Pier-Ariana put down her psaltry and rounded on di Santo-Germano. “What do you mean, you may have to be away
more
than a year? Are you going to return at all?” Her small music room was glistening in the shine of dozens of hanging oil-lamps, their soft light suffusing the room with a pale-golden glow; the church-bells had chimed nine a short while ago, and night was settling in over Venezia, a thin, low-lying mist rising from the canals into the warm, damp evening.
“I am not planning to be gone so long, yet it may be that I will: it is not what I want, carina, but it is something I must consider.” He set down the portfolio of her new motets and songs, and regarded her steadily, his black dogaline-and-doublet making him a shadow in the refulgent illumination. “This will be published, you need not fear. Giovanni has the paper ordered already, and he will begin work on the book as soon as you deliver the last of your compositions. He tells me that the first book is doing very well, and says he believes the second will do better.” His dark eyes held hers. “I gave you my Word that you would not suffer for my absence, and as far as I am able, I will see to it that you do not.”
She hesitated, but there was no lessening of her indignation. “You said you did not have to be away so long.”
“And I assumed I did not,” he responded in a practical tone. “But matters have become more complicated, and I fear I must set aside the time to deal with them. Had I been in Antwerp or Bruges and you, here in Venezia, encountered more complex difficulties than first anticipated, you would rightly expect me to allocate more time to your situation than I had at first, would you not.” He held out his hand to her. “My two presses have been the subject of investigations—the one in Amsterdam may well be next—and I need to be present to disentangle the Gordian Knot that has resulted from the inquiries. I apologize for putting you in such an awkward position.”
“How do you know this is true?” Pier-Ariana pursued, ignoring the last.
“I know it is true because I have received an official writ of interrogation this morning from certain officials in Antwerp who inform me that my presses have been singled out for full examination, not only for political lapses, but religious ones as well, for which reason they are submitting a number of questions to me that I am to answer under oath before a sworn official, and return to them as soon as possible. I have spoken to one of the Doge’s Savii to perform this service, so that the officials in the north cannot argue that I have defied them. If I fail to do this, my presses and all they produce will be confiscated and burned, and all my property seized, and my associates will become exiles, which they do not deserve.” He shook his head once. “So it is out of my hands, and I must present myself in Antwerp before the end of the year. I cannot leave my pressmen and servants to answer for my policies at the risk of their lives. It would dishonor them and me if I did.”
“Was that why you planned to go there in the first place—did you think something was wrong? Or did you want an excuse to be away from Venezia?” Although she had been making an effort to contain herself, she started to weep silently, tears sliding unheeded down her face.
“I was hoping to address the matter before it became—as you put it—wrong, but I seem to have miscalculated.” He had to concentrate to keep from recalling the times in the past when similar errors had cost him dearly; Pier-Ariana needed his full attention.
“So you will not make any more binding plan than that you will be gone for more than a year?” She flung this at him in an emotion between fury and despair. “You could be gone much longer.”
“Until I understand what the actual circumstances are, I cannot pledge myself more rigidly than this: that if I must be away longer than a year, I shall inform you of it, and I will do my utmost to return as quickly as possible,” he said, lightly touching her shoulder before sliding his hand down her back to her waist, supporting her without confining her. “You deserve more of me, I know, and were I better informed, I would—”
She cast herself onto his chest, her voice cracking as she gave way to crying. “Why? Why must you go? It’s hard enough for me with you here; my work is thought odd, but no one disparages me, not while I have such a patron as you. No one tries to stop me from doing my work. If you are gone, what will become of me?”
“You will go on as you have—you will compose and Giovanni will take your compositions and compile them into books. You will live here with your servants, and my business factor, Gennaro Emerenzio—you know him—will tend to your expenses, just as he would do if I were here.” He drew her close, making no effort to cajole her from her weeping. “Pier-Ariana, I will miss you every day I am gone.”
“But it will not be enough to bring you back in less than a year,” she lamented.
“I will return as soon as I may,” he said, his voice dropping to a deep, mellifluous note.
“So you say now. But men are faithless creatures.” She shoved herself away from him, pinching the bridge of her nose to stop the flow of her tears.
“But, as you know, I am not like other men,” he said.
“You, more than most, will not remain faithful; it isn’t in your nature,” she accused. “I know you, and what you need. You will have other women. You must.”
“But I will not compromise you,” he said. Five hundred years ago he might have tried to approach her, to reassure her, but after Huegenet and Demetrice, he knew better than to attempt to persuade Pier-Ariana to change her mind; he decided to offer her the only truthful pledge he could. “My feeling for you will not lessen because I have feelings for another: believe this.”
“So you tell me,” she exclaimed. “Gran’ Dio, I hate this! I might as well be a hapless trull, serving men’s pleasure for a chance to eat.” She sat down on an upholstered stool. “It isn’t really like that. You’re not using me unkindly; I know that. Most women would thank the Saints and Angels day and night for such a protector as you are, as I do, when I see what happens to others. And it isn’t as if you’ve promised me anything beyond—”
“—beyond what we have now,” he said calmly. “Nor did you ask it.”
“And I wouldn’t want it, for it would take away from my music,” she said, sounding defeated. “But this is different, isn’t it?”
“It is something you have not had to endure with me. I have been in Venezia for all our association.” He took a step nearer to her.
