The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes

by Hogarth Brown

  Illawara could not believe her luck, and as they bonded, she could have listened, and often did, to Antonio’s mother talk all day. Bianca was quick to throw formality aside, and confide in Illawara as a true ally. While sat at the living room table Illawara listened to the exiled noblewoman, fallen but still proud, talk without fatigue on all her favourite subjects. She discussed people of the town, her meagre stipend allowed to her - from profitable family lands - her difficulties in finding good servants to assist her, the price of food, and the price of the love that had ruined her.

  Illawara drank up every word from the exile like a baby on the breast, and Bianca, glad to have a female in the house that could not barter gossip with the neighbours, let her jaw run loose in telling her every observation of life to her. Bianca also let vent her and Antonio’s frustrations at trying to restore themselves to fortune. Within a matter of days Bianca could not resist telling intimate family secrets to such willing ears.

  ‘Daughter’ Bianca proclaimed, much to Illawara’s joy and astonishment, after returning from morning Mass with Antonio. The mistress of the house bustled into the living room where Illawara and Hermes sat at the table before she snatched up Illawara’s hand: ‘I’ve told everyone about you at church’ Illawara wriggled and looked away, ‘I know you and Hermes both had headaches this morning, but next Sunday I must insist you come – the community are dying to meet you…’ Bianca turned to Hermes for a moment, ‘and you too of course.’ Illawara smiled, but pulled back and wrung her hands. Bianca paused, before then busying herself by tacking off her gloves and cloak and putting them to one side. Antonio stuck his head into the living room and beckoned Hermes to join him in the kitchen. Hermes got up to follow him. Bianca followed him with her eyes. ‘Are you and your friend feeling better, my dear?’ Illawara nodded, ‘Good, I’m glad to hear it. Now that we’re alone we can talk’ Bianca scanned the room, filled with trinkets, as if someone lay in hiding. Bianca took up Illawara’s hand again, as she was accustomed to do. ‘Daughter, let me share some truth with you. I confide in you now what I dare not say to my confessor: they say we women are fickle, but men are worse.’ Bianca massaged Illawara’s palm, ‘not a day goes by when I don’t think of Antonio’s father’ she sighed, before crossing herself, and clutching at her throat with her free hand as she continued - Illawara sat attentive and wide-eyed. ‘Daughter, let me tell you, with all that I’ve been through, with all that I’ve suffered, with all that I’ve endured, there are few things worse for a woman than a dull marriage…’

  At times, in the previous week, Antonio would overhear his mother talking to Illawara, and interject to admonish Bianca for being too candid, but Illawara would protest, and defend Bianca as if she were her own mother, and beg for the woman to continue. Antonio grumbled to Hermes while in the kitchen, familiar with his mother’s gossip tone, that he detected, and shook his head before continuing his conversation with him. ‘Yes, yes, my dear’ Bianca continued, ‘a dull marriage can drive a woman to despair, or murder’ she whispered, ‘it is said that some women poison their husbands out of boredom alone.’ She pulled Illawara closer as her eyes searched the corners of the room. ‘I’d been married for almost two years to Tito, and still felt practically a virgin - so little I’d been explored by my husband’ she confessed, rolling her eyes to glance at the ceiling as she cast her mind over her past. Illawara giggled.

  ‘Bianca, really?’ said Illawara, with one hand, rested on her chin, and the other in captivity as Bianca built momentum. The exile took a deep breath:

  ‘Yes, tis the truth daughter, tis the truth. With age comes wisdom, and I see now looking back that I was dying, dying in that marriage. By the time Rodolfo - Antonio’s father - wooed me' she said in a stage whisper, 'I’d almost lost the will to live.' Bianca took on a contrite expression, releasing Illawara’s palm for a moment to wring her hands, before snatching it before she continued. 'I resisted him of course, as any true lady should, but he was so handsome and relentless when he pursued me: gifts, flowers, perfume and jewellery were all showered upon me; as if I were a princess.’ Illawara watched Bianca as her bosom heaved at the memory of her younger self, letting full vent to her feelings that she had bottled inside for so many years. ‘I would argue with him, of course, I fought him back.’

