The sorceress used her craft to provide medicine to the fallen women, and their children, of the San Samuele area and gave comfort where she could to console and hear out the women’s woes that never failed to move her.
‘Someday it will be different’ she would say with conviction to a syphilitic young woman, or another scarred after surviving the pox, or another still that was slashed in the face by a bitter lover. ‘There WILL come a time when we woman are respected’ she would say as she held one of their hands in hers, and wiped away their tears with her other. ‘There, there, don't cry my dear: it will happen, I tell you, and I’ll see to it myself.’ Almost every woman she helped would then kiss her warm hands, nod with faith, and offer what little they could to Lucia, who would refuse, with kindness, what she knew the women could not afford to give.
Lucia kept their kisses, good wishes, and blessings instead, as she provided medicinal treatments to heal wounds and fade scars. Her work fuelled within her such a fire that she determined that the rest of her sex would not be wronged again if she had breath in her body to prevent it.
For weeks she went about her charity work while she kept tabs on the Professor. Lucia later met with a woman in her lodgings, new to the district, who, she was informed, got severely beaten by a violent lover. Lucia offered the woman simple self-defence advice and a small weapon that was to be used against the man if he pursued her.
She shook her head and swallowed a lump in her throat when she first saw the wretched girl: black, blue and bloody. Lucia prepared a poultice and cleaned the girl up as best she could.
‘If he comes at you again, cut him, and repeat to him what I told you’ Lucia instructed, her finger raised, and the bruised woman nodded. ‘Don’t be frightened’ she said clasping the woman’s hand, ‘and don’t be intimidated, fools like him are cowards.' She could see the young woman had courage and spirit. Together they practised the simple, but effective, techniques of self-protection. 'Now practice on me' said Lucia, the young woman hesitated, 'don't worry, you can't hurt me' she reassured her student, 'just pretend I'm him - I'll come at you.'
Lucia made a grab for the woman, but she sidestepped Lucia with speed, tugged her elbow behind her back and held the small dagger to Lucia's throat. Lucia smiled. 'Excellent' she said as Lucia signalled to be released, 'that will stop any man foolish enough to try it with you - they get so confused anyway when you fight back.' The young woman nodded and gave Lucia a beautiful smile from her battered face: she had given her confidence.
Satisfied with her work for the day, Lucia set out for the Rialto to cross paths with the Professor. She had a proposition for him.
◆◆◆
The Professor strolled to Levin Glanz’s bejewelled workshop, after a satisfying meal nearby, filled with anticipation. He arrived, at what had become a familiar place to him, to find the workshop closed. The Professor snorted, ran a hand through his hair, and tried to peer through the wooden shutters. He looked up to the sky and checked the height of the sun, and figured it to be just after midday. He furrowed his brow and peered at the shutters again as if by will his eyes could breach the barriers. No use. ‘She said to come just after twelve’ he muttered the under his breath. He tutted and gruffed before he knocked hard on the wood. Nothing happened. Winston crossed his arms. He then observed the height of the sun again and checked the wall of the building on the Rialto side to see if he could spy another door before he returned to the shop front to bang again: harder and louder than before.
This time, via a mechanism of pulleys, the central shutter disengaged from the floor to lift and roll itself upwards. There stood Giaconda smiling, unveiled as the shutter lifted, turning a crank and wearing a loose-fitting blouse, that revealed her smooth shoulders - and more. She wore a light orange shift dress, and ropes of pearls. Giaconda had secured her thick grey-streaked hair, with a sapphire atop a golden pin. The Professor smiled. ‘I thought you were closed’ he breathed as the woman cranked the shutter high enough for the tall man to enter.
‘I am’ she returned with a sideways glance, ‘my husband and son are away on business, and Sasha is visiting a relative.’
‘I see’ said the Professor, walking forward to arch his arm behind his head, stroke his neck, and lean an elbow upon the outside of the doorway. The two took a moment to admire each other.
