Snapshot Fiction: Visitor in the Darkness

A soft breeze tugged at Vinca’s long hair as she sat upon the thin cushion resting on the window seat. The casement window opened to the night air letting in the breeze as well as the sounds and scents of the city beyond. The palazzo sat up the side of one of the hills of the city giving Vinca a view of the rooftops of the city as it flowed down the hill. She could also see the line of the narrow street in the darkness. Pools of orange oil lamp light broke the shadows of the street at regular intervals until it disappeared around a corner. The street wasn’t lit exceptionally well but enough so those deep in their wine could likely find their way without tripping over their own feet. Or so they could be found when they passed out in the middle of it.

Flickers of light dotted the city and Vinca gazed from point to point, her thoughts wandering as randomly as her eyes. She had tried to sleep but her mind raced and would not let her rest. She could still feel Marin’s warm hand on her back and hear his voice in her ear. After the party where she first met him she never dreamed she would see him again. He was certainly bold. She tried to dismiss him for it; it was downright disgraceful the way he pulled her close to him. Though she would only admit to herself that she found his behavior rather thrilling.

“At last! In the darkness I find my guiding light! Milky white skin surrounded by golden brown hair beckons to me.”

Vinca started and peered into the shadows of the street. Movement beyond the lamplight drew her attention a moment before Marin stepped into the glow. “Marin!” She hissed, looking nervously over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”

He smiled and waved his arms wide. “I have come for you! Your beauty draws me like the sun draws a flower.”

“You have been in the wine! Silence your noise. You will wake the house!” She tried to keep her voice low and winced at the way his voice echoed through the street.

“I did promise to come for you, my Vinca, and here I am. Shall I sing you a song?” He fumbled his lute off his back and nearly fell to the street when he lost his balance.

“You can hardly walk, much less play, you are so full of drink. Begone! Before you are found. My brother will have no mercy on you!”

“I am full on the wine of your beauty, fair lady! Open your door for me and I will show you!”

The door between her room and Fina’s opened suddenly and she jumped, her heart racing as her sister walked in rubbing sleepy eyes. “Tell your musician that others are trying to sleep!” She muttered.

“He is not my musician!” Vinca hissed in return. “And he will not leave!”

“Throw something at him then. I want to sleep! And if he is found Agneta will beat you and make you kneel in prayer for hours! She will be convinced you tempted him to this house.”

“I did no such thing!”

“I will climb to you! Leave your window ajar and I will come to you.”

Vinca stuck her head out. “No! No you must not!” He stood next to the wall of the palazzo staring up at her. “Go away. You must go!”

Fina stuck her head out the window as well. “Begone from here or I will set the dogs upon you!” Vinca cast a puzzled look at her sister. “I mean it!” Fina continued. “They are fierce and you will not survive. They will pick their teeth with your lute!”

“Who is there? What is the noise about?” Both girls and Marin turned to the angry voice further down the street. Marin suddenly looked nervous.

“I will return another time, my Vinca. Tonight I will content myself with dreams of your beauty!” He threw her a kiss and disappeared into the shadows again.

When he was completely out of sight and the street seemed quiet once more, Vinca pulled the window shut before turning on her sister. “Dogs? We have no dogs!”

Fina shrugged and grinned. “And he will only know that if you tell him.”

Later Vinca would be surprised that neither the shouts in the street nor their fiendish giggles woke up anyone else in the palazzo. Once the laughter quieted she made her way in the darkness back to her bed. She felt Fina crawl in the other side and made room for her sister. “My room is too quiet. I am not used to being in it alone.”

Vinca reached out and stroked her sister’s hair. “I know. It seems so empty in here as well.”

“Someday I will have to leave and share my room with a husband. You know Agneta is looking for one for me.”

“I know. If Papá would permit it she would be looking for another for me as well.”

The bed shook with Fina’s stifled giggles. “I do not think she would have to look far. It seems there is a musician who fancies you!”

“Hush!” Vinca nudged her sister in the darkness. “Agneta would never approve of Marin. She thinks musicians spread sin with their music. And he is disreputable! Wandering about drunk and shouting outside my window! It’s shameful.”

“You like him.”

“Go to sleep.”

Fina giggled and tugged on the sleeve of Vinca’s chemise. “You like him! You liked him coming to your window and calling out to you! ‘Oh my Vinca, I am drunk on your beauty!’”

“Hush!” Vinca pulled her pillow out from behind her and struck her sister with it, muffling her voice but creating a fit of giggles. “You will wake the house,” she hissed, glad her sister could not see her burning cheeks in the darkness. She did enjoy the attention but would not admit that to her sister. Marin’s words fluttered in her chest leaving her with a warm feeling that she clung to.

She felt Fina roll over to lie on her side. “You do like him,” she said quietly, her tone serious. Vinca shrugged, the rustle of her chemise the only response in the dark. “Oh Vinca. Agneta would never permit it.”

“Hush. I know. It is just a fanciful thought. That is all.” She sighed and pulled the light blanket up over her. “We should sleep now. I am working with Papá in the workshop tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Fina leaned over and kissed her sister’s cheek. “I will pray for you. Perhaps God will find a way for you to have your musician.”

“Thank you, sister. Good night and God bless.”

“Good night, sister.”

Snapshot Fiction: Celebration at Piazza del Campo

The sounds of the crowd in Piazza del Campo could be heard long before they emerged from the shaded street into the grand square. Bodies bustled around them as they emerged into the sunlight and Vinca stared in awe at the crowds. Musicians, jugglers and a variety of vendors selling everything from food to ribbons milled among the people who turned out for this impromptu festival. She had heard that during Carnivale or the horse races that took place through the streets and square at other times of the year that the crowds and noise were overwhelming. She had seen festivals and celebrations in Piombino but nothing as spectacular as this.

Raucous voices competed with music and the cries of sellers hawking their goods. Papá skillfully led her and Fina away from where the street poured more traffic into the square and into an open space near a great fountain. Vinca gawked openly at the fountain, marveling at the bas-reliefs surrounding it and the crystal blue water within. The white marble shone in the light and she carefully studied each form carved lovingly into it. She clearly recognized the Madonna but some of the other figures puzzled her.

“How lovely!” Fina gasped, reaching out to touch the pale stone carvings. Pietro slowly walked up the stairs surrounding the fountain studying it carefully. Papá smiled and let them explore for a few moments before motioning Vinca over to him.

“You recognize the Madonna?” She nodded. He motioned with his hand then, taking in some of the other forms. “Those are virtues, some Christian and some from the Greek. And do you see those two figures? The nudes?” She nodded, her cheeks blushing slightly at the two nude women displayed so boldly. Each held two babes and she wondered at the scene they depicted. “They are Rhea Silvia and Acca Larentia, the mothers of Romulus and Remus.”

“The founders of Rome!” Vinca studied the relief with more interest now. “How do you know this, Papá?”

He shrugged. “An old man was telling tales one day while I was listening. You see those on the left? The creation of Adam. And on the right. Adam and Eve’s banishment from Paradise.”

"Papá, this is magnificent! We had nothing this spectacular in Piombino!” Fina skipped up the steps to where Pietro stood behind the fountain using the extra height to look out over the Piazza.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Vinca started at the voice suddenly at her side and turned to see the smiling face of Marin, the lute player, from the celebration at the Vettori palazzo. She smiled easily and nodded.

“It is exquisite. I have never seen its like.”

“Sometimes I come and spend my whole day here playing my music for the Madonna. I like to think she appreciates the effort.” He strummed the strings of the lute, the sounds gentle and drifting through the crowd. Several people turned to watch him expectantly.

Vinca reached out and touched the instrument. “Will you play now?”

He frowned, though his eyes twinkled belying the falsehood of the expression. “I am unsure. I have already played soooo much today.”

“Please?” She could sense the game he played. He wanted to play a song for her; she could tell by the way his fingers drifted over the strings. “Just one would brighten the day.”

“Oh yes! Please play!” Fina joined them, pulling Pietro over as well. He eyed the musician warily but seemed amused by the exchange.

“Oh sweet ladies, the sound of your voices is such beautiful music of its own, I would not wish to drown it out with the tones of my poor instrument!”

“Will you please play?” Vinca smiled, enjoying the way he smiled at her when he spoke. She felt no discomfort meeting his eyes and could gaze into their depths all day. “Play for me,” she said quietly. “And my sister. Play for us.” She corrected, realizing how her brother now watched her.

Marin ran his fingers casually across the strings, bringing forth golden tones with so little effort. “For you. I will play and sing.”

