The Mascherari: A Novel of Venice (25 page)

“But first, I had to conquer my fears of the flesh.

“It was decided. The abbot would be my first victim. Old and fleshy, he could not harm me. And I entertained such rancor toward my parents that I savored the power I held over this old man. I told myself that playing along with his attention would be a revenge. And what a revenge it would be! No, Antonio, I would not cower into oblivion and be a faceless
nonna
that the world did not want to know. I would be
una donna del mondo
, an empowered
donna
,
una donna libera
, and ever master of my destiny.

“I learned over time to meet the abbot’s advances. If he dared rest his eyes upon me, I met them. I allowed him to see me as I seemed, innocent and easily molded by authority. I wanted to test how far I could go. And one night, I went to him, in the chapel and kneeled at his feet as though to pray and confess. He saw the depravity in my eyes and at once, he understood. What hunger I must have shown! ‘My poor child,’ he said, eyes half-closed, looking down upon me. ‘If only you knew the ways of this world,’ I heard him say between his teeth, which I knew were chattering from his repressed urge to ravish me.

“He was licking his lips, that fornicating devil. He was ever ready to show me what I ignored and to pluck the flower between my thighs. And already, underneath his cassock, I sensed the growing bulge of his manhood pushing against my face. I told him that I was eager to learn and that I was a good pupil. And I was.

“He had heard enough and it pleased him. He pushed me down to the cold floor and raised his cassock. When he tore through me, I gritted my teeth, crushed by his weight. I tried not to breathe his loathsome rosemary cologne. But as he sweated and wrestled over me, I understood the purpose I could serve to finally make my own living.

“Do not scorn me, Antonio. I was a doomed woman and I am still doomed in the eyes of our Lord. But at least, I now have St Nicholas to vouch for me. I remember when it happened and when the abbot was done with me, we were as stunned as each other. The floor was stained with the blood of my youth, I was bruised inside, and yet, I had won. I had conquered my fears and never again would I remain in the darkness of the convent.

“My horror, in the knowledge that one such as an abbot could defile himself and his vows with such an act, has not left me over the years. I met a French courtesan once. She told me that in the private brothels of Dijon, one fifth of clients are men of the Church. What do you make of this, Antonio? Will you judge me? Will you scorn this
nonna
turned whore? Wait until I tell you the rest.

“The abbot was not easily satisfied. He grew demanding over the days. I would like to say that his perversions knew no end, but I would shame myself in revealing too much. For months, I endured. He invented ways to use me in all manner of wickedness.  As for me, I devised a plan to trade my body and my silence in exchange for what I wanted most, a way out of my prison. With the abbot’s help, I learned how to disguise myself and leave the convent whenever I wished. In time, I grew confident. In the end, I did not return. I left forever. I have lived as I am for over three years. That is my story, Signore.”

Blanca’s account had disconcerted me, at first. But I gained an understanding from it. I realized how pained the Canal sisters were. Both of them. Catarina, in her agonizing marriage, and then faced with the death of her husband and child. And now, Blanca, discarded by her own family, until she had met a path less than holy. It was difficult to scorn her. What I saw before me, was a wilful woman who had broken laws to become master of her own destiny. To admonish her, I would have had to admonish the parents who had cast her fate. To judge her, I would have to first denounce the abbot who had taken his pleasure, with little regard for his pledge to God. I knew not what to think. I could only wish her well.  And now, as I eyed the perfect reconstruction of Almoro’s face on the newly dried mask she held in her hand, I realized how artful the
donna
truly was.

“This is remarkable, Blanca. I feel as though I were peering into Almoro’s face. Do you think I will be found?”

“That is in your hands, Signore,” she smiled, pleased by my words. Then she grew serious. “Please,” she begged, “if you do see her again, do not tell my sister what I have become.”

It moved me how she could seem proud of herself in some ways, yet ashamed in others. She was divided between the liberties of her new world and the rigid expectations of her old world. I nodded.

“Your secret shall not pass the threshold of my lips, dear Blanca.”

“Thank you, Signore.” Then she smiled and began to spread out the costume she had brought with her. “Now suppose we remove your crimson shirt and doublet and fit you into Almoro’s fashionable frock. I hear black is very much the fashion these days with the Consiglio.”

