The Creation Of Eve (33 page)

I nestled my chin into the softness of the fur. "You must be very glad for the King to be home."

"Yes, it is good to have one's itch scratched." She opened her robe enough for Cher-Ami to pop out his head.

Her flippant dismissal of the attentions of the most powerful man in the world discomfited me. She had not just his bed but his heart. Woe to her who broke it: as kind as the King seemed in his contentment, I feared that she had not yet fully tested his wrath. I wished to remind her of her good fortune.

"So it is as Don Alessandro said last spring, then--fulfillment is greater in love than desire."

The smile fell from her face. In a moment's time, her expression changed from that of a teasing girl to that of a hollow-eyed woman. "Do not speak to me of such."

She said nothing after that, only sat stroking her little dog as we made the final descent to the Casa de Campo. I drew back a curtain. Ahead, the mules' black manes slapped against their thick brown necks as we passed Under a stone arch wound with bare and thorny rose canes. Past clipped juniper hedges we rode, by empty flowerbeds heaped over with dirt, Until we came at last to a collection of low brick buildings fronted by wrought-iron cages: the Royal Zoo. From the pointed top of the largest cage, a scarlet and gold Royal banner snapped straight out in the wind.

"There he is," I said.

The Queen leaned forward to peer around me, a red-gloved finger to her lips. Ahead, the King stood talking with two African gentlemen wrapped in striped robes.

The Queen sank back.

The King turned around. When he saw the Queen, his face shed its usual coldly polite expression and lightened with a smile.

The muleteer stopped our conveyance. The King stepped over to help Us down from our couch. He kissed the Queen. "Now hide your eyes."

The Queen pulled back her chin, brightening. "What? A surprise for me?"

"Do as I say, my darling."

She handed Cher-Ami, yapping, to me and covered her eyes, knocking the diamond dangling from her cap with the cuff of her red gloves. He led her by the crook of her arm to the closest iron cage.

"Now look."

She put down her hands. "Oh, Felipe! A lion."

"A lion
ess
," he said. "Like you."

"Oh!" she breathed. "Will she have cubs?"

"You would think the woman would be happy just to have a lioness," he said to me with a contained smile. "But My Lady, I have thought of that, too. I tried to ask that of the gentlemen who brought her here. Unfortunately, none of Us can Understand them, though apparently they are Upset. I believe they are worried about the animal catching a chill." He arranged the Queen's cloak around her chin. "As I am about my lioness."

She Used a childish voice. "You will build her a pretty house, won't you? She does look cold." She pulled free of him and waggled her hand through the cage bars.

One of the Africans jumped forward. Two of the King's men held him back as he shouted in his own language. I caught Cher-Ami as he tried to spring, yapping, from my arms.

The King nodded at the African politely. "I believe he is concerned about your safety, my darling." He tucked the Queen's hands Under her robe, then turned her around and drew her against him so that she could watch the lion. "Let Us not put ourselves within the reach of the beast."

Patting Cher-Ami to calm him, I gazed at the lioness pacing back and forth across the far reaches of its cage. Straw crunched Under paws both frightening and endearing in their heaviness.

"What does it eat, Your Majesty?" I asked.

The King lifted his chin from Her Majesty's neck. "H'm? It hasn't touched the beef we've given it. I think we shall have to put a lamb into its cage."

"Oh, no!" said the Queen.

"Sorry, darling. I fear it might eat its food only live."

I shuddered. The lamb would make an easy kill in this cage little larger than a horse's stall.

"Are you cold?" the King asked the Queen. "Perhaps we should go back to the palace."

"No! I swear I cannot bear one more minute within those walls."

" 'Those walls' are covered with the most costly tapestries in the world."

"Please, My Lord, do let Us walk." Before the King had agreed, she said, "Stay in the litter, Sofi, and keep Cher-Ami warm."

With the assistance of a guard, I climbed back Up onto the brocade couch of the litter, trying to keep my balance as the mules, nervous to be in such close proximity to the lioness, jerked the conveyance. Cher-Ami whimpered as his mistress strolled off in the direction of the garden maze, still green at this time of year with its sturdy walls of trimmed juniper.

I huddled Under the squirrel fur and occupied myself with trying to interpret the exclamations of the African gentlemen. When that failed in spite of my familiarity with many languages, I listened to the shriek of Unseen peacocks in some distant part of the garden.

The confident face of doctor Debruyne flashed through my mind. It came to me often, as inexplicably and irritatingly as does a niggling melody from a silly song, though I had not seen him since last May. Now, as in the other times, I strived to put the memory of him neatly out of my head. Yet as firmly as I plugged the dam of remembrance against him, new holes sprang forth and out the thought of him burst. What new discoveries might he be making? Was he having new successes with coca or tobacco or the potato? Did he ever think of me and our experiment--of me, the woman who dared try a new herb in the name of science?

Did he have a woman?

I was fooling myself. He would never want me. Tiberio had not. In addition, the last sight he had of me was with green drool running down my chin and an idiot's lumpy grin Upon my face. Definitely not the kind of memory to stick in a man's mind, I reminded myself, at least not in the way a woman would want. He must think me repugnant, a woman who failed to know her place. Just as well if I never saw him again. Indeed, he must have been avoiding me. Surely I would have seen him before we had left Aranjuez.

