Angels and Demons

I thought my plan was brilliant in its simplicity. What a fool I was. I should have known something so simple was easily foiled by forces I failed to contemplate in my own naiveté'. I knew today was the day Domenico would be in the workshop for his first sitting for his portrait. No doubt he would wear the fine black velvet gonella with its silver thread and buttons with the matching black calze with the rampant lions of silver thread clawing their way up his legs. Even I, with my fear and dislike of him was not immune to what a fine figure he cut in that outfit. So simply I decided in the darkness of my room the night before to not go to Papá's workshop today.

Unfortunately I forgot to factor in Papá's desire to turn a mere woman into something society would tolerate as an artist. I had to have a finer brush than any man born and he would have me in the workshop every day save Sunday perfecting my skills. And so it was that I found myself once more subject to the scrutiny and biting wit of Domenico Vettori.

To look back on it honestly I must admit half of my irritation with Domenico was indeed with myself. Never have I been gifted with words nor even greatly educated. I am able to read quite well and even enjoy it but our status was not always so well as it was with Domenico as Papá's patron and books were a rare treasure in our home. La Divina Comedia, while as fine a work as any I have read, gave me nightmares and I found I could read no more of Dante's works for fear of losing sleep. Agneta would not allow me to read Plato or Socrates saying they spouted hearsay and pollution for the mind. Fortunately I was still allowed Petrarch and while his work was quite skilled, it was seen as “just poetry”. Sweets that were mild and suitable for the mind of a woman.

Thus my vocabulary was lacking though my mind sometimes felt to burst with ideas and concepts I could not form adequately into words. In my youth, when I did attempt it, I often found myself the subject of ridicule by my brothers and so I learned quickly to keep my thoughts to myself. So it was with great frustration I found myself embroiled in battles of wits and words with Domenico and I lacked ammunition to defend myself. He was never quite cruel, not like Blasio had been to me as we grew up, but his constant jabs at my wit seemed aimed more at raising my ire. Shamed am I to admit he was able to manipulate my anger to the fore faster than any of my brothers ever were.

It also didn't help that he sat there in his finery looking so very handsome even in his arrogance and I did not want to admit that I saw him so! When first I entered the workshop and saw him standing with Papá I felt my heart give a strange little dance in my chest and I swore I would not look upon him again the rest of the day. I pray God will forgive me for I found myself unable to keep that promise and each time I glanced at him I met his eyes as if he knew exactly every time I would raise mine. Though he did not strut like the young peacocks in the street, for he was a great deal more mature than the men on the prowl in the city, he knew when a woman admired him and the slight smirk of his smile, the way his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, told her he could read her secret. He could read my secret. And it infuriated me.

I spent the morning sketching angels; angel hands, angel wings, angelic faces and hair and halos. Perhaps some part of my mind thought if I drew images of such serenity and piety I could banish my sinful anger for was that not the sin of those in the fifth circle of the Inferno? I refused to acknowledge then other thoughts that might be conjured into my mind. I tried not to see his form so fine and his face so strong with his neatly trimmed beard and shining brown curls. So when I did not dwell on my anger I focused on angels.

“Very well done,” I jumped at the sound of Papá's voice so close by my shoulder. I did not even realize he had moved away from his own workbench. Domenico strolled about the room moving his shoulders and neck, stretching him after his long seat.

“Thank you, Papá,” I said meekly with no sign of the emotions that spawned my mad flight of angels.

“Venturing into the biblical imagery is good for you but enough angels for now. You have mastered that form. I have seen no demons in your art. Sketch me some. I want to see your rendition of the horrific as well as the beatific, hm?”

I stared at him agape for a moment before I heard Agneta's voice in my head admonishing me to close my mouth before a fly found his way in. “Papá! That is not appropriate for a woman.”

He smiled and kissed me on top of my head like he used to when I was being a foolish child and for some reason I could not fathom, I felt foolish all over again. “Just a test of your skill, hm?” He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Sketch me a few then I will release you from the workshop. I can tell you do not wish to be here today so perhaps you could go take some sun in the garden when you are done, hm?”

The thought of spending time among the lilac buds doing nothing but enjoying the beautiful sunshine I could see streaming through the waxed paper windows sent a thrill through me that I could only describe as ecstatic. The last few days had been gray and dark with fat clouds of rain hanging over us and now that there was light once more I wanted some time out in it.

“Three demons?” I asked hopefully. I could easily throw out imitations of some of the hybrid creatures I had seen in examples of some illuminations and call them demons. He may recognize where I had seen them from but I could easily tell them that was how my simple mind saw demons. He may humor me on the point for today and dismiss me to my garden.

“Six demons,” he countered as if this were a bargaining session for the best price on a bolt of wool.

