O, Juliet Part 21

"The truth? What truth? That Jacopo is a fire starter and a murderer? That I ran off in men's clothing and married Romeo? That we lay together making love under their roof? My father will never believe a single awful thing about his future partner. Not from a silly, love-struck girl. But he will believe I married Romeo, and that I sacrificed my virginity to him. That That he will believe. And it will be the end of any chance of having a life with Romeo-the avowed enemy of our family, the despised exile." he will believe. And it will be the end of any chance of having a life with Romeo-the avowed enemy of our family, the despised exile."

"Would he send you to a nunnery?"

"Never. The benefit to our family would be too slight." My voice cracked as I spoke the next. "Papa would tell Jacopo all and he would, reluctantly, submit to marrying a sullied woman. But he would wait. Insist on locking me away for long enough to be sure that I was not carrying Romeo's child."

Lucrezia nodded with understanding. "The Strozzi blood-line must remain pure."

"Then together they'd seek an annulment to my marriage," I finished.

My friend had begun to look as desperate as I felt.

"Jacopo would have good reason to disrespect me," I said. "Loathe me. Beat me."

"Married life would be death."

The thought silenced us both, but I could see Lucrezia was thinking hard.

"There is something that can be done," she said.

"Tell me!"

"Don Cosimo would never allow you to commit bigamy in the cathedral at the same altar as his son and me."

"Oh, Lucrezia! Will you speak to him?"

She sighed with frustration. "He is gone to Rome to meet with the pope's bankers. He won't return for a fortnight, just before the wedding, bringing a whole phalanx of cardinals with him."

"But I need him now," I moaned. "He would believe me. Believe Romeo. He would see justice done!"

"You will have to wait, my friend. The moment he is home, I will go to him. Get an audience for you with him. He will see you. I know he will."

"But in the meantime . . . ?"

"In the meantime you must be strong. Play the happy bride-to-be, delighted with your gifts.You will be kind to Jacopo, joyful with your mother, simpering to your father. The moment Don Cosimo learns the truth, he will stop your wedding to Jacopo. And in the meantime we will be thinking of how you can go and be with Romeo." A furrowed forehead belied her hopeful words. "This will so anger your father."

"Disgrace him," I agreed. "I think he will disown me."

"Could you bear that? Bear losing your family?"

"To live my life with Romeo? Gladly. More than gladly. Oh, Lucrezia!" I hugged her fiercely, hope rising in me like a strong tide. "I will be Jacopo's perfect bride-to-be."

Then a thought struck me like a hammer blow.

"I cannot in the meantime sign the contract with him. We'll be as good as married."

Lucrezia was thinking hard.

I was trying to think, too, but my mind was a welter of confusion.

Then my friend looked at me and smiled.

"I have an idea," she said.

Chapter Twenty-four.

I was strangely calm as we entered the great church. The ma.s.sive dome dwarfed all those who stood in small clutches, or knelt at the various altars and prayed, and a muted cacophony of echoes swirled around us. was strangely calm as we entered the great church. The ma.s.sive dome dwarfed all those who stood in small clutches, or knelt at the various altars and prayed, and a muted cacophony of echoes swirled around us.

Lucrezia and I were arm in arm, but it was she pulling me forward, bracing me with her firm intent.

"There he is," she said. "He must indeed be enamored of the Medici. He could only have gotten my note moments ago, yet here he comes, looking like a h.o.r.n.y husband to his bride.... Ah, Father, you do honor us with your prompt attention," she said, waiting for the archbishop of Florence to extend his hand to be kissed.

He was youthful, with an unlined face, and had a scent of perfume about him. His red silken dress trimmed with gold rivaled the gowns of the greatest ladies here. Yet he looked fl.u.s.tered in a way I had never seen a high clergyman be.

