‘Does your mother know what you do?’
'So you guess at what I "do" now, do you?' Hermes did not blink as he looked at the Valet. Antonio shrugged before lowering his voice, ‘I do no more than others do, in my position, to make ends meet: but what she doesn’t ask, I don’t tell.'
‘Did you do anything with the Professor?’ Antonio turned to Hermes with vexed brows,
‘NO, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t want that from me. I watched things, I catered for his tastes, but he did no more and no less than what most men do when away from home - are you judging me?’ Hermes remained silent, ‘but what else do you think people do if they don’t have money? Magic up gold in the street?’ he taunted, ‘everyone knows it, even The Church: there's many I know who would starve without their patronage.'
‘That’s quite a thing to say of such men of your faith’ added Hermes, but Antonio dismissed his words with a waft of his hand,
‘It's common knowledge: but a man's choice of lover neither makes him good or unholy – but how he lives in his heart' murmured Antonio. Hermes scuffed at the floor with his foot. 'I’ve held back, much to my loss, but I know friends, with no family honour to protect, that have made a fortune, and gained grace and favour from their services.’ Antonio’s voice hardened as he finished. Hermes chided himself for letting his question blurt out as butterflies rippled through his stomach.
'I wish I were rich' said Hermes, longing to buy Antonio’s freedom, buy whatever the man needed - buy him. Then Hermes turned to his host and held his gaze, as the Valet noticed his expression change, ‘I’m sorry’ said Hermes, with his voice shaking, ‘I should have kept my mouth shut, but you're too good to have to live this way… Too good.’
'You don't know me' said Antonio. He saw Hermes did not know where to look. Antonio stroked Hermes’ arm: ‘but that’s a kind thing to say, and you're right: I am too good for this’ he said, looking around the kitchen. Hermes searched Antonio’s face, so like Serapis’, illuminated for a moment when the sun triumphed over the gloom, as if he was the most beautiful creation he had ever seen. The Valet, unburdened, pulled him into a hug, and Hermes held on tight and filled his lungs with Antonio’s smell as the two stood for some time.
‘What’s this then! Midnight Mass?’ came a loud voice from the kitchen doorway, the two flew apart, and Hermes with the blood rushing in his ears saw a short, stout, white-haired man in his late fifties holding a large bundle of firewood under each arm.
‘Dondo’ Antonio exclaimed, ‘I nearly died - you mustn’t sneak up like that.’ The man gave out a dirty laugh so knowing and grubby it could have soiled a Holy Virgin’s Chapel. The man threw up both arms in greeting, revealing two sweat patches that spread from his shirt to his jerkin, as the bundles of branches tumbled to the ground.
‘Nino’ Dondo cried as he strode across the room to embrace Antonio in a bear hug that lifted the younger man off the floor, ‘what a surprise, what kept you away so long? Are you well? How are things? And who’s this?’ he said, while he still had Antonio suspended in the air, and trying to breathe. Hermes looked on with surprise at Dondo’s antics as Antonio wriggled in the air as if the pair were wrestling: Antonio signalled to be put down.
‘This is my friend Hermes, he’s from...'
'Torino’ added Hermes.
‘Really?' said Dondo, with a quizzical look, 'you're a bit dark for that.’ Hermes’ smile faltered, ‘I’d say the far south, maybe Sicily, yes, but the North, no’ added Dondo, but the man laughed before he greeted Hermes with warmth.
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Signore Dondo, it’s a pleasure’ said Hermes with genuine politeness – still liking the mature man in an instant. Dondo gave a look of surprise.
‘Foreign looks with such good Italian?’ Dondo exclaimed,
‘I spent years on ships with Italians that couldn’t speak half as well. Where are you really from?’
‘Alexandria’ said Hermes, much to his own shock, not so much in that he remembered, but that he could speak it without pain. Antonio looked at him with surprise, but the seasoned man carried on unfazed. ‘So you’re an Egyptian, that makes more sense. But your name is not Saracen – strange. But I saw many from your land in my trading days, and my God: the WOMEN - wild and beautiful.’ Dondo gestured a curvaceous figure in the air with his hands.
‘I didn’t know you’ve been to Egypt, Dondo’ said Antonio as he reassessed Hermes.
