‘WE HAVE SOLVED the riddle,’ Guillam began, although Celina shot him an evil look.
‘As you can see,’ she interrupted quickly, ‘Allegra and myself solved it easily.’ They were both standing naked, quite unashamed before the assembled company. Only Allegra picked up her clothes and began pulling garments hastily about her shoulders.
From her viewpoint on the dais, the Prioress watched them with a barely suppressed glimmer of satisfaction. ‘Explain.’
‘Well, this is the cross,’ began Celina, pointing to the frame, ‘and of course the ties do not mark.’ Suddenly puzzled at the whole solution, she paused, trying to remember how the riddle fitted together.
‘Let me tell you,’ said Brother Guillam cut in. ‘The ties are slip knots, so that as the victim is bound, the ties unloose.’
They waited in uncomfortable silence as the Prioress considered. It had not been like this before; each time she had quickly, if reluctantly, confirmed their success.
‘So what is the solution?’ she commanded.
Somewhat feebly, Celina waved towards the frame. Guillam stood stock still, his naked form glowing amber in the torchlight.
‘I am afraid I must tell you,’ she began, in a maliciously crooning tone, ‘that you are wrong.’
Allegra could hear Celina gasp with astonishment. She had listened to enough of this travesty. It was time to speak. Slowly walking forward to the Prioress, she straightened her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair. Barely a handspan from the old woman, she halted.
‘I have not yet given the solution.’
‘You? And what do you suppose it to be?’
‘The answer is this. You asked us what it is that holds us, which binds us and traps us. My companions are not the fools you imply them to be, to point at this device. Yet, as you well know, Holy Mother, that is too simple a solution. Brother Guillam is correct to suggest the bonds that held us grew loose as we struggled. Indeed, I quickly noticed that the more fiercely the victim struggled, the looser the bonds. Why then, I asked myself, did the victim not free themselves? Am I close to your solution?’
With a grim aspect, the Prioress nodded.
‘There were no physical bonds or ties that held us tonight. Only one force kept us bound. It is the same answer which underpins both of the previous two riddles. Lust. Lust is the answer to your riddle. It does not mark, nor tie – but it traps. Am I correct?’
It took only a moment for the Prioress to recover her composure. But in that moment, Allegra could see fury flame across her face and then as quickly disappear behind a mask of composure. A sudden twisting of her fingers further suggested the restraint of a sudden flare of violent feelings.
‘Very well,’ she announced slowly. ‘I see I must congratulate you, Sister Almoro. You have indeed won our little game. Not for you, the cold byways of the city. You have indeed earnt yourself a place in our order. From this day on, you have earnt the right to our virtues of purity and discipline. You have fought with our enemy and won understanding. Welcome.’
At this she rose, and with all good grace, extended her hand to the girl. Flinching only a little, Allegra stepped forward, kneeled before her on the hard floor and kissed the great ruby sparkling on her ring.
‘Thank you, Holy Mother.’ Staring hard into the old woman’s rheumy eyes she tried to penetrate that reptilian exterior. Standing, she felt her head swim with weariness, but forced herself to continue. ‘But I am afraid I must decline your offer.’
Behind her she could hear Celina gasp with surprise. ‘No, Allegra,’ she whispered urgently. The company of sisters too, murmured their disapproval, like a flock of startled pigeons.
‘What did you say?’ demanded the Prioress imperiously, gripping the arms of her chair.
Taking a long breath, Allegra began to explain her new understanding. Once she began, the words tumbled out, but she knew she had never spoken a truer word. ‘When I came to you, I was a fool,’ she began. ‘The world of the physical, the world of the flesh – they were repugnant to me. Yes, I was frightened by them, by what you know as the enemy named lust. What a monster it seemed to me then – so enormous, wild and irresistible. Quite rightly, you tried me and tested me. That which I feared was indeed within my own self. Like a hunter who fears the wild creatures of the night, I became a coward, fearing instead the very act of hunting itself. But your riddles have taught me to tame those creatures, to welcome them and love them. Now you want me to trap them in the cages of discipline and obedience.’