‘Won’t you come in from the cold?’ said Giaconda shivering. The Professor saw buds rise on Giaconda's bust as her flesh reacted to the chill. The Professor ran his tongue over his teeth.
‘I will’ he said dipping his head to step inside, ‘but you look as if you're dressed for the summer.' Giaconda gave a low shrewd laugh as she stepped aside to let the Professor in, closed the door behind him, and cranked the other way with pace to lower the shutter again.
‘It gets hot in here with all the candles’ she added, before placing the crank on the floor with a deep stoop in front of the Professor.
‘Indeed, it does’ he said observing the woman and offering his hand to her as she rose back up. A multitude of candles dotted the showroom giving the space a glowing warmth that made the jewellery displays shimmer with fiery light within the polished cabinets. The Professor took in the ambience of the place, confident Giaconda's efforts were for him, and took in a deep breath for he could smell her perfume everywhere within the sparkling surroundings.
‘Shall we go up to the studio?’ Giaconda said as she looked him square in the face. The candlelight illuminated her eyes and skin, softening her years, and the Professor enjoyed the play of light upon her before he said yes. ‘Your commission is ready’ she added, as she led the way upstairs that had become so familiar to him. The Professor observed the swing of Giaconda's hips as she advanced upwards to Glanz’s studio. More candles replaced sunlight as the woman had closed every shutter of the place. Upon Levin’s table sat a shallow box covered with dark velvet, two Niellos, of great detail and quality, a carafe of ruby red wine, two glasses, cold meats, dried fruits, warm bread, and blue cheese.
‘I hope you don’t mind?’ said Giaconda as she pulled out a chair for the Professor to sit down, ‘but I put a little something together to celebrate the finishing of the commission.' She rested her hand for a moment on Winston's shoulder, 'allow me to apologise for the lateness of completing it.' A smile crept across Winston's face. He looked at the table with its food and wine. He then looked at Giaconda's ample figure: mature, inviting and voluptuous.
‘What a feast’ he said. Giaconda enjoyed the twinkle in his eye and the way the candlelight played on the Professor's platinum hair. Winston looked at the Niellos, ‘are those the things I asked you about?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘they’re a pair of my best: just as promised.’ The Professor slid his eyes over Giaconda before he reached forward to pick up a Niello and looked at the silver image, engraved with black, of a naked Aphrodite. Winston ran his fingers over the Goddess's curves. Giaconda's breath quickened as she watched him caress the image. ‘She’s beautiful’ he said, before putting the item back down. Giaconda brushed past him to reach over to the table and pick up the other Niello depicting Ares. She held up the detailed engraving, showing the virile God to the Professor, before holding the item next to his head and comparing the two.
‘You look just like him’ she said, returning the Niello to the table, ‘even your hair is the same colour.' Another smile crept across the Professor's face, enjoying the comparison with a God, as she pulled her chair next to his, and poured out two glasses of wine for them both. ‘I hope you’re hungry?’ the woman said as she handed him a glass,
‘I’m not, I ate earlier’ he said turning to face her. Giaconda’s expression fell. ‘But now I'm ravenous’ he added. She laughed. The Professor clinked his glass with hers, and Giaconda glowed as they drank some wine. She then eased the dark velvet off the large box on the table and opened it.
The Professor took in a breath. Levin’s work was exquisite; the twelve Soul-lanterns had surpassed his expectations in per
fection, ingenuity, and beauty. Giaconda showed him the spring clasps that opened the little glass windows to the hexagonal chambers, and the golden loops upon the tops, and the engraved embellishments that adorned the gilded copper frames. 'Flawless' said the Professor, as she returned the Soul-lanterns to their box.
She stood to reach over to the table and make a start on the food; the Professor rose with her to stand at his full height. Her eyes flicked across Winston's groin. The pair then locked eyes and understood. With one, firm, skilful tug by the Professor the flimsy dress Giaconda wore fell to the ground to leave her standing in her pearls. Another move had removed the golden sapphire pin to release her hair which tumbled down to the small of her back. The Professor stroked the grey streaks in her wavy hair and held the face of the mature woman. 'You are gorgeous' he told her before he kissed Giaconda with depth and passion. Within moments the swift woman had released the Professor from his clothes. He stood in front of her unabashed, and she savoured everything that she saw.