  Bianca thrust her free arm outward as if defending herself from attack, ‘he knew I was married, but he read me - I know not how - and if I were alone after church he would steal kisses from my hand.’ Illawara exhaled. ‘For months I’d ignore him and say “I don’t want you” and take delight in seeing him crushed for days, but at night in bed next to Tito, while he snored, my husband may have slept, but my body burned.’

  Bianca tilted her head, lifted her shoulders, and squeezed Illawara’s hand again at her memories: ‘one day he told me, and I believed him: “If I can’t have you I’ll die”, and he said I’d never see him again.' Bianca dabbed at herself with a scrap of lace as he relived her past. 'I swooned, wept, and wrung my hands, quite overcome, and confessed that I adored him - that I’d loved him from the beginning.'

  'How romantic', gushed Illawara delighting in the details of Bianca's life. Bianca delivered her life story with relish, re-illuminating her heart with passionate memories.

  'So I let him love me' she continued, 'I let him worship me, foolish girl that I was, and thus invited my ruin: after six months it was impossible to hide the evidence of our unions… Then he left me’ Bianca flicked her wrist, ‘just like that, and…’ Bianca’s voice trailed off as she looked to the wall in the direction of her son, hearing him muttering with Hermes in the kitchen. Both women fell into silence.

  Illawara breathed, and wandered off into her mind’s eye before Orsini pressed her into his arms and swept her into their dance once more. She felt herself move as she looked into his intense eyes. Her pulse raced with danger and excitement. Then she saw Orsini when he had held her hand with tenderness as she stood at the doors of the carriage and, for a moment, he commanded the mob to protect her. Illawara felt Bianca’s grasp but relived Orsini's touch.

  Then she saw the face of the Professor looking bloody and torn, his arm scarlet with blood as he flayed at the Medici door to escape.

  'Are you still there, my girl?' said Bianca, shaking her hand, before Illawara recovered herself. Illawara puzzled at her feelings. Bianca unburdened and in great excitement, stood up from the living room table still clutching Illawara’s hand and declared, so that all in the house could hear, that she and Illawara would take tea in her drawing-room - which she liked to keep reserved for rare visits from valued guests. Hermes and Antonio ignored Bianca’s declaration and moved instead to the kitchen balcony that overlooked the main road that stretched to the centre of Padua. Antonio discussed points of local interest with Hermes, as Bianca moved Illawara to the drawing-room. Antonio then closed the kitchen door before he unburdened himself to Hermes about his struggles.

  Bianca, enthused, gave orders to Grizelda, as soon as she had come back from the markets that day with cake, mutton, herbs, and potatoes. ‘Oh, Grizelda’, Bianca called out, when she heard the burdened woman cross the threshold, ‘come in here please.' The maid dragged her feet to the drawing-room, 'what are we giving our guests for dinner?’ she added as if she could not guess, before gesturing to Illawara and flicking a hand in the direction of the kitchen. Grizelda’s shoulders slumped,

  'Roast Mutton and potatoes, Bianca.' The mistress of the house made eyes at her maid, 'Donna Marconi', Grizelda added, with a brief curtsy. Bianca nodded,

  'Please make sure there’s enough for four, and yourself and Dondo, of course’

  Illawara took her chance to study the maid as she stood in the doorway, from where she sat. She gazed upon a woman who seemed fashioned from resentment itself. Her lank brown hair, lined with grey, just reached her shoulders, and her dark-circled puffy eyes contrasted with her angular jaw and slab-stone forehead. Illawara mused that the one feature which redeemed Grizelda were her full sult
ry lips that sulked at the edges but added much-needed softness to her hard face and wiry body. The maid and Illawara looked at each other in silence. Bianca chirped up:

  ‘Grizelda, I know you've been busy with no time to talk…'

  'I've not stopped all day', said the maid. Bianca turned to her guest.

  'Illawara, as I’ve mentioned, this is my maid Grizelda and I hope you’ll now get the chance to chat' continued Bianca, 'indeed, we spoke about you early this morning while you were asleep…’ added Bianca to her protégé. The maid made no attempt to engage. Illawara glanced at Bianca before she gave the maid a stiff smile. Grizelda then flashed a look at her mistress before she took the measure of Illawara – her mind made up about her character.

