Chapter 8

‘We’ve met before.’ Her pale tongue flicked over her lips.

‘We were never formally introduced ... ‘

‘No. I heard you singing with the “Devine” Francesca some years ago.’

The tongue swirled over excessively long and sharp teeth. I felt like an antelope walking too close to the river side while a crocodile hid in the rushes waiting to snap my limbs between its jaws.

‘Francesca is my cousin.’

‘Yes. I remember. You were a mere boy then. Now you are a man.’ She took my arm. ‘Perhaps you will escort me to the Palazzo Ducale?’

‘Certainly, Countess Borgia.’ A sensual tingling crept up from the bend in my elbow, where her delicate, gloved hand rested. I felt unable, or unwilling to resist her.

‘Please call me by my first name ...’

‘Countess ...’ I argued.

‘No ... Lucrezia.’

‘I have a small boat at my service. This way ... Lucrezia.’

The gondola slithered through the water as Lucrezia pulled her black velvet cloak around herself to ward off the evening coolness. The canal water was incredibly still that evening and the journey was unusual, unnatural, but I did not know why. I did not worry too much; instead I marvelled at her smooth, perfect cheeks and brow. In ten years she had not aged. She was as faultless as the first time I had seen her. I considered that I must have miscalculated her age in Florence, for she only appeared to be a woman in her mid-twenties - but well preserved.

The gondola deposited us at San Marco. The Ducale private landing entrance below the Bridge of Sighs was not open to any but the royal house, even invited guests. A rush of air gathered around her as I helped Lucrezia climb out of the boat. She stepped down as though invisible hands held her above me.

Apprehension tugged at my insides. She was so light it was almost as if she floated. We entered the palace at the Porta Della Carta. Pinned to the door was a decree on expensive parchment, and written in bold black letters was the Doge’s declaration that due to the birth of his son, this day was to be known as a national holiday. There was a masquerade ball being held in the Sala Del Maggior, and as a local artist I was privileged to be invited. Lucrezia took out a mask from a deep pocket within her cloak; it was white with gold trim and gold stripes running through its cat-like shape. She became a white and gold tiger as she placed it over her face. Gold silk ribbons trailed like strands of hair on either side. Her green eyes, sparkling out from the oval slits, looked like precious stones carved into feline pupils, and the ribbons blended into her shiny curls.

A footman, wearing the Doge’s fine livery of pale lilac and silver silk, stopped us as we entered the door.

‘Signor, you must wear this. His Highness insists ...’

His hand quivered as he held out a black and red harlequin mask.

‘Of course.’

I took the mask, quickly covering my face, and he nodded to a young page boy who ran forward with a candelabra. The page led us in through the courtyard and up some thirty stairs of finest white marble.

‘You must leave your cloaks here,’ the boy said, bowing, as we entered a small salon with a high ceiling.

Lucrezia removed her cloak to reveal a black and deep purple gown. She carefully draped her cloak over the waiting arms of a servant girl.

‘I’m sorry. I never realised you were widowed ...’ I said. My words sounded dull and distant to my own ears as I stared at the funeral coloured gown.

‘It’s been several years now, but I still choose to be in mourning. Besides I look good in black. Come, I hear my favourite music and I’m determined to dance. You’ll dance with me won’t you, Gabriele?’

I once again allowed her to lead me as the haunting tones of my uncle’s music spilled from the chamber above us and we were led once again up a flight of marble stairs. Two footmen stepped forward opening the doors wide as we entered the bright candle-lit ballroom; the joker and the tigress. I didn’t know then that our disguises were so apt.

Lucrezia gripped my arm as though afraid of what she would see within this great hall. We walked through the multitude of revellers, and the greatness, the beauty and immenseness of the chamber was unobserved because her touch made me feel so insular. I was a mass of raw sensuous nerves that began and ended with the touch of her fingers. Never, since the brief time I’d spent in Madame Fontenot’s brothel, did I feel such tense excitement.

Taking her in my arms intensified the feelings. With my hand on her delicate waist, I felt the warmth of her bare flesh through the fine satin of her gown. She wasn’t wearing the usual corsetry that women of her station wore. I was powerfully aroused by the thought. She stepped closer into my embrace, bending her body into mine as though she knew exactly how I felt. Her face softened and she melted into me as though dancing was the most sexual thing she had experienced. I was completely seduced by her incredible beauty.

We danced for hours before eventually I became aware of this huge hall, often used for the meetings of the council. Its ceiling was as high as the entire three story building of my own residence on the canal, and was cornered with gold. All around the room were magnificent pictures depicting the Madonna and her new born, The Christ delivering his sermon on a green mountain and, finally, the magnificent painting of the crucifixion. The whole history of our God surrounded us at every turn, and Lucrezia barely looked above my eyes.

‘I’ve been waiting for you to grow up, Gabriele,’ she told me suddenly. ‘Come.’

Though her words were strange I let her lead me from the chamber and back down the marble stairs to the beautiful marble veranda that surrounded the courtyard. I found myself climbing a golden staircase of perhaps fifty steps. Above us was an ornate ceiling that held the most detailed paintings, once more depicted images from the Old Testament. The staircase was indeed a golden masterpiece, and in its own way a miniature art gallery; for every painting was framed with gold to ensure that they were specific and unique. Yet the bright-coloured paints had a single purpose that made the whole thing work in an opulent display.

‘I’ve never been up this staircase ...’

‘They call this the Scala dei Giganti. It is named after Sansovino’s statues of Neptune and Mars.’

‘I can see why. The ceiling is so high. It feels like it is in heaven with the gods. Where are we going?’

‘A private chamber, my darling boy, where no one will disturb us.’

‘How ... ?’

Her fingers pressed my lips and I could no longer speak. She pushed open a soaring door, and tugged me into the room. By now the strength had leaked from my limbs and a terrible coldness seeped into my blood. I shivered as her pale hand gripped my cold fingers. Once inside, she freed my hand from her vice-like grip. Almost immediately my vigour returned and I became more aware.

We were in a bedchamber fit for a king, and I knew that this was most definitely in one of the royal apartments, though I suspected that it was currently out of use. I wondered how Lucrezia had gained access to such an impressive suite and how she had managed to arrange it when she had been in my company most of the evening.

She removed one long black glove, snapping irritably at her slender fingers until the black velvet came away from both of her hands and she was able to toss them carelessly across a high-backed tapestry-covered chair near the door. Her hands were deathly white, as though they had been carved from the same marble as the elaborate statues that stood in all of the four corners of the room.

‘I’m cold,’ she said. She looked small, vulnerable, a swan-like creature, and there was no sign of the tiger mask that had vanished as smoothly as it had appeared. I was speechless and never having known women in so casual a sense, I did not really know how to react. It was obvious why we were alone; but so very strange. Women of her calibre did not bring strange men to their bed.

‘I’m cold,’ she repeated. ‘Gabriele ... warm me.’

I was unable to refuse so desperate a plea and I found myself holding her, wrapping her protectively in my arms. She buried her head in my chest, her hands stretching up to my face, bare flesh touched bare flesh and her lips took me to places I had never dreamed existed. It was more than submerging. She sucked me down and under, faster than any quicksand. I was unable to fight and when she led me to the bed - when I died without a struggle - I died loving her.