'And you’re a God' she declared. Winston then walked forward to grasp her, before weeks of restraint got dashed aside: the wine, only part drunk, and the food left untouched, as the pair unleashed themselves to devour each other.
◆◆◆
The moon had risen by the time the Professor walked unsteady and still sweating, into the chill air with his velvet covered box wedged under his arm, as he sallied forth into the blue evening that arrived ever earlier as winter progressed. Winston floated back to his lodgings with his mind buzzing on a high. He let himself into his room, locked the door, and put down the Soul-lanterns with care before he collapsed onto his short bed: tired, gratified, and elated.
Chapter 13
New Clothes
The Master Tailors of Padua, morning, Wednesday 29th of November 1611
Beppe stood with the awkwardness of a new boy at school within the Master Tailor’s workshop. The priest’s narrow physique seemed overwhelmed by the grand surroundings, and the swatches of embellished fabric that hung from the walls and reached every corner. He was stood there for some time, as the tailor's two apprentices cut out patterns, or stitched fabric together with focus and diligence upon a vast table. The pair whispered on occasion and exchanged glances with one another while looking at the self-conscious man that stood half robed: waiting for the master to return with his first efforts on the new commission.
The master glided back into the fitting room. He looked impeccable, holding clothes in his arms that he had seen to himself, and had worked on all night to try and meet the pace requested by his new client.
Beppe fiddled with the ends of his new shirt, one he had bribed off a man in the lodgings next door to his, for everything the priest owned spoke only of The Church. He looked down to the floor to observe his feet in stockings that hung loose around his wiry legs: he may as well have been naked.
The Master returned and paused for a moment, to take in his dishevelled client, but smiled in a breezy manner: acting with the confidence of one that has skills that are beyond doubt.
‘So…?’ said the Master hesitating once more: scanning his eyes up and down Beppe with a blank look.
‘Pedro’ answered Beppe in a quiet voice to remind him of his name, yet again.
‘Aha, that’s it, I do struggle with names...’ said the Master tailor, before he put down his bundle upon the table. He took up the uppermost item to unfurl a cape that dazzled Beppe with its pink and gold pattern and lemon-yellow underlining. ‘What do you think?’ said the Master swirling the cape through the air. Beppe’s eyes stung, and an eyebrow from each apprentice raised before they both continued with their work.
‘It’s very bright’ he said through stiff lips, fidgeting with his shirt again. But the Master smiled showing all his large teeth.
‘You said you wanted to stand out, Signore, something "eye-catching"’ he repeated.
‘Yes, but I don’t want to awaken the dead’ said Beppe almost crossing himself. The Master’s expression soured, ‘I mean…’ he added with haste and a strained grin, ‘I meant… I want to look impressive, but not to excess.' The Master tailor’s eye twitched, and the apprentices glanced to one another as their employer scrutinised the dull man in front of him.
‘But this is the new fashion: soon all of Europe will be wearing this, Signore.' The Master then put down the cape to snatch up a jerkin of bright green fabric woven with golden foliage forms, and wide puffed pantaloons of the same colour and pattern. Beppe’s eyes watered, and his body drooped. The apprentices then turned away to hide their faces, both on the verge of laughter but continued their work.
‘Oh my’ sighed Beppe, ‘I shall be seen from heaven in this.’
‘Indeed, you shall’ said the master unperturbed, ‘let’s get them on.'
Beppe took on an expression of a cat forced to take a bath, and it took all of his restraint not to run out into the street. He changed into the clothes that swallowed him; his slender legs seemed to dangle among the broad pantaloons before the Master tailor added the cape to complete his pumpkin.
