The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  In leading the pack Antonio remained cheerful but focused, a glow of sweat clung to his brow. The Earl, however, seemed untouched by the experience, and exerted less effort in his ascent than of one shelling prawns or peeling an onion. In time the whole expanse opened out as the group emerged into the upper balcony of the painted dome. The painting shimmered with life and dazed the onlookers with its intensity. Christ sat majestic in the heavens surrounded by angels, beyond the reach of the demonic forms lower down, looking as if they had leapt from the pages of Dante’s Inferno.

  Illawara wobbled at the height and clung white-knuckled to the iron rail, as she peered down. The clergymen looked like tiny scraps of coloured paper in a breeze, as they milled about below. Hermes then lunged upward, as if to catch the air, overwhelmed by an urge to launch himself into flight above the floor many meters below and inspect the face of Christ for himself. Illawara almost screamed, but human reason netted Hermes before instinct could take over, as he lurched forward violently, only just managing to grasp the rail - the ambush of near death above the void made him swoon.

  The whole group cried out as Antonio snatched Hermes back before he fell over the railings. ‘HERMES’ Illawara exclaimed before covering her mouth: her voice echoed around the dome as he fell backwards. The priests paused for a moment to look upward at the sound as Illawara gripped the Earl's arm for comfort. Hermes lay limp for several seconds, panting before he shook himself back to awareness.

  ‘I’m alright, I’m alright’ he said coming to, looking up into concerned faces as the group leant over,

  ‘You tried to jump’ said the Earl, glaring down at him.

  ‘I just got dizzy, that’s all’, Hermes said, as he elbowed his way upwards before thanking Antonio for his athletic catch. But Hermes stood shaking from head to toe as his body burned all over.

  ‘Well, this great work never fails to make an impact’ Antonio declared, gripping Hermes by the shoulders, his face riven with concern, as he tried to make light of the situation. Antonio then moved forward, supporting Hermes, to resume leading the group. Illawara's hands trembled as she gave out a nervous laugh. She paused for a moment, seeing Hermes in flight no more than a day ago: a bird form that he had inhabited for so many years. The animal still compelled him. Illawara shivered.

  ‘You’re not the first to have fainted’ Antonio whispered in Hermes’ ear as he took the youth’s arm over his shoulder to better hold him up. Illawara tried to calm herself and looked to the walls to avoid the view below. She stopped before reaching up to touch the grey tail of a demon painted on the wall: ‘I wouldn’t touch that’ said Antonio, looking back, before entering yet another stairway, ‘it’s bad luck.' The Earl craned his neck round to look, but she had drawn back her hand from the painting,

  ‘I’d keep your hands to yourself if I were you’ he said. Illawara retreated.

  ‘I just wanted to touch… a masterpiece, it’s so rare to get the chance’ she said. The Earl tilted his head to look at her before they moved on.

  More toil awaited the group as they climbed to even more steep and narrow confines, while Antonio navigated the wooden construct on the inside of the dome’s shell. As the group approached the pinnacle, they almost crawled on all fours, sandwiched as they were between the inner and outer domes. Then it was over. The group emerged onto the viewing platform and into the embrace of the sky. The city of Florence lay below in all its beauty. The recent overcast pallor of the clouds had cracked here and there, pierced by blades of the sunshine that fell upon hills and houses. Antonio left the silence of the group unchallenged as they drank in their surroundings.

  ‘It’s magnificent’ gushed Illawara, before filling her lungs, ‘truly stunning. I’ll never forget this.’ Even the Earl looked impressed, shaking his head at the wonder of it all. Hermes took in a deep breath, accepting a sky he could no longer fly in, and felt the vow he had made to himself at breakfast reaffirmed. Antonio strutted about, a man in his element, his chest puffed out like a pigeon:

  ‘There’s the river Arno and the Ponte Vecchio’ he said, pointing this way and that, ‘over there is the Palazzo Pitti, and the Uffizi’

  At the mention of the Uffizi Illawara jolted out of her reverie. She set her sights on the Earl and waited for her chance to talk with him. The opportunity came while Hermes stood, rapt, as Antonio chatted away, commanding his attention as he gestured to the landscape and the outlying towns on the hills. Illawara walked to the side of the Earl as he stared with intensity in the direction of the Uffizi. She touched his arm. The Earl flinched: ‘Oh’ he said taken aback, ‘I was miles away.’ She searched his pale green eyes; they were vivid but joyless. Illawara hesitated before speaking:

  ‘What a view…’ she said, ‘yet you seem troubled?’ the Earl took a step back from her,

  ‘Do I?’ He said. Illawara stepped forward.