The song began simple enough and like the ones she used to hear from the simple musicians in Piombino it told a tale of woe and lost love. If she had to admit to it later, Vinca would have in all honesty had to say she didn’t pay much attention to the song itself. She found herself endlessly fascinated by the expressions of Marin’s face. She carefully studied the way it moved as he sang. Each emotion he portrayed in the song flowed across it fluidly and each one was distinct and recognizable. His face was so mobile it seemed ever in motion, ever changing, and while it retained his look, it was never precisely the same twice.

He noticed her intense scrutiny and grinned, singing directly to her for a moment before turning back to the crowd that had begun to gather around them. Soon a pipe player joined in the melody, the bell-clear tones weaving around his lute. They moved easily into a lively country song that drew in a tambourine player. Soon the song brought out dancers and with a laugh Fina grabbed Pietro and drew him into the circle of dancers swirling about.

Vinca laughed and clapped with the music, watching her brother and sister. Soon a strong hand took hers and tugged her into the dance. She laughed in surprise when Marin led her to dance, his lute now hanging across his back. She looked around and noticed the number of musicians in this part of the square had increased when the dancing began.

“You stopped playing,” she said, barely audible over the music.

He shrugged and turned her before placing his arm around her waist and moving into the next step of the dance. “There are enough players now my music is not needed.” He tightened his arm around her and pulled her against him briefly. “And at the moment I prefer to be right where I am.”

She felt her face redden at his forward behavior and moved away, careful to keep a respectful distance between them. He caught the movement and squeezed her hand as he spun her away from him then pulled her back to face him. “Shy are we? Are you modest for me or those surrounding us?”

She glanced around nervously afraid Pietro or Papá might have seen how close she had been to Marin. “It isn’t proper,” she whispered.

He laughed again and pulled her to him, brushing ever so lightly against her before stepping away again. She felt her face redden more. “It is only a dance,” he grinned. He leaned in close and whispered to her, “Or shall I come to you and dance for you in darkness.”

She pulled away from him and swallowed her embarrassment. She could not form words to chide him for his scandalous behavior and she would not admit that she found the offer as flattering as it was shocking. Before her thoughts could wander down other dangerous paths about him Pietro took her hand and turned a slashing glance on the musician. “Father says we should go now. The rowdy crowds are coming out.”

Marin smiled broadly at Pietro and bowed ever-so-elegantly to Vinca. “I thank you for the dance, fair lady. I will hold it to me in my dreams this evening.”

“You are quite welcome,” she managed to choke out. She was still watching Marin when Pietro took her hand and tugged her toward their father. Her brother wasn’t watching when the lute player winked at her and whispered only loud enough for her to hear, “I will come for you.”

She turned away still blushing and followed ever closer to her brother unsure if Marin was serious or simply flirting and just as undecided which she wanted.

Snapshot Fiction: In The Workshop

“Good! Very good. The lighting on the vase is quite well done, Vinca. Now just a bit more blending on the surface of the table. Do you see how sharp it is?” Vinca studied the section of the painting Papá pointed at and dutifully blended out the sharpness between the colors. She frowned in thought as she did so. She rather liked the sharpness; it was her own attempt to emulate Simone Martini’s style using the art of outline. Papá, however, preferred a more realistic style and a daring use of light and shadow. Vinca believed that the appropriate path for her would be to follow the styles of the greatest artists rather than to reinvent a style of her own. She sighed and touched up a smudge of color she was unhappy with. As a woman, there was little hope either way of her paintings being anything beyond something she did for her own entertainment. Fortunately Papá let her indulge her love of the art.

“Lovely. Very good.” He smiled and nodded then patted her shoulder before returning to his own painting standing vigil on the easel in the corner. He kept it carefully turned from her, not wanting anyone to see his works before they were complete. Oft times as children, her brothers would talk about sneaking into Papá’s workshop just to dare the one law in the home that there was no breaking. She never would, however, for while she did not share the habit with her Papá, she could understand the desire to keep the work hidden until complete.

“You will be done with that one soon, yes?” The question was casual and she glanced at him watching him adjust his painting and easel unnecessarily. Though he would deny it, it was as close to a command as he would ever get with her paintings. He thought she had worked it enough (overworked it he would more likely say) and wished for her to try her skill on something else.

She forced a smile and nodded. She didn’t feel it was done well enough to be complete yet but he would ask the same question several times a day until she declared it complete. It would be a great deal simpler to call it finished, scrape the canvas, and begin whatever he wished her to work on this time. “I think so, Papá. I would like to show Pietro before scraping it this time, however. I rather like the lilacs.”

“Oh no! No, child. Do not scrape it this time. I have another canvas for you. That one is finely done and I have someone else in mind to show it to. Do set it aside if you would please.” He caught her eye from behind his canvas and simply raised a bushy eyebrow at her when she opened her mouth to protest. She closed it again, no words spoken, and added one last slashing stroke to the painting before setting it against the wall to dry. “That’s a good child. Now fetch that canvas I’ve set out by the rack. That is for you.”

“Yes, Papá.” Seldom did she get a clean canvas to work with, often scraping her own failed works off one or using one her father had scraped so often of his own he found the quality of it compromised. She wondered what he had in mind that he would give her a fresh canvas to work with. “What would you like me to practice?” She asked, setting the canvas on her easel and staring at the blank surface.

“Your still life work is adequate enough to leave off for a while,” he said after a moment, his brush moving methodically over his canvas, “but I would like to see more of your life paintings. You have a strong hand and accurate eye for the features which make each person who they are. Behind the shelving you will find your washer woman and children at play paintings. Pull them out and study them. I like those and should like to see you develop your work in such a way.”

Vinca frowned at the canvas. She remembered the paintings, the last ones she did before they departed Piombino, but she thought they had been painted over already. “Papá, you saved those? They were not very good at all and inappropriate for a woman to paint.”

He snorted. “Child, whatever your hand conjures to brush is appropriate for you to paint. I believe those came so well to you, however, because you could see them.” He leaned around his canvas again and pointed at her with his brush. “And your rendition of Jesus upon the cross was wretched. You work much better with what you can look at. Not that which you have to imagine in your mind.”

She wrinkled her nose and removed the forgotten paintings from their hiding spot, setting them up along the wall next to the one she had set to dry. “Must you always remind me of how wretched that one was?” The question was spoken with humor rather than anger for she knew her father was correct, though at the time that she completed the work he tried quite hard to give his critique of it with kindness.

He smiled an impish smile, shrugged, and returned to his work. She shook her head and turned her attention to the paintings he had so carefully retained. She had never formally titled them, simply calling them by their descriptions.

The washer woman was by far her favorite; she had seen the woman working laundry in a tub by her home in Piombino and the image had stuck in her mind so strongly she could not resist putting it on canvas. The woman was old for the area, her skin wizened and brown from the sun. Wrinkles surrounded her dark eyes and wisps of white hair escaped the braid that peeked from beneath the scarf tied about her head. The worn spots and patches on the woman’s overdress had been the hardest for Vinca to capture and at one point had to ask her father to help her with the texture of the fabric. The dust in which the woman stood and the bucket her hands were plunged into seemed relatively simple for Vinca but capturing the life of the woman, the personality of her face, took a great deal of effort.

She turned to the children at play and studied it as she had the washer woman but found it didn’t capture her as well. The children were alive and active, their colors vibrant on clothing and the ball of cloth they kicked between each other. Smiles brightened their youthful faces awash in glorious sunlight. She remembered the day she had sat sewing on the bench outside their small casa in Piombino watching the children. There was laughter and squeals of joy as only children could, but now looking at the painting she realized she had painted them, not as they appeared, but as she thought others would appreciate them. Her children were clean and well dressed with no patches of clothing nor smudges of dirt. She remembered the children at play were covered in dirt and dust with mud splattered and ground into the skin of their bare feet. Their clothing had been tattered and patched and the ball was even more tattered than their clothing. She frowned, trying to remember why she would paint the scene so different than what she saw.

“Does something bother you?” Since her back was to her father she wondered how he could know of her disturbed thoughts.

“I didn’t paint them right,” she said suddenly. “These are not the children I saw.”

She heard him set his brush on the edge of the easel and walk over to glance at the painting. “Ah yes. Those boys were ragamuffins. I remember them now that you say this.” He shrugged obviously unconcerned about her lack of accuracy in the work. “Your mind saw them differently at the time.” He reached out and gently tapped the side of her head. “What you look at is a guideline but sometimes the mind wants to create something else. Do not argue with it for great art comes from the dark places we cannot see or touch freely.”

With that he returned to his easel and she heard his short bristle brush scratching texture into the paint. She pondered the painting, and his peculiar words for a few more moments before she went back to her own blank canvas and took up a stick of charcoal to begin laying out her lines. She stared at it for several moments before laying the charcoal down again with a huff. “I do not know what to paint.” She said finally.

