“No.”
“Jeu Force. Because now, unlike before, if you can take out an opponent, then you must do so. Much more exciting, would you not agree?”
“Such a rule certainly doesn’t allow much space for compassion,” Lucrezia suggested, and Alfonso laughed.
“In this game there is no place for compassion, Lucrezia. Ruthless determination to rid oneself of what stands in one’s way, and the courage to undertake what others might perceive as reckless moves in the pursuit of ultimate success—that is what will win you the game.”
A door banged open some few yards ahead, and Lucrezia’s heart turned over.
It was Jacomo.
He was backing blindly out into the corridor, struggling under the weight of the heavy folding screen he had used to hide the final section of the fresco. Alfonso stopped, unable to continue because Jacomo and his burden were blocking the way. Lucrezia stared at her painter. She had not seen him since the portrait-sitting the day before when Alfonso had stormed away, looking so frighteningly angry. She still had no idea whether or not he had seen Jacomo look at her—but could only presume that he had; she had spent the time since then desperate to find Jacomo, but not daring to draw attention to him.
Now, though, she heard again in her mind the words Alfonso had just uttered, and a truly terrifying thought occurred to her. Had her husband seen the indisputable evidence yesterday, drawn his conclusions and decided to “take out his opponent”? Was this why he was so strangely agitated and unlike his normal self? Oh, dear God! She wanted to warn Jacomo—felt the words ready to burst from her: stay with the reverend brother at all times. For God’s sake, don’t go anywhere alone. He wants to hurt you. Stay away from him! But here, in Alfonso’s presence, she could only stand afraid and say nothing.
She saw that Jacomo’s eyes, too, were wide with anxiety. He was deathly pale.
“I—I’m sorry, Signore,” he stammered, struggling to move the screen so that they could pass. “I’ll shift it for you straight away.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, boy,” Alfonso snapped, “just get out of the way!”
Jacomo managed to drag the screen to one side of the passageway and Alfonso strode past him. With tears behind her eyes, Lucrezia snatched a glance at him as she moved on up the corridor, her hand still held fast in Alfonso’s. It was unbearable. A howl of longing swelled high in her chest and it was all she could do not to pull her fingers from her husband’s grasp and run—back to where Jacomo stood staring after them.
“Was that not Pandolf’s young assistant?” Alfonso said irritably, as they walked on.
“I believe so,” Lucrezia said.
“It would appear that that great stain on his face indicates a distinct lack of intelligence—the boy’s a veritable idiot.”
Lucrezia said nothing.
“Pandolf says he is a gifted painter—a gifted painter? I have to say that I struggle to believe him. It strikes me as extremely unlikely that such an inarticulate peasant could have any highflown aesthetic sensitivities. No doubt Pandolf exaggerates his minion’s skill from some misjudged sense of Franciscan charity.”
Lucrezia’s face burned. If this was a genuine opinion then her fears were groundless, Alfonso had seen nothing and had no thoughts of harming Jacomo. But, she thought, what if this was his teasing idea of a way to exact as painful a retribution for this newly discovered infidelity as he could devise? Maybe he wished to belittle Jacomo in front of her, to humiliate her for her—in his opinion—poor choice of lover, before he destroyed him. But before she could think any further upon this conundrum, they arrived at the games room and Alfonso was holding the door open for her. Going in, she saw that he had already set up the dama. The little round pieces were in place on the red-and-white chequered board and a chair stood at each side of the table.
Lucrezia looked around the games room, her thoughts in turmoil. Behind the dama game, the biliardo table had been left ready for play, with several balls scattered untidily across the cloth surface. Two lutes were propped against one wall, a jumble of tennis racquets lay on the floor beneath the window and, on another, larger, table, lay a number of dice, a chess set and a zara board. The coloured squares, circles and stars lay heaped in an open, carved ivory box. Upon the walls hung a number of tapestries depicting various sports, while several brightly coloured commedia dell’arte masks, beribboned and spangled, grinned from wall brackets—brackets which, Lucrezia thought, just then seemed more like gibbets. In the past, she had enjoyed spending time in this room, but today its vivid cheerfulness seemed wilfully to be mocking her anxiety.