‘Nino, there is little land with a sea or a shore that joins the Mediterranean or Aegean that I’ve not seen, young man. All of North Africa, The Holy Land, Assyria, Anatolia, Spain, and most of the Greek islands in between’ said Dondo with evident pride, ‘we Genoise will go anywhere, and trade with anyone, fifteen years at sea will teach you a few things’, Dondo chortled.
‘But modesty is not one of them’ said Grizelda returning with an empty tea service, ‘or timekeeping.’ Dondo stood with his mouth open, ‘get out the way you old fart’ she added before she elbowed her way past the man to reach the broad kitchen table. Dondo turned to her with another filthy laugh, and slapped Grizelda across her thin bottom as she passed which made her cry out with surprise, and almost drop the tray, ‘you galley ship thug’ she scolded, ‘I should crack this service over your head.’
‘If you had the strength, skinny woman’, Dondo replied, before making a face at her, putting his hands on his hips, and shimmied himself to mock her expressions. Antonio laughed, and Hermes could not hold back a titter, as he saw himself avenged via Dondo’s prank.
‘Ooh, you old fool’ she said, putting down the service, before stamping her foot, ‘what took you so long with the firewood? I’m to cook for all of us tonight, and that mutton won’t roast itself.’ But Dondo paid no heed, and snatched Grizelda by the waist and hummed a popular tune as he spun her around in a mock dance, Grizelda struggled with him.
‘You sweaty block head’ she said as her slender frame got jigged around the kitchen by the perspiring man, until her resolve cracked and she laughed, head thrown back, at the absurdity of it all.
‘What a COMMOTION’ came the shrill voice of Bianca from the kitchen door, and Dondo almost dropped the laughing Grizelda, ‘are you up to your old tricks again - naughty sailor’ said Bianca sweeping into the kitchen, ‘why do men never grow up?’
‘Excuse me, Donna Marconi’ Dondo said with a dramatic bow, as Grizelda steadied herself, still giggling, by the kitchen fireplace. ‘To be in leave of your service was torture. I’ve brought back the firewood, as promised’ he said, gesturing to the two large bundles Bianca had sidestepped, ‘but I was so overwhelmed with Grizelda’s beauty, that I had to spin her into a dance.’ The noble woman laughed:
‘You vulpine silver tongue’ she chaffed, ‘you know just what lies to tell a woman.’ Hermes noticed the smile crash from the maid’s face, ‘if Grizelda were younger, maybe I’d be worried.’ The two giggled while the maid gave a peevish smile, pretending she enjoyed the jibe, before putting on her apron that hung near to the fireplace. Bianca clapped her hands together and made an announcement. ‘Everyone listen' she said, 'I wish to make a presentation.’ Silence fell in the room, as Bianca made a wafting gesture towards the kitchen door. ‘Illawara, you may step forward now.’ Somewhat bashful, Illawara walked into the kitchen wearing a dress of pale pink with puffed sleeves, a scooped neckline and little red garnets sewed onto the bodice like pomegranate seeds - she looked radiant.
'Madonna!' Dondo cried and then rushed forward to Illawara’s wide pink skirts, bent himself on one knee, kissed her hand and started to sing a sweet serenade to her. Illawara giggled as she looked down at the man, and didn’t mind some of the bum notes that came out of Dondo’s mouth as his sentiment seemed genuine; no one had ever sung to her before. When Dondo finished his serenade, Illawara spun herself into deft pirouettes, standing on point, swinging her arms upward as her skirts spun wide. All the Italians gasped at the gesture, but Hermes just smiled and nodded, having seen Illawara turn thousands of ti
mes at her ballet barre back home. She finished her three turns with a deep bow and gave Dondo thanks for his song of appreciation.
‘You can dance on one toe’ said Bianca and Dondo in unison, as if thinking from one mind.
'On point – sort of' Illawara corrected, before she smiled and nodded, bowing again like a ballerina taking her applause upon the stage. Grizelda shrank back into the fireplace as she glared at the young woman who looked like a rose in full bloom. When Bianca had recovered, she continued her presentation.
‘I wanted to leave it until tomorrow, before we looked through my old clothes, but she’s such a sweet thing I couldn’t wait any longer, and I had to dress her immediately.’ Illawara who enjoyed her new role as surrogate daughter, and doll, then turned herself around to show off the dress. Hermes saw Grizelda’s face wash out to a pale grey-green, ‘alas, my favourite dresses don’t fit me anymore’ Bianca trilled, ‘such is the cruelty of time… but this dress fits her like a glove, and I must say she’s almost as pretty as I was all those years ago.’ Illawara gave a beaming smile, but the room stayed quiet for a moment as Bianca’s words hung in the air. Those that could cast their minds back in time understood that Bianca had short changed her surrogate.