We both broke into a resounding laughter, which I knew expressed much relief from the previous moment’s tension. She moved toward me to assist with the costume. As I undid the ties of my collar, she reached forth to help me undress. I had no sooner lifted my shirt over my head than I heard a loud gasp escape from her lips.

I tossed aside the shirt and beheld the sight of Blanca. She stared at my bare chest as though she had seen a ghost. She was pale as snow, her hands pressed vividly to her lips.

“Signorina Canal, are you ill?” I asked, startled by her sudden change.

Blanca moved to the bed and reached for the costume. She bit her lips, looking askance, as though refusing to meet my eyes.

“No…” she replied in a faint voice. “It is nothing. Please forgive me.”

She set about to present me with the costume and remained quiet while I dressed. Esteban re-entered the room shortly after, exceedingly amused by my much transformed appearance. The couple embraced, before bidding each other farewell for the night. I noted that Blanca gave me a last furtive glance before she left.

If I had not been so possessed by my Almoro act and so overwhelmed with anxiety at the prospect of breaking into the chancellery, I may have pressed her further and not let her leave without answers. But I had little time.

For the rest of the afternoon, I chose to ignore what I had seen. And what I had seen, the light of terror, in Blanca’s eyes, convinced me that there must be a reason why Catarina Contarini had chosen to never again speak with her own sister.

I knew without a doubt that Blanca Canal had recognized the
cimaruta
around my neck. At this moment, an eerie feeling seized me. I had an urge to visit Catarina once more.

But first, a dark duty lay before me. I had yet to unveil why the Consiglio was so dogged about this case and why Almoro had behaved so strangely throughout my inquest. And perhaps my exploits tonight would also right the wrong in Esteban’s life. Although I did not yet understand how important the documents I was to retrieve were to my Catalan friend, it did not trouble me.

As I write this, it has grown late. I sit in my draped
felze
, awaiting the apparition of Almoro Donato on the Palazzo embankment. As I stare out into the Piazzetta, I clutch at the pendant that once belonged to Magdalena. If this powerful charm is what it pretends to be, then surely I will be safe in my endeavors and nothing grave shall befall me on this night.

I shall soon know how great an actor I am. Or perish.

At the approach of night, I waited for Almoro Donato to surface from the Palazzo Ducale. And then, when he had stepped into his gondola and disappeared from view, I removed the brown beggar’s cloak that Esteban had lent me and shuffled toward the
molo
with my arms swinging to the side.

My heart pounded in my chest. I feared that at any moment, someone would identify me as Almoro Donato’s usurper. In my gloved fingers, I gripped to a thin leather case where I hoped to dissimulate my findings.

I had no desire to be put to The Question for what I set out to do. The
cancelleria inferiore
upstairs was of considerable concern. But to pass into the
cancelleria secreta
, would not only be difficult, it would place me in grave danger. The seriousness of my crime were I to be found out, would be measured by the days spent in the prison’s Wells. And that is if I did not hang between the two pillars of the Piazzetta.

As I entered the palace, I cast a glance toward the Basilica and scrutinized the loggias overhead for any guards and witnesses. My gaze traveled across and up to the far right where I knew the Doge’s apartments resided. Aside from the flickering of flambeaux filtering through the loggia upstairs, I saw nothing to cause alarm.  I moved to my right and proceeded into the Eastern wing via the entrance hall.

In the dim glow of the encroaching darkness, I saw a figure advance toward me at the top of the steps. The notary greeted me, raising a torch in my face.

“Signor Donato, you have returned!”

The sudden light blinded me.  I raised my gloved palm to my face to avoid recognition.  If chance favored me, my manner would not raise suspicion given the intensity of the flame.

“Signor Donato, have you forgotten something?” frowned the notary.

Blanca’s art was commendable. I made a note of the emptiness in the hall and waved my hand as though to express impatience. It was important that I appeared in haste so that the notary would not question my reluctance to speak.

“It is nothing. I’ve misplaced something,” I grumbled. “Where are the Capi?” I added, slightly out of breath.

“They have retired, Signore. Tomorrow promises to be a long day at the Collegio. The Doge still resists speaking with the Florentine ambassadors. For now, they are yet to arrive but you know well how these discussions fare, especially with Foscari. Dios mio. I fear you may have to delay the session if Mocenigo persists.” He reached for my shoulder. “I will have someone take your coat, perhaps. Si?”