I jumped down from the litter, Unable to stew in these thoughts another moment. Giving the lioness wide berth, I set out briskly, Cher-Ami snuffling the air eagerly from Under my arm. I was spending altogether too much time around the Queen with her fixation Upon rutting. I needed something challenging to occupy my mind--a Latin book to translate, a medical text to read, a painting commission. I did have my studies of Don Alessandro, made at his insistence when I had seen him at Christmas, and had started Upon the Underpainting of his portrait, but the work had come to a standstill. For even at that stage, with the picture composed in greenish gray, a disconcerting sadness kept creeping into his haughty and playful face, a sadness that troubled me to paint it.

Distracted by this thought, I skirted the maze, wishing, all the while, I had not left the warmth of the furs on the litter. Just then I heard the swish of greenery. Her Majesty's voice came from within the hedges.

"Surely no one can see Us here." I could hear her chuckle. "Now, My Lord, how does that feel?"

I held my breath. Did they not know how close to the outer wall of the maze they had wandered?

I heard moist smacking, then the King's muffled voice. "Why do you love me?"

There was a rustling of cloth. A male groan. The Queen whispered, "You know why."

His voice was gruff. "Is that all?"

"Do you need another reason?"

"Yes."

Though his breathing came harder now, her voice was steady. "I just do."

"Say that you love me, Elisabeth. For the love of God--" He broke off with a groan. There was a crackling of greenery being crushed.

I broke for the litter and, finding it, clambered aboard. I buried my face in my robe as Cher-Ami licked the strip of exposed skin below my glove.

To the Magnificent Sofonisba Anguissola,
In the Court of the Spanish King

First of all, I apologize for the lateness of my reply. I fear the Maestro's mail is being detained, as is mine, as a resident in his house. I received your letter only yesterday, more than a year after you had written. The Maestro is under some sort of investigation, the full extent of which he will not tell me. His usual critics, he says. I gather it is about the frescoes in the Sistine Chapel. Even the Pope rails against them now. The Maestro, ever sarcastic, asked the Pope if His Holiness should not worry more about putting the world to right than some pictures. The Pope was not amused. It is dangerous to bait such a powerful man in this way, especially now that all are up in arms about the riots against the Church in Northern Europe. But since when has the old man ever been cautious about what he says and does?

I do not write, however, to speak about the Maestro. I write about us, though by the time you get this the King has probably settled your portion upon a more worthy gentleman. But truth will out: My dear Sofonisba, you must know that I wish to be more to you than a recipient of your letters. But do you not understand that you are a Lady of the Spanish court, and, in this vaunted role, unapproachable by the son of a Florentine whose fortune was made on providing vestments for the clergy? My family has wealth and standing in Florence and in Rome, but not of the sort which the King of Spain would consider appropriate for his ward. The Calcagnis are rich merchants, but we are merchants just the same, and you, now, are a great lady, as the Maestro has so kindly reminded me, over and over. You are no longer the daughter of Count Amilcare Anguissola, a learned man but not a high-ranking one. See--I did look into my prospects with you, soon after you left Rome that spring four years ago. I asked my friend Giorgio Vasari to make inquiries of your family in Cremona while he was there to interview you for his book
The Lives of the Artists,
but by the time he arrived, you had already left for Spain. You should be honored, by the way, that he included you in his book. He did not include me. Oh, and furthermore--if you need additional proof of your high stature in the world--there is a commemorative medal of you circulating around Rome. The Maestro brought me one not long ago. He made rather a fuss about it, making a point about your great place in the pantheon of artists. Rest assured, there is no commemorative medal of me.

I hate to end this letter, for I fear it will be my last to you. Do not think I shall ever forget you, my beautiful Sofonisba, or that night we were as husband and wife. I shall treasure it forever.

For your own protection, burn this letter when you are done with it. The world is an uneasy place these days.

With love from Rome,
this 23rd day of November, 1563

Tiberio Calcagni

To Tiberio Calcagni in Rome

I send this by the King's express courier, saying it is an inquiry into acquiring a religious picture for the Queen, though I have never before misused my position here in this manner. How easily it is done!

The Queen asks me if I want a husband. Until now I have said no, but emboldened by your letter, I could ask her to settle me upon you. For whatever reason, she favors me and would do this. Are you desirous of this? Should I ask her?

I am gratified to be the recipient of the medal, but I do not understand it. I still have not even the rank of the Painter to the Queen here, nor was I much more than a curiosity in the courts of Mantua and Milan. But these things matter little to me, as long as I hear from you.

From Madrid,
this 3rd day of January, 1564

Sofonisba Anguissola

ITEM: The fox is a crafty and deceitful animal that never runs in a straight line. When it wants to catch birds to eat, it lies lifeless until birds land near it, at which point they are immediately consumed.

ITEM: "Shadow is the greater power than light, in that it can impede and entirely deprive bodies of light."

--MAESTRO LEONARDO DA VINCI

26 FEBRUARY 1564

The Palace, Aranjuez

It was a chill day in late February. A wind full of the smell of dead vegetation rattled the few withered leaves that clung tenaciously to the elms across the river, and snatched at our veils and cloaks. We were walking through the King's flower garden as our coaches were being prepared to go to the hunt. Besides the King and Queen, Dona Juana, and a few attendants, Don Carlos was there, too, in celebration of Carnival. I myself was in a daze, wondering what Tiberio would say to my letter. Would he say yes, for me to ask the King and Queen to settle my portion Upon him? If so, would he come here, or would I go to Rome? And if all this should miraculously come to pass after so much time, how would I behave around him? It has been four years. He is as a stranger to me. But oh, I remember the feel of his body. The firmness of his hands, made rough by his work in stone. The way his veins tenderly bulged in the soft skin inside his wrist. The wiriness of the curls at his neck. Yet it is more than his flesh I remember. I had felt his tender soul tremble, and he had felt mine.