Alfonso spoke into her tumbling thoughts. “Come, Lucrezia, you play white. I shall play red and start the game. Remember that when I can take you out, I shall do so—I shall have no choice.” And, placing his forefinger on one of the circular playing pieces, he slid it forward across the diagonal, from one red square to the next.
***
“Thank you, Alfonso,” Lucrezia said, some time later, when he had, to his delight and her relief, won the game with some ease. “You play with more skill than I ever shall.”
“Perhaps,” was his only reply.
“I’m tired now. I should like to return to my chambers,” Lucrezia said.
“Well, then, I shall accompany you. We can dine there, too.”
Alfonso, Lucrezia and the ever-present black ghost made their way across the castle to her apartments.
Why? Lucrezia asked herself. Why? Why? Why? Why, after all these weeks and months of avoiding her presence, did Alfonso now wish to act the devoted husband? Something had changed: she knew it. Something had altered within him and it unnerved her. She felt alone and vulnerable. As they neared her chambers, she reached a decision: she had no idea what lay behind this change in Alfonso’s demeanour but, whatever the reason, she decided that she would do whatever it transpired he wanted of her—however much it might distress or disgust her. For, she reasoned, keeping Alfonso happy must surely be the best way of keeping Jacomo safe. She had survived the last ordeal, after all. At most, there could only be a few more days of purgatory. She could endure it.
There was a whining voice inside her head, though, to which she could not bring herself to listen. It bored into her soul, sharp and thin as a wire, goading her to distraction: you do not think he would carry out such a deed himself, do you? Perhaps, the voice whispered, he wants you in your chambers, away from Jacomo, so that some minion can carry out his orders and rid him of his “opponent” even as you lie in his arms. Perhaps…while you submit to Alfonso’s attentions, sure that in doing so you are keeping Jacomo safe, elsewhere in the castle—
“Crezzi!” A voice broke into Lucrezia’s reverie, and she heard running footsteps. Alfonso checked his stride and turned with her. Lucrezia nearly cried with relief to see Giovanni.
He ran up, slowing as he reached her side. “Signore, forgive me.” He bowed to Alfonso and then turned to Lucrezia. “Crezzi, I’ve not seen you since the day before yesterday.”
“No. Where have you been?”
“Readying myself to return to Cafaggiolo, apart from anything. I leave in a few days.”
“Oh, Vanni, I had not realised you were going so soon. You should have come riding with me and Signor Bracciante—”
“Tell me, Signore,” Alfonso interrupted, “have you enjoyed your stay at the Castello, this time? Were you suitably impressed by the unveiling of our fresco?”
“Indeed, sir, I—”
“And the portrait?”
“Of course, it’s not yet finished, Signore, but I promise I will tell my aunt and uncle what an extraordinary likeness of Crezzi Fra Pandolf”—Giovanni flicked a glance at Lucrezia—“has already produced.”
Alfonso seemed gratified. Staring at Lucrezia, he said, “You can tell them how fortunate it is that your cousin can be thus…immortalized…as a permanent decoration within the fabric of the Castello…”
Giovanni turned to Lucrezia as Alfonso spoke, and she saw, with
surprise, that his eyes were wide and dark, and tiny beads of sweat clung to the line of his upper lip. He seemed profoundly ill at ease.
“Are you…are you quite well, Vanni?” Lucrezia asked, reaching for his hand. His palm was cold and damp.
He smiled and nodded, but she was not reassured. His discomposure echoed the forbidding atmosphere that seemed to be hanging over the entire castle that day. Lucrezia began to feel as though an anonymous, menacing being was loose in the building—a savage version of Folletto—padding upon soft paws along the corridors of the Castello, a creature that might confront them at any moment, snarling and ready to strike.
“Would you care to dine with us, Vanni?” Lucrezia asked, as they neared her apartments.
“Oh, I am sure your cousin has many things he should be doing, Lucrezia. Doubtless he will not wish to waste the short time he has remaining here in Ferrara cooped up in your chambers,” Alfonso said, with unnatural geniality, before Giovanni could answer.
