City of Masks (21 page)

In the end, before making her decision, she asked to go back to Torrone and spend some time with what she still thought of as her proper family. She would listen to their advice and be guided by it.

‘Let her go,’ said the Duchessa, when Leonora told her of Arianna’s wishes. ‘She’s my daughter – she’ll be back.’

*

Bellezza had ten days of mourning before the election of a new Duchessa. Posters had begun appearing in the streets with the name Francesca di Chimici hastily painted on them. Citizens began to talk listlessly of the future. The whole city was gripped by an apathy most uncharacteristic of the people of the lagoon. It was not their way to give in to depression and gloom. But nothing in the city had ever happened that was as bad as the murder of their ruler. Not since the night of the glass mask a hundred years ago had something affected them so severely.

No one felt any enthusiasm for a di Chimici ruler, who would spell an end to Bellezzan independence, but there seemed to be no alternative candidates. It was part of the seeming immortality of the Duchessa that she had made no arrangements for the succession. Not many people could remember her election, as a young woman of twenty. No one remembered her family name or history.

She had just been a brilliant politician and orator, gaining a seat on the Council when still in her teens. The previous Duchessa, a childless middle-aged woman called Beatrice, had taken a fancy to the young Bellezzan, who had been born in the city but grown up on Burlesca, and had groomed her to be her successor. It had happened sooner than expected, because of the plague. It was no respecter of persons and had carried off the old Duchessa as one of its very first victims.

Bellezza had been disorientated then too, and the young Silvia had put her name forward while the city was still at a loss and looking for a strong leader. At that time the di Chimici were still building their power-base in the west of the country, so there was no real competition for the role.

If there had been any opposition to such an inexperienced politician taking on the rulership, it had been overcome by her beauty and intelligence and her steely devotion to the city, and it had been in any case forgotten a long time ago. For many years now the Duchessa had been regarded as irreplaceable.

*

For Lucien, the time after the Duchessa’s funeral was very strange. Arianna was away on Torrone and he had no one to roam the city with in the afternoon. He missed her, but found a melancholy pleasure in wandering through the streets of a Bellezza now quiet with loss. It fitted in well with his mood. He spent a lot of time thinking about his prospects in his own world.

So far he hadn’t started to feel ill again there but he knew all that would change when he resumed treatment. And somehow he didn’t think he was going to make it this time. He could tell that Mr Laski didn’t think so either. What should he tell his friends in Bellezza? For the moment he was numb and could do nothing but be glad that, at least when he was in the beautiful city, he was without the disease that might kill him.

He enjoyed the city even more now that he had seen the real Venice. It wasn’t as clean, of course, but it was somehow fresher, the buildings more recent and the whole city more alive and full of hope. Until the catastrophe with the Duchessa of course.

Lucien thought again how convenient it would be to have a body double for all the difficult things you didn’t want to face. And death was the ultimate of those. It had worked for the Duchessa. He leaned his arms on the stone parapet of one of the little bridges and looked down into the murky water, remembering the conversation with his parents after the diagnosis.

Dad had been trying to tough it out, saying reassuring things that Lucien was sure he didn’t believe. But Mum, small and feisty, was fuelled by a new anger that Lucien hadn’t seen before.

‘We must help him, David,’ she had said, running her hands through her black curls that were so like Lucien’s own had been. ‘Lucien, we need to talk about the possibility that you might not be lucky a second time.’

‘I know, Mum,’ he had said as calmly as he could. But they couldn’t do it. Not then. They postponed that talk till another day and Lucien had fled to Bellezza as soon as he could, pleading the need for an early night.

His morning with Rodolfo had taken on a different flavour. The three Stravaganti spent their time discussing whether Arianna would agree to stand for Duchessa. Silvia was still staying with Leonora, completely safe, concealed in the heart of the city that believed her to be dead.