‘So who is this ravishing beauty?’ said Dondo, as Antonio walked forward to greet Illawara as if she were a different person.
‘She’s called “Illawara”, whatever that means?’ said Grizelda in a dull tone. Before anyone could answer, she stood up from the hearth and pushed past Illawara to pick up the firewood and took it back to the fireplace to get the evening meal started.
‘My name means Flame Tree' said Illawara, 'called so for its bright red flowers - when in bloom the trees can seem to set the sky alight’ added Illawara through a tense smile.
‘Never heard of it’ said Dondo, with a gesture of defeat, ‘but you’re another foreigner with perfect Italian’ Illawara looked away and scrunched her hands behind her back. ‘If you tell me you’re from the North I’ll not believe you’ chortled Dondo, elbowing Hermes, as he read Illawara’s poise and features and cross referenced those with the foreign women he had met or observed on his years of travel.
‘Don’t be rude Dondo. A woman’s mystique is half her power’ said Bianca. Illawara gave an involuntary curtsy by way of thanks to the mistress of the house. Dondo bowed, but his mind and experience, like an abacus, had already computed the likely origins of Illawara. He kept his finding to himself. He did not mind at all where she was from, and it was the same for Hermes. Foreigners put him at ease: it reminded him of the sea – and all its adventures. Loud clanging and rustling came from the hearth. Everyone turned to watch Grizelda as she reached for a tin box of kindling with her ashen fingernails, and clashed at two flints, like a blacksmith forging a horseshoe, to ignite a rag with sparks. She stuffed the burning fabric between the twigs and stray lumps of firewood and blew hard on the wood to further ignite the flames.
‘Good thinking, Grizzy’ said Bianca piping up through a strained expression, as the fire crackled into life. ‘I’m sure everyone is looking forward to a meal later’, almost all nodded in agreement, as Bianca asked her son, Hermes, and Illawara to wait for her back in the Drawing-room. Dondo stayed to help Grizelda spit the leg of mutton. The cooking of dinner became a full team effort when Bianca gave a hand to grind anchovies, garlic, oil and herbs into a paste which she then smothered onto the mutton, with a spoon, to help in the preparations - as she usually did when Antonio was not at home. While Bianca helped, she looked at her maid at times with quiet consideration. Bianca turned to speak to Grizelda in a low voice as Dondo poked the fire.
‘You could be nicer to her, Grizzy, my dear’ Bianca whispered, ‘I’ve no clue where she’s from, but I think she could be useful to us?’ But Grizelda just pursed her lips, acknowledged her mistress with a dry nod, and carried on prepping the vegetables. Dondo walked back to reach over and lift the mutton on its spit, and wedge it above the crackling fire.
…
As accustomed, when on the rare occasions that Bianca had guests, and when Antonio was at home, Dondo and Grizelda ate in the kitchen while the mistress of the house entertained, and maintained her image of the exiled noblewoman on the cusp of regaining her fortune. The meal was delicious: the roasted mutton, tender and full of flavour, had perfumed the house with its aroma - much added to by the forest wood, potatoes and sautéed vegetables.
Grizelda heard herself being toasted in the Drawing-room after Bianca had dug out a well-stashed bottle of wine, but Dondo noticed the thin woman only pushed at her food and didn’t eat with her usual vigour. Dondo stuffed succulent lumps of Mutton into his mouth.
‘You’re not hungry?’ Dondo enquired. The maid had taken a while before she spoke,
‘Not once has Bianca showed me any of her old dresses, not once. I had no idea’ she said as she shook her head.
‘Don’t be jealous Grizzy; she’s a lovely thing. Bianca has no daughter: let her indulge the girl.'
‘But who is she? When I saw her earlier, she wore an ugly stained dress… no finer than a shop sweeper’s.’ Dondo shook his head,
‘I’ve my own ideas: there’s something Persian about her but mixed with something else – Asia minor for sure’ Dondo rubbed his chin, ‘but why do women care so much about what another woman is wearing? To a man, a beauty like that would be just as lovely in a sackcloth.’ Grizelda gave out a hiss as she tossed down her fork,
‘Men, all you care about is a woman’s beauty. For some of us, a woman is her clothes’
‘And that is better thinking? So, clothes above beauty? You’re clever, Grizzy, but no poet. If that were true, then poor women would never bare children. In the bedchamber every woman stands a chance.'
