DELUGE (11 page)

“A kiss for your model as payment?” he asked, his green eyes searching the empty streets to make certain we were alone. It was early yet.

I grinned and leaned toward him.
This
was more of the Luca I remembered. “A worthy payment,” I said, kissing him softly, slowly, making the most of this exquisite moment with the man I loved.

He took hold of my face with one hand and my waist with another, pulling me closer. Kissing me deeper, more searchingly. It was daring, out in public as we were.

I edged a little away. “Luca,” I protested in a whisper. “Celso and Falito. Or someone else may come along.”

He smiled and pulled me close again. “Let them see,” he said, stroking my cheek before kissing me again. “Let the whole world see. Evangelia Betarrini is not yet my fiancée, but she shall be mine.”

“Oh I shall, shall I?”

“Oh yes, you shall.”

I managed to escape his wandering hands and took twenty paces back to the position I desired. There, I settled on a stone with my canvas stretched across a board. I sketched with wild, quick lines, desperate to capture everything about this early morning moment that I could. It was perfect.
Perfect
.

And yet as I sketched, I knew that eventually, I’d have to burn my work. There was no telling what my paintings might do when artists were just now daring to depict a bit of realism. To allow my work to become public might change the whole trajectory of art as we knew it, given that I was so influenced by a modern age. Yeah, I’d heard it from Dad before, a time or two. No, this work was purely for my own enjoyment, my own memories. But no one besides Luca and my family could ever look upon it.

Still, I found it fulfilling. Bored, Luca pantomimed choking and then death, and I laughed under my breath, so glad, so very glad to see him acting more like himself.

Once I captured his basic shape and pose, the essence of him, I moved on to the buildings around him. The sun was rising higher, the entire church steeple bright in comparison to the deep shadows that filled the small canal that ran between three-story buildings. A gondola came around the corner, in the distance, and I hurried to sketch it while he was far away.

“Evangelia,” Luca said, sounding worried, his tone hushed.

“Hmm?” I asked, still staring at my canvas.

“
Evangelia
.” He moved out of position toward me, hand outstretched.

“Wait, wait!” I cried with a frown, worried that I’d still need him where he’d been, that he’d just ruined—

“What is this?” said a provincial tone over my shoulder.

I pulled the canvas to my breast and turned to belatedly see a man in fine clothing, flanked by two others in similar dress, and followed by four knights, so elaborately decorated that they could only be from the doge’s court.

The man, triple-necked and flabby cheeked, snapped his fingers and then flicked them back toward him, obviously asking me—no, telling me—to hand over my canvas.

“No,
signore
,” I said with a shake of my head. “’Tis only for me. A folly. A lark,” I tossed out.

His small dark eyes stared back at me, unmoved by my attempt at charm. “
Signorina
, I shall give you latitude, assuming you must not know who I am. Now hand over that canvas this instant.”

“I beg your pardon,” I said, “but I cannot. I dare not offend your sensibilities with my poor attempt at the arts.”

He clamped his lips together and lifted his chin. “I glimpsed enough to know that it was far from a poor attempt. Now give it to me.”

My eyes ran over his shoulders, the fine fabric, the knights behind him. He was of some rank at court. High enough to think he ruled anyone in his path. My only hope was that he would laugh at my attempt. With a sigh, I handed him my board.

He studied it a moment and then looked to the canal, the bridge where Luca had been, the water where the gondolier had passed. His small, dark eyes moved to the church steeple, then down to my canvas again. I held my breath.

“Pity you are not male,” he said, still considering my sketch. “If you were, I’d place you in a master painter’s care for proper tutelage. What is your name? From which house do you hail?”

“M’lord,” Luca said, inserting himself. “I am Sir Luca Forelli de Siena de Toscana, and this is Lady Evangelia Betarrini.”

“Betarrini, Betarrini,” the fat man muttered, over and over again, as if trying to place it. Then his small eyes doubled in size and his hands splayed out. “Lady
Betarrini
! The She-Wolf of Siena?”

“Indeed,” I said with a demure nod. Perhaps this key information would help him forget my drawing.