Rodolfo was completely distracted. ‘Silvia wants me to announce that Arianna is her child. Then I must offer to act as Regent. It seems that Arianna’s age would be the only obstacle to her election if the people believe the story of her birth.’

‘And you don’t want to do it?’ asked Lucien.

They were all in the roof garden, in the late summer sunshine. Dethridge swung in the hammock, while Lucien and Rodolfo sat on one of the marble benches. Rodolfo now looked seriously at his apprentice.

‘It is not something I can talk about easily,’ he said. ‘Particularly to someone as young as yourself. I do not mean to insult you, but there are matters of the heart involved which I hope you will not have to suffer for many years. Silvia did not ask if I would be willing or not to take on this burden; she just assumed I would fall in with her wishes. That has been the pattern of our life together for twenty years, this last year most of all. And she knows that any true Bellezzan would do whatever was called for to serve his city. If it were any other young woman! But to look after another man’s child...’

He broke off and jumped to his feet, pacing up and down the tiled terrace in the way that Lucien remembered from their first meeting.

‘Aye, it is a bitere thinge to have an untrowe wyf,’ said Dethridge. Rodolfo stopped in his tracks.

‘Not that the ladye is that,’ added the Elizabethan hastily. ‘But the herte of your sorowe is the same. Ye sholde ask hir what ye wolde knowe.’

Lucien was surprised. He felt out of his depth with these two men, who were so much older and wiser than him. And he simply did not know how to ask Dethridge if he spoke from his own experience. The Elizabethan had never before referred to the wife he would never see again and he never talked about his children.

Now he saw that Rodolfo was looking at him. ‘Luciano!’ said his master, coming over and taking his hand in both his. ‘I am greatly at fault. In the midst of my worries, I had forgotten that you had a very important event in your own world. Tell me what happened when you went to the hospital.’

Lucien had been dreading the question, but there was no point in beating about the bush. ‘It’s bad news,’ he said. ‘I seem to be getting worse.’

Dethridge got quickly out of the hammock and both men enfolded him in a silent embrace. They had tears in their eyes and Lucien felt a warm rush of affection for them both. It was bad enough fearing that he might have to leave the parents he loved, but now he had to think that he might soon have to say goodbye to Bellezza and all the people in it who had come to matter so much to him.

*

Rinaldo di Chimici was living on a knife’s edge. There was no hint that anyone knew of his involvement with the assassination. His young cousin Francesca was in the city and a friar had already performed a marriage ceremony between her and an elderly Bellezzan Councillor, who had gambled and drunk most of his family fortune away. Francesca was now a Bellezzan and eligible to stand as Duchessa.

The next few days would see the fruition of all his hopes for advancement in the family. To secure Bellezza for the di Chimici would be a fine jewel in the crown of his ambition. But he was playing for even higher stakes. He must possess what the boy had. And to this end he sent for Enrico again.

But the spy would not come to the Ambassador’s rooms. They met in the little bar by the old theatre. Di Chimici was shocked to see how much the man had changed. His old swagger had gone and he had a three-day growth of beard.

‘What is going on?’ he hissed, as soon as his patron had bought him a large glass of Strega. ‘My fiancée has disappeared – no one knows where she is. And no one knows where her silver is.’

Di Chimici thought privately that she might have changed her mind about tying herself to such an unprepossessing husband, but he could offer no explanation. He said such soothing things as he could think of, but he had not come to talk about his spy’s love-life.

‘I need you to do something else for me,’ he said at last.

‘It’ll cost you,’ said Enrico automatically.

‘Of course,’ said the Ambassador.

‘What is it?’

‘I want you to, er, capture the boy.’

‘Do you want me to kill him?’

Di Chimici shuddered. ‘Not necessarily. Only if he puts up a fight. I want you to take all his possessions and bring them to me. Everything, mind, no matter how unimportant it may seem.’

Enrico straightened up. The prospect of more silver had shaken him out of his lethargy. And this was an easy job. He was used to following the boy.

