In the cool night air, tempers seemed to calm down. At that hour, the only lights shining were from the tavern.
"Please accept my apology. It was not my intent to discomfit you."
"Who are you? I need a name. And then, an explanation." I didn't know if there was a way to reestablish a level ground between us, but a name would help.
"Have one of them: Alvise. Listen, I did come here for you: but only for the purpose of encouraging you to apply for the position that Signor Vendramin recommended you for."
I stared suspiciously, my jaw tense.
"Were you the one following me earlier in the week? Piazza San Marco?"
"Ah. If I was hesitant to apply before, I am most certain of what to do now: I am not interested in working for the kind of man who sends out spies to seek out potential employees!"
"...The kind of man who seeks and needs certainty before making any promises, signore," he uttered, his expression serious.
"Contrary to Machiavelli, I do not believe that the ends justify the means, Signor Alvise." I stepped away. "I should be on my way. Good night."
Alvise's arm shot out to grasp my shoulder.
"Please. Can we speak somewhere private?"
At that hour, the option was to bring him back to my room. He was Morosini's messenger, simply acting on his orders. If he were to attempt anything underhanded against me, I had no doubt I'd have the upper hand. I had more brawn compared to Alvise's lithe frame.
We went up the steps of the sleepy house until we reached my room on the top floor.
"You live modestly," he noted, taking a seat while taking my room in with interest.
"It's not a choice as much as a circumstance. Which reminds me: I cannot offer you anything to drink, except water. But then, I don't anticipate you will be staying long."
"Then I will make my request brief: you are expected. Go anytime after Vespers; the sooner, the better. Your skills and qualifications are needed. Know that this position will greatly improve your quality of life. You would only have to work four nights a week."
'Ca'Morosini in Dorsoduro."
"And then what? Stumble exhaustedly to my job at the Ministry?" I asked crossly.
"No, signore. I didn't make myself clear, and for that I apologize. You can quit your job at the Ministry."
My brow furrowed. Curious.
"And the nature of the work?"
"Research. Mostly. Archiving...Some light transcribing of older manuscripts and records. At some point, perhaps, taking notes for me while we are out in the field."
"And only four nights a week?..."
"And how much is the employer offering to pay?"
"That won't do. I currently earn 1200 a year at the—"
I fell silent. In disbelief.
"Oh. It's too good to be true."
"It is not, I assure you. You will be expected to work hard and be held to the highest standards."
"I am no stranger to those conditions. But my fear is if I leave my current employment, and this turns out to be something short lived, I will be unemployed and in a worse situation than when I began."
The man sat down again, his gaze holding mine intently.
"Like anything in life, this is a risk. I cannot promise you that you will remain employed; that will be up to you and how much effort and dedication you demonstrate at work."
"Would I be breaking any laws? You did mention the need for discretion."
"Discretion...and loyalty. Both are non-negotiable."
I scoffed. These employers were growing more brazen by the paycheck.
"I should like to know what I would have to be discreet about and to whom I'd be pledging my loyalty. I am not inclined to break the law; in my experience, loyal servants seldom have loyal masters."
He continued to stare at me.
"What if the laws you were asked to break were unreasonable? Unjust? Prejudiced?"
Caterina's warning echoed in my head: these powerful men think themselves above the Law...
"Ah...I'm going to need something to drink if I am to listen to this offer..."
"There is a tavern halfway to—"
"I have a bottle of vino sfuso we can share."
“I thought you said you had nothing to offer—” there was something almost teasing about his tone.
“No, no...I said I COULDN’T offer you anything. Now I can.” I clarified.
“I see...You enjoy semantics.”
“No, I enjoy wine, signore.”
I poured us each a glass of wine. We took a moment to drink the first glass. The wine was mildly tart and not too robust.
“So, tell me more. But only enough to help me make up my mind, without putting me in a situation where a refusal on my part would threaten my freedom,” I challenged, the wine beginning to thaw out my bad mood.
“The library in question has tomes believed long lost or destroyed,” he began to explain. “There are texts the Church would like to have within its grasp. The clerk hired to work cannot mention the nature of these texts to anyone. Are you a religious man? Would it burden you to work with such things?”
“It depends. What is the nature of these texts?”
“They deal with...topics frowned upon by the Church.”
“Can you be more specific? Folklore? Superstition?”
“Think everything you have been taught not to believe.”
“Such as this job offer...” I took a large sip.
“I see you are a spirited man.”
“I will be, once I drink more of these spirits. À la vostra!” I tipped back my glass and immediately refilled it.
“The library contains many texts that would be on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum.”
“Voltaire. Machiavelli. Hume...Giordano Bruno, Agrippa...”
“Ah. So books that piss off the Church AND the Austrians!”
“The greater danger is to my employer, is it not?” I wondered.
“Hardly. He is untouchable. You, however, would make a convenient sacrificial lamb should there be a misstep. Someone has to pay. Someone always has to pay.”
“And what would happen to me?”
“The usual: excommunication, ecclesiatic court, perhaps a penance, or even prison. And that’s only from dealing with the Church. The Austrians would hold an inquest, and the best resolution would be having your name on a watch list.”
A mellow fuzziness began to settle in my brain.
“It sounds like I would be cannon fodder,” I stated bluntly.
“No. You wouldn’t. Not if you listen."
“What happened to my predecessor?”
“There wasn’t one. This is a recently created position.”
It sounded all very suspicious.
“Should anything go wrong, would the employer...even TRY to protect me?” I challenged. It was a stupid question. What did I want? How could Alvise, merely the messenger, answer such a hypothetical question with sincerity?