He clapped his ham-like hands together. “What good fortune for me! Come along. I am on my way to see the doge and he shall be thrilled to learn you’ve finally come to visit our fine city.” He took my arm and turned me around, and we were instantly in motion. “With those kin of yours about, he’s constantly spoken of you.”

“Pardon me,” Luca said, racing to catch up and blocking the man’s way, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “But we shall have your name.”

“My good boy,” said the man, placing a hand on his round chest. “I am Lord Gradenigo,
consigliere ducale
of Venezia.”

Luca’s breath came out of him in a rush. I stared at him as I thought,
consiglee-what?
But Luca’s face told me we were in some deep weeds.

“Now come with me. Both of you.”

~GABRIELLA~

Mom and Dad came into the breakfast room as Marcello and I ate delicate slices of bread covered in French marmalade, a taste I couldn’t get enough of. I’d already had three slices and was eying a fourth when they came in, faces flushed from the cold, Baldarino and Matteo, two Forelli knights, carrying goods behind them.

Mom had a look of glee on her face and rubbed her hands together when she saw we were alone. Caterina had already greeted us and left to see to some business, and Nicolo and his companions weren’t likely to rise early, given the amount of wine they’d consumed the night before. Mom hurriedly moved aside the remaining toast and marmalade—ignoring my frown—clearing the way for her goods.

“You won’t believe what we found in the market this morning,” she enthused. “The men kindly retrieved them for me.”

“Where’s Lia and Luca?” Dad asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “They left early, together.”

“Ahh, well,” he said, picking up a basket. He handed it to me. “Here, honey. I always wanted to give you one, but we traveled too much. I can finally make that right.”

I looked up at him quizzically, as I felt the light, tightly woven basket. Was something moving inside? Dad looked so proud, so excited…and his eyes were full of love. How glad I was that he was with us, here to experience all of this…to know his future grandchild.

Tentatively, I lifted the lid and peeked inside. “
Oh
,” I said, my heart pounding. “Dad! I can’t believe it!”

Inside, three puppies all wriggled forward, eager to see me. They were white and black, with the cutest little faces.

“Oh, they’re so cute,” I said, reaching for the most eager one, who was climbing on his siblings to get to me, hopping. “I think I will call you Desi, for
desideroso
,” I said. That meant
eager
.

Marcello laughed beside me and reached for another. “And this one should be Grasso, in light of his round belly.” He lifted the dog’s face to his, and the puppy licked his nose. He was a roly-poly of a dog, totally adorable.

“Oh, Lia is going to go nuts,” I said, reaching for the third, who was trembling in the corner of the basket, as if afraid she’d been forgotten. With a puppy in each hand, I looked up at Mom and Dad. We had begged and begged for a puppy all our growing up years, but it had been as Dad had said. With us gone every summer on archeological digs, it’d been impossible. And Mom had thought pets were a bad idea…given that they were likely to carry fleas, which might be picked up from rats, which might be carrying plague.

“I thought you were against animals in the castle,” I said, giving her a meaningful look. With the two knights in the room with us, we couldn’t speak freely.

“I’ve seen some rats and mice of late,” she said. “I figure it’s best to try and keep the castello free of any rodents at all. But no, they should not be permitted to sleep in our rooms.”

“We’ll keep them in their own quarters,” Dad said with a grin. He lifted a second basket, and I heard the plaintive
meow
of a tiny kitten.

“What?” I said, rising. “Cats, too?”

Dad opened the lid and tilted it to show me, so proud that you would’ve thought he’d raised them himself. I saw two kittens. “Oh, they’re so cute!” I squealed.

“The man said their parents were both excellent mousers. And they’re from two different lines, so they can mate.”

“We’ll be overrun!” Marcello complained, but his smile said he didn’t mind.

I looked at the puppies, rubbing their soft fur against my cheek. The poor things might be the first to perish if plague managed to reach us. This was why Mom wouldn’t allow us to have them in our rooms or sleep with us. But the plague was still a couple years away. In the meantime, these animals could grow into maturity, and likely bring us all joy. I absently rubbed my belly.
And give my child an experience I never had myself
…

“We also found all sorts of rare spices and herbs that will be useful,” Mom said meaningfully. She opened another basket and began pulling out sacks and boxes of camphor crystals and cloves, as well as jugs of apple cider vinegar and bottles filled with various essential oils, all natural remedies to repel fleas and ticks. The knights were used to my mom gathering such things in each city we visited—usually Siena and Rome. She’d become a kind of de facto doctor, seeing every person in the castle and most of the villagers around us when they fell ill.