  ‘Yes,’ She replied, trying to read his expressions.

  ‘It’s nothing really; I was just thinking about the events this evening, and about whom I hope to meet.’ Illawara’s blood then rushed with adrenalin.

  ‘Anyone important or special?’ Illawara said, trying to sound carefree. The Earl walked away to take in more of the view, his hands braced behind his back.

  ‘Yes, someone vital and very special.’ Illawara’s heart quickened.

  ‘I see…’ She said, clutching her hands together, before following him. ‘Edward, I’ve something to ask you, but I find it a little awkward’ she whispered, as the Earl’s expression began to change. Illawara swallowed, ‘well, there’s no point in hiding I may as well come out with it.’ Illawara missed the look of dread on the Earl’s face as she turned to the view for inspiration, ‘you see, I have a problem…’ Illawara gripped the railings, ‘I don’t quite have the invitation… what I mean, is that I lost the formal dinner invitation for Hermes and myself.’ She turned to him, his face looked relieved, ‘I’ve been a fool, I must have lost it on the way here.' Illawara fiddled with her fingers, 'Hermes doesn’t know’ she whispered again, ‘I couldn’t bear to tell him, and I’m worried that without it, we won’t be allowed in. So, I wanted to ask you a favour.'

  ‘I’m listening’ said the Earl, Illawara chewed at her lip.

  ‘May I attend as your consort?’ The Earl let out a peal of laughter, that paused Antonio for a moment in his animated teaching, as Illawara shrank back. Her stomach tangled in knots, but she allowed the Earl’s laughter to subside,

  ‘I don’t see why not…' He said, 'but what about Hermes?’ Illawara almost clapped her hands together.

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful I hoped you would say yes. I think maybe Hermes can be introduced as my cousin and chaperone as before? It’s just that I will be with you.'

  ‘Seems reasonable’ said the Earl in a relaxed manner, ‘if needed I’m sure Antonio could pull a few strings; that man has more connections than an octopus.' Illawara then clapped her hands with glee: relieved that she and Hermes would gain access to the banquet. But Illawara accepted that even if the Earl had a special lady waiting for him at the event, she would at least get to see her competition. Illawara paused as pang of guilt slunk through her: for forgetting about her father's welfare at that moment. But she overcame the mood as she stood next to the Earl, letting her worries melt into the Tuscan sunset.

  Chapter 8

  The Dance

  The Uffizi

  I llawara entered the Uffizi arm in arm with the Earl of Oxford in triumph. After the Duomo, they had all arrived in the Earl’s carriage. Her heart trembled with palpitations as an official of the guard inspected invitations. He stood: stout, broad, and ruddy-faced as he eyeballed the guests. The elegant sword that hung at his side complemented his distinguished robes; the Medici clothed their staff well. The guests paused as the Official checked their names against scrolls, and the tufted eyebrows of the guest-list keepers twitched here and there while inspecting the newcomers. Some chancers, not quite up to scratch, were removed with discretion, and entrea
ting looks sprang from others gathered there, only slightly better dressed, not wishing to befall the same fate.

  As the group moved closer to the table of scrolls, the polished armour of the guards, bracing the hallway doors, caught the light. A pair faced each other, polearms crossed, disciplined and implacable. A couple further ahead took their turn to swoop up to the table. The man, lavishly dressed but ugly, made a sweeping gesture to the Official before embracing him, and kissing each cheek of the reserved man with his pockmarked face, and introduced his woman. She stepped forward, half stumbling on her velvet green dress, but gave a delicate bow, dipping her chin into her cleavage, which seemed to make more of an impact than the man who arrived with her. The Official gave an appreciative nod, the crowd wriggled, and the guards parted polearms to let them in.