  ‘It will be a PLEASURE to serve you, Donna Illawara’ Grizelda replied in a sweet tone with a hollow sound and made off in the direction of the kitchen. Bianca’s face cringed before she called after Grizelda:

  ‘Will Dondo be back soon?’ she asked, ‘you’re good at knowing his whereabouts.’

  ‘Yes he will, Donna Marconi - I chanced upon him earlier’ came the flat reply from the hallway, ‘he’ll be here with firewood before long I expect.' Bianca relaxed,

  ‘In that case then’ she added, ‘with the last of the wood, please put some water on to boil, as we’ll take tea with some of that delicious almond and orange cake you’ve brought, here in the drawing-room.’ A long pause had come before Grizelda replied,

  ‘Of course, Donna Marconi, as you wish’

  she said before she sloped off to the kitchen.

  ‘I’m sorry’ said Bianca, ‘she’s a good cook, but there’s no grace to her’ whispered Bianca. Illawara gave out a nervous laugh, and glanced in the direction of the kitchen,

  ‘I guess it’s a lot of effort for her?’ she said, not knowing how else to answer.

  Holding back the cake, Grizelda barged into the kitchen and tossed down the rest of her produce onto the wooden kitchen table with a loud crash that startled Antonio and Hermes as they chatted. The pair spun round, as some of the potatoes tumbled to the floor, and saw the sullen expression of the maid as she stood there,

  ‘Grizelda, when did you get back? How are you?’ said Antonio. Hermes took in the stony face of the woman, with one hand holding a cake and the other hand on her hips. She scowled, and eyeballed the pair, Hermes stepped back, before she placed the cake down, and her expression then gave way to crack into a white smile as she walked forward with arms raised and outstretched.

  ‘Nino, my dear, I returned first thing this morning, you were all asleep accept for your Mother. I’m baring up, how are you?’ Antonio walked into her embrace, and the two rocked together for a while - Hermes looked on and felt a burn in the pit of his stomach. ‘It’s been so long’ she said,

  ‘How are things, Grizzy?’ Antonio said when the maid released him.

  ‘Oh you know, the usual… nothing changes, time passes…’ she sighed, running a hand through the new greys in her hair. Antonio considered her face with a slight crook in his brow.

  ‘Tell me the truth: how’s my mother been?’ He whispered. Grizelda rolled her eyes,

  ‘Unbearable, I mean, charming as ever. When you're gone, she still laments your father like a young maid, saying he’ll marry her and rescue her from strife.' Antonio flicked his eyes at Hermes, before he muttered something under his breath to Grizelda. The maid raised her brow before she made a gesture across her lips. Hermes eyes flicked between the pair.

  ‘And Dondo, how is he? I’ve not seen him since I’ve been back.’ The maid scoffed,

  ‘Still a block head - we’ll see more wit and spark in the firewood he brings back for the hearth, when he returns.’

  Antonio gave out a little grunt but raised a gesture in Dondo’s defence, and Hermes suppressed a smile at the candid maid’s words. Grizelda then shifted her head to the side to look at Hermes again, her hazel eyes acute and inquisitive. Antonio turned round: ‘Grizelda, this is Hermes. Hermes, this is Grizelda, my mother’s confidant and maid.’ The youth gave a polite reply and shy nod as the maid eyed him up like a magpie.

  ‘I’ve not seen you with a brown one before, Nino, this is new for you - but they do say travel broadens the mind.’ Hermes flashed a look at his host before air seeped from Antonio’s mouth.

  ‘You grow bolder by the year, Grizzy, remember my mother is your keeper.’ The maid slanted her eyes at Antonio, shrugged and toyed with several grey hairs on her head.

  ‘Forgive me; I blame age. They say that every grey hair loosens the tongue.’

  Antonio crossed his arms in a display of mock anger, ‘I tell the truth’ smirked the maid, ‘your mother’s grey - and her tongue runs like a river’ mewed Grizelda.