But Giovanni said, “On the contrary, Signore, I should be delighted to spend as much time as I can with Lucrezia before I have to leave.”
Alfonso still had hold of Lucrezia’s hand and she felt his fingers stiffen at Giovanni’s words, which, even to her ears, sounded impertinent.
“You misunderstand me, sir. I do not care to have to spell it out so obviously, but since you put me in the position where I am forced to do so, I must explain. I wish to dine alone with my duchess.”
Giovanni flushed. “Forgive me,” he said—but he said it to Lucrezia, rather than to Alfonso. He sketched a rough bow and strode away.
***
The light had almost gone, and Lucrezia and Alfonso had finished eating. The candles in the brackets on the walls were alight, and a small fire was burning, casting shivering shadows across the rush-strewn floor.
Lucrezia was beginning to feel sick at the thought of what would soon be expected of her, for Alfonso had made it clear all evening that he quite certainly had something in mind. His gaze, Lucrezia thought, had been searching and hungry since the moment he had helped her from her horse some hours before. A clot of dread sat high in her throat as she waited for him to make his first suggestion. She was astonished, therefore, when he rose from his chair and said, “You seem tired, Lucrezia. I shall retire to my chambers and let you sleep.” He paused. “I shall, however, look forward to the morrow.”
Doing no more than running his fingers up the length of one of her arms, and gripping her shoulder for a second, Alfonso left her.
She sat staring into the embers, fear for Jacomo’s safety pricking at her painfully, but she dared not leave her room. Sleep seemed impossible, and after having retired to bed, she lay awake for hours, gazing at the sky through her uncurtained window.
***
She must have slept in the end, although she knew she had seen the beginnings of the dawn. It seemed only moments later that her eyes snapped open, as suddenly as though she had been shaken awake. It was bright outside and the sun was high. Hours must have passed. Any sense of repose vanished and the cold weight of dread pressed back upon her again. She could hardly bear to think about what might have happened while she had been sleeping.
She dragged off her night shift and put on the chemise she had worn the day before. Throwing back the lid of a painted chest so that it banged against the wall, she grabbed from it a blue bodice and skirt. Her fingers were shaking so badly that the skirt almost fell from her grasp twice as she tried to fasten it, but she rough-laced the bodice and pushed her arms into the already fastened sleeves, fighting to get it down over her head with hands that felt like empty gloves.
She heard movement in the next room. There was a knock on the door and one of her waiting-women came in. The girl’s eyes widened as she saw her mistress’s struggles. “My lady—?”
“I—I…er…” Lucrezia could think of nothing to say.
“May I help you, Signora?” the young woman said. She was small and dark, and Lucrezia did not think she had seen the girl before. Since Catelina’s departure, her waiting-women had seemed inconsequential and uninteresting, and she rarely spoke to them more than basic civility demanded.
“Thank you,” she said now. “If you could please help me to fasten this.” She turned her back, presenting the badly laced bodice. With quick, capable fingers, the girl straightened and tightened it; as the bodice pulled snugly around her chest, Lucrezia could feel her heartbeat thudding against it, and wondered if the girl would actually be able to see her body shaking.
Trying to keep her voice calm, she said, “I have slept longer than I meant to. I shall go up to the roof garden, and enjoy the sunshine.” A trip that would take her past the Entrance Hall.
“Yes, my lady.”
Lucrezia could feel the girl’s eyes upon her as she left the apartment. Irritated with herself—why had she felt the need to explain her movements?—she walked as slowly as she could along the corridor, but once round the corner, she broke into a scrambling run. Almost falling, her skirts bunched in her fists, she took the stairs two at a time, skidding as she turned a sharp corner into the long passage. Her shoulder banged against the wall and she stumbled. She forced herself to a walk again and went as quickly as she dared towards where she prayed Jacomo would be at work on the portrait.
The sunlight in the Entrance Hall was dazzling as Lucrezia left the gloom of the passage, and for a second she could see nothing. Then, up on the landing, she saw him. Some feet away from the reverend brother, he was crouching on one knee, brows creased in concentration, one paintbrush in his hand and another between his teeth. Lucrezia let out a strangled sob of relief and stepped back into the shadows. She dared not let Jacomo see her—if he smiled at her now, she was quite certain she would cry.
