A Golden Web Part 4

Pierina, who liked to think her brother loved her best, grabbed Nicco's injured hand. "Move over, Zan-you're blocking the light!"

"Wasps don't drop their stinger-just their poison." Pus.h.i.+ng Pierina aside, Alessandra brought Nicco's hand up to her mouth, sucked on the swelling there, and then spat. "Let's put some mud on it now."

Pierina was torn between jealousy and admiration for her sister. "We should get you a pair of red gloves, Alessandra-and then you could go about the parish, selling cures."

Nicco added, "And sniffing the urine of everyone who complains of feeling ill."

"And casting their horoscope!" Pierina was terribly glad that Nic seemed to be taking her part.

Alessandra, ignoring both of them, was digging around the roots of the tree, looking for some damp earth.

"Are you going to do it or not, Zan? It hurts like h.e.l.l."

Done teasing, Pierina knelt down beside her sister. "What are you looking at?"

"This." Alessandra's digging had revealed another oak apple, much like the others. But this one was growing out of the roots of the tree. She dropped it when she felt something moving about inside it.

All four knelt down to watch a wasp crawl out of the little hole in the dry gall, and walk on its insect legs up the roots toward the trunk of the tree.

Nicco scooped up a little mud and put it over the place where he'd been stung. "h.e.l.l of a doctor you'd make, Alessandra!" He made to tromp on the wasp, but Alessandra pushed his foot aside.

"Look at it, Nic! It doesn't have any wings."

"Well, neither do we, in case you haven't noticed. We have to get a move on, if we're to make it back on time for dinner."

While they were trudging home, with the baskets full and their hands stained brown, Alessandra suggested they stop in the orchard to pick up a fig branch that could be used to stir the oak apples while they soaked in the sun-and to eat a few figs, if there were any ripe ones.

"Hus.h.!.+" said Pierina. They heard the sound of hooves along the road. "Can you make out their colors?"

Nicco, who had the best eyes among them, squinted into the distance. "They're neither one nor the other faction. They're-" He picked up his basket. "Hurry up, you three! They're traders! Let's go see what they've got for us!"

The traders had come all the way from La Magna. What they had turned out to be lapis lazuli, brought over a year of traveling by camel and horse, pa.s.sed from the hand of one herdsman to another and paid for in blood and gold, all the way from the mountain caliphates of Greater Khorasan. Carlo was beside himself with happiness. This was just in time for the prodigious need they were going to have for aquamarine. He'd been prepared to sc.r.a.pe the pigment off any old ma.n.u.scripts he could get his hands on, so rare was the gemstone these days, with so many brigands along the roads and so many people willing to pay such a high price for the only color befitting the Virgin's robes and the skies of Heaven. He made the traders promise to pa.s.s his way again the following year.

Yes, he was sure that his fortune was made now and his children would be safe. This was a sign from G.o.d.

It seemed to Alessandra that Ursula had loosened her hold on her or, much to her delight, had somehow forgotten about her. She grew enough that year to ride the little gelding kept by Carlo's groom. She never learned to ride as well as Nicco-but, still, she learned to ride well enough and to wear her brother's clothes with such confidence that the neighbors-always alert to anything new-took her for an apprentice or cousin or some other young male hanger-on at the Gilianis'.

Alessandra was learning about the world of Nature from her brother, and how to draw from Giorgio, and she continued to read whenever light and time allowed. Her heart was full and her cheeks were rosy, and a happier girl could not have been found in the province when the family gathered around the table on her saint's name day, to celebrate the end of her thirteenth year.

Ursula, smiling with uncharacteristic serenity, raised her goblet to Alessandra.

"Fourteen," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "The age when girls must be kept inside."

Alessandra felt herself go pale.

"The age," continued Ursula, still smiling, "when girls must be kept even from looking out windows or doors. When they must be kept safely apart from all young men." Here she looked at Nicco. "Even their brothers."

"Amore," said Carlo. "Where do you get these ideas?"

"From the Holy Father," said Ursula. "It is my duty to protect your daughter's virtue, and I will see that it is done. No matter what-" Here she looked at all of them, one by one. "No matter what anyone says, as G.o.d is my witness!"

Alessandra never appreciated her freedom until it was taken away. Her father's house-so long a haven of learning and a source of comfort-was transformed by her stepmother's zealous oversight into a barrier between Alessandra and all the wonders and pleasures of the outside world.

Nicco and Pierina could come and go as they pleased, so long as they got their work done. Even Dodo, free to romp unsupervised in the garden, was allowed more license than Alessandra. Ursula barred her from the scriptorium, citing the frequent presence of students there-and made sure she kept Alessandra occupied with housework, far from the schoolroom, when Nicco had his lessons.