“A person, child. I want you to paint a person. Surely you have seen someone recently that you remember well enough to paint. Someone unique. And certainly not someone you see every day.”

The sharp features of Domenico flashed briefly through her memory, his dark eyes deepset and brooding. She could see the golden highlights on his curly hair and imagine how she would recreate that color with paint and brush. The velvet doublet she last saw him in would pick up lantern light easily and the orange glow would provide an amazing contrast to the black fabric.

She shook her head, dislodging the image and stared once again at the blank canvas. “Nobody, Papá. The canvas stays blank in my mind.”

He snorted. “We will have to rectify that then. They are having a great celebration at the Piazza del Campo tomorrow. I will escort you there and we will look for someone to paint. We will take Fina too for surely there will be musicians there and I know how she loves music.”

“A celebration?” She turned to her father, the blank canvas forgotten. “For what? It is not time for Carnivale nor any other feasts that I know of. What do they celebrate?”

She saw his brush pause before he spoke. “A treaty has been signed at Lodi. Meant to still the fighting between Milan and Venice. I have heard it establishes an agreed upon border for them and confirms Francesco Sforza as Duke of Milan.”

Vinca puzzled over this. “So they celebrate in Siena?”

“Anything that stops the shedding of Italian blood is worth celebrating, child. If you take no lesson to heart, remember that one. There is no disagreement worth the spilling of blood of our brothers.”

The wars in Lombardy were well known and there were few families that had not been touched in some way by them. A series of conflicts between Milan and Venice over territory and political control. Vinca had tried to understand and quizzed her father about it once but even with his patient and gentle explanations she could never comprehend those who have so much wanting so much more. Even when they lived in the small, simple casa in Piombino where wind and water blew in through cracks around the windows and dripped through the roof, she never could have conceived of harming another to gain more. To take a life was a sin against God and surely damnation in His eyes. To willfully kill so many? Especially those whom you may share blood with? The very thought was foreign to her.

“There you are!” She was startled out of her thoughts by Fina sticking her head through the doorway, her dark hair escaping her braid. She smiled brightly at Papá before turning to Vinca. “Agneta said the cook needs our help in the cucina. She sent me to fetch you.”

“Well! Off with you then! I’ll not have my dinner spoiled by a lack of hands!” Papá grinned at the girls and waved Vinca from the room. She nodded and heard him call after she left the room, “And tell your sister what we are doing tomorrow! If you keep it from her she will never forgive you!”

Fina tugged anxiously on her sleeve as they went up the stairs to the attic. “What? What are we doing tomorrow?”

Snapshot Fiction: Doubts

The pale wooden brush glided through Fina’s dark hair. Vinca stared at the strands of hair her thoughts too occupied to speak. She didn’t think she would rest well this first night in the palazzo, especially with the encounter with Domenico so fresh in her mind. She chided herself again for her fear of the man. He had never done her harm and had only been generous to Papa and the family. Why just today he had told Papa that not only would he hire him to paint his family’s chapel but new portraits of them all as well. Those two tasks would pay Papa more than two year’s worth of work back in Piombino!

Whenever she tried to shed her thoughts of Domenico, however, they inevitably drifted back to him. His dark eyes dominated her thoughts and she clearly heard the deep tones of his voice. She wondered if she would still find him so frightening if he did not have so much power over her family.

“You have your head in the clouds again, sister,” Fina said with exasperation, turning her head and tangling the brush in her long hair. “OW!”

Vinca shook her head. “You did that to yourself. Hold still now. And you natter so much how am I to be expected to hear it all?”

Fina straightened where she was seated on the edge of Vinca’s bed letting Vinca untangle the mess of brush and hair. “I was asking you a question and you said nothing. Have you heard anything?”

She heard deep tones echoing off stucco walls asking her if the palazzo met with her approval. “No. I am sorry sister. You are right. My head is so full with the bustle of today I paid no mind to what you were saying. Would you please repeat it for me?”

With a huff Fina slapped her hands into her lap. “I was saying I saw Domenico here today.”

The brush stuttered but Vinca recovered quickly. “I saw him too,” she said, her voice quiet and noncommittal.

“I don’t believe I have ever seen him so clearly before. He is rather handsome. Don’t you think so?”

When being honest with herself, Vinca did have to agree with her sister’s assessment. God had graced Domenico with a face and form young women, and some old, would fan themselves over. The brown curls surrounding his face were still thick and shone with touches of gold in the light. Though his expression remained ever somber, that intensity had an attractiveness of it’s own that was difficult to deny and though she would hardly admit it, sometimes she conjured his voice in her memory just to hear the rich tones once more.

She shrugged. She would never admit her thoughts to her excitable sister. “I suppose.”

Fina sighed with theatrical enthusiasm. “Your eyes have died if you do not see it. How could you look upon him and not long to have him cast his gaze in your direction?”

Dark eyes loomed up in front of Vinca. Memories of the times she had been caught in his gaze. She shivered, a cacophony of emotions welling up inside her in a confusing mix that she could not sort through. Over all of it, however, swirled her fear of his power.

“Perhaps it is because I was so loved by my Simon. And I loved him too dearly to cast it aside.”

A quiet huff from Fina startled Vinca and she frowned at her sister for a moment before finally speaking. “What did that mean?”

“Hm?” Fina shook her head suddenly and reached back, pulling her hair over her shoulder to begin braiding it loosely for bed. “I meant nothing.”

Years of sharing their deepest thoughts left Fina an open book to her sister. There was something she was not saying to Vinca and how she slid off the bed and moved away, not meeting Vinca’s eyes said a great deal about it. “I do not believe you.”

Fina shrugged, tugging the hair into place and taking her time tying off the braid with a piece of ribbon. “Truly. A tickle in my throat is all.” When she looked up Vinca caught her gaze and held it until she slouched like a small child caught playing in the mud and stared at the floor. “I just… It just sometimes seems when you speak of Simon that you are trying to convince yourself of your affection for him. And his for you. No doubt he was a wise choice and Papa did well for you but did you truly love him so deeply? And he, you? It did not seem so to me.”

“Do not be foolish!” Vinca slid off the bed and began prowling the room pulling her own hair over her shoulder to braid it harshly as her bare feet slapped on the tile floor. “Of course I loved him. I was very fortunate. He was kind to me. He spoke gently to me.”

“I have no doubt that he was kind but kindness does not mean love. Did he tell you he loved you? Did he show you in any way?”

Vinca frowned as she stared at her sister but Fina did not back down from her. “Of course he did. This is foolish. It doesn’t matter anyway. I loved him. I was crushed when he died.” She dropped her brush on the bedside table with a clatter and stood there staring at it for several moments. She dared not admit that he had never called her beloved until the day of his death. And in fact spoke to her little until he became ill. She did not think about that or question it.

“Of course. My apologies for questioning it. I’m sure you know how it was better than I ever could.” Vinca heard the heavy door between their rooms open and Fina spoke quietly one last time before departing the room. “Does it not seem to you, however, that you must constantly remind yourself of your sorrow over his death? Though perhaps I do not see that clearly either. Good night, sister. May God hold and keep you through the darkness.”

Vinca stood there long after Fina left, her feet growing cold on the tile floor. She stared at the brush on the table, not really seeing it. She choked on the realization that sometimes it did feel like she had to remind herself of her sorrow for her dead husband. She blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness, and climbed into her bed, her thoughts a mass of confusing emotions. She lay there in the silence and tried to conjure Simon’s face and realized that she found it difficult to recall. She tried to remember the sound of his voice and found it likewise just as faded.

Long into the night she lay there troubled by her inability to recall the man she loved yet when her thoughts drifted to the man she feared, his every feature came clearly and easily to her mind.

Snapshot Fiction: At What Price?

Motes of dust drifting through beams of golden sunlight danced and shimmered, disturbed by the passing of bodies through the loggio into the sala beyond. Vinca paused to watch them dance, her mind transforming them into daylight stars with the pale stone walls as the backdrop for their antics. Her eyes wandered over the walls and traced the intricate carvings of fanciful birds around the double door entry and across the top of the walls. She followed their flight out to where the loggio turned out into the courtyard and realized they must extend all around the wall enclosing it. She made a note to study the carvings around the courtyard closer at a later time.

The rattle of cart wheels echoed into the courtyard as their belongings arrived with a small army of hired servants. She sighed, her solitude interrupted, and carefully made her way into the palazzo. Her feet moved quietly across the warm brown stone tiles of the sala and she paused to study the frescoes high on the walls surrounding the gallery on the second floor. Only two walls were complete, and a scene of Poseidon taming the thrashing waves dominated one while the other found him surrounded by his consort, the nymph Amphitrite, and several of his hero children. She could see where the artist had ceased painting for a few lines lay against the stone roughly laying out shapes for further work. It seemed that hard times had struck the former owner of this place quite suddenly indeed.