The apprentices were starting to change colour and bit their lips as they tried to focus on their work. The Master tailor stood back to admire his creation that swung lose in places from Beppe’s modest frame. He squinted before he closed one eye.
‘Yes’ he said, as he walked around his client, ‘I’ll have to make some adjustments, but I think the colours suit you.’
‘Do you?’ said Beppe,
‘Yes’ said the tailor with confidence, ‘look and see for yourself.' The master addressed one of his apprentices, ‘please fetch the mirror for our client.' The young teenager hurried away and brought back a longish mirror, encased in wood, a touch too narrow for Beppe to see all of himself.
‘I’m not sure I agree’ said Beppe eyeing himself with curiosity.
‘Hold the mirror in front of yourself, Signore.’ The Inquisitor obeyed, and the Master stood behind him and pulled at the clothes in such a way that they fit him. Beppe looked at himself again as if someone else was reflected there.
‘Heavens, I’m quite changed’ he said, and studied himself with awe as if the tailor had waved a magic wand. The bright colours lifted his complexion, and added nobility to the expression of his sombre eyes: he looked almost handsome. ‘I’ve never seen myself so, so…’ Beppe trailed off, and his lip quivered before he put the mirror down. The Master gave the man a moment to cough and look away. It became clear to him that his client had not worn civilian clothes for many years, and had not imagined himself a man of flesh and blood until then.
The apprentices looked at each other again but with a tilt of their heads and wry expressions. Both were glad that they worked for a man that could sell, as well as craft. The Master tailor took his clients measurements, again, as he did on Monday, and Beppe stood still as if comprehending a new world.
‘Signore Pedro, I shall make the extra adjustments tonight’ said the tailor with a raised chin, his authority restored, as he ushered his client to the door. ‘Return tomorrow for the new fitting, and before long the clothes will be ready.' Beppe nodded, somewhat dazed, but seemed reassured by the tailor’s confidence after he had finished changing back into is original clothes. Beppe walked out of The Master Tailors of Padua as if he were a new man.
◆◆◆
Orsini too had begun to think of his dress and spoke with his friend about the lending of clothes. The men were of similar proportions, and Adriano agreed that Orsini may share some of his items, of which there were many, and could embellish and adjust them as he saw fit. Orsini studied his new acquisitions and saw how he could make use of them. With some adjustments the garments could be brought up to the height of fashion: and what he imagined would be enough to impress any young woman.
Orsini consulted with Cook, whom he asked to carry out the errand of taking the clothes to the tailor’s to be improved, and asked her as to what a woman's eye would find most appealing. She had much to say on the subject, being se
asoned with experience, and proved herself an astute adviser in the fancies of the feminine eye.
Cook, in her wisdom, did not ask as to why her master’s guest sought her opinion on such matters, though the motives were as obvious to her as burnt rice. He, likewise, held back his surprise at the knowledge of the cook who seemed to know every morsel of how a man should carry himself to impress a woman.
Orsini had remembered some sage advice and experiences from his youth before he joined the cloth, but made a good student of himself in what he learned from Cook: he would follow her advice.
The woman returned later that afternoon to inform him that the improvements to the clothes he selected were underway, and ready for collection the following day.
Adriano told the pair that he would be working late that evening at the Guild, so Orsini and Cook sat down, as they were becoming accustomed, to an evening meal shared at the kitchen table.
‘Remember this’ Cook said in grand proclamation after she and Orsini had shared much wine, and mused on the nature of love, ‘that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.' He nodded and tapped at his own, but she raised a cautionary finger, ‘but the way to a woman’s heart is through her nose: ALWAYS make sure you smell well and good.’ This lesson Orsini liked most, he clinked glasses with Cook and did not forget.
◆◆◆
Giovanni also had begun to make his preparations like the other men and had decided, in a caprice cooked up between Vincenza and himself, to present recent news about the fortunes of Antonio and Hermes direct to Bianca - but incognito. No grand clothing was decided upon, although he would wear a mask and a cloak.
Beyond the Raging Flames (The Hermeporta Book 2) Page 16