The room had fallen absolutely silent; all that could be heard was the slow clink of embers dying in the brazier.
‘You see,’ she continued, ‘I cannot be a nun. What attracted me was fear, but you have saved me from that. My pride was brittle: the mask of a fool. You have helped me to learn that I need freedom. Yes, I respect your discipline and your harsh rites. For those I will always be grateful. But no, my way is back in the city where I can be free.’
‘And I suppose you think this is some way of getting your dowry back?’ the old woman snapped.
‘No,’ she replied quickly. ‘The gold is yours. That is small payment for what I have learnt.’
Behind her, she could hear Celina groan, calling out to her to reconsider.
‘Very well,’ the Prioress agreed, though somewhat surprised. ‘You are free to go.’
With a rapidly beating heart, Allegra gathered her skirts and returned to the others. Facing Celina was not easy.
Still naked as a child, she glared at Allegra as if she was a lunatic. ‘How could you?’ she seethed in a loud whisper.
‘Celina, will you come with me?’ her friend asked, offering her an outstretched hand.
The Prioress interrupted, calling out to her, ‘You may stay with us here, Sister Dorico. You will be safe in our care.’
But with a resigned groan, the girl took Allegra’s hand and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Let us not be parted.’
‘And you, Brother Guillam? Surely you cannot stay here now?’
As naked as Adam, he stood, hesitantly biting his lip. He was no more than a boy, she realised for the first time; like Celina he was probably an outcast from his family, given to the nuns to be fed and clothed and cruelly used. But his answer belied any attempt to understand him.
‘I will stay. Today the enemy you described overcame me and I must do long penance to beat him out from within me. But I will overcome this foe. I will not be trapped in this cage of lust.’
‘But it is a cage one chooses to enter or leave,’ Allegra began, before seeing he was resolute. ‘Very well,’ she agreed, kissing him chastely on the cheek. ‘I wish you well, Guillam. Do not punish yourself for being only what you are. I will always be a friend to you, should you seek me out.’
As they left, he looked after them, suddenly confused by Allegra’s kindness. But the Prioress shot a glance of disapproval at him as sharp as any arrow. ‘Clear this up, Brother,’ they heard her shriek as they mounted the stairs. As obedient as a well-trained dog, he set to work, picking up the bonds which had restrained him and tidying them neatly away for the sisters.
Dismounting from the boat, the girls found the city veiled with a silvery rime. The massive stones of the quayside were black with ice and all around them the arches and bridges, columns and balconies of the city were dressed in icy, sparkling frost. It was hard not to think of the convent’s raging fireplaces within its thick, protective walls as they slithered up the steps.
‘Where are we going?’ Celina complained, pulling her thin cloak tight around her shivering shoulders.
‘You will see.’
Allegra had at least benefited from reclaiming her clothes from the convent store. The black taffeta was hardly a winter dress, and her cloak was more of an ornament than a comfort, but at least she had the satisfaction of looking like a lady. Poor Celina’s clothes, when they had at last found them, were the threadbare garments of a neglected child. Reluctantly, she had kept her brown skirt and cloak. As they walked into the Piazza, Celina hung back a little, until her friend had to remonstrate against her for her slowness.
‘Come along, you may get lost. That is the last thing I want. Walk with me, arm in arm.’ Then Allegra noticed her friend was peering into the dark openings of the arcades. Catching a movement in there, she suddenly recollected why Celina would be so curious. ‘Do not worry,’ she laughed, ‘we will not need to sleep in there. I am sorry if I frightened you with tales of beggars and rogues. We are not reduced to that, yet. I have an idea.’
With a very loud sigh, Celina let herself be led forward. She shook her head as they entered a narrow calle between two high buildings. But Celina’s fears were substantiated when Signor Bartolomeo’s clerk told them that his master was not available. It was almost carnival, he explained, as if to two children, and from the start of the carnival the office would only be open for necessary business.
‘I have most important news,’ Allegra urged. ‘He will wish to know immediately.’
The clerk was reluctant; he had clearly received orders to keep all business as far away as possible from his master.