Once a week, Alessandra was allowed to go to Confession-but always with Ursula, proud and showy in a velvet gown, walking close enough to hear what anyone else might try to say to her. So large was Ursula's shadow that Alessandra felt her own physical presence in the world diminis.h.i.+ng, like sandstone being worn away by wind and rain.

Reading was her only solace. She read whatever she could bribe or beg someone else to bring to her-and sometimes she wrote her thoughts in a book of spoiled sheets of vellum that Giorgio gathered and bound for her. Pierina stole ink and tiny brushes for her, too, so that Alessandra could practice sketching. For want of another model, she drew her own hands, her naked feet, and the ancient twisting vines of the wisteria that grew outside her window. She thought about the surface of living things, and how their shape came from everything hidden inside.

The summer spread its glorious wings while Alessandra was locked indoors. The first few months pa.s.sed quickly enough in the pleasures she found in reading and drawing-but then the autumn came.

Her father was away, searching out new books to publish, making his yearly rounds to the greatest libraries of the region, in monasteries and n.o.ble palaces. Ursula took advantage of his absence to say things she never would have dared say when he was at home.

Quite capable of being pleasant and even charming when she wanted to, Ursula made it clear-day after day, in a relentless stream of cruel comments-that Alessandra's ongoing presence in the household was the only thing that stood between Ursula and perfect domestic bliss. Alessandra was selfish and horrid for refusing to marry or take the veil and leave Ursula in peace to enjoy her husband's other children.

While her stepmother kept watch on her, Alessandra sat and sewed seed pearls on yards and yards of blue silk that Ursula said would one day serve as the cloth of her wedding gown. No field was ever sowed so thickly-nor were there ever seeds with less chance of sprouting. As Alessandra plied the needle, poking it up through the silk and through the pearl and down again, she thought about the smell of dry leaves and ripe pears, and the sounds of the harvest songs wafting across the parched fields. She looked down at her white hands and remembered how they were stained purple the year before, when she and Nicco stole into the vineyard and feasted on the blackest, ripest grapes they could find. She learned to answer Ursula without really hearing what she said, making the small, polite sounds considered fitting conversation for girls.

The more she stayed indoors alone, while her siblings climbed trees and swam in the river and watched the sunsets, the more Alessandra grew to loathe her jailor. Fall slipped away from her, barely glimpsed-and then the fog and rain of winter came. By then-even though her father was home again-each day seemed to last a year. Her eyes ached from the needlework, and her head hurt so much that even Ursula sometimes took pity on her.

When she was allowed to lie in bed in her room, Alessandra looked at the square of sky that showed outside her window and dreamed of doorways.

The following spring, Alessandra's father came to visit her in her room, where she lay in bed reading after the midday meal. The covers were pulled up around her shoulders. There was a fire burning in the brazier. Outside, the rain was falling, although Alessandra could only tell from the silver droplets that sat like pearls in the silver of her father's hair.

"Look what I've brought you, Curly-top!" He opened his fur-lined cloak and brought out a baby rabbit, which peeked out from between his fingers and wriggled its nose at Alessandra.

She smiled at it from over the top edge of her book. "Dear Papa, you're always trying to tempt me away from my reading, aren't you?" She marked her place with the striped tail feather from a hawk-a souvenir of Nicco's latest outing to the forest-then lay the book down beside her. "What a lovely little bit of life and fluff! Was it its mother we ate today?"

"Cook saved this one for you. His brothers and sisters, I'm afraid, have been made into a stew."

Alessandra took the bunny from her dad and stroked it gently with her cheek. "How its little heart is pounding!"

"I want to speak to you about a matter of importance," said Carlo, settling himself onto the cus.h.i.+ons that covered the long chest beside his daughter's bed.

Alessandra kissed the baby rabbit and put it in her sleeve, from where it peeked out, wriggling its silken ears as if still unable to believe its good fortune, landing here in this luxurious bedroom instead of in the stew pot.

"You know how much I treasure you, daughter."

"Thank you, Papa. But you make me tremble with fear now, as this can only be the preamble to a piece of bad news."

Carlo sighed. "You have ever been two steps ahead of everyone else in this household, Alessandra. Your first nanny was convinced you were a changeling-"

"And would have killed me with her knife, if Mother hadn't s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her hands and sent her packing!"

As Carlo looked at his daughter-so like his late wife in her face as well as her spirit-he was filled with love for both of them. "I'm leaving for France, soon-not an unusually long trip, but a dangerous one."

He glanced away from her, sighed, and spoke more quietly than before. "It is time to get you a husband."

When Alessandra said nothing-seeming to hold her breath as she stared at him, as if trying to read in his face the greater truth of his words-he added, his voice weighed down by his own unhappiness over the matter, "I promised I'd tell you today."