Rushing footsteps echoed on the tiles of the balcony and Vinca looked up just as her sister thrust her head over the rail, her eyes bright with excitement. “Vinca! You must come see! One of the chambers has angels! They are beautiful! Surely the artist was touched by the hand of God! It is a small room and Agneta has said I can have it!”

Vinca smiled and waved at her sister. “I will come see shortly then. I am sure it is lovely.”

“Agneta has gone to the attic to examine the cucina and servant sleeping. I must go to her now but come find me when you have chosen your chamber. Do not choose the one with the horses, though. I believe she wishes that one for Blasio and his wife when they come.”

“I promise to come find you,” she called as she waved her sister off. With an impish grin Fina waved back and disappeared from the gallery. She could hear footsteps in the chamber to the right of the sala and thought that must be her father for she remembered him describing that room as the one he would use for his workshop. To her left dark, shining wood surrounded doorways leading into another set of rooms. Surely he had plans for those as well though she couldn’t remember what they were. Her step carried her through the sala where a door at the back of the room led to a smaller room.

From that room a set of narrow stairs led from a door in the outer wall to the second floor of rooms. The stairs were dark but she could see sunken areas in the wall where lanterns or candles could be placed to illuminate it. She turned from that to the doorway in the back wall. When she opened it the scent of greenery washed over her and she smiled, stepping eagerly into the enclosed garden.

A covered flagstone walkway surrounded the garden on all sides and she walked in its shelter for several paces admiring the architecture. The scent of lilacs just coming into bloom drifted over her and she stepped out among the greenery to examine the bushes surrounding the garden. A small fountain sat dry and forgotten in the center of the grass with four stone benches surrounding it. More benches were well placed about the area among the lilac bushes. She reached out to caress one of the branches fat with budding purple flowers. She easily imagined herself spending many hours in this garden painting and enjoying the scent of her favorite flowers.

Eventually she left the garden and returned to the sala. She could no longer hear her father in the workshop but she could hear Agneta in the courtyard giving instructions to the servants delivering their belongings. She could hear Fina’s excited murmurs somewhere on the second floor. Likely chattering happily at Pietro about her chamber.

Not ready to explore the upper levels yet, Vinca moved into the workshop. The walls were bare in this large room save for a large fireplace at one end and several tall windows covered in waxed paper. Some of the windows had been opened letting the sunlight stream freely into the room and she examined it, carefully picking out where would be the best spots to set an easel for painting. Certainly there would be plenty of room for her and Papá both to work without getting in each other’s way!

The scuff of boots on tile alerted her to someone else entering the workshop and she turned expecting to find Pietro or Papá standing there. When she found herself caught in Domenico’s gaze she started and a shudder crept up her spine. She quickly cast her gaze to the floor and curtsied to him, trying to gather her composure before speaking.

“My apologies, sir. I did not realize you were there.” Her voice cracked when she spoke and she cursed herself for her fear.

His voice echoed in the empty room making it seem that much deeper and more powerful as it washed over her. “I am sure you expected to see someone of your family instead.”

She nodded her head then heard Agneta’s voice in her head admonishing her to speak her answer. “Yes sir. I expected Papá.”

He chuckled. “I am sorry to disappoint.”

She clenched her teeth against the first answer that came into her mind, determined she would not let her mouth run amok with her again, and simply stood there in silence. Careful not to stare at him, she still heard his movements and his footsteps as he crossed the floor slowly. She could see his boots when finally he stopped, so close to her she trembled, wishing fervently for her brother or father to arrive. Even Agneta would be a comfort at this moment!

“Your father told me he would be moving his family in today. So what do you think?” She glanced up briefly as he waved his hand around indicating the palazzo. “Do you approve?”

“It is quite beautiful,” she answered quietly. On that there was no doubt and she found the answer easy to speak. Her nerves kept her voice speaking when she would have preferred to stay silent but silence around this man felt dangerous to her, like a beast waiting to pounce. “The garden is lovely and peaceful. I do enjoy lilacs. And Agneta let Fina have the angel chamber as her own.”

“That one is a lovely room. I am sure your sister was hard to deny. Though I imagine she is not the only one.”

Vinca looked up, unsure what she heard in his voice and found herself caught in his gaze. His expression seemed pleasant enough; a gentleman carrying on a simple conversation. She could feel there was something deeper prowling his thoughts and there was nothing simple about this conversation. She would need to tread very carefully.

“There are also those,” he continued, his deep voice rolling through the room, “who should not be denied.”

His words seemed ever pleasantly spoken but she thought she could hear menace beneath. Perhaps it was her imagination; foolishness dredged up by her own fear of a powerful man. It was a feeling she could not discard.

“Vinca! There you are. You must come see—“ Pietro’s voice shattered the wall of silence that had built in the room around her and Domenico and she felt it wash over her like a protective balm. She should not be alone in a room with any man, though she had taken no action to permit it, but she knew her brother would not blame her for such and would stand with her now.

He paused when he caught sight of Domenico and when he caught Vinca’s eyes she knew he could tell by her face that she was grateful for his arrival. In an instant she saw her smiling brother transform to fierce protector and he focused his gaze on the man he now saw as a threat to his sister. Three long strides put him between Vinca and Domenico and he faced the man boldly.

“My apologies, sir,” he said as calmly as she had ever heard her brother speak, “We have just this day begun moving in and have no one to announce your presence. I am Pietro di Girardus Taviani, and who might I be addressing?”

Vinca dared a glance at Domenico around her brother’s broad back and saw a flicker of anger flit across his face when he met her gaze. When he turned his attention back to Pietro she saw the muscles in his jaw tighten and he spoke calmly to her brother with effort. “Domenico di Marciano Vettori.” She heard the slight emphasis on his family name and realized he must often use that to cow others who might challenge him. The brother she remembered before he traveled to Florence would have accepted the challenge and pushed back gleefully. She wondered if the man he had become would be a bit more circumspect in his dealings with those of power.

“Ah yes, father’s patron. How good of you to visit us on this happy day.” The words were proper and pleasantly spoken and no fault could be found in his manner, but anyone who knew Pietro as well as she did would hear the subtle disapproval buried deep within.

She saw Domenico’s eyes narrow as he sifted through the words seeking the insult he knew to be hidden somewhere. Her brother had spoken carefully however and after a moment he responded. “How glad I am your family is pleased with this humble dwelling. I could not, in good conscience, have my artist living in squalor, now could I? I was just discussing such with your sister.”

Vinca felt her throat close up and her mouth turn dry as ash. Domenico owned this palazzo and allowed Papá to move his family in. The way he described her father as “his” artist set her teeth on edge and she knew that he would not hesitate to claim a price for this palazzo that would be impossible for them to meet. As she suspected, it would be too high. She saw her brother’s back muscles tense at the words but his tone stayed pleasant and amiable.

“How kind of you, sir! Indeed the family is most grateful! But surely a man of your fine standing must understand that to be alone in the company of my sister could be misconstrued as impropriety and it would be dreadful to have the reputation of a man of such import questioned!” Domenico studied her brother carefully, a tic forming in his cheek. She knew he had understood the implied accusation of impropriety on his part in approaching her without her chaperone present. Pietro had become skilled with his manner in his time in Florence, however and his tone and posture belied no overt insult.

She could feel something building in the silence, like the feeling she often got back in Piombino right before a storm came sweeping in from the sea to crash down on the small town. Desperately she wanted to reach out to Pietro and draw him back from the confrontation growing in the room but she feared any movement she made might shatter the thin veil of civility both men still clung to.

Domenico caught her gaze once more and his face relaxed into that pleasant smile she had seen before. “Of course, you are right.” His gaze turned back on her brother and while Pietro did not react, she could see the rage of a man thwarted deep in Domenico’s eyes. Her brother had made a powerful enemy this day and she feared for him and the family both.

“Domenico! How good to see you, sir! Welcome, welcome!” Girardus entered at that moment, a smile as Vinca had never seen splitting his craggy face. Splotches of paint showed on his vest and pants though she knew he had touched no paint today. She suspected he did not have a single piece of clothing that wasn’t splattered or smeared with the signs of his art. Despite the tension still lingering in the room she smiled for her father, pleased whenever he was happy. She could brood later about the price of such joy.

“Girardus. Good to see you settling in so well. I hope it meets with your approval.” In that instant Vinca saw Domenico transform from predator to patron and it occurred to her that no matter what she or her brother saw, this was the only face their father would ever see; generous and kind patron. As the men spoke, she studied them and understood that Domenico did believe her father an artistic genius and truly held him in high regard. She did not delude herself in thinking that would prevent him from doing whatever he felt necessary to achieve what he wanted, however. It was a balm to know, though, that he really did appreciate Papá’s art.

