Clara was already ensconced in our shared room when I arrived. It was dominated by an enormous bed made of carved wood, hung with a brightly painted canopy and surrounded on three sides by a low footboard that served as both a step up and a bench. The enormous bed would have easily fit two of me and three of Clara, but there was a small trundle bed next to it, clearly intended for a servant. A walnut table and chair, a commode, and a small stand with a pitcher of water and basin completed the furnishings. The windows were not glazed but fitted with wooden shutters that swung outward. At that moment they were open to the warm Sicilian breeze.
I allowed myself to appreciate the small pleasure of a welcoming bedroom despite my worries. Clara helped me strip my clothes and rinse off with water from the pitcher and basin, then left and returned with supper—roasted pike stuffed with raisins and a side dish of small mushrooms that smelled deliciously of fall. Clara had a knack for making friends with the people responsible for cooking, and she had clearly already worked her magic on Provenzano’s cook. We ate together, at my insistence.
“Did you speak to Messer Lugani on my behalf?”
Clara’s question made me choke on my fish. “I did, Clara, yes, indeed.” I tried to smile.
“What did he say when you spoke to him about our future?” I sifted through my memory of Lugani’s words to find something positive.
“He said motherhood would grace you nicely.” Clara blushed and smiled through her bite of mushrooms. My heart sank. “Clara, I don’t mean to make trouble, but have you considered that he might not marry you? There is a dramatic difference in your social stations.”
“He has placed a guard at our door to protect me, and our future.” She sighed happily. “What more proof of his devotion is necessary?”
Her certainty of Lugani’s devotion was almost pathologically innocent; he must have talked a good game when he seduced her. The image of the two of them together was more than I could stomach during supper and I let her finish the meal.
“Shall we prepare for bed, Signora? The candles are nearly spent.” Clara closed the shutters and we went to bed. She fell asleep long before I did and I listened to her snores coming from the trundle bed as I lay propped up on pillows—the first I’d seen in the fourteenth century. I wished I had Clara’s capacity for false security.
* * *
I spent three solid days on the work Lugani assigned me, traipsing around with the odd trio: Lugani, smooth and elegant; Cane, sharp and suspicious; and Provenzano, plump and jocular. The aroma of spices clung to my clothes and hair, and the bright hues of dyed silk and fine wool shimmered behind my eyelids when I closed them.
Everything reminded me of Gabriele. The bolts of wool recalled our private meeting place, and the spices made me think of his elusive scent. Most often I imagined him preparing panels for painting in Messina’s Ospedale. Sometimes in my imaginings he ignored me as he worked, his focus pure and narrow. Late at night, I imagined his attention turned toward me, as it had on the ship. I wished I could send Gabriele a letter but it was impossible under Cane’s intense scrutiny.
As a break from making a list of everything in the warehouse, I drew up contracts for Lugani’s business associates. The men varied from elegant noblemen to weather-beaten traders, but they all had one passion in common: money. I saw Clara only at meals and when she helped me undress at night. Cane had her assisting with food preparation and housekeeping for the fondaco, so we were both too worn out to talk by the end of the day. At night, I dreamed of Plague-infested cities, and woke up gasping in the dark. Clara snored on.
On the evening of our fourth day in Messina, Cane came to my chambers after Vespers. I was so exhausted I’d fallen into the huge curtained bed, so Clara answered the door.
“Is your mistress indisposed?”
“She has retired, Ser.”
Cane cleared his throat. “Be sure she rises early tomorrow, for a trip to Messina’s port.”
“Yes, Messer. How should she prepare?”
“She will accompany Messer Lugani in a meeting to discuss the purchase of cargo from Caffa. Be sure she brings materials for creation of contracts. We will be waiting at the fondaco’s front door at the Terce bells. You need not accompany your mistress.”
“Yes, Ser. No, Ser.”
I listened to Cane’s retreating footsteps. If we were planning a trip to meet the sailors that brought the Plague from Caffa, I wasn’t sticking around for it. Maybe Clara, Gabriele, and I could be on a ship at dawn—or if not, hide until a ship was available. But I had to find Gabriele first. I waited until I heard Clara snoring, then rose and dressed in the dark. A guard slumped in a chair in front of our room. It was all easy until I reached the fondaco’s gates. There, just as I was reaching out to slide the bolt, a hand gripped my arm, and then there was something cold and hard against my throat.
“I see our trust was ill-placed, after all,” Cane hissed, his fingers digging into the flesh of my forearm. “The hour is late, Monna Trovato, and this knife is sharp. Would you care to inform me of your purpose, opening our front door at this late hour? It is, you must realize, ill-advised to wander about the streets alone, well after curfew.”
“I needed air.”
“There is plenty of air inside your chamber. In fact, air is plentiful even in a prison. If it is only air you seek, perhaps your chamber should be a bit more . . . prison-like? It would be so unfortunate to lose our valuable employee before her contract is fulfilled.”
“Yes, Ser.” The knife moved against my throat when I swallowed.
“If you consider leaving again, Monna Trovato, I shall not hesitate to use this weapon for its intended purpose. Perhaps I should consider maiming your little maidservant if I don’t find you where I expect, the next time I look.” With that horrifying addendum, he turned me by the arm, propelling me back down the hall to the door of my room. “Whatever little trust Ser Lugani bid me have in you, I have now lost. Do not bother to attempt to leave your room again. It will be locked—from the outside, Signora. And I shall keep the key.” Before he closed the door in my face, he leaned in close and whispered, “Enjoy your air, Monna Trovato.”
Cane’s suspicion, until now inconvenient, had turned dangerous.
* * *
This time, the port seemed sinister. A dark cloud hung low over the harbor, shrouding the tips of the masts. The red and yellow flag that had whipped briskly in the breeze the day we’d arrived lay limp on its pole. Two sailors stood along the quay whispering to each other.
Lugani approached the men with Cane and me in his wake. “Where are your masters?”
“There is a sickness aboard our ship.” The taller of the sailors chewed his lower lip anxiously. “It has struck both the captain and the merchant, Messer.” The tall sailor looked at his companion for help, but none was forthcoming.
“Were they ill yesterday when the meeting was arranged?” I knew Lugani well enough to realize that the mildness of his voice did not reflect his mood.
“No, Ser.” The sailor swallowed, and his protuberant Adam’s apple bobbed.