  The Earl shifted from foot to foot, Hermes stared at a painting, and Antonio positioned himself to catch the eye of the Official.

  Illawara arched her back, tried to ignore the rising tension, and visualised herself already inside the party. She shone as she stood there, and the guards fought hard not to look at her but snatched their glances where they could. With a combination of the silver-tongued Antonio, whispering as he spoke, and the sheer number of guests, the Official used his discretion and waved the group on before they passed under the parting polearms of the armoured guards. It was not the first time that dubious nobles of doubtful origin had entered a Medici party. The Official, an old hand, fond of Antonio, had the experience to tell between the benign and the dangerous.

  The group after passing security glided up the broad stone steps of the Uffizi on a wave of optimism, while bathed in the glow of torchlight. Guests, nobles, and dignitaries had begun to accumulate everywhere on the upper floor in the long hall. The babble of laughter and conversation trickled down the walls as they ascended the staircase. As the group entered the room the full volume of conversation and the heat of bodies caressed them - the scent of perfume mingled with those of fine wine, and food, as people meandered along the gallery of paintings and sculptures. The art and the candlelight rendered even the ordinary - be it object or person - to become transfigured into the sensuous and inviting.

  That is when Cardinal Orsini saw her. Illawara seemed not to touch the ground when she walked. The diamond at her slender throat blazed like a comet, as it scattered the candlelight in thread-like shards across her amber skin. The mundane world fell away. She looked more like a star than a woman. Orsini failed to suppress a quiet thrill within him upon seeing her. Startled by her beauty every object and person within the extravagant hall became dull.

  Cardinal Pietro Orsini, a man not as lithe and sinuous as he was in his youth, still had an imposing physique. Middle age had broadened a willowed waist, and time had robbed him of a full head of hair. But his Roman skin shone tan, and his eyes, still handsome, glowed bright and fierce. The deepening creases on his face did nothing to dampen the amber-green intensity of his dark-lashed eyes that had inclusions of brown spots: like little creatures caught in amber. But what time had stolen from youth she gave back in cunning, and the Cardinal had never been more powerful - had never been more feared. Like a caged Leopard Orsini prowled the edge of the room as Illawara and her entourage entered a gallery space to the left of the main hall. He crept past the mass of guests, as if in a hunt, as they sauntered about, deaf in his focus, ignoring the playful music that skipped through the air.

  He kept Illawara in his sight, watching every turn of her body as she floated through the rooms, oblivious to the heads that craned after her. He listened to her laughter that fluttered, like a golden butterfly, and danced to his ears. He followed on, electrified, almost desperate as he caught her eye: not really seeing she gave him an unfocused smile and swept away, before her fairy-like laughter bounced from an arch and braced him from afar, to then tear into his heart and lay arson to a cold and barren place. Orsini paused to put his hand on a wall and to feel the heat in his chest: as if rubied-light were pulsing through his ribcage. The Cardinal caught his breath, and beckoned to a thin man that loitered at the fringes of the party: ‘don’t let her out of your sight’ Orsini whispered in his ear while his hands shuddered. The man gave a weak nod as he focused his pale and watery eyes in Illawara's previous direction. ‘I want to know everything about her. Who she is and where she’s from. You know what I’ve come to expect. Stay back, for now; I’ll give further instruction if I need to.’

  The thin man bowed. Orsini, recovered, swept forward with a lithe power as he mingled himself again with the party - only the blood red of his Cardinals cap defined him in the crowd.

  Orsini went ahead to take a place on one of the long dining tables that were set up for the banquet. His fingers made a galloping sound as he tapped them on the starched white tablecloth, eyeing the expanses from length to length, and listened. He then withdrew as the other guests arrived, while admiring a painting that he knew too well, and waited for her. Illawara sat in a place nearer the end of the furthest table next to Hermes, the Earl and his valet Antonio. Orsini made excuses to guests he knew and stood up to change his place - ignoring their surprise. Orsini ducked. He snatched up his named parchment, swapped tables, and moved five chairs down the row and whispered to a man sitting there, who then vacated to let Orsini sit down. From his new vantage point, he could observe and listen - with slight effort - to Illawara and her entourage. All the remaining guests took their seats, as their glasses were filled with water and then wine before a silence fell upon the gathering.