“Ah, your generosity is far too great to one so unworthy as myself, sir,” her father bowed slightly to his patron as he spoke, his tone and posture carrying nothing but the greatest respect for the man before him. “I can rest easy at night knowing my family is comfortable and safe in such a fine home! Come! I believe I can scare up some wine for you and I will tell you of the feast my wife plans to celebrate this fine occasion. And I hope you will grace us as the guest of honor!”

Vinca did not hear his response for they walked from the room and Pietro immediately turned to her and grasped her shoulders, a bevy of emotions, none of them pleasant, flashing across his face. She grasped his arms, panicked to think he would believe she had invited the encounter. “Pietro, you must believe me! I have done nothing! I was alone and he came in! I did nothing!”

“Shhh…. Hush sister,” he said quietly and wrapped her in his strong arms. “I believe you. The predator needs no invitation to hunt. But do not doubt he is a predator.” Pietro stepped back and held her at arms length his green eyes full of concern. “He is dangerous. Surely you can tell that as well as I can. Be wary of him.”

She nodded. She had no response, for her own thoughts echoed Pietro’s since the first night she had met Domenico at the party.

He sighed and she could feel some of the tension drain out of him. “Come then, little sister. I will go upstairs with you and help you pick out a chamber of your own. There is one right next to Fina’s that I believe you may find to your liking. With… flowers and womanly things on the walls.”

Vinca wrinkled her nose and he smiled. He knew well she was not fond of paintings of flowers or other “womanly things” as he called them but she took his offer of escort seriously. “Be careful or I will make you help me pick out which curtains of lace to hang upon the windows.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arm about her shoulders to lead her from the workshop. She found his strength comforting and a much needed balm after her encounter with Domenico.

Snapshot Fiction: A Brother Returned

Cries of joy and laughter mixed with running steps to echo through the casa as both Vinca and Fina raced from the cucina on the second floor to the sala below. The simple rattle of a cart and a call from outside set them on their mad dash to the front of their home to greet the new arrival who stood so calmly in the doorway.

“He’s here!” “Pietro!” Their cries washed over each other and the smiling man standing there waiting as they rushed into his arms. He staggered only slightly as both young women collided with him, catching him in a fierce hug. Amid laughter he kissed their hair and held them close as they each rushed to give him a dozen heartfelt greetings at once.

“Sisters, please! I cannot understand a bit of your nattering and I fear you may crush my chest!” He laughed as he spoke over their excited voices and the girls reluctantly stepped back, each taking one of his hands.

“You’re here! You’re finally here! It has been so long! We have so many tales to tell and so many things to show you!” Fina’s cheeks lit up a lovely pink in her excitement and Vinca smiled, letting her younger sister have Pietro’s attention first. “You are arrived just in time to move into the palazzo with us! Papa says it is beautiful beyond imagining! We have not seen it yet but it must be glorious!”

Pietro laughed and squeezed Fina’s hand. “Yes, I know of the palazzo. It sounds lovely.” He cast a knowing glance at Vinca which she understood he wanted to discuss the matter privately with her. “I am pleased we have been graced with such a magnificent home.”

“We are preparing a feast for you as well! Anna knew you would be here today! We will have capons and boar and fruits and that special sweet bread of hers that you like so much! She has taught me to make it.” Vinca began to wonder if her sister would take a breath in her excitement to report everything to Pietro now that he had arrived.

“Fina! Child get back to the cucina! You forgot about the capons!” Anna’s call startled the girls and Fina stopped her excited chatter. “Coming Anna!” She gave Pietro a quick kiss on the cheek before dashing out of the receiving room.

“Still as full of energy as ever I see,” Pietro commented. He tugged Vinca to the side as what seemed like a small army of bodies paraded through carrying boxes and trunks of his belongings. “Be careful of that big one. It has the gifts for my sisters in it.” He winked broadly at Vinca and pulled her further into the sala.

She smiled and held his hand firmly following him to the large trestle table where the family took meals. “You did not need to bring gifts,” she said as she carefully arranged her skirts on the rough wooden bench. “Everyone is just so excited you are returned to us.”

“Of course I could not return without gifts for my sisters! Though I must admit, your gift is a fair bit simpler than Fina’s. Sadly all I could find for you was a set of sable brushes. They had nothing more exciting!”

“Oh Pietro! Sable brushes of my own?” She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. “Thank you so much! Brushes that I do not have to borrow from Papa!”

She had forgotten how safe she felt in her brother’s arms and they just held each other for several moments. “You see? I might have been gone but I did not forget you.”

She sat up suddenly and clutched at his hand. “Oh Pietro, I know you would never forget us.” The sadness in his eyes when he held her hand in both his callused ones confused and frightened her. “Pietro, what is wrong?”

“My sweet sister. I cannot apologize enough for being away from you during your time of sorrow. It has hurt me for so long and I hope you can forgive me.”

Vinca felt tears creep into her eyes as the wound of her lost husband began to ache anew. Not until this moment had she realized how much she missed her brother during that time. Growing up she had always been closest to Pietro of all of her brothers; he was her guardian, her strength and her friend. She knew his journey to Florence had been important for him to learn matters of business he could not learn in a town so small as Piombino, and she never begrudged him not being there for her. She could now admit, however, that not having him there had hurt a great deal.

“Oh Pietro, I know why you could not be there. I cannot forgive you for there is nothing to forgive! You did no wrong.” She wrapped her arms around him again and huddled against his chest. “I am well and strong! All is fine and now you are returned to us! You must tell me all the fantastic things you saw in Florence.”

“Truly you are well then?” He leaned back and tilted her face up to look at him and carefully wiped the single tear that had escaped from her cheek.

She smiled though she could not keep all of her sadness from it or her voice. “Truly. The pain will always be there but I bear it better each day.”

He nodded in acceptance and patted her hand. “Very well. I will take comfort in the knowing that I am here to watch over both of my sisters now.” He frowned then and looked around the sala taking in the details. Vinca knew his green eyes missed nothing from the warped wood of the window frames to the cracked and broken floor tiles. Stains down one wall told tale of a leak in the roof that had yet to be successfully repaired. He shook his head. “So you must help me to understand. I see this casa and know there are things that are due to be repaired but it otherwise seems sound. A very suitable place to live. You help father with his ledgers. Has he really done so well with his work to afford such?”

Vinca took several moments to compose her thoughts for she did not expect her brother to echo her concerns so quickly upon his arrival. She did have access to her father’s accounts and while he was doing better than they ever could have hoped in Piombino, by her figuring it wasn’t enough for such a grand residence. She would never speak ill of Papa and tried to present her thoughts as gently as possible. “Papa does not discuss the palazzo with me,” she said slowly, forming her words with great care. “I have found that it was not so long ago this property was reclaimed by a lender for a great debt. A business man had poor luck with some imports and he was unable to meet his debts. Certainly it is not so grand as some in Siena.”

Pietro sighed and she saw the wrinkle form between his brows that always appeared when he was deep in though. “I can tell a great deal about your thoughts by the way you dance about, my sister. You know you have never needed to hedge your words with me. Speak clearly. Father has not done so well to afford this home, has he?”

She shook her head. “He will not discuss it, Pietro, but I know his accounts better than he does. We thrive and prosper because of his great works. We sell more of his paintings each day and he has been contacted by three prominent families for portraits. Why the advance given to him by Vettori was astounding. More silver than we’ve ever seen!”

“But not enough,” the furrow in his brow deepened and Pietro stood to pace the space in front of the bench.

“It is more than that, Pietro,” Vinca continued. “There has been no great spending. He has put out nothing for the palazzo that I can find. It is as if…as if it is a payment for something but what could Papa offer to be worth that and will it prove to be an expense too great for the family to bear? I mean no disrespect for Papa but he is not always wise in the ways of business. I fear for the family.”

“I will talk with father. You need not worry about it further.” He took her hands and pulled her up from the bench. “I will help tend his business now that I am here and when Blasio comes from Piombino he will be well suited to it as well.”

She chuckled and hugged him, resting her cheek on his chest and taking comfort from him. “I am concerned about the price of such grandness and I am very glad you are returned to us to help with such matters. I have no wit for such matters and a woman has no place in such things.”

He poked her in the side like he used to do when they were children causing her to squeak and pull away. “You parrot Agneta. Regardless of your sex you have more wit and wisdom than many men. I will not hear you debase yourself such.” His grin was mischievous and he tapped her on the tip of her nose with a single finger, something else he had done since they were both children. “Now, you do realize I cannot tell you my tales of Florence.”