There was no alternative but to do business Venetian style. From what little was left in her silken pocket, Allegra transferred a couple of sous to the clerk’s hand. ‘Blessings for Christmas, Signor.’
The transformation was immediate. ‘It comes back to me that in an urgent situation he may be disturbed. This is urgent? Very well, you will find him at 2971 Castello.’
With the address burning brightly in her mind, Allegra set off once more.
‘Why do you need to speak to him?’ Celina asked. ‘Should we not find a place to rest?’
It was beginning to snow as they set forth. Beneath their feet the slippery calle floors were treacherous, and the steps of frequent bridges lethal. Huddled together, their hands growing chapped and raw, they did their best to find the house, soon wishing they had asked for clearer details of its location.
An hour of cold and shivering wetness brought them out into a deserted piazza so like a hundred others, with an ornate, carved church, a fountain at the centre and row upon row of very tightly locked green shutters. They had seen the number 2962 some way back – the labyrinth that formed the backways of the city could baffle even long-lived residents. At last they saw a movement at one of the heavy doors. Stepping into the snow was a man in a legal toga, accompanied by a servant who held an umbrella carefully over his powdered wig.
‘That must be it,’ breathed Allegra, as she scampered over to the door. Rapid inquiries confirmed that it was indeed the Quill and Powder Club, refuge of judges, notaries and advocates. A liveried servant let them in.
Signor Bartolomeo was tucked well away from the perils of the weather. Sitting by an open fireplace, he was contentedly reading his gazette while a cup of coffee steamed lazily at a little card table by his chair.
‘Signor, forgive the intrusion.’ Allegra swept a couple of chairs over, so they might join him. ‘I urgently need to take your advice.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know how I could be of service,’ he stuttered, reluctantly putting his newspaper to one side.
‘You will be pleased, I assure you. As I remember, there was a certain set of items left me as a legacy in which you were interested?’
‘Indeed.’ He patted his lips with a napkin and looked pointedly at Celina.
‘A trusted friend.’
‘Some coffee, ladies? Some cake?’
Warmed by the fire and gallons of strong, bitter coffee, Allegra began to outline her plan. ‘Can you assure me, Signor, that you can legally secure the bequest for me? Make it totally secure. Draw up a paper to that effect. As the sisters have my dowry, it is all I own.’
The notary puzzled over this for a little while, asking for dates and other details of the paper she had signed at the convent.
‘You see, I would like to help you share the collection,’ Allegra urged. ‘For a price.’
‘Then name your price.’ His small eyes narrowed. She was sure he was trying to conceal his tremendous desire for the goods. ‘I suggest the following. You secure my ownership of the goods and we continue to store them in the old palace by your office. You and your connoisseur friends may borrow, indeed use, the collection as you wish. It will be easy enough there, only next door to your business.’
He was clearly hooked, though he tried to stifle the glint in his eye.
‘In return, my terms are small. You pay me a rental – a small amount, say fifty lire a quarter. Also, you let me live on in the Barnabotti palazzo to guard my collection. It is empty now, so no loss to you.’
Sipping his coffee, the Signor considered. For a small fee he would secure access to the best private collection of curiosa in Europe. And it would be there, next door to his office.
‘Done,’ he said.
‘An advance on rental?’
‘Certainly.’
With a deliciously heavy coin of silver in one palm and an ornate key in the other, Allegra led Celina once more out into the snow. It had settled now like a cloak of ermine; the little piazza glittered in the moonlight and the air was crisp and sweet. Pulling their cloaks tightly around themselves, they lingered for a few moments to admire the twinkling solitude. At the twin windows of the parish church the amber glow of candles cast a homely glow. Above, the sky was heavy with iron grey snow clouds which scudded across the moon. The peaceful air was resonant with hushed, icy beauty.
‘Come along,’ Allegra called to her friend. She was transfixed, her face rapt with emotion as she studied the tranquil scene. ‘I must show you our new home.’