“That's too many! Four. Just four?” I pleaded with him and tried to turn on to him the eyes I had used in my childhood to win such arguments.

He tried to frown but I could see the smile in his eyes and knew that I had one. “Very well. Four demons.” He raised his finger and waggled it at me. “Today. I will return in a few moments. Keep our guest company.” He patted my shoulder then and left.

So I had won the battle today but would have to present him with more another day. At least it was a victory, however small. The instruction to “entertain our guest” however was not a victory in any sense. I wondered if it was some subtle punishment for being so stubborn about drawing his demons. Certainly I had nothing intelligent enough to say to entertain Domenico so it seemed the best course was to wait until Domenico decided he wanted to be the subject of my poor conversation. With that thought to justify ignoring him, I returned to my sketching.

Even though our fortunes had turned for the better when Papá caught the attention of Domenico, there was no waste permitted so following his thrifty commands, my paper was turned over and I began my sketches on the back side.

“I find it curious you did not argue more. Demons are not a subject for women to concern their heads about except to bow them in prayer to keep them from corrupting them in their weakness.”

I felt my ire rising again at the same vitriol I heard spewed sometimes from the more fanatical of the holy men. Because in the tale of the Bible, Eve brought the apple to Adam and thus corrupted him with temptation, all women were seen as corruptors and more easily subjugated by the whims of the Devil. Secretly, though I did not ever dare to voice such thoughts, I thought it rather cruel and unfair to lay all of the evils of the world upon poor Eve for was she not tempted by the serpent? And if she was indeed the weaker sex (as all women are apparently) then how was it she forced Adam to partake of the forbidden fruit? If her power was so great over him then how is it that she (and again, all women) is so weak of will, mind and body as to be useless save for bearing children and keeping a man's home?

As well, having been a wife and therefore having experienced the attentions of a man, I find it hard to believe that she could be tempted into the sweating, grunting rut that seemed to please them so and left the woman with naught but the stink of his lust on her skin and a babe in her belly. Though I loved my Simon and my heart aches over his death, the time in our bed was distasteful. A necessary evil I suppose, for the good wife that would bring forth the next generation of her husband's line. In that I failed.

Yet here in the middle of Papá's workshop Domenico was spewing this vile perception of women again. When I glanced up at him I truly saw him in that moment. I saw him watching me, waiting as if a lion ready to pounce on prey. My anger amused him and he would continue to bait me into such unseemly emotions. It irritated me further to be his amusement.

It was in that moment that wickedness stole into my heart and I, in my (female!) weakness, gave it free rein. I took up my charcoal stick and set upon my paper like a woman possessed determined to ignore him and his vile tongue. Every word he spoke to me, every tilt of his head, every look, every nuance of tone was subtle manipulation. He played me as if I were a game, molding my moods into his entertainment. Anything further he wanted from me he would have to force from me for I swore my mouth would become as tight as my marriage chest.

“Have you no remarks?” I heard it in his voice. It actually annoyed him that I did not respond to his bait and at last I had my own game to play.

“No,” the answer was simple and sweet delivered in my most demure voice. Why, the angelic tones that carried it from my lips could not have been spoken sweeter by the Madonna herself.

“You admit to the weakness of your sex so freely? Come come. I do believe we have discussed this before.”

In actuality there was no discussion involved but he used the term as if there had been. Previously he had made the point, seen how irritated it made me, and continued to drive the point into me though he knew I would not reply as I would have liked with my Papá listening to the conversation. So I kept my answer sweet again as my charcoal slashed across the paper. “Yes.”

He prowled for a few moments and though some dark part of me wished to look at him and take satisfaction in witnessing his own annoyance, a crueler piece of my mind was quite determined to inflict further aggravation upon him by simply ignoring him. Schooling my expression into one of beatific serenity, black lines danced faster across my paper drawing forth images to make maidens blush and matrons turn away in fear.

His prowling brought him to my work table just as I heard Papá’s voice outside the workshop door. With him so close suddenly I was awash with fear and shame for my crime and reached for another sheet of paper to cover my sketches. Domenico’s hand on my wrist stopped me when I would have hidden it from his view. Resigned I looked up to meet his gaze prepared for whatever backlash my actions would bring. He studied my sketches with interest and when he looked up to me I refused to show him my fear.

Dancing across my paper were my demons; the most benign of them looked as a satyr, his naked chest melting into his fur-covered goat legs that ended in cloven hooves. A small tail flicked from the base of his spine and he danced with a flute to his mouth, his body carefully turned to hide his masculinity from the viewer. The expression on his face was one of wicked temptation; a look of passion and play carefully crafted to capture the unwary in his spell.