“Why not?”

He took her hand again, pulling her after him with a smile. “Because if I do not share the tale with Fina as well she will have a fit as never before seen! Come, let’s go find her and I’ll tell you both of my adventures.”

Like children once more they rushed through the casa with laughter and raucous footsteps to find their sister and snatch her from the cucina to the wailing dismay of Anna.

Snapshot Fiction: Intrigue of the Dance

(Due to an unforeseen interference, this part should occur right after Predator in Velvet and right before Letter to Francesca from Vinca – III)

The first servant that passed found Vinca’s half-full wineglass deposited on his tray. She had lost her stomach for wine; the liquid turning sour in her mouth. Despite her differences with Agneta she cast her gaze around anxiously for her. With that formidable woman watching and judging her every move, nobody, including Domenico, would approach Vinca with even the slightest hint of impropriety. At least that was what Vinca hoped. Though how much Agneta watched over her daughter now that she was no longer a maid was debatable.

A cluster of finely dressed ladies near a corner of the dancing caught her eye and she felt surely that if Agneta were anywhere, it would be among those women. Catching up her heavy skirt in one hand she carefully began to make her way around the floor toward the women. Surely there was safety in numbers.

She gasped in alarm when someone grabbed up her hand and she snatched it back without thinking. When she turned she found herself staring into smiling blue eyes surrounded by unruly locks of light brown hair. The boy (for she could hardly think he was a man; he was barely older than she!) bowed elegantly to her before reaching for her hand again.

“My apologies if I startled you, dear lady. I beg your assistance, however and I fear there are no others that could aid me.”

She pulled her hand closer to her and took half a step away from him, preventing him from taking it again. Though she realized the movement was quite impolite, she felt it inappropriate to allow him to claim her hand so blatantly. “Ask your favor but I doubt I can aid in any way.”

“Ah sweet lady, if you cannot help me then I fear there is no help to be found! Please though, forgive my lack of manners and my forward ways for I am uncivilized in the ways of Siena. I am Marin da Venice, a lowly musician traveling to study my art. Alas I find myself here and have earned a rest to take joy in a dance or two, yet no gentle lady to dance with. Please would you grace me with your presence and join me in the dance?” His smile was engaging and much as she tried to maintain her distance, she found him rather charming.

“Your tongue is not so gilded as you may think, sir. And in fact your attempt at flattery is rather clumsy.”

His smile broadened and he stepped closer, reaching his hand palm up out to her, waiting patiently for her to take it. “Ah but you will dance with me.”

“Your confidence is quite astounding that you do know what I will do before even I know. Pray tell how you manage such a feat.” She tried to keep the smile out of her voice but found the exchange rather entertaining.

“Because I can tell when I gaze into your eyes you have a soul as kind as the Madonna herself and would not leave one so humble as myself begging the favor of your company. And if you would grace me just one dance I would be content for the rest of the evening and be free of burden and able to return to my lute.”

She carefully placed her hand in his and let him lead her to where the sala had been cleared for dancing. Thick calluses on his fingers felt strange against her hand and she fascinated over the feel of them. “So only for the evening?” She said as he twirled her into place behind another couple.

He laughed, the sound warm and comfortable and leaned in to reply for her ears alone, “I fear if I claimed any longer, you would not believe that a dance with you could satisfy a man’s need for more, though the statement would be true.”

She blushed at the bold innuendo of his words and made no response as the music, and thus, the dance began.

Though often she lamented her own skill in the dance, she found his smile and encouragement a balm to her nerves which made the dance seem to flow easily for her this time. He led with grace and skill and seemed not in the slightest disturbed by a misstep or two. The dance was too lively for conversation, however he occasionally made some bawdy observance about other dancers that he whispered in her ear and nearly distracted her from her steps more than once. She knew by the end her cheeks were aflame with her efforts to suppress her laughter. “You should not be so disrespectful,” she whispered urgently to him as he led her from the dance. She tried to sound stern but knew she could not contain her amusement. “Many of these people are very influential and prominent. They could make things difficult for you.”

His impish grin told her he had not a bit of remorse and was quite used to playing such games. “Should they turn on me, then I shall simply return to Venice. Which is my intent before the winter comes again anyway. And I doubt there are many here whose influence reaches so far. Sadly, though, I must depart you and return to my duties at the lute. My master calls for me and I must go take my place.” He bowed gracefully over her hand and departed with every evidence of reluctance though Vinca suspected it was more show than truth.

She watched him return to where the musicians performed and take the place of another young man who surreptitiously slipped from the room. He noticed her watching him and winked broadly at her before he focused on the music before him. Curiosity held her attention on him as his long fingers flew over the strings of the lute. From there her gaze wandered to study his form and it occurred to her that had she studied him before dancing with him she never would have believed him capable of such grace. He was long of leg and body and seemed as ungainly as a young colt. His face mirrored his body, long and narrow and came to a point at his prominent chin. The dimple on that chin was echoed on his cheeks when he smiled and his blue eyes sparkled from deep set eyes. She realized he was not terribly handsome as most would interpret it but his face had such mobility and character to it she suddenly had the urge to capture it with paint. Certainly inviting him to sit for her would never be possible but she continued to study him hoping to catch each detail in her mind to attempt to paint him from memory.

A shimmering flash of red drew her to the dancers and she caught sight of Fina just as the dance ended and her partner led her from the area. Vinca frowned at how close he stood to her younger sister and enclosed her hand in his own. If Agneta were to see such familiarity she would most certainly not be happy.

As if the thought summoned the woman she suddenly appeared next to Fina. Vinca could not hear what was said but the man stepped back and Fina immediately pulled her hand away from him. Agneta took her by the wrist and turned toward Vinca, nearly dragging the younger woman along.

“The wine is flowing freely now. It is time to depart.” She threw a raking glance at Fina. “Before someone does something foolish.”

Vinca did not argue and fell in step with her sister. Anna caught up with them as they departed the Palazzo and began the walk home in the waning light of evening.

Letter to Francesca from Vinca - III

To Francesca de Savona

My dearest cousin Francesca, so much has happened since last I wrote to you I hardly know where to begin! I am sure you have heard that Fina’s engagement was dissolved. My poor sister was devastated and I have spent many long hours comforting her. Some days she does seem more her normal, bright self while others she still sinks into despondency and I am lost as how to ease her. On such days even our dance lessons do not bring her out of her sorrow and you know how she loves to dance!

Recently we attended a party with Papá and Agneta and seeing her dance there with the gentlemen and seeing the way her face lit up I thought perhaps the last of her wounds had at last healed but since I am still unsure.

I wish you could have been here for that party! It was as fine and glorious as any I had ever seen! I wondered that those who enforce the sumptuary laws did not intrude upon it! Perhaps though it was not so glorious as that and just seemed that way to my simple self for I have never seen or been so close to such riches. Agneta certainly seemed within her element. I am unsure what happened to Fina. She did manage to slip the leash of her chaperone early and I saw her only briefly in the dance later in the evening but did not see her again until Anna collected us both to return home. She always did have greater skill at escaping her chaperones than I did! Agneta made sure we left before the wine flowed too freely, leading normally wise men to engage in dishonorable actions.

During the evening when the music played so fine and the room was warm and smelled of fruit and fresh flowers and expensive scented oils I finally met Papá’s patron. My dear cousin, I must admit to someone my fear. Never have I met anyone so formidable and fearsome and even just the thought of him makes my hands tremble and my heart race. I had heard stories of Domenico de Marciano Vettori but nothing could prepare me for meeting him face to face. I had understood he was young as the head of his family for his father had passed into the grace of God suddenly and quite unexpectedly. Sir Domenico Vettori has proven to be as ruthless as his father with as much skill in business, if not more. Though he terrified me I find I cannot sleep at night without visions of his eyes dancing through my dreams. I find the image frightening and yet more. Fortunately I have not seen him again, even in passing, since that night and I expect my own fears continue to conjure him in my mind. I expect soon I will forget I have ever met him and my dreams will be my own again.

So much has happened so fast since coming to the city. Within days of that glorious party Papá came to us with news that we were to move into a new home! A glorious palazzo south in the city with a glorious view of Duomo di Siena! Papá has told us stories of the beauty of it with its courtyard and garden. He is the only one who has seen it yet but within days men will come with carts to move our possessions from this humble casa to the new home. Papá says there are rooms like we have never seen and Agneta insists that Fina and I will each have our own. I am not sure I will be able to sleep without Fina there to talk with in the darkness. Save for while I was married to my Simon we have ever shared a room.