For the first few weeks they did not venture far. The rambling Palazzo Raffi needed airing, dusting, polishing, washing and scrubbing. They set up their quarters in one of the front rooms where the narrow gothic windows were not so large that they might let in too much cold air. The frame of a bed was the starting point, and over subsequent days, as the fifty lire piece was changed down into smaller and more useful coins, they haggled for linen and rugs and an easily mended feather-mattress. Soon they learnt who would deliver firewood, where milk was to be got and which taverns provided a hot meal on the owner’s plate for a few sous. Discreet inquiries to Signor Bartolomeo led them to house sales where no more than an ancient housekeeper presided over salons of old-fashioned porcelain, candlesticks and silver.
Now it was not the insistent convent bell which woke them before dawn but the clarion bells of the city which gently lured them awake well past the start of the day. Stretching and lazing in the vast feather bed, they listened to the scurry of the wooden pattens of those citizens who were forced to scuttle to work. But for most of the city, the carnival was a holiday; shops reduced their hours of business and the offices of government only opened by appointment. Nevertheless, more money was made then than throughout the rest of the year – it was simply so much more enjoyable to don a mask and coax money from the masqueraders directly.
It soon became apparent that the notary was an expert in the shifty underworld of ill luck and repossession. It was no accident that he had acquired the rental of the Palazzo Raffi. At first it seemed a tragedy to the girls that so many of the old families were reduced to selling their goods for the price of the food to keep their kin alive. Some of the nobility whose names were inscribed in the Doge’s Book of Gold had declined in number to a single, infirm member. When that last representative died, whole estates and palaces were quietly put up for sale.
‘Why is it, Signor, that you deal so much in death?’ Allegra asked a few weeks later, as the notary dropped in to borrow a few items for his club. Her guardian’s collection was now housed in the former library. It was a little shabbily hung, but at least the gentlemen visitors could take their choice from the shelves at their ease. Celina and Allegra also occasionally visited and learnt a great deal too.
‘That is the purpose of the law, my dear, to set out the accounts, both for birth and death.’
He was somewhat engrossed in a book spread on his lap. The girl could just see a set of illustrations concerning a woman and a many-armed god. In some of the pictures he was making very immodest use of his dozens of fingers.
‘But the old families – so many are dying away. If I think of my own, there is only Leon and myself left.’
At the mention of Leon, the notary turned the book over on his lap. ‘Your cousin? Well, he is a case in point. These families – your good self excluded – have run their course. Money made in the old days from merchanting and business has been squandered. Good blood squandered, too – diluted in cousin marrying cousin and brothers sharing wives. They will not marry outside their kin for fear of losing wealth and yet by mixing similar blood they breed poorer and poorer specimens. Your typical noble is no better than Leon.’
‘Have you seen him?’
‘On odd occasions. He was not impressive over the will. He tried to have your dowry returned, but I would not hear of it. Now there is the Palazzo di Rivero falling to rack and ruin. The servants dismissed and no use made of his place in senate. As a senator he could at least do as the rest and bribe his way into a useful position in government, but no, he does not care to be up before noon or in from the whore house before the dawn.’
This was sad news for Allegra; while it had not been her own home, her guardian’s house had once been a kind of home. She wondered what had happened to the servants, and how long it would be before Leon fell into the state of ruin which brought gentlemen like Signor Bartolomeo to take a particular interest in his affairs.
‘Now, I have news to cheer you.’
The little agreement between Allegra and her notary had bred nice, easy relations between them. They both considered each other useful people to know.
‘A certain marquise has had the misfortune to pass away in this cold snap. An old lady, certainly, but once a favourite at the court of the old Sun King. They say she had such clothes laid by that were the best produced in France. And costumes for balls and carnival as were once written of in the Paris newspaper.’
Already, Allegra was clapping her hands with delight.
‘They are in my custody until the will is read on Sunday. With carnival upon us, you might borrow – let me see, what would you need? A full costume each from the collection? If you give my name to the servant they will let you have your pick.’