Two more were creatures of nightmare; gargoyles with huge black wings spread out behind them, their bodies grotesquely distended and misshapen, claws dangling from hands too long and feet shaped like those of a carrion bird. Tongues of snakes slithered from their gaping mouths as they stood in combat over the hapless soul being rendered between them.

A fourth was more animal than even the satyr with horns protruding from thick dark fur on his head; his leonine body crouched onto hands and feet like a beast. A tail covered in scales like a lizard extended from his spine, splitting the air with its stinging end, poison dripping from the tip like black ooze.

The last dominated one whole side of the page. The body of a serpent, thick with dark scales that shone oily in the light, coiled around a woman crushing her. Arms sprouted from the body of the serpent, thickly muscled and holding an apple offered to the viewer. Scales transformed into dark curled hair surrounding the face attached to the serpent body and, like each of the other drawings, bore the face of Domenico.

The door opened at that moment and Domenico glanced up when Papá stepped in, still speaking with someone on the other side. Domenico looked at me and something inscrutable passed across his face and tugged at the corner of his mouth. He released my hand and slid the blank paper over top of my drawings hiding them from view. He stepped away from my work table and I felt my face burning in embarrassment for what I had done. If Papá saw them he would be very upset with me and Domenico, the victim of my foolish endeavor, knew my secret and took steps to conceal it from Papá. I should have been grateful but something inside nagged at me that he kept my secret for his own purposes and would dangle it over my head like the sword of Damocles.

Domenico moved back to his seat and smiled at Papá. Papá paused by my table and I noticed something seemed to be bothering him though his look told me now was not the time to ask. “No demons?” He said, though I could tell his thoughts were on something else. “No Papá. May I sketch more later? My hand grows tired.”

He nodded. “Clean up then before you depart. The beautiful day should not be wasted in work.” His words were half-hearted and I grew concerned for him. I was already dismissed, however, as he turned his attention back to Domenico. His patron also picked up on his changed mood but said nothing as Papá took up his own charcoal again.

I quickly put away my own tools and began on those Papá would not need for the rest of the sitting. The damning sketches I carefully folded and hid them within the waist of my skirt. The silence in the room grew uncomfortable and troublesome. I could even see it affecting Domenico who stared at my father with an intensity that most people would feel. Papá seemed not even to notice.

“Girardus,” he said finally and I saw Papá jump, so engrossed was he in his own thoughts.

He looked up at his patron with a false smile plastered on his face. “Signore?”

I am not sure if Papá saw through the cloak of cool indifference his patron wore, so distracted he was by what bothered him. I saw it though. I knew for many months that Domenico truly appreciated my father’s skill as a painter but in that brief flash of insight I saw that he held concern for my father’s well being too. That knowledge would never erase all the annoyance or insult he directed toward me but it would mean I would have greater tolerance of him.

“I am hosting a great masquerade at my home in the country.” He spoke casually about the event, as if the entire city didn’t already know it. Half the well-to-do merchants and politicians were hoping to gain invite to his estate for the chance to see or be seen with others of import who would be present. Generally the celebration lasted for days and the guests stayed for weeks at a time.

“I have heard, Signore. It sounds as if it will be a grand event. Young Luca was most excited by the prospect.” Domenico had Papá’s attention now, though he was just as puzzled as I was.

“I should like for you to attend with your family. Your work has been well received and I should like to show my appreciation of it. It will be good for you to get out of the city for a few days as well.” He spoke as if the matter was already decided, and when I looked at Papá’s nervous face I realized likely it was. I knew how much work Papá had waiting and taking so much time away from it would be a hardship, however maybe a rest from his busy schedule was in order.

“Signore, you are most kind. It is indeed a generous offer—“

“Excellent! We are in agreement then.” Domenico stood before Papá could protest. “I shall send a cart for you and your family. You will be honored guests in my home. Today you must excuse me, however as my time grows short.”

Papá seemed at a loss for words and when I stepped over to him I could see him floundering for something to say.

“Your generosity is most kind, Signore Vettori,” I said rescuing my father from his own stumbling tongue. “He will be honored to attend you.”

Domenico smiled at me and I felt as if I had sprung a trap. It would seem the sword was dangling already. “I would be pleased to see your lovely wife and daughters as well.”

“Of course, yes, yes. Very kind of you.” Papá stood then, gaining his voice once more as he escorted Domenico to the door. “We will be ready, Signore, and most grateful of your kindness.”

I had hoped to escape this holiday to the country, having no desire to be trapped in the territory of the predator. I finished packing away the tools and slipped from the workshop before Papá returned from his farewells to Domenico. I rushed through the palazzo to my room and closed the doors heavily behind me, my heart crashing against my ribs. I drew forth my sketches and unfolded the paper just staring at them for several moments. It seemed I would be drawn into the Vettori lair and he had a weapon against me and I had no way of knowing how or why he might use it.