What I find myself wondering though is the manner in which Papá has come to this fine palazzo. He does not discuss it and I am privy to his books and ledgers and while the gifts and pay he has received for his paintings, both new and those he had sequestered away from before we moved to Siena, have been most generous and more than our family has ever seen before, by my calculations it is not enough to afford such a great home in so short a time. While doing his ledgers I did query him but he grew garrulous and merely stated that God had been most gracious to us.

I did not question him further for it is his business and nothing a mere woman should be involved in, but at night I sometimes wonder and worry about what price may come from such grandness later.

Oh but I will not let such thoughts darken this letter any longer for I have wonderful news! At last brother Pietro has arrived home! Such a great feast was held here that by the end we had all been stuffed so full of game and exotic fruits that few were able to dance afterward! I have never seen Papá spend so much on wine. Though Agneta was distressed that the sala was too small to invite all the guests she wanted. I suspect she was more interested in the daughters those guests would bring to introduce to handsome Pietro now that he is considered a much more respectable husband than he would have been even a year ago. Papá has promised her another celebration nearly as grand when we have settled into the palazzo. I find it strange that I even look forward to it.

We have received letters from Blasio as well that he will move his office to Siena now and bring his wife and son to live at the palazzo. I never got on as well with Blasio but it will be good to have him to help Papá with his ledgers for I am such a simple woman I should not have my nose in the business of men.

The hour grows late now and I find myself wearying. Fina already rests; her breathing content and even. I wonder if I will be able to rest as well when I join her.

Your loving cousin, Vinca

Snapshot Fiction: Predator in Velvet

Golden lamp light brightened the glorious sala of the rich palazzo as if it were day. Elaborately carved gray stone surrounded the doorways of the room and dark terracotta tiles covered the floor. Trestle tables were pushed against the walls clearing the floor space for dancing and mingling of guests, each of which was as brightly and finely decorated as the rich room itself. Vinca gaped at the wealth and power in this room; the winking of gems and jewelry, the rustle and shine of expensive fabrics. Colors and textures assaulted senses that were more used to dark colors and simply woven fabrics. The heavy brocade gown she wore, which earlier seemed far too elaborate for a simple dinner party, suddenly seemed far too plain for such a gathering.

She quickly felt out of place and alone among these people and wished she had not lost sight of her sister in the crowd. Even Agneta’s familiar company, though unpleasant, would be more reassuring than walking among these strangers whom she felt so inferior to. Though part of her might distantly wish for Agneta’s company, her mother had found a cluster of other women of society in which she could insert herself and impress with her husband’s climb in status leaving Vinca to her own devices.

Sprightly music wove through the crowd and slowly drew Vinca toward the great stone fireplace on the far wall of the sala. Musicians played in front of the fireplace, the dominating feature of the room, the sound cheery and soothing and Vinca stood listening to it as she studied the enormous fireplace. Elaborate carved scenes involving lions devouring the unwary wrapped around it drawing the eye finally to the great arms of the Vettori family in the center of the mantel. Vinca trembled at the sight of the beasts and the power they signified in this city. Though it was Domenico de Marciano Vettori, the current head of the family, who protected and endorsed her father’s great works, she also realized how small an effort it would take the man to crush him and his entire family should something displease him. She had yet to meet her father’s patron but fear of him crept inexorably into her heart and set her shivering as if in a cold breeze.

“If the beasts do frighten you, perhaps you should turn your attention to the wall fountain. Great care has been given to balance the brutality of the creatures with the tenderness of nature.”

Without thought Vinca turned her attention to the wall fountain set across the corner carved from the same grey stone as the fireplace yet carefully decorated with items of gentleness and beauty. She felt a smile as she realized the hand of a woman had carefully chosen the objects displayed here to compliment yet soften the power of the fireplace. A garland of fresh flowers crept up the wall from the fountain while gently flowing sculptures sat carefully spaced on the various shelves. Vases of fresh flowers were carefully placed to complement the colors of both the fine ewer and basin displayed there and the colors of the family crest displayed smaller and less intimidating above it.

“The Lady of the house decorated that,” she said absently, but with approval.

A deep throated laugh followed her statement and she blushed, having forgotten the stranger standing nearby. “Indeed she did,” the man’s voice replied. “And I will advise her that you approve.”

Her cheeks felt hot as she dropped her gaze and bobbed her head slightly, realizing belatedly that this gentleman was somehow tied to the Vettori family. “My apologies, sir. I spoke out of turn. I meant not to pass judgment.”

“Please, you committed no offense. It will please my mother to know her work is appreciated. She has a fine hand and eye.”

The Vettori family was well known in Siena. Powerful merchants that made their money in the trade of exotic spices and fine fabrics. Vinca was unsure which of the family this man was but she knew he would be one of the more powerful members for the only one who would have decided how the sala, the most important room in the family palazzo, would be decorated would be the matron of the family and the mother of the current family head. She clenched her hands in front of her to hide the sudden trembling.

Sudden warm breath on her ear made her jump and strain to listen as he whispered to her. “Do I frighten you? I am really quite harmless you know.”

She would curse her tongue later for charging off without her, but it spoke before her mind could stop it. “No Vettori is harmless, sir.”

His warm laughter caressed her and eased her fear slightly even as her cheeks blazed at the embarrassingly bold statement she had so foolishly let slip. “I beg forgiveness, sir,” she muttered quickly. “I did not mean—“

With a chuckle he took her hand in his and turned her to face him. With a tap on her chin he tilted her face to meet his smiling gaze. Dark brown eyes set in a broad face met and held hers. Curls just as dark surrounded his face and melted into a well-trimmed beard and moustache. Though he smiled at her and she sensed no malice in his gaze she could also see the predator deep within his eyes. She suppressed the sudden shudder that tried to creep up her spine and even she could not tell if it was fear or something else.

“Do not lie. It is unbecoming. You meant what you said, and you are quite right. No Vettori is harmless when provoked but there is little such a lovely child could do to provoke the beast from its lair.” He reached out, never releasing her from his gaze and produced a delicate glass of wine which he seemed to conjure from somewhere outside her vision. He held it out to her, the gesture both gently offering and insisting and she felt he would never release her until she took it from his grasp.

“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly, finally released from the grip of his eyes when he turned to retrieve another glass for himself. She quickly averted her gaze to the dancers moving about in graceful circles and swirls of shimmering fabric in the center of the room.

“There is not need to be so formal. I give you leave to call me Domenico.”

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped her glass and sipped wine into a mouth gone dry as parchment. Her father’s patron stood at her side and the wrong words spoken could destroy everything Papá had worked so hard to accomplish. Silence seemed the safest path and she took it eagerly.

To her dismay he was a patient hunter and he waited with her long into the silence, his stance seeming amused at her discomfort. When her glass was nearly empty from her nervous sipping he plucked it from her hand and replaced it with a fresh one. “It would seem you know me,” he at last said with humor in his voice. “Would you give me the pleasure of your name?”

Though pleasantly spoken she could hear the command beneath it and could not have denied it even on her best day, much less so disturbed by the events of the evening so far. “Vinca, sir.”

Contemplative silence followed and she clung to it hoping he would soon get bored with her and depart. “Girardus’ daughter,” he said finally. She nodded, though no confirmation was needed. “You do realize your father is an artistic genius. I would name his works nearly as fine as Franceso Squarcione.”

“Finer,” she said without thinking. “Squarcione has no life in his works and his colors are flat. Papá has a greater eye for contrast as well and depicts shadows where others would believe only light could live.” She clamped her mouth shut around her traitorous tongue when she glanced up and saw amusement and surprise dancing in equal measure in Domenico’s expression at her bold assessment of her father’s artistic skill.

“So he does,” he said finally. She was grateful to be free of his gaze when his attention was caught elsewhere in the room. “My apologies, lovely Vinca but I must go entertain my other guests. We will speak again before too many days have passed.” With that he took her hand and bent over it gracefully before taking his leave. She stood there trembling for several moments, her mouth dry but her throat too tight to swallow, and wondered why his last statement sounded so dangerous to her.

Letter to Vinca from Fina - I

To Vinca Taviani

My loving sister, I was much distressed to hear your sad news. I know you miss your dear Simon with all of your heart, mind, body, and soul. He was taken from this earth far too soon. I am sure Maria is grieving for her son, and hope that she does not mistreat you. I pray that God heals your pain and makes you strong once again.

I do worry about you so. I would visit you, but father needs me here to manage the estate while he creates yet another of his masterpieces. You know how he gets when he is working on his art. I do wish you would return home. You are the only one who can reason with him. He never listens to me. You know there is a place for you here, and I miss you a great deal.