I waved him away with two fingers taking care to appear as superior as Almoro would.

“I shan’t be long. I shall need a moment in the
cancelleria
,” I murmured, shuffling away from the light.

“It is rather dark, in there. At least take this with you.”

He reached toward me with his torch, causing the flame to light the traits of my face. I flinched and lowered my face, seizing the torch. There was a pause as he observed me.

“You are not well, Almoro. Would you like me to fetch the files myself?”

To be so close to him was dangerous. Blanca’s pomade was effective but it would soon melt under the light. I shielded the flame with my palm and moved aside, still under the notary’s insistent gaze.

“That will be all,
Grazie
,” I mumbled.

He stared long at me as I shuffled to a narrow staircase which I knew led to the
cancelleria
.

“You forgot to take the keys,” said the notary.  Though he had merely stated this omission, which in all evidence Almoro would never have committed, the notary’s voice resounded like a question.  I felt my pulse quicken. I knew that my behavior surprised him and that if I uttered a word wrong, he would soon suspect I was not who I pretended to be.

It had not occurred to me that the
cancelleria inferiore
would be locked at night. “
Si, si
,” I muttered, turning around. “The keys...” I patted myself in absent minded fashion, searching for keys that I might have presumably carried with me but lost without my knowledge.

“Are you not well, Signore?” The notary had frowned at my confusion. I felt a chill as he bit his lips. It was impossible to tell what thoughts raced through his mind and whether he had at all recognized the wax upon my face.

“Hmm?” I sought to appear old with my sharpness of mind depleted by the late hours. I hoped it would convince him of an oversight from my part.

He remained fixated where he stood, still staring at me with an odd expression. I swallowed hard, wondering where I were to find these damned keys. My hesitation would give me away. Perhaps if I trusted my instincts… I decided to try.

“Well?” I blurted out with sudden impatience. It was at least certain that he had never given the keys to me.

The spell was broken. I watched him slowly dig into his mantle pocket. I breathed a sigh of relief and took the keys with my free hand. He hesitated, still staring at me. A grave light passed across his face.

“If you could return these to me in the morning, Signore.”

I nodded.

“
Si
, of course.” I held my breath.

The notary moved into the darkness. I heard him pace across the room and into the entrance hall.

I ascended two short flights of stairs to the
cancelleria
. The old wood creaked underfoot. I paused. I heard footsteps in the adjacent rooms. I knew there would be guards attending the prisons on the third floor. They would remain until at least midnight when the palace would finally be near deserted. Aside from the pacing, there was no one in sight. I turned the key twice in the chancellery door and pushed. Two waning torches gleamed along the back wall, giving off a diffused light across the wooden floor. I discerned wooden cabinets and desks with two rows of tall back chairs. In this room, the illiterate clerks worked hard by day to copy documents they did not understand. Only the notary could read and he was paid a hefty yearly salary for his silence.

I was about to step inside the
cancelleria
when I heard the notary call out from downstairs. I stared through a window in the ante-chamber and saw him wave from below.

“
Bona notte
, Almoro,” he called out. I heard his footfalls cross the portico before the great doors finally shut again.

Alone. I entered the
cancelleria
and moved toward the registers.

It did not take me long to find, listed in the register, the files I was looking for. To my astonishment, a number of military contracts were indeed held here. I found it curious that they had not been placed elsewhere as all documents longer than six months were often relocated to other buildings.

Before long, I had found the
filze
I sought. It was a signed parchment, written for a certain Signor Gaspar Miguel Rivera and above, crowning the page, was the seal of his naval
compagnia
. It listed all the compensations to be given to the
condottiere
upon his retirement. There was mention of a Castello mansion with a large water door that had to be passed on to Rivera at the end of his tenure, together with a certain two-masted brig and finally, several thousand ducats which were to be paid at his sixtieth year.

Without a second thought, I retrieved the original
filze
and slipped it in my leather case. Esteban was a wealthy man. It no longer astounded me that he chose to live so comfortably on credit. He knew his own worth and what he was capable of repaying.

I wondered what it must be like to know with certainty what one could possess. I had, for years, abandoned any desire for material comfort. I longed for something else… And this, even when she, my wife, still lived.