'That's not what I meant' Grizelda huffed.
'This is not you, you're not yourself, and I doubt you believe that a woman’s virtue is only in her wardrobe, Grizzy. If you do, then you dishonour your sex and short-change your life' said Dondo as he put a warm arm around Grizelda’s shoulder. Grizelda shook her head,
‘Life you say, what life? If I looked as she did do you think I’d be here? Men are hypocrites. They sing of virtue, but all they want is a lady for church, a mother in the kitchen, and a whore in the bedchamber?’ She said, and pushed his arm away as emotion welled in her eyes, ‘this is not a life, Dondo. I don’t have a life’ said Grizelda gesturing at the walls.
‘What is this from you? All this lamenting’ he said tutting, ‘your life is better than most. It’s not like you to feel sorry for yourself’ added Dondo, ‘it could be a lot worse, and you know that. Be loyal to your mistress. Antonio could make a good marriage, and Donna Marconi could then return to fortune, and much to your benefit.’ The maid shook her head as she laughed with scorn.
‘You’re an old fool. Everyone knows that Antonio can’t inherit: he’s illegitimate, and do you think a rich wife is at the front of his mind?’
‘Legitimacy can be changed’ argued Dondo, ‘Cardinals can legitimise - if he's merciful or the price is right. And as for Nino and marriage, who cares of his tastes if there are children?’ Grizelda shook her head with force. Dondo folded his arms, ‘there’s many a wife in this land who'd like rest from her birthing chair. Besides, no woman on Earth has stopped a man if he is so inclined as he: life at sea, or a spell of confinement, teaches you that.’ But Grizelda snorted, before returning to the prior topic,
‘Everyone can be bought these days’ she said, ‘I suppose you would buy Illawara if you could?’ Dondo threw his hands up in the air,
‘She’d ruin my heart, if not from effort, then from worry’, the man whistled, ‘no, no, she’s too young, too fresh, too pretty, let a fitter man have her. Besides, I'm busy' said Dondo drumming at his chest, ‘seeing to our mistress' needs are demanding enough.’ The maid then laughed and shook her head as she wiped at the corners of her eyes,
‘You old fool. She still loves, Rodolfo, you know?’ Dondo nodded,
‘And I still love the sea’ he said with a smile, ‘but I can’t go back, and neither can she. What’s done is done. We all have our needs. Besides, I think Antonio’s suffered the most. A boy should know his father: whoring braggart or not.’
With that Dondo stood, rubbed Grizelda’s shoulder, and left the kitchen for the drawing room, returning after a while to give Grizelda the dirty cleared plates. Dondo returned to the drawing room, and then she heard gaiety and jokes exchanged after Dondo topped up the drinks, having one himself. Grizelda sighed and looked off, as if far away, before she scrubbed the plates clean in her wooden wash bucket.
…
Arcetri, evening, Sunday 16th 1611
The Professor almost shouted as he walked into the slow-moving brook far down the hill from the nunnery of San Matteo. ‘Immerse yourself’ said Lucia, who began to dry her hair with old linen at the side of the brook after her dip in the water.
‘Remember what I taught you. You must be fully cleansed before we start the ceremony.’ The Professor glared back at her with his hands over his groin, but obeyed and moved deeper into the brook: ‘crouch down and let the water wash over you’ she said, as she began to chant something in Hebrew. The Professor shivered as he waded barefoot to the middle of the brook but did as she wished, and crouched with his back against the flow: he let out a whoop with the chill on his skin, but then felt himself relax as the water flowed around him. ‘That’s it’ said Lucia, ‘let the water cleanse you. Let it wash away your thoughts, your woes.’
The Professor obeyed, as he had grown accustomed to doing so in the passing weeks: his resistance eroded by her tutelage. He allowed himself to become at one with the river as Lucia sang her prayers, and he thought, as the sun began to lower to the horizon, that he could hear the water murmur to him, and the secluded wood whisper its secrets. Time seemed to disappear, and all there was for the Professor were the mutterings of a brook, the dappled orange light that played on its surface, and the breath and whispers of the wood as the animals nearby looked on as Lucia came toward the end of her invocations.
The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes Page 28