*

When Arianna returned to Bellezza, she went straight to her aunt’s house and was closeted for some hours with Silvia. Then they sent to Rodolfo’s house and the three Stravaganti joined them in the garden with the fountain.

Arianna flashed Lucien one of her sunny smiles but soon looked serious again. Lucien thought she looked as if she had grown up a lot in the few days she had been away. He wondered if he looked older too.

‘I’ve decided,’ she said simply.

*

The day of the Ducal election had arrived. A wooden platform had been built in the Piazza Maddalena and a city official sat at a table with a list of the citizens. He had two crates of black and white pebbles which any citizen entitled to vote, that is anyone over sixteen, had to choose from. White for Francesca di Chimici, black for the other candidate, whose name had not yet been announced.

The chosen pebbles would be placed in bowls and counted in the Council chamber later and the result would be announced later in the evening. Rumours had been circulating that there was a real second candidate, not just a cipher, but no one knew who it was. Citizens were already gathering in the Piazza and the first ripple of excitement ran through the crowd since the assassination. The Palazzo was still shored up with great wooden poles. There were fewer tourists than usual, but those who were there were in for an unexpected treat.

As the campanile bell struck eleven, a small group of people mounted the platform. Rodolfo, Arianna and Signora Landini. Francesca di Chimici, now re-named Albani through her marriage, came from the other side with her supporters, her new husband, and the Ambassador. There was a murmuring in the crowd. The Senator was a familiar enough figure and some people recognized the girl who had been arraigned for treason, but no one knew who the midwife was. And it did the di Chimici’s candidate no good to be seen with the Ambassador, whose mission to Bellezza was unofficially well known.

The election official conferred with Rodolfo and then stood up.

‘People of Bellezza,’ he called out. ‘We have two candidates. One, Francesca Albani, is a Bellezzan by marriage to the Councillor here. The other, Arianna Gasparini, is Bellezzan by birth. Both candidates will be introduced by their sponsors.’

Rinaldo di Chimici stood up and addressed the crowd. It was an uninspiring speech. He had not spent much time preparing it because he had paid enough Bellezzans enough silver, as he thought, to ensure the election result he wanted. He was also distracted by curiosity about the other candidate. What on earth did the Senator think he was playing at? The Duchessa’s death must have unhinged him.

There was sporadic applause when di Chimici sat down and more enthusiastic clapping when Rodolfo stood up. People wanted to hear what he had to say.

‘Fellow citizens,’ he said. ‘We have suffered together.’ There was a groan of approval from the crowd. ‘We have all lost someone we loved, someone we thought not to replace for a long time. Some might say that this loss of ours is not capable of restoration. And in some ways I would agree. But out of despair has come forth hope. In the darkness there is a gleam of a new dawn. The Duchessa did not die childless.’

There was a sensation in the crowd. Di Chimici broke out in a sweat, as his cousin cast him a vicious look. As Rodolfo prepared to continue, the crowd hushed, eager for his every word.

‘This young woman, not yet sixteen, has already had to prove she was born in Bellezza, in order to rebut a treason charge maliciously brought against her. Signora Landini here swore in Council that she delivered Arianna of a Bellezzan noblewoman before taking her to the Gasparini family on Torrone to be fostered. She will now tell you the rest of the story.’

The elderly midwife looked apprehensively at the crowd which had grown with every minute and was now filling the square.

‘The child’s mother was the Duchessa of Bellezza. I delivered the baby in that Palazzo,’ she said, pointing, ‘and then took her to the Duchessa’s sister, Valeria Gasparini, on the island of Torrone. This young girl, born nearly sixteen years ago, is the true daughter of the late Duchessa!’

The crowd erupted. No matter that their Duchessa had not been exactly as they thought her, no matter that the child had been kept a secret, now that Arianna stood on the platform, her head held high, her slim figure echoing that of her mother, her violet eyes gazing steadfastly out over the city, she was the beloved first choice of every red-blooded Bellezzan.