I started. My introspection had been spurred by Esteban’s earlier questionings into my life. But contemplation had no place here. I still had much to do.

I moved out of the
cancelleria inferiore
and turned the key. I heard a series of clicks upstairs with what sounded like the echo of a slamming door. Holding my breath, I listened. There was a sound of felt in the room downstairs but this did not deter me. I knew who he was. He was one among the young clerks hired by the Council of Ten. His appointment would not compromise the documents since this clerk, could neither read nor write. Tonight, I would find him at his post, keeping an eye on the
cancelleria secreta
. Yet I thought I had heard a door slam shut on this very floor. Perhaps the evening draft? I could not say.

I followed the corridor toward the stairwell. After the first flight to my right, on the second floor, I knew I would find the secret chancellery. If my intuition was correct, this room would contain all I sought to uncover about the Contarini.  The only thing I ignored was what, precisely, I was looking for.

Strange at it seemed, with each of my steps, I could now hear a series of footfalls crossing overhead. As though someone had followed my course and was now directly above me. Perhaps a prison guard upon hearing the notary, had thought it best to visit the
cancelleria
. If he discovered that I was in the forbidden room below, I could very well be revealed. I paused, waiting for the noise to subside. Now it seemed that another noise came from downstairs on the first story. A ray of light filtered into the room below. I heard whispers. Someone was in the Sala Gradenigo! Again, I heard a door shut. Decidedly there was more activity in the palace than I’d hoped for.

Now the sound of footsteps above had ceased. I swallowed hard.

I followed a corridor and descended two steps to behold a closed door. The
cancelleria secreta
lay before me. I advanced, slowly, my hand upon the door latch.  My breathing was still. I was deciding upon whether or not to reveal myself to the clerk.

The room smelt of dust and old parchment.

I glimpsed a tuff of red hair and a pair of felt shoes behind a large writing cabinet.

“
Bona notte
,” I pronounced in a hoarse voice.

A youth of no more than five and twenty stepped from the cabinet behind which he had been standing. I could see the knot on his brow as he peered ahead to ascertain who I was.

“Do not trouble yourself young man,” I said, in a weary voice, moving in the direction of the documents as though I knew exactly what I searched for. “I am here to put some order into a case. A very…very important case.”

The youth squinted.  Recognizing my face, he drew a sigh.

“Signor Donato, so late.”

“The Council of Ten does not sleep,” I responded, eyeing him with an air filled with intent. It was almost amusing to watch him shudder under my gaze.

The youth seemed to recall something. He stepped toward a cabinet which I knew contained the
deliberazioni
. This was not a Council of Ten repository even though it found itself here among the protected files.  It was a large body of documents, most of them from the Senate. This towering cabinet contained hundreds, maybe thousands of files encompassing pacts and treaties, instructions to ambassadors, foreign policy agreements, deliberations on Venezia’s relations with Rome and all dispatches sent by Venezia’s foreign ambassadors. Everything was carefully and meticulously recorded.

“I have filed these as you instructed, Signor Donato,” declared the young clerk proudly. “I took all the dispatches sent by ambassadors outside Venezia, those marked with the seal that you showed me and I filed them separately in the “
relazioni
” section. I am nearly finished, if you care to peruse my work.  You shall see how well we are progressing.”

The youth’s evidently complex project was more than I could grasp. From the little I understood, foreign reports were to be filed under a new “
relazioni
” section.  A little out of my depth, discomfort robbed me of my voice for a moment.

I must not appear overwhelmed by his words, I told myself. He would soon see if I faltered and showed signs of unfamiliarity. I quickly regained my composure.

“Yes, this is all very good,” I pronounced waving my gloved hands in his face as Almoro would. “But not now, young man. I am looking for…” No. There was a way to make use of this overly conscientious clerk. An idea had crossed my mind. “In all evidence, you have shown prodigious talent and efficiency. That is all good. Now. Let us see how well you have remembered your formal training. Your performance hinges on your understanding of the Council’s work. I will ask you to demonstrate this understanding.”

To my relief, the youth stood alert, awaiting my next question. His black eyes shone with naïve intelligence. He licked his lips, in preparation for my grilling him. I wondered whether he had ever stopped to question his work.

I wondered if at all, he had understood that the documents he perused may have dealt, here, with a prosecution, there with an admission under torture or even a denunciation. Probably not.