  A dignitary then walked into the dining room, before ringing a tiny brass bell, to formally announce and give thanks to the second Grand Duke and his wife, the Archduchess Maria Maddalena - as the room stood the resplendent hosts walked in arm in arm. The young Duke, elegant and tall, reminded all of his great father Cosimo the first, and the Archduchess, swathed in pale taffeta and pearls, with her chin lifted and her smooth shoulders back, looked as if she owned all of Italy as she acknowledged the room. Illawara and the other guests admired the Archduchess, but Illawara outshone Maria without conscious effort. The dignitary then went on to announce Galileo as the guest of honour. A little man then followed the Duke and Duchess. Praise and glasses rose upward for Galileo, as the little eyes of the physicist twinkled in his ruddy face. He gave a brief bow, before he ambled to his place next to the young Duke, and the stalled conversations erupted back into life.

  One by one elaborate dishes of food from the first service were piled upon the tables until they groaned. First, the efficient Trinciante kitchen staff laid down the starters: figs came with little pies of cooked eels, and small pastries filled with farro, then fish tarts of Pike tail were put next to those of sea bream, and little bowls of broth floated with stuffed veal in the Lombardy style. Quince pies shared space with pork loins, and colourful sauces came spiced or plain. Some of the guests were beside themselves with excitement, as they sampled the banquet. Others were more controlled in their reactions to better disguise the putting of food into purses and pockets: especially the poor nobles of grand names, crumbling estates, barren marriages, and even emptier cupboards. The bona fide wealthy picked at their food with casual indifference.

  More dishes arrived after the previous course got cleared, but Orsini paid scant heed as the table heaved with the second service of roasted chickens, pheasants, partridges and songbirds. He observed the delicate movements of Illawara and studied her to see what pleased her most as her face glowed in the candle light.

  The feast grew ever grander: three bronzed roast suckling pigs, with apples in jaws and crowned with rosemary, were eased onto the tables, accompanied by three fully dressed peacock pies, skin and feathers intact. The Trinciante held up and spread out the peacock’s tails in unison which dazzled the room, and the theatrical gesture gained a spontaneous round of applause from all guests. The meat was carved and forked, as the servers then struggled to find space for biscuits, sweets, cakes. A sailing ship made of marzipan bearing the Medici coat of a
rms was laid on the head table. Orsini observed the faces around the tables pink with pleasure, except for the Moorish youth’s that sat next to Illawara. Orsini raised his empty glass in the direction of a server who, once beckoned, stood close as he filled the glass with red wine: ‘any news on the fine woman?’ said Orsini in an aside to the server. Conversations bubbled around them.

  ‘No one seems to know much about her, your Eminence’ he whispered, ‘some say she’s Venetian or Padovan perhaps, but she’s called “Illawara”’. Orsini gave an intrigued expression, ‘she came with Antonio and two other interlopers’ the server gave a flicking gesture of his head, ‘that one is English.’

  Orsini did a quick study of the Earl’s face before responding: ‘huh, another “m’Lord” in Italy - more arrive every year.' Orsini then scrutinised the Earl’s valet, ‘that Antonio: yet another bastard son of an errant nobleman, and all of them trying to scratch out a place in this court.’ The server shifted position and looked down to the floor as the heat rose in his face: Orsini noticed but did not care. ‘Illawara…’ he mused, ‘a strange but pretty name, for a beautiful and enchanting woman.' Orsini then fixed the server with a look: ‘when this banquet is over, I want her followed.’ The server nodded and stumbled back somewhat, before visiting the glasses of other guests with an unsteady hand.

  Orsini allowed himself to look down the table to Illawara as Antonio introduced her to his rival Cardinal Barberini. Her smile blazed as she laughed again and threw her head back, the Cardinal seemed taunted, as Barberini said something charming, and Orsini wished himself swapped with him in that instant. Illawara's head turned at that moment and her eyes locked with Orsini’s, a current ran between them as a scorched thrill ran up his spine. Her smile faltered, and her eyes became downcast, as Orsini raised his glass to her. She turned away to regain herself before she laughed again at the joke that had past. Orsini chatted to his neighbour as Hermes and Antonio exchanged glances with one another.