She was far more successful than the physicians from Siena, who favored leeches and herbal concoctions they refused to fully identify to my mother because they looked down on her as an untrained interloper. She threatened them with her success. It made me all the more proud of her. Even if she made every one of us eat obnoxious amounts of garlic at practically every meal because of its antioxidants and seemingly miraculous powers. Luckily we lived in Italia, and garlic was an easy addition. And if we all reeked of garlic, we didn’t notice it as much.

She lifted the last bottle out of the basket and looked at the herbs swirling around inside. “I mixed up my own batch of Oil of Thieves,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, handing it to me.

I lifted the bottle to the light, remembering how she’d said the oil was used to combat plague and infection in Europe. I waved the elegant bottle in a circle, watching the citrus peel and herbs float around inside. Venice had the most beautiful glass bottles and corks, waxed into place—something we’d seen little of. And here they also had the first true window panes—mostly opaque or blue with bubbles, so not clear-clear, but allowing light through. I’d glimpsed a palazzo that boasted glass panes from the top floor down, an extravagance, to be sure. Most still utilized their shutters for night or against foul weather, opening them during the day to allow the sunshine in. For a while in bed this morning, I’d fantasized about bringing some glass south with us to the castello to close in a few windows so it wasn’t always so dark, come winter. Or to make Mom’s solarium a true solarium, rather than a slightly-lighter-than-most-rooms room. But I knew it was too expensive, and they might not make it through the voyage and then across land without shattering.

That was something I’d never thought about in modern times—how glad I was for windows. Just one of a million things I took for granted…

A messenger appeared at the door and rushed toward Marcello. Frowning, he lifted the parchment paper and broke the wax seal. He unfolded the paper and turned toward the light, then looked at me and my folks.

“Gather your things. We must be off at once. The doge has Evangelia and Luca.”

“Wh-what?” I asked. “What do you mean, he
has
them?”

“I do not know,” he said with a shake of his brown curls, lifting the paper. “Only that Caterina has sent for us. Mayhap they were discovered on the streets, and the doge was so anxious to meet you, he summoned them to the palace at once.”

“I hope that is the extent of it,” I said, rising.

“It’s all rather kingly, isn’t it?” Mom asked, following us out of the room.

“I don’t like it,” Dad said. “What right has he?”

“The man has every right,” Marcello said. “And it isn’t just the doge who will find the She-Wolves intriguing. He is but the emblem of the Republic. Right behind him are the noblemen who rule this land and sea. Two hundred and forty of them.”

I sighed as we gathered our gifts for the doge—a bolt of fine Sienese cloth, woven with bits of gold thread to symbolize the Forellis, and four ample jugs of the region’s finest Chianti wine. We hurried out the door of the palazzo, entering a long skiff on which two of Caterina’s men were already perched, ready to row us down the Canal. As our knights entered another skiff beside us, my heart pounded.

So much for easing into the city, I thought, gradually letting the doge know we’d arrived and sought an audience. As usual, the She-Wolves’ entrance was about as subtle as fireworks above Times Square.

CHAPTER TEN

~EVANGELIA~

I gaped as we were led deeper into the doge’s palace, four of the doge’s men before us, following Gradenigo, the Consigliere Ducale—who, Luca had explained en route, was some high-powered dude—and four of them behind us. Two Forelli knights—Celso and Falito, stripped of their swords—brought up the rear, looking concerned. They didn’t like to be told they were going anywhere that either Marcello or Luca hadn’t directed, even if we were in the very elaborate home of a supposed friend. Especially disarmed.

The gothic loggias at the edges, that looked to me like stone lace, gave way to progressively heavier décor as we proceeded inward. The dark, brooding walls and massive wood molding of the future palazzo were happily not present yet…this version of the palazzo was lighter, brighter, with the familiar Italian plaster and big beams across the ceilings. Still, framed oil paintings of past doges peered out at us from under a layer of candle soot as we passed.