Candle in the Attic Window(52)
“Alicia! What are you doing?” I commanded, leaving the shelter of the portico.
“Oh, Uncle, can’t you see? There’s to be an execution – actually, three. I do adore hangings. All those dangly bits flipping and flopping about,” the girl burbled. “I love watching the workmen – look at those muscular arms – setting up the scaffold for the hangings. I hope the hangman is incompetent. I like it so much better when the knot isn’t tied true; the victim dies slowly: gasping, gurgling, tongue protruding as his life ebbs away.”
As Alicia rattled out this obscene monologue, I wondered, not for the first time, if installing her in the household of my Lord’s wife Parisina had been a mistake.
True, there weren’t so many hangings these days. The long reign of the d’Este family had enabled a period of peace and stability that meant most citizens of Ferrara were too busy scheming up ways of pulling in more florins and soldi to foment troublemaking, while the Duke usually preferred the swift finality of beheading. Sad, really – a proper hanging could be an occasion of unbridled festivity. Tomorrow, there would be, not one but three droppings: pickpockets, thieves – lowlife – in plain sight of the entire court and populace of Ferrara. It would be the high point of a boring, lonely summer for Alicia.
Nonetheless, that was no excuse to behave with such an appalling lack of dignity. She should consider herself a very lucky young woman. Had not I, her uncle, Chamberlain to His Lordship the Marquis of Ferrara, Niccolò d’Este, secured a brilliant position for her with the Marquis’ beautiful young wife, the Madonna Parisina Malatesta? If she would only apply a bit of discretion, a judicious combination of hard work and well-judged flattery would see her named Chief Lady in Waiting. From that place, she would be of genuine use to me. I would repay her usefulness to the fullest.
Instead, the stupid girl had fallen in love with the Marquis’ bastard son and heir, Ugo.
It disgusted me to watch. Whenever she was not otherwise occupied, her eyes tracked his every move. When she and Parisina walked to chapel, the young prince glanced in their direction with the sweetest, most tender expression in his coal-black eyes. My stupid Alicia believed that his tender glances were for her. It had not taken me long to discern the truth – that the boy was enamoured of his stepmother. This was something I could use – but how?
You ask why I would want to harm my beautiful young mistress? I tell you my hatred of this spoiled, self-indulgent beauty burns like a smouldering fire, ready to burst into blazing fury. She possesses the singular item I want most in all the world and now, she has claimed this exquisite boy, as well.
I know it is so. Damn her! Surely, no man can look at a woman the way he does without feeling the same stirring in his loins that I feel in my most private places at the sight of him. If only that stirring were for me. I cannot bear it. For months, I have sought a means of bringing down my cruel mistress. Now, perhaps Alicia has shewn me a way.
The High Priestess
My life was not easy. Do you imagine it a wonderful fate to be married at fourteen to the greatest lecher in our city-state? The magnificent Niccolò, hero of ditties sung in every tavern: On this and the other side of the Po, everywhere are the sons of Niccolò. How could any woman, after experiencing his masterful lovemaking and potency, desire another? Let me tell you true. In bed, he was a dud: fat, pimply, foul-smelling, and fast. The buck in its cage takes more care of his partners’ needs than my Lord Niccolò.
Nonetheless, I was a Maletestina; well-trained by my father, Andrea, I knew my duty. Surrendering my dignity, I acquiesced to his ruttings, even on occasion pretending he had pleased me. My reward was two beautiful daughters, Ginevra and Luiza. Of the boy wrenched from my arms too soon, I will not speak.
On balance, my life was not unpleasant. After a few years, Niccolò, determined to continue the goal of planting his seed in every nubile female residing in Ferrara, demanded his husbandly dues less and less. Monetarily, he was not stingy to me and mine. Thus, unlike many of his other spawn living in the palace, we had proper clothing and the rushes in our bedding were changed before too many ticks and lice could take up residence in them.
I did what I could to help my stepchildren, but my primary concern was my daughters, their well-being and their education ... and my cards. Oh, my cards, my pretty playfellows!
Desiring to find a way to understand and endure my place in this life, I had become interested in the Sacred Inner Teachings. Any wise man will tell you of the two key pathways to Supreme Knowledge. One of these is the Sacred Tarot. In its powerful, mystical images, I hoped to find the conduit to an eternal and happy life. To this end, I had begun collecting decks of tarocchi. How beautiful were these packages of sublime ideas! Each artist brought something new and different to his own creation. Using an allowance from my father, I sent my servant, Zoesi on journeys throughout the breadth of the peninsula, to most of the city-states: Venezia, Mantua, Bologna, Ravenna, even into the lair of the Popes themselves, not so many years returned from exile in Avignon. Who would have believed that the most treasured and dangerous deck of all would be found so close to home – in the greedy, mercantile city of Firenze?
In the spring of 1423, whispers reached me of the birth of a very special deck. Discreet inquiries returned the news that, indeed, such a deck, containing entirely new images and with covers wrought with fine gold, had been brought into existence by the painter Giovanni della Gabella. The story making the rounds the drinkers in the Firenze enoteche was that these extraordinary images had appeared to della Gabella in visions, that for the seven nights he worked on their creation, he neither slept nor partook of food nor strong drink, so powerful was the urge to render out this creation. He was said to be demanding the unheard-of sum of 40 gold ducats for this valuable pack of cards. Was he insane, I wondered. What stack of paper images could possibly be worth so much?