Ever since Lorenzo broke off our engagement and left for Rome, I have stayed close to home. I just can not bear all the whispers and stares. I feel like an outcast in society. I do long for our conversations about men, fashion, and dancing. There is a ball in a fortnight and I do so want to go. I dare not brave it alone. You know father has no interest in society functions. He is perfectly content in his humble studio.

My dearest sister, please return to me. I believe we need each other now more than ever.

- Fina Taviani

Note to the Readers

Gentle readers,

As you read through these postings, on occasion you may notice an inconsistency or two. Perhaps a few more. That is because our storytelling is much more fluid than any carefully crafted novel might be. We are learning as we go along, planning and plotting and learning how best we work together. There may be minor changes as we learn more about the time period, our personas or even about our own writing style. None of us are professional so we beg your kind indulgence in these minor adjustments as we continue with our story.

As an aside, we do appreciate comments. It helps us to grow as writers.

~The Ladies of Renaissance Wenches

Cast of Characters So Far

What started as a simple writing exercise between myself and a friend in the UK has grown to something more. So far four women now contribute to this growing story. I hope the readers find it as interesting to read as we do to write.

So far there have been several introductions and mentions of characters and it might be a little confusing so I’ll try to clarify some of that here.

Vinca Taviani – A young widow living in Siena, Italy with her father, mother, sister and other family members.

Fina Taviani – Vinca’s younger sister who was recently betrothed until the engagement was called off.

Francesca De Savona – Cousin to Vinca and Fina. A widow and courtesan living in Venice.

Lady Rebecca Cecini – Friend to Vinca and Fina. Met the young women while traveling through Italy with her father, she now resides and studies in China with him.

Master Guillaume – Vinca and Fina’s dance tutor.

Blasio – Vinca and Fina’s oldest brother.

Pietro – Vinca and Fina’s older brother who recently moved back in with the family from Piombino.

Girardus Taviani – The father of the family. Girardus is an artist who moved his family to Siena when his fortune turned for the better. He is a progressive thinker and rather indulgent of his daughters.

Agneta – The mother of the family. Vinca and Agneta have a tumultuous relationship.

Anna – Sister to Giarardus. An older widow. Kind and loving but very proper in her thinking. She also resides in the Taviani casa.

Simon – Vinca’s deceased husband. Died just over a year after they were wed of typhoid fever.

Lorenzo – Fina’s former fiance’. Her engagement to him was recently called off.

Snapshot Fiction: Preparing to Dance

“Blessed Mary, Mother of Jesus! Anna! I cannot breathe!” Vinca flinched when a wizened hand struck her firmly against the back of her head.

“Do not take the Mother’s name in vain, child!” A few tugs of lacing and Vinca felt the pinch of the bodice loosen its grip from her ribs. “It is because you are more generous of figure than your sister. If you had not spilled wine upon your other dress you would not have to borrow from your sister’s wardrobe. Tch. What are we to do with you child?”

Vinca squeaked one last time as Anna tugged the final lacing into place and knotted it firmly. With a sigh and a shake of her head she stepped away from her aunt and smoothed the heavy brocade skirt and moved to sit in front of the small dressing desk in the room she shared with her sister. “Anna, I did not even wish to go to this gathering. Papá does not need me there. Why do I have to go?”

The older woman threw up her hands and rolled her eyes. “Gracious Father, grant me strength! Vinca, child, it is good for you to attend these affairs to meet the sons of those men of power and money that come to meet your papá. It would be good for you to find another husband. You are still young enough to have children and there is no greater path for a woman than to be married and grace her husband with fine, strong children!”

“You sound like Agneta! OW!” Anna tugged on the braid she was plaiting into Vinca’s dark hair warning her to still her tongue. “It is true,” she muttered, chastised only mildly. “I am no burden. I have my dowry and the few gifts my Simon gave to me. I still mourn him and cannot bear the thought of allowing any other man into my heart.”

“Hmf! It has been nearly a year since the death of your husband and you do not need to allow another in your heart, only your bed!”

“Anna!” Vinca felt her face grow warm and fidgeted with the ribbon trailing from her sleeve to cover her embarrassment at her aunt’s bold statement.

The older woman sighed and shook her head, still carefully braiding Vinca’s thick hair into an elaborate crown. Her voice was low and gentle when she spoke. “Child, you seem to think marriage is about love. You were lucky with your papá’s choice of Simon. It is rare indeed to love the man who shares your wedding bed. It was a sad day for all when he was taken away. You will be into your nineteenth year soon. Nearly too old to find another husband for. You should respect your parents’ wishes and find another. Your father is a star upon the rise in Siena. Now your potential choices are much better.”

“Yes, Aunt. I will consider it.” Vinca grit her teeth around the lie and waited patiently for the ribbons and pearls to be tucked, bound and braided into her hair in the ensuing silence. When Anna proclaimed her properly dressed and coifed she left the room with firm instructions that she not rumple her dress or fuss with her hair lest she foul it. Vinca agreed meekly and remained seated where she was, in no hurry to leave the room.

Moments later the door creaked open and Fina crept in wearing a gown more elaborate than the borrowed one her older sister wore. Curls so dark a shade of brown they looked black in the dim light tumbled around her face from a mass of twined braids that looked like something straight out of a fanciful painting. Vinca smiled and reached a hand out to her sister as she rose from her seat.

Fina took it with a smile and did a quick sweeping glance over the blue brocade firmly hugging Vinca’s ample frame. “It is a little snug.”

A crooked smile set both young women to giggling. Fina pointed at the cleavage peeking from beneath the pearled edge of Vinca’s camicia. “At least you won’t have to worry about making effort to hold anyone’s attention.”

“I don’t want any attention,” Vinca stated emphatically with a disgusted sigh and dropped her hands against the folds of her skirt. “I would much prefer to stay home, sequestered in our room, with a book or a paint brush!”

“Yes,” Fina sat upon the edge of the bed and drew a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at suddenly moist eyes. “Agneta reminded me yet again of my duty as a woman.”

Vinca sat on the bed next to her sister and wrapped her arms around her, cradling her gently. “Oh, sweet Fina. I know how hurt you were when your engagement to Lorenzo was broken. I understand how full your heart was for him and how eager you were to be wed. I do not believe it was Lorenzo’s decision but instead his father’s and I also do not believe it had anything to do with you. I believe his father has his eyes on Benvenuta de Parma’s dowry! Come now, dry your eyes or Agneta will fuss about them being reddened and puffy and make you pack them with vegetables. We will go to this gathering and dance, you and I, and have nothing to do with the fellows they parade before us. We will smile and sip wine and pretend no others in the world exist and leave behind our sorrows for one evening.”

Fina wiped her eyes and offered a forced smile to her sister who accepted it with a kiss on her cheek. “That is better. Come now, let us be off before Agneta comes searching for us. If you are especially gracious I will tell you the story about what Mistress Anthonia wears beneath her overskirt!”

Fina gasped and tugged excitedly at her sister’s sleeve as they left the room. “What? You must tell me. Is it scandalous?”

The door closed behind them muffling their hurried whispers as they moved through the casa.

Letter to Fina from Vinca - I

To Fina Taviani

My dearest sister I find myself unsure what to write to you from this darkened state into which I have fallen. My Simon is barely cold within his grave and Maria has strongly suggested I return to my family. She does not wish such as I in her palazzo. I knew she did not approve of my marriage to her son but my Simon would not be denied. Now my strength has passed from this world and been carried into the embrace of God.

With his passing I feel as if my very chest is such a gaping wound that to look upon it would cause the strongest men to weep in pity. I feel empty and lost. I know Agneta will not approve of the news that I will return to the casa. I find I have so little energy to dredge up concern for her cares in this matter however.

I have spent days wondering if there is a place for me anywhere now that my Simon is stolen from me by the cruel and merciless Fates. Would that I could convince Atropos to sever my thread and leave that of my beloved I would. She is as implacable as her name, however, and would never heed the grieving words of mother, sister or wife.

More than one dark night have I sat upon the bed we shared clutching dagger to my breast convinced I might follow him beyond this place. More than once the tip his rested upon pale skin above my heart. I am, I fear, a coward. I cannot bring myself to force that thin blade into the final plunge through pale skin. And would it not condemn me to Hell for my sin? Is it not a sin against God to take a life, even one’s own? It is that fear that stops me. I cannot bear the thought that my despondency will be the final step that will keep me for eternity from my beloved for I know he has been drawn into the embrace of God to walk eternally in sunlit gardens.

Will he remember me when at last I am freed from this shell to join him? I must believe he will for I could not bear to think otherwise. If I believed otherwise then what point would there be to not being cast into the depths? For to look upon his beautiful face and have him look through me, not seeing who I am and the depth of my love for him, would shatter a soul already so vastly damaged.

~Vinca