ‘did you write it?’ Both Vincenza and Giovanni laughed, but Antonio’s blank look equalled Hermes' embarrassment before Vincenza explained with a benevolent smile.

  ‘Monteverdi wrote it’ she said, and recognition flashed across Antonio’s face.

  ‘So, you’re from the Mantuan court and the house of Gonzaga?’ Antonio almost exclaimed, and Giovanni seemed to swell with pride as he reached forward to take an elegant sip of his red wine.

  ‘Of course,’ she said as if no other conclusion were possible, ‘but I’ve been in Venice for a while, and plan to stay’ she replied. Hermes noticed Giovanni smile to himself, ‘for now’ she then added with absent-minded strokes along her monkey’s back. Hermes saw Giovanni’s smile vanish sooner than it had arrived.

  Antonio seemed more awestruck than before in the woman’s presence, upon learning of her pedigree, as he imagined the dignitaries and princely families she would have entertained as a singer for the Duke of Mantua. He fidgeted in his chair as a flurry of questions leapt into his mind that he wanted to ask the singer: questions he wished to keep private. Giovanni twiddled his glass on the table, while he gazed through it as if deep in thought and Hermes read the trite graffiti inscribed on the table top by passing trade, as he had no idea who Duke Gonzaga was.

  The silence broke when Signore da Barretto sprung to attention when something caught his eye, and he gave a squeak that Vincenza seemed to recognise:

  ‘Fetch’ she said to her companion, and at that moment the monkey leapt off her shoulder to scamper to some of the tables, and snatch up small squares of sealed parchment, that were offered there by men and women alike. Before long the monkey returned with five envelopes, and his mistress smiled when she retrieved the mail from his hairy palms.

  ‘What are those?’ said Hermes.

  ‘Requests’ said Vincenza, nonchalant, as she began to break the seals on the small envelopes. Giovanni shifted in his seat as he observed Vincenza leaf through the letters with casual interest: smiling at some, as she read, shaking her head at another, and nodding with one, before she stood up to turn with the letter held aloft, her choice made. Vincenza then addressed the tavern to ask who had requested the written poem she would like to sing. At first, no answer came, but then an attractive young man raised his hand, some way back from the crowd, and voices in the gathering ejected pantomime oohs and whistles when they saw that he was fine. He gave a graceful bow. Hermes watched Giovanni wriggle in his chair, and fuss at his clothes as if to brush off dust. Antonio said nothing but swivelled his eyes from his father to Vincenza, and back again before she said: ‘good choice’ with confidence, and took up her lute from the table. Vincenza then strode back to the lower steps of the staircase. The crowd whooped and yelled as she made ready to improvise a musical rendition of the poem offered to her. A tavern worker topped up Giovanni's glass. Antonio's father eyeballed Vincenza before he downed his wine with a gulp and looked on. He rubbed his brow before scratching at his beard, twiddling his glass in his hand. He reached for the bottle left on his table but found it was empty:

  ‘I’ll get us some more’ said Antonio with a rigid smile, ‘we could do with a drink.' The man nodded and itched at his red nose as Vincenza got herself into position. ‘Are you coming with me?’ Asked Antonio to Hermes. The youth shook his head.

  ‘No, I’m watching this’ he said with anticipation and listened like all the others as Vincenza begun to sing again. Signore da Barretto got his empty cap ready as Antonio made his way to the bar.

  The former courtier thrust and excused himself through the people, with some who turned his way angered at being pushed, but he carried on and migrated to the tavern bar, and whispered his order to the tavern worker who cupped his ear to hear what he said. The man nodded when he understood and walked away to fetch Antonio two bottles of wine. Vincenza's voice filled the Golden Phoenix tavern once more.

  Antonio felt a tug at his side and turned to see who pulled at him before his face stiffened into a stony expression.

  ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ Said a mature man in his sixties who eyed him with a familiar look.

  ‘What are you doing here, Malvolio? Did you follow me?’ said Antonio, as he looked from side to side in the muttering crowd.

  ‘No’ said the man with a rasping snort. Some people turned. The man then lowered his voice to a suggestive murmur, he drew closer, ‘but you passed through my mind, only the other day: and here you are’ he said looking Antonio up and down, ‘…like washed up treasure.' Malvolio caressed Antonio’s arm before he clutched his wrist, and his eyes glinted beneath his bushy white brows and his weathered skin. Antonio wrenched his arm away in disgust.

  ‘You can’t touch me anymore’ he growled before he rechecked the oblivious crowd to see if anyone paid attention, but most either whispered with each other or listened to Vincenza sing. The mature man’s eyes narrowed with malice.

  ‘You didn’t seem to mind before’ he said reaching forward again, but Antonio shrank aside to avoid his touch.