"Signorina Tornabuoni," he crooned in the most honeyed tones. "It is I who is honored." Your father-in-law and husband will be making huge donations to the church, Your father-in-law and husband will be making huge donations to the church, I believed him to be thinking, I believed him to be thinking, paying for great frescoes and rich altarpieces. paying for great frescoes and rich altarpieces.

"Meet my friend Juliet Capelletti, who will be married to Jacopo Strozzi alongside Piero and myself."

"Ah, signorina," he said, forcing himself to attend me. "The Strozzi . . . such a fine family . . ." A fabulously wealthy family, though not as powerful as the Medici, A fabulously wealthy family, though not as powerful as the Medici, I could hear him silently saying. I could hear him silently saying.

"We would very much like to take confession with you today," Lucrezia said. She was, as we had planned, about to offer me first into the confessional, but before she could, the archbishop dropped my hand and took up hers.

"I will hear you at once," he said very loudly.

A group of a dozen wors.h.i.+ppers walking by us took great interest in his words. Here was a juicy piece of gossip to be shared later over dinner or at the baths.

"Look, there is an open confessional," the priest went on so they could hear. "I shall listen to the Medici bride-to-be first"-he smiled broadly at Lucrezia, then turned to me-"and then the Strozzi!"

He led Lucrezia away to the row of carved wooden cubicles, leaving me standing there, the onlookers staring with blatant, even prurient interest at the scene the archbishop had created. It was then, to my abject horror, that I saw standing among them another man of G.o.d, this one gaping at me with shocked indignation.

Friar Bartolomo.

"Father," I said weakly. "May I speak with you?"

He shook his head no, then swiveled under his brown robe and strode away toward the main altar.

I did not wish to make a commotion, but I could not let him go with such thoughts as he must be thinking. I followed after him and by lengthening my stride managed to walk beside him.

"Please," I whispered. "You do not understand."

"Are you marrying again?" he demanded, his voice taut with anger.

"No!" I was nearly shouting. I lowered my voice, but dared to take his arm and slow his pace. "This wedding will not take place."

He stared at me unconvinced. "Your true husband is exiled in Verona, and accused of a terrible killing. Yet you are here"-he raised his hands helplessly to heaven-"pretending to be marrying another man? Whatever his crime"-he leaned in and whispered fiercely in my ear-"your place is with Romeo." to be marrying another man? Whatever his crime"-he leaned in and whispered fiercely in my ear-"your place is with Romeo."

"I know. I know know."

"I cannot believe him a murderer," Friar Bartolomo said, his voice impa.s.sioned. "And of your cousin . . ." He looked me in the eye, then shook his head. "Impossible."

Joy and relief flooded me. "Oh, Father, he is innocent of murder."

The friar considered this and said with a perverse smile, "Though not of thievery. He stole our mule." He grew serious again. "What is your plan, Juliet? How will you avoid this marriage?"

I looked around us desperately. The cathedral was no place to talk. And now I could see Lucrezia exiting the confessional, looking around the cavernous church for sight of me. She waved when she saw me, and beckoned.

"I have to go," I said.

"Honor your marriage at any cost," the monk said with terrible gravity.

"Have no doubt that I will."

Then he left me and with a single fortifying breath, I went to meet Lucrezia.

Chapter Twenty-five.

"Father forgive me, for I have sinned."

"What are these sins?" the archbishop of Florence asked me, sounding bored, supposing that a wellborn virginal girl would have nothing much to confess.

I was trembling, though, for I walked a thin line between truth and lying in G.o.d's house. I leaned close to the grate and whispered the one thing that I knew to be true.

"I have impure thoughts about my husband."

There was silence as my unexpected words were understood. It took a moment before the priest spoke.

"You will soon be married." His tone was stern. "But even married women must never dwell in the carnal realm. There is real danger, even to the pious, of reveling in the depravity of the marriage bed."

These last words I perceived he uttered with something akin to lasciviousness.

"Tell me what you mean, Father," I said with feigned innocence.