A few moments in the Roof Garden, she thought, would settle her disquiet to the point where she could return to the Entrance Hall without fear of betraying herself in front of Fra Pandolf.
She had to find a way to speak to Jacomo.
They had to leave the Castello today.
The sun was warm on the red brick as she walked out into the Roof Garden. Crossing the enclosed square, she put her hands on the wall and gazed down at the street below through one of the tiny windows. Tears swelled in the corners of her eyes, and through the glaze of salt water, the people she saw appeared to dip and dance surprisingly merrily as they went their way about their unknown business.
Lucrezia stood thus unmoving, her head on her arm, for several minutes, allowing her racing pulse to settle. Then, breathing in slowly, she turned, determining to return to the Entrance Hall and to Jacomo. She had not taken more than a step, however, when she heard feet on the stairs.
Alfonso strode into the sunshine, a hand held up to shade his eyes.
Lucrezia felt a sob puckering in her throat.
“Good!” Alfonso said. “You are here. Your waiting-woman said you would be. You confessed to a lack of skill in the saddle yesterday, Lucrezia. I shall take you riding this morning.”
He did not appear to be offering her any choice in the matter, and had apparently observed neither her tears nor her agitation. She looked back at him, but said nothing.
Alfonso took her hand and strode back towards the stairs. “You will need to change your clothes. We can go to your chambers now, and you can ready yourself for riding. Perhaps you should eat before you go, too—we might be some time.”
They returned to Lucrezia’s apartment without passing the Entrance Hall.
***
Lucrezia somehow endured the day. By sunset she was exhausted. Alfonso had stayed at her side since the morning, still strangely energetic and vivid. He seemed, Lucrezia thought, quite consumed with a twitching, febrile vivacity, entirely unlike his usual dignified demeanour.
The hours had passed in a blur of anxiety and tiredness. Lack of sleep had made Lucrezia’s eyes gritty and she had no appetite for the meals Alfonso had had prepared for the two of them. She still did not understand. Never i
n the two years of their marriage had he been solicitous like this—never had he seemed to take such an interest in her everyday well-being. His anger of two days previously seemed to have evaporated entirely. Lucrezia supposed that an onlooker might have said that her husband was behaving impeccably, but she still felt profoundly uneasy.
The day drew to a close; daylight began to drop and all over the Castello candles and torches were lit as the sun set.
“I have a brief visit to make, Lucrezia,” Alfonso said, not long after the great red ball had sunk below the city’s roofscape. “I shall return a little later.”
Lucrezia was unable to speak for the wild thudding of her heart in her throat as Alfonso picked up a candle and left the room. Black fears for Jacomo’s safety screeched in her head, though she dared not set out to warn him, not knowing how long Alfonso would be away, terrified that were she wrong in her surmise, she might unwittingly draw his attention to her lover and cause Jacomo’s destruction by the very act of trying to keep him safe.
She paced her rooms, walking between bedchamber and studio for the best part of an hour, breathing in jerky, agitated gasps and twining her fingers around each other as though she meant to twist them right off. Despite her terror, though, fatigue at last overwhelmed her, and she decided to undress. Preferring not to call for one of her ladies, she unfastened and removed her jewellery, then managed to unlace her bodice. She eased it off, unhooked her skirt and stepped out of its heavy folds. Then she pulled off her chemise, dragged her night shift over her head, and with trembling fingers, undid the plaits in her hair and shook it loose.
Feeling sick, she sat on the end of her bed, but stood up again almost immediately, hearing footsteps and the clicking of claws.
The door opened with a soft scrape as it caught against the floor and Alfonso appeared.
He was carrying a bottle of wine and two silver cups.
34
The sounds of the street outside pushed their way into the downstairs room as Catelina shifted the baby into the crook of her elbow, opened the front door and stood back. Giorgio hitched Chiara’s body more comfortably into his arms. Wrapped in a blanket, she was peaceful and pale, and her head lay on his broad shoulder as though she slept.
His Last Duchess Page 30
