Daughters of the Doge (66 page)

Peter Vannes and the diplomats had still been arguing when I had left Padua. It appeared the city-state of Venice had demanded Courtenay’s papers, as had the English government, but Piero Morosini, the Bailiff of Padua, was holding steadfast. I was pleased to ride away from it all and hoped none of it would reappear when I returned to Padua as a student. I was about to start a new life and I wanted it to be just that, not under the shadow of someone else.

I sat in the house alone, writing to Walsingham about Peter Vannes and coding the results. Would I be able to do this once I was married to Yasmeen? I had no intention of having any secrets from her, but the more I thought about my whole involvement with Walsingham, the more concerned and uncertain I became. Yes, I wanted Princess Elizabeth to succeed to the throne, and of course I would do anything moral and legal to help bring that situation about. But participation in Walsingham’s schemes was not without its risks. The attempts on Carew’s life and the threats to Courtenay were evidence enough that this was no light-hearted children’s game.

Foremost among my concerns was not the threat to myself, but the dangers that might arise if I involved Yasmeen in any way. By even telling her of the very existence of the Sons of England, I might be risking her safety. But lurking behind these thoughts was my real concern, half-hidden until I forced it out into the cold light of day: if I admitted to Yasmeen that I had committed myself to an organisation whose very purpose was to remove Catholic Mary and to bring Elizabeth to the throne, what conclusion might she draw?

I tried to look at myself from her point of view. The image was black: here was a man willing to risk life, limb, and the future of his new family for a venture whose objectives were centred entirely in England. If it failed, then her life might be ruined, her family put at risk and her husband killed. But if it succeeded, then surely her new husband would want to return to his country, dragging her into an unknown land and away from her father.

For what seemed an age I stared at the coded note, unsure whether to tear it up or to continue with the covering letter. In the end, I sacrificed my principles and decided to try to slide between the two; I would keep faith with Walsingham, remain available to him if required, but make no mention of any of it to Yasmeen. It was an uncomfortable conclusion and I was unhappy with it. Finally, I decided to swing the balance further in Yasmeen’s direction. I made it clear to Walsingham where my priorities lay: I would not put my marriage at risk.

Having coded the sensitive information in a separate note, my covering letter could be more personal. I wrote easily, in longhand, unfettered by codes, telling Walsingham of my plans for marriage, business partnership and education, saying I remained committed to the Protestant Church, but also to staying in Italy.

It seemed strange to see the words down there in front of me – confirmed, final, committed and committing. Yet at the same time it was also very comforting, and a milestone in my life.

I had been invited to eat with Veronica, to stay with Tintoretto, to spend the evening with Ayham and Yasmeen, yet I had chosen to reject all of these invitations; something had decided me to remain by myself tonight. It was as if I needed time to say goodbye to my old life before marching into my new one.

C
HAPTER
87

September the 26th 1556 – House of Tintoretto, Fondamenta dei Mori

‘Ehi,
Maestro! It was so good of you to go to so much trouble for us.’

Fausbina Robusti, Tintoretto’s wife, leaned against the wall and giggled. ‘Don’t think he did all this for you, Richard. Popular as you are in this household, Jacopo just loves a party and Yasmeen’s betrothal was the perfect excuse.’ She waved her arm around the studio, its walls hung with unsold paintings and one or two sold ones yet to be delivered. ‘You may have noticed a certain attention to business in the preparations. Jacopo will be disappointed if he has not sold all of these by the time the party finishes.’

I looked at Jacopo, who winked conspiratorially. ‘You should have displayed some of your drawings, Richard. You might have sold some of them; they’re good enough.’ He nudged his wife’s arm. ‘But I suppose he is too important now to bother with such things. Soon we will have to call him
“dottore”
and bow before a man of letters.’

Fausbina bowed to me, a large grin on her face. ‘Please remember us when you are rich and famous, Richard. The poor painter and his growing family.’

Tintoretto looked at her smartly. ‘You don’t mean? Surely you’re not . . .’

Fausbina laughed. ‘Hardly! Marietta is still breast feeding. But next year perhaps? And again after that. With Felicità to help me it is all so much easier.’

It was good to hear.

‘How is Faustina settling in? I am so sorry to steal your manager. What a way to thank you for all your kindness.’