But the archbishop was keen to elaborate. "Certainly you are aware of the days and times that the marriage rights may not be exercised."

"Lent," I answered quickly. Everyone knew that.

"And days of penitence," he added.

"Of course."

"And you know it is a mortal sin of the most serious kind to indulge in ... sodomy."

"No sodomy, Father. Never sodomy."

He cleared his throat. "And you shall engage in no unusual positions, or G.o.d will punish you severely."

I bit my lip hard and made a sound of agreement.

"A woman must make her bedchamber a sacred refuge of piety and solitary devotion. A crucifix or an icon of the Virgin should be hung. A small altar erected. There you will find a center for your spiritual exercise."

"Yes, Father."

He was silent again. Then, "Tell me more about these impure thoughts." His voice had grown thick and husky.

"Oh!" I uttered, as though mortified. "I cannot. . . . I should not. . . . Oh, Father, I'm so ashamed!" I remembered Romeo pulling my knees high to encircle his waist. Was this an "unusual position"? And what on earth was sodomy between a man and a woman Was this an "unusual position"? And what on earth was sodomy between a man and a woman?

"There is no need, no need for embarra.s.sment," the archbishop insisted. "Just tell me. . . . Let G.o.d be your witness."

In that moment, blasphemous as it was, I invoked blessings from the G.o.d of Love, closed my eyes, and allowed myself to gracelessly slump to the floor.

"The lady swoons!" I heard Lucrezia shout. "Bring help!"

Chapter Twenty-six.

My sins were piling high. Now I pretended unconsciousness to my parents.

I am a liar, lying in my bed Faithless daughter, all hopes of honor shed.

Dear Lucrezia had seen me home, fluttering about her limp, pale friend with stories of my aching head and blurred vision before the collapse. We had quietly argued about what symptoms I should display. What illness I would be feigning and for what effect. We had decided that at all costs I must be prevented from signing the contract with Jacopo, for it was binding. We would, under the law, be as good as married, all the rest of the ceremony mere artifice.

Some couples in lower orders of society went to bed after signing, and before the giving of the rings, as if to seal the bargain and prove their mutual consent. People of the merchant cla.s.s, like our family, preferred as much gaudy pomp and ritual and feasting as could be afforded.

So here the liar lay in deathlike stillness, all manner of men and women coming and going from my room-Mama, Papa, Cook, Lucrezia, and the much-feared materfamilia materfamilias of my betrothed's family, Allessandra Strozzi. If my maid, Viola, came, I was unaware. I did not hear her speak a word, and I did not dare open my eyes to find her.

Several doctors were called for their opinions and treatment. There was endless checking of pulses-arms, ankles, neck, and groin. My eyelids were pulled open; my mouth was examined for signs of choking, sores, or a swollen tongue. They listened to my shallow breathing and tapped my breastbone, to which I replied with a faint moan and a furrowed brow. There were many spirited arguments about my mysterious condition. A flux or an ague. As there was no fever or swellings, it could not be the plague. No yellowing of the skin or eye whites, so it was not my liver.

Two doctors leaned over my bed whispering. They kept their voices low, for Mama was in the room, and their conjecture of a tumor in my head might alarm her. A third physician, who smelled of camphor, kept raising my arm and letting it fall limp to my side, till I wanted to shriek at him. But my resolve was strong.

Indeed, resolve was never more needed than for my bleeding, for this was the time-tested treatment for many ills, both known and unknown. I refrained from clenching my jaw to receive the cut, as the gesture might be observed. The knife they used on my forearm was dull, for it dug deep in the flesh before it poked through, and the pain was hot and vivid. Then I lay helpless as the blood dripped freely down my arm and plinked into a metal bowl they'd placed on the floor below it.

I had no relief as night fell, as Mama insisted on staying by my side. I worried that if I slept, I would lose control of my movements and might give myself away as perfectly healthy, and a malingerer of the worst order.