She spoke in a whisper. "Have I already been promised to someone?"

Carlo, in his turn, was silent.

"It's true, then!" Alessandra's voice broke when she spoke again. "Could it not be deferred, Papa?"

Carlo shook his head. "The papers have already been drafted."

"Burn them-I beg you!"

Feeling sorry with all his heart for letting himself be so influenced by his wife, Carlo took his daughter's hands in his. "Although you are blessed with a mighty intelligence, Alessandra, you are yet an innocent child." He reached out and gently touched her cheek, then used his thumb to wipe away a tear. "Have you thought about what your life would be like if something were to happen to me?"

Alessandra threw her arms around him. "Nothing will happen to you, my dearest Papa! You are strong and well."

"And old and gray," he said, gently pus.h.i.+ng her away. "Now, I want you to think hard, Alessandra, about things that may not please you."

She nodded, although her bottom lip quivered.

"When I die-"

"Stop, Papa! I won't hear of it!"

"You will, child! Now be brave and hear me out. When I die, your stepmother will depend on Nicco-at least until she marries again."

"Oh, stop-I can't stand it!"

"Hush, Alessandra! Listen to me. Nicco will have his place here, as will Pierina, who is a girl more in your stepmother's mold. And Dodo has never known any other mother. But you, Alessandra-"

"I know. She's told me often enough: I am a thorn in her side. A ghost here to haunt her. Uninterested in the things that interest her, and excited by things that no girl has the right or need to know."

Carlo patted his daughter's hand. "She fears you out-s.h.i.+ne her."

"I have no desire to do so! I wish she'd simply leave me alone!"

"She cannot do that, Alessandra, and neither can I. We must think of the welfare of all four of our children."

"Oh, Papa, you know she wishes I were dead!"

"Hush, child! She only wishes to see you well situated in life."

"Away from her!" Alessandra looked into her father's kind blue eyes, the color of cornflowers and so like Pierina's. "Away from all of you."

Carlo looked suddenly older and more tired than he had just a moment before. "You've read every book in our library now."

"Not yet!" said Alessandra. "And there are many I wish to read again. I was too green in my understanding when I read them the first time."

"You are, in truth, my daughter."

"I am, Papa." She made to put her arms around him again, and in the process sent the baby rabbit flying. Carlo-whom Alessandra had once seen catch a thrush midair-deftly caught the terrified little thing and restored it to the safe haven of his daughter's sleeve.

"Please," she begged him. "Buy me some time!"

"I must keep peace in this household, Alessandra. And as unpleasant a thing as it is to admit, I think you would receive fairer treatment by the hearth of a man who would love and cherish you as your stepmother never will."

She grabbed his hands again and made him look at her. "I have a plan, Papa-a great and half-mad hope! But it cannot be fulfilled for another year. And it can never be fulfilled if I am married."

"Will you take the veil, my girl?"

"If only it were such an easy path!" Alessandra shook her head. "You know how I hate being locked up-and how limited the curriculum is at the cloister." She looked at the pair of finches her father had given her to ease the tedium of living indoors. She didn't tell him, for fear of giving offense, that she took small comfort in the caged creatures, only seeing in their plight a reminder of her own.

"You are silent, Alessandra. Will you not confide in me?"

"Not yet. Just promise me you'll throw those papers in the fire! Promise me, Papa!"

"I cannot promise you that-"

"Please!"

"Hus.h.!.+ But perhaps I could convince her to wait a bit, on grounds of finding an even more powerful match for you-a gentleman with a name that would give your stepmother cause to hold her head even higher."

"If it would buy me time, you could betroth me to the King of China, for all I care! Just so long as I can make my way to Bologna before he comes to claim me."

"Bologna?" Carlo looked at his daughter as if she indeed might be the changeling she'd been accused of being so long ago. "There is only one sort of unmarried woman who makes it her business to stay in Bologna."

"Fie, Papa! How can you think so ill of me?" Alessandra buried her face in her hands.

Carlo reached out and stroked his daughter's hair. "Will you not confide in me, Alessandra?" he said again.

She sniffed and wiped her face, smoothing the covers around her to stall for time. To seem as tall as possible, she sat up straighter, hoping that the n.o.bility of her purpose would s.h.i.+ne through her words. Silently, she prayed to the soul of her mother to intercede for her and aid her cause-her mother, whose needless death had inspired Alessandra's ambition, and whose love had given her the belief that it might, against all odds, be possible to fulfill.

And then she said what she'd practiced saying a hundred times, never finding quite the right way. She let the words tumble out of her, unplanned, all in a jumble. "I want to go to the University of Bologna, Papa. I want to study medicine."