“Let me put it this way: loyalty begets loyalty. The employer is fiercely protective of his own and would do everything within his power to keep you safe. Nothing will go wrong, there will be no missteps, because there will be complete trust."
Perhaps it was the flash of heat in those otherwise cool and impassive eyes. Or maybe the intensity— the conviction— in his voice.
His own? Trust? This sounded more like a surrender.
There was a covetousness in his gaze as he held my eyes.
I would later blame my behavior after that on the wine I’d had.
It appeared to me— granted— albeit through wine-tinted glasses— that this Signor Alvise and I were mutually...intrigued... by one another.
As I stared at him, I let my eyes rove and my mind wandered to acts that would net me many rounds of penance prayers after confession, as I let myself imagine the smoothness of his face, the softness of those full lips...
By that point, that was far more interesting than any conversation about work, the clergy, and the blasted Austrians.
“Signor Alvise, you must be a very dedicated servant,” I provoked.
“I am well-acquainted with duty, yes.”
“What would YOU do in my situation?”
He hesitated, observing me even more intently.
“What I think is what I think. Go and see for yourself and make up your own mind.”
“How long had you been trailing me?”
“Something is nagging at me: you could have accosted me at any point during that time, no?”
He shrugged, nonplussed. “I was observing...I needed to assess whether you were worth pursuing.”
“Hm. And it is so interesting that you chose to reveal yourself at last at Al Bricola, of all the places.”
“What are you getting at?”
“That perhaps you and I have more in common than we surmise?”
“Te son vegnù a vardar...” You came by for a look... I provoked, knowingly, my Venetian accent low and thick– an invitation to drop all pretenses.
His eyes widened, but he appeared more amused than put off.
“My aim was to act with discretion. If one were to mention seeing us conversing at Al Bricola, they would have to justify their own presence there, you see.”
But I was too deep in my cups already, and his logical explanation was so very dull.
I pat the spot beside me on the bed.
He stared...But he didn’t move to either join me or leave the room.
I pat the space next to me on the bed again.
“Come. Let’s converse,” I suggested teasingly.
“You can stay,” I offered, softly. He did not pull away as I tentatively reached for him. I drew him closer, but gingerly. He did not resist.
My touch was light, an invitation, rather than a demand or expectation.
His hand slipped over my chest, resting on my shoulder. A warmth bloomed beneath my skin and the possibility contained in that gesture.
We looked at each other, as if we had reached a pleasant, lingering impasse neither one was willing to interrupt. I found his proximity as dizzying as the wine. I drew closer for a kiss.
His expression clouded and he flinched.
I drew back out of consideration, but he seized my hand.
“Signore...For reasons that are not yet apparent, this would be a phenomenally bad idea,” he murmured, with an unexpected and sincere gentleness.
I nodded, sheepishly, stepping away. “Forgive me if I misunderstood or overstepped my bounds...”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
“Will you go to Ca’Morosini?”
“Oh, will you put in a good word for me with your employer?” I joked, feeling that perhaps his regret was real and that there was a more practical reason for him to reject me other than the fact he might not be interested in me.
“You must go,” he insisted, holding my gaze.
“Will I see you again?” I was brazen.
“Very well. I’ll go to Ca’Morosini.”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“After Vespers. Promise.”
“Have a good night, signore.”
He cast me a final parting glance and left.
Prologue/Character Sheet/Beginning/Previous/Next
Niccolò Machiavelli: A Renaissance author, philosopher, and diplomat from Florence. He is considered one of the fathers of political science. His treatise, The Prince is a guide for rulers on some pretty ruthless ruling. He's the guy who wrote, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer" and "The ends justify the means." Poor guy was accused of trying to topple the Medicis and for that he was tortured and even exiled for a while.
"In vino veritas"- "In wine, the truth." It's a Latin saying coined by a Greek poet called Alcaeus and then popularized by Roman Pliny the Elder. The second part of the saying is "in aqua sanitas" (in water, health) which no one with a hangover wanted to discuss or nod their heads at.
The Austrian lira was the currency during the Habsburg rule in Venice. Historical currency converters weren't helping me (because of the dates) so I went here and looked for what the salary might have been like for someone like Giovanni. It might not be very accurate, but I hope it's somewhere within the ballpark and also, I'm losing my mind.
The Index Librorum Prohibitorum is now a historical document, but before 1966 it was an actual list of books the censors from the Catholic Church had been compiling to warn the faithful of works that presented dangers to the morals and faith. It was significant and started back in the 400s. And it didn't just ban theological and religious works. Anything was fair game: romance, poetry— and some titles could even lead to excommunication. Thanks for compiling an excellent TBR list, guys!
BTW, the Church at that time was seriously involved in maintaining the order and was, officially, fully cooperating and sharing intel with the Austrians.
Te son vegnù a vardar- Okay, this is in Venetian dialect, which is really interesting sounding, with a lot of "sh" sounds, but I wanted to pay a little nod to Polari, the coded language (really a sociolect) gay men and other LGBTQ+ folks used, mainly in England in the early 1900s through the 1970s (fun fact- queer people would teach it to their non-queer friends...It was very commonly used among people involved with theater). It consisted of a hodgepodge of Italian words, Yiddish, Cockney slang, etc. It was one of the ways people could communicate during periods of serious repression. It is no longer spoken nowadays, but it's pretty awesome history. "Vardar" means to "see", and it is associated with the Polari word "vada," which meant "to see." And wow-this connection was a stretch! but: yay and big respect. ❤️