“Antwerp and Bruges, and Amsterdam are all far away,” she said, and sighed. “Even an urgent message, carried by private couriers, would take at least ten days to reach Venezia from there.”
“There are farther places,” said di Santo-Germano, thinking back to China, to Russia, to the destruction of Delhi. “I have returned from them all.”
She made a mess of trying to laugh. “I should be grateful, then, that you go only as far as the Low Countries?” The shine of perspiration on her upper lip glistened in the lamp-light. “Or that you have left me so well-provided for? You say you do not want my gratitude, but you do all in your power to deserve it, in spite of your going away. You will not change your mind, will you?”
“No, but you can take some comfort that I am not cut off from you by oceans or deserts or mountains.” He held out his hands to her as he had done earlier. “I will not put you at a disadvantage, carina, whether here or far away.”
“But you will not put others at a disadvantage, either, will you?” Her chin came up and she glared at him through the shine in her eyes.
Di Santo-Germano took a long breath. “What sort of man would I be if I abjured my covenant with others?”
“You tell me you are not a man at all, not a living one, anyway,” she said in sudden world-weariness.
He regarded her steadily. “All the more reason for me to uphold—”
“What does it matter?” She dropped her head. “You will do what you will do.”
He stood still, her pain as palpable to him as a blow would be. “They are in danger on my account. I cannot abandon them; as I would not abandon you.” He spoke gently, his enigmatic gaze fixed on her.
“So you will go north,” she said.
“At the end of summer. That still gives us seven weeks in which to arrange all that you require during my absence.”
“Seven weeks,” she said as if the words could conjure power for her. “Seven weeks.”
“Yes.” He dropped down on one knee beside her. “You and I will devote our time to guarding you from harm.”
She bit her lower lip so that it would not tremble. “You are not going to change your mind, are you? You will go to Antwerp, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will—unless there is a change in the state of affairs in the Low Countries, which hardly seems likely.” He took her hand and kissed her palm to punctuate each of his promises. “But I will not forsake you. I will not be gone any longer than I must be. I will not leave you without means to live; that would be a most reprehensible imposition upon you. I will arrange matters so that you will be able to manage for yourself in my absence. I will make sure there is an official record of these provisions.”
“I am most grateful,” she said very deliberately, and turned her hand to enclose his. “I do not ask you to forget the others, but I do not want you to forget me, either. Without you, I have no one to turn to.”
“I could not forget you, carina, not ever,” he said gently, his touch as persuasive as his voice. “You are part of me.”
She let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I wish I understood that.”
“Whether or not you understand, it is true,” he told her, rising and lifting her to her feet as he did. “Pier-Ariana, listen to me: you are dear to me, and will always be dear to me, from now until I am truly dead. I will not leave you to flounder, nor will I take away anything I have bestowed upon you; I have given you my Word upon it. This house is yours no matter what may happen. Giovanni will print your music as long as you care to compose it and write it down. With or without me, you will not find yourself hapless in the world.” He touched her face, his fingers light and lingering. “You must not fear that you will lose anything while I am gone.”
“I will lose
you
,” she said, her embrace tightening. “Without you, the rest is chaff.”
“You would not think so if it were taken from you,” he said somberly. “I do not want you to have to accommodate other demands.”
“Do you think so little of me?” She released him again. “That I seek only your support?” Before he could speak, she continued. “Of course you do. What rich man does not think such things of his mistress?”
“I do not think you accept me only for my money, or my press, and if all I wanted was a compliant female body, there are courtesans in plenty in Venezia. No, Pier-Ariana: I value you and your gifts, and I know that if you were reduced to singing in brothels, no one would remember your songs.”
“Perhaps I should go on the stage, as some women have done already?” She cocked her head, being intentionally provocative.
“If that would suit you, then do as you must; it will not change my regard. It pleases me to let the world know your music.” He said it bluntly, and held her while she thought out what he said. “Your songs are as dear to me as your kisses.”
Pier-Ariana sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, and did her best to keep skepticism from her remark. “No doubt you’re genuine in what you tell me.”
“It is a matter of worth,” he said, kindness making his words tender. “You have so much to offer, and I would not want to be bereft of any of it.”
She tried to laugh but it caught in her throat and she began to weep again. “I apologize for—”
“For what?” he asked, and kissed her forehead.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand. “For this.”
“It does not trouble me,” he said. “Your talent makes you more responsive to all around you.”
“I feel I am a puppet of my emotions,” she muttered, her body becoming tense although she remained in his arms.
“At least you perceive these things, and you know the strength of your emotions. Most around you are equally susceptible but will not acknowledge it, or turn it to use.” He waited a long moment, then added, “You have no reason to be disconcerted with me, not for this, or for anything.”
“And you, are you never taken in passion?” she asked.
“
You
ask this of me?” He smiled his amusement.
“I didn’t mean that.” She averted her face briefly. “I meant all the rest of it.”
He offered her a serious answer. “Those who seek revelation in art are creatures of passion, and display their passion in many ways.”
“You accept my volatility as part of my music?” She kissed his cheek lightly. “I suppose I should be grateful for that.”
“I have told you how I view gratitude,” he said, and took her face in his hands, turning her head so that their eyes held. “I take you as Pier-Ariana, and all that that entails.”
She studied his face. “I wish I didn’t have so many uncertainties.”