It had been hard to ignore the carnival gathering speed around them. From Saint Stephen’s day the citizens had donned dominoes and masks and even the thousands of visitors to the city had hired and begged costumes from their hosts. Venetians favoured traditional roles: Harlequin in his diamond patterned suit and sweet, untouchable Columbine. The mad University Doctor and the Brigand, the white faced Pierrot and silly, egg throwing Signor Punch. Already Allegra and Celina had marvelled at the glorious costumes of the rich. Wrapped in dominoes of gold cloth and masked in black velvet, the nobility of Europe glided into ballrooms and masques like glorious phantoms of another age. Together they had looked at the clothes stalls for suitable outfits but they were far too late to find anything of quality. Every costume of distinction or interest was already hanging on another’s back.
Taking a gondola to the old marquise’s house, the two girls could barely stifle their excitement. Beyond the heavy drapes of the craft, they could see the crowds out in masses along the quays, gathering for a bull race, or off to watch the acrobats at the Piazza. Without even masks, the two friends had felt oddly out of place in the city – even the watchmen wore masks of devils and the old man who swept the alley wore the bib and costume of a child. As they slipped through the water, Allegra pointed to a beggar, huddled beneath an archway. So mad was the city for carnival, even the destitute were masked.
Inside the marquise’s house they found a series of elegant, faded salons. Far up, beneath the rooftop, lay the stores, where costumes had been packed in oaken chests strewn with bunches of dried roses. The first beautiful outfit they found was an English riding habit of green velvet.
‘Can you not see me, riding a chestnut mare?’ Allegra cried, holding the costume high to her breast.
Next was a court dress. It was quite out of fashion but so studded with jewels and feathers that it stood up alone, as if the marquise had only just that hour stepped out of it. The first of the masquing clothes was the dress of a shepherdess. With a striped silk petticoat and pink rickrack laces, they pronounced it to be divine. But then the treasure trove tumbled open – the costumes of Turkish slaves, goddesses, vestal virgins, Amazons. Then there were the personages brought to life from pictures: the black velvet of Mary Stuart of Scotland, Rubens’ wife with her white feathered hat, the burgundy velvet of Signorina Borgia. In an ecstasy of dressing up, they paraded before the mirror. Almost dancing with excitement, Allegra began to realise the nature of the mask.
‘We might be anyone we like when we step outside.’ Carefully, she slid a black velvet mask across her face. Only her eyes twinkled through the slits. She felt secretive, wild and free. She looked at Celina, who was pulling a glorious confection of blue silk moiré about her shoulders. Masked, she might be a princess or a cowman’s daughter.
The light was fading and the lamps at public shrines were being lit before the girls had finally decided. At last they swept out, to join the throngs in the darkening byways. At the head was pretty Columbine whose traditional dress was of the finest satin, printed in a diamond-shaped pattern of reds, and greens and blues. The skirt fell in three tiers from a tiny waist and old-fashioned puffed sleeves were slit to show fabulous satin undersleeves. At her neck was a coquettish spiked ruff of finest lace, below which her breasts were bare to the tightly laced bodice. The effect was completed by a little scarlet half cape at her shoulders and matching cap with three nodding feathers.
Behind was a sensual odalisque, whose oriental shift wafted transparently over her lovely form. With a patterned brocade skirt and fur lined cape, the effect was of a character from the Thousand and One Nights. On her golden hair an aigrette of jewels was set at an angle and a girdle of gold kilted up her gown to show sheer, damask trousers. With a half-corset squeezing her waist, the effect was dazzling. In a pair of Moroccan embroidered slippers, she floated along the slippery calli.
The final touch was a pair of coquettish masks. Columbine’s eyes glittered behind an eye mask of ebony silk and the odalisque smiled through a peacock feather guise.
At the Rialto market they halted, surveying the rings of torches around fortune tellers, mountebanks, tumblers and quacks. In the far distance they could see fireworks lighting the sky. A bonfire raged in the piazza and the sweet scent of roasted meats drifted on the air.
‘Where do we start?’ the odalisque whispered.
She was trembling now, with the fierce excitement of it all.
‘We must start at the centre,’ Columbine whispered, squeezing her arm. ‘Let us first see the nobles at play. With a mask the Ridotto is open to all. Perhaps we might win at the tables tonight.’