  ‘I was younger back then, and things were different: I’m a man now' he said through gritted teeth. Malvolio drew his hand back and pursed his lips. He then leaned forward to whisper in Antonio’s ear, and Antonio shuddered when he remembered the man’s smell and the scent of his breath: alcohol had added to the aroma he thought he had forgotten.

  ‘I remember you well: a trifling tease’ he whispered, ‘but you soon left off when I gave you what you wanted’ he added, and for a moment he trailed his moustached lip next to Antonio’s ear, before lunging at Antonio’s mo
uth for a kiss. Antonio stabbed his elbow into Malvolio’s chest, and the man rocked back, surprised before he rubbed at the injury. One person glanced backwards at the sensation of movement, before returning their attention to Vincenza who seemed to delight all in her phrasing of the suggestive poem she sang. ‘You’ve grown strong’ said the man with a cold look before turning his head side to side. No one but the staff saw the blow that was over in a moment. ‘You're so unlike the boy I knew before’ he mused. Antonio glanced over to the far table to check to see if his father and Hermes were looking, but both, like most people, had their attention focused on Vincenza who worked the crowd over with mastery. ‘Don’t worry’ the man said, ‘they’ve not noticed me' he drew closer again though not as near as before, 'how’s your mother?’

  ‘Don’t speak of my mother’ said Antonio through clenched lips, ‘her welfare is none of your concern.’ The man did not seem impressed by the comment.

  ‘It was my money that kept you both off the streets’ he said glaring, ‘I would have thought she would be grateful for my service.’

  ‘She knows nothing about you, and she never will’ said Antonio - his face like granite,

  ‘I see’ said Malvolio, who then stroked at his goatee. ‘I was more of a father to you than that man over there' he said flicking his mottled finger in Giovanni's direction, 'it seems you’ve forgotten my generosity, though I doubt Bianca didn’t wonder where the money came from.' Antonio bit his lip.

  ‘I apprenticed like everyone else’ he said, ‘you were just a top-up.' The man gave out a rasp of a bitter laugh,

  ‘And didn’t I know it in the end.’ Malvolio flicked his head in the direction of the table where Hermes sat, and Antonio noticed his loose jowls - he had aged badly. ‘Looks like you’ve found your own apprentice now’ he said with a misty look at the youth, ‘your own Ganymede.’

  ‘You’re disgusting’ said Antonio, grimacing, ‘don’t even look at him.' The man raised his brows until his forehead made a concertina of wrinkles.

  ‘Hmmm, so you’re protective of your BOY, are you? You were mine once, about the same age as him, remember?' He hissed under his breath, but his expression seemed to tingle with memories, 'do you remember when you were mine? When you were, MY Ganymede’ said the mature man lurching forward again. But Antonio side-stepped and struck out his foot to trip Malvolio. He fell and struck his velvet capped head on the wooden panelling of the bar before tumbling to the ground. Some people jolted forward when Malvolio fell, or heard the thud, and turned, much concerned, to help pick up the man - several people joined the effort. But Antonio sneered and only picked up his two bottles of wine, and glasses after he paid the tired tavern worker when he returned from the cellars.

  Then Antonio, in haste, meandered his way back through the crowd to Giovanni's table, his breathing irregular, but it took some time for helpers to get Malvolio back on his feet. The man made his excuses while he clutched at his bruised head, ordered again from the bar, and gave vague nods when told by others to drink water with his new glass of wine. He patted himself down and removed himself to another part of the tavern to brood over his drink, near a noisy table, during the applause for Vincenza. Malvolio glared at Antonio and Hermes from his new position.

  Giovanni seemed gladder to see the wine than Antonio when he returned, and he thrust his glass forward for a top up. Antonio obliged, but seemed distracted, and then poured into two of the three glasses he brought for the table: one for himself, another for Hermes, and went to fill the third for Vincenza, but Giovanni waved him down.

  ‘She avoids a drink until she’s done performing’ slurred the man who then clutched his glass to his chest, and gazed over again, lost in thought, at the accomplished performer as she interacted, told jokes, and flirted with the crowd. Signore da Barretto worked hard again when bidden, going from table to table, and collected the coins that fell with regularity into his embroidered cap.

  Antonio observed his father gaze at Vincenza with keen interest: more engaged with her banter than her last song.

  ‘Where did you meet her?’ Asked Antonio, as Hermes took up his wine, tilted his head with thanks, and enjoyed the way it tasted as he sampled the liquid.