  ‘Then I suggest you keep your hair dyed and your tongue short because she is your mistress, and you can’t afford to lose your place’ said Antonio, wagging his finger with a wry smile. The maid clucked,

  ‘But she can’t afford to be without me, Nino: I’m her eyes, hands, and ears.’ Antonio tutted as the maid then picked up the potatoes that had tumbled to the floor, and busied herself to boil water. She then sliced and plated the almond and orange cake she had brought, arranged a tea service, using Bianca’s least cracked china, sliced bread and butter for Hermes and Antonio to graze, before she would later prepare the evening meal of herb-rubbed Spit Roast Mutton, and potatoes. Hermes eyed Antonio with suspicion: Grizelda's words still humming in his ears as he speculated how many males had passed through the house before himself. Hermes watched the maid carry out her tasks with confidence and efficiency, sweeping the hearth, as she chatted with Antonio - sure of her place.

  As Hermes observed Grizelda at work his eyes glazed over and stared beyond the walls while his mind slipped into ancient memories: Hermes watched himself sweep the Temple floor of Serapis with a bundle of twigs. He took his usual care and attention, mindful of getting the incense dust and food crumbs from offerings out of the temple corners. Hermes saw himself stop his work before he stood up and turned as if called. He looked at the statue of Serapis, stood on the marble floor, the face framed by the yellow locks of his hair and beard, before he walked closer to the figure.

  He scanned around him before he leant forward to clasp the face of the God and press his ear to the lips of the statue and listened. Hermes had neglected his dust pile, with his ear pressed to the God's mouth, not hearing the steps that approached beyond the temple's marble pillars and along the steps that lead down to the Library of Alexandria.

  'You're very devoted to the God, Hermes. Serapis is fond of you, but don't forget the God you're named after - he has even more to teach you' came the deep voice from the tall robed figure of the Temple priest stood behind him.

  'You missed a bit' said Antonio to Grizelda as she swept the hearth before Hermes snapped out of his memory with a start - shaken by another fragment of himself that he had rediscovered. Hermes shook his head and rubbed his eyes as if waking from sleep as he watched the maid flick ashes Antonio's way before the two chuckled. Hermes saw then that the house had become Grizelda's temple and that she kept vigil over Bianca and Antonio. The maid used the last of the firewood to boil water in the copper pan over the stove, and Grizelda complained at Dondo’s lateness, as she poured the hot water into a teapot, cut lemon, and arranged the sliced cake on small plates that were cradled by the battered tea service.

  ‘You’ve forgotten the milk’ said Hermes on impulse.

  Both Italians stared at him as if his skin wriggled with flies. His face grew hot, ‘it’s just that the Professor and Illawara always have milk with their tea…’ More blank stares came his way after Antonio, and the maid exchanged glances,

  ‘There’s a cow tethered in the fields if you’d like to fetch some milk’ Grizelda said,

  ‘Excuse me’ said Hermes, ‘it’s been a long day’,

  ‘It's neither None nor Vespers, m’Lord’ added Grizelda with an English accent and a curtsy before she left the room with th
e tea tray.

  ‘She doesn’t like me’ said Hermes to Antonio when she left,

  ‘She doesn’t like most people’ he said, ‘but when you get to know her…’ Antonio paused, ‘milk in tea?’ Antonio grimaced, ‘and I heard you say, Professor. Is that what the Earl, I mean what Illawara's father is?’ Hermes looked away and rubbed at his neck, ‘neither of you say anything about him, you promised to tell me more, but I realised he must be the other Professor you both mentioned in the carriage when I first met you. The one from Oxford. All that time he was questioning you both, he was really asking questions about himself’ Antonio shook his head, almost laughing before he frowned. ‘And what’s in his case that Illawara has with her? Why won’t she open it? Has she shown you? And why do neither of you talk about it and what really happened in Firenze?’ Antonio pressed forward. Hermes turned away from him, his face strained. Hermes spun back round, his brows knotted.

  ‘How many men were here before me, Antonio?’ Hermes interjected as if thinking out loud. Antonio gawped, somewhat, his mind derailed, before he crossed his arms and tilted his head as he looked at the youth:

  ‘That’s a very big question, Hermes, and even less of your business.' Hermes coloured, after crashing Antonio’s thoughts, the heat creeping up his neck. Antonio then turned away from him to walk back to the kitchen balcony and gaze down the street, as the afternoon progressed. Antonio beckoned to Hermes to join him. He put his arm over the youth when he reached his side.

  ‘These are difficult times for us Hermes: exile isn’t easy, but I want my mother kept as best as we can afford, but her pittance is not enough to maintain a woman of her birth and breeding.'