Jacopo refilled our glasses and put the bottle back on the side-table. ‘It will work out well. She is very intelligent and learning fast. The arrangement for her and Felicità to stay with Ayham and Yasmeen seems to be working out well. She has plenty of time to learn from Yasmeen before you finally take her away from us, Fausbina has Felicità just along the canal-side when she needs help with the children, and I have a new model.’

I was surprised. ‘Is Felicità sitting for you?’

He nodded. ‘Yes indeed. Veronica is quite jealous; she is so young and innocent, perfect as a Madonna.’

‘Will you miss Yasmeen?’ I remained concerned that by marrying Yasmeen I was harming the smooth running of his business.

‘Of course. But I am delighted to see her progress so. You should have seen her the first day she came to us. She was about fourteen, skinny as anything. The boys called her
scricciolo
.’

I must have frowned; the word was new to me. Jacopo saw my expression immediately. ‘What is this in English?’ He picked up a piece of charcoal still lying on the table and quickly drew a little wren hopping about, picking up pieces.

I nodded. ‘A wren.
Scricciolo.
Yes, it’s suitable. I can imagine that. I hope her days of scratching around are finished. I shall look after her.’

Tintoretto nodded. ‘I know you will. She deserves it.’

I had to move on to talk to other people, but before I left there was one question I wanted to ask him. ‘Tell me, Jacopo, was it true that Faustina was talking to Titian?’

He looked at his wife, who laughed and set off across the room to talk to someone else. ‘No. All lies. Veronica told me that to make me interested. She knew I would want to take her from him. But of course I would have chosen her anyway.’

Across the room, Veronica heard her name and waved. We both waved back.

‘I have no regrets. She will be excellent, given time.’ He grinned at Faustina who joined us as he spoke and smiled regally at his little joke. She took my elbow. ‘Can you spare this young man for a few minutes? He is so popular.’

We walked into the courtyard and were joined by Felicità. Winking at Felicità, who, like her, seemed to have had quite a few glasses of wine and was unusually animated, Faustina asked her question. ‘Have you forgiven me, Richard?’

‘For what?’ Felicità’s close presence somehow warned me this was a prepared speech.

‘For not being as you presumed – available to you.’ She looked at Felicità and grinned conspiratorially.

I looked from one to the other. They were teasing me, and in the process teasing each other.

‘I never thought you misled me . . .’

Faustina stretched her long neck and pursed her lips, dismissing my reply. ‘I didn’t need to – you misled yourself. I could see the look on your face even before we spoke. You were so confident. “I shall have that tall blonde one,” your expression said. I could feel your lust through the bars of the window.’

I looked round to ensure Yasmeen was not listening, and Felicità stepped forward, putting a hand on my arm. It was the first time she had ever dared to touch me; either it was the wine or her self-confidence was growing. ‘In any case, you are spoken for Richard.’

She took Faustina’s arm with her other hand, linking us momentarily. ‘And so is she.’

They were so happy together; it was a pleasure to see. I kissed them both gently on the cheek and moved on. It was a good party. I went to look for Yasmeen.

C
HAPTER
88

October the 24th 1556 – Fattoria Costante, above Treponti, Euganean Hills

‘Do you think he will sell?’

Yasmeen clutched my arm as we looked down from the patio behind the yellow stone farmhouse. A golden autumn glow hung over the hillside and the valley below. The depth of colour would have made Titian proud. Behind us, as the hillside steepened, rose the Monte Grande, its sides covered with sweet chestnut trees. Here, where we stood, the fall of the land eased to a gentle slope, catching the sun throughout the day. A tributary of the Scolo Degora supplied the constant water that gave the farm its name.

In front of us and below, we could look right across the plain to Padua – quite a ride, especially if I was to do it daily. But if I had the stamina, the fresh air here on the higher ground would make it worthwhile. The farm was a perfect place for Yasmeen to live and, God willing, bring up our children, while I pursued my medical studies.

I hugged her shoulder. ‘I am sure he will – he needs the money. And with his wife’s death and no children to follow him he cannot continue alone. The notary said it is certain, and we have offered the full asking price. He is just hanging on for pride. Look at him talking to the vines – he is saying goodbye to them.’