  ‘Huh?’ said Giovanni, his movements somewhat sluggish before Antonio repeated his question, ‘oh’ he said, ‘I met her at another tavern, quite near here, she’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ Antonio nodded, and Giovanni chuckled to himself when he remembered their first encounter, ‘she’d just arrived from Mantua, with that monkey in his cage, and I overheard, while at the bar, that she was new to Venice. I turned to see who was talking.’ Antonio’s father had to concentrate to get his story out with accuracy, ‘with one look I knew one as fine as her could have only come from a great foreign house, so before she had lodged in her rooms, I offered to show her around.'

  Antonio then thought for a moment of his mother, and how Giovanni may have charmed her, with ease, when he had been younger: but he looked at his father’s bulbous nose, with its burst capillaries, and his red cheeks, and saw how a love of drink could tarnish good looks. He glanced again at Vincenza:

  ‘How much does she cost?’ His father coughed on his wine, and Hermes bulged his eyes as he paused mid-sip to listen.

  ‘My son, you make assumptions’ said Giovanni once recovered,

  ‘I know a courtesan when I see one’ said Antonio unruffled. But he glanced away from his father when he felt the burning gaze that came at him from Malvolio stood adrift next to a far table. Antonio paused to look with depth at his father before he spoke. ‘Did you love my mother?’ Giovanni’s face twisted,

  ‘What’s brought on this questioning?’ said Antonio’s father fussing with his collar, ‘do you work for the church?’

  ‘No, that was my uncle, remember, the one who you’ve asked nothing about.’

  ‘Well, it didn’t do him much good did it?’ said Giovanni who’s sly eyes flicked from one corner of the room to the other.

  ‘Please answer the question father; I've always needed to know.’ The man scratched at his neck before he continued.

  ‘Of course, I did: I fought for her in a duel; did she not tell you?’ Hermes listened with intent as the men exchanged words.

  ‘She did tell me, but what happened afterwards? What happened after I was born?’ Giovanni fidgeted.

  ‘Must we discuss this now?’

  ‘Yes, it’s important’ said Antonio, but his father chafed at the questioning and glanced over with nervousness at Vincenza as she sang a serenade to another young admirer in the crowd.

  ‘It was difficult, we were both exiles after what happened, and we had no money: the scandal affected the both of us. I did what I could once you arrived, but we had to be careful. I had to make money, but getting work was a struggle.' The memory of his efforts seemed to make Giovanni itch. 'I had to work in Venice for a while, via some contacts, and your mother lived off savings before her stipend came in.' He rubbed at his red face, ‘She’s a proud woman, your mother, not designed for poverty…’ he added before trailing off and drinking more of his wine.

  ‘And?’ said Antonio. Hermes feigned politeness and pretended to listen to Vincenza, but could not keep his ears away from the conversation: Antonio noticed but did not care. Giovanni gave out a deep sigh and reconciled to give his son the truth. He wrung his hands before scratching at his palms.

  ‘What can I say? She became grasping and difficult when I couldn’t give her what she wanted: saying I owed her things for what she’d given up; always asking for money for this and that’ he said grumbling, reliving the past as if Bianca were in front of him. ‘We were young - I was younger than you - and we were foolish. I gave what I could when I had it, but in the end, it didn’t work out. I couldn't please her: it was never enough.'

  Antonio nodded in recognition as he recalled his mother's constant lamentations.

  ‘I think she still loves you’ he said, but the man tutted with a small shake of his head, and had another sip f
rom his glass. Antonio looked across to Vincenza, ‘and now?’ he added, looking again at his father, as Hermes listened with intent, all pretence stopped, as he absorbed the details of Antonio’s past.

  ‘Things are better now, son’ replied Giovanni looking at Vincenza with a smile, ‘but I can barely afford her’ he said, and with that, he took another gulp of wine, before the talented courtesan and the monkey returned: their work done for the night.

  Vincenza sat down with a gush of laughter and rocked back as the crowd applauded one last time, and she acknowledged them again with a smile and stood for yet another bow before she rested, and all retrieved their prior conversations.

  ‘I’m hungry’ Vincenza declared, ‘let’s eat’, Giovanni looked nervous, ‘don’t worry’ she said reaching her hand over to his ‘my treat’ she added as the monkey returned with his cap filled with yet more coins. ‘Thank you’ she said as Antonio poured her a glass of wine, and all three men, unprompted, raised their glasses to toast her performance. Vincenza accepted the compliment, as one who is accustomed to praise, before she stood up. ‘I’m going to order us all my favourite.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ said Hermes.

  ‘You’ll see’ she said, and she tossed her monkey another sugared nut once he had clambered up to her shoulder before making her way to the bar with her money.

  ‘She’s assured, isn’t she?’ said Hermes. Giovanni gave a sheepish laugh, and Antonio watched her converse with someone that seemed to be the owner of the Inn: she laughed and flirted before she whispered in his ear, and passed the man some of her money. The man seemed pleased and nodded.