Juliet

‘Then’ – he paused for effect, and it struck me that the green in his eyes was not like foliage at all, but cold and crystallized, like the slice of malachite I had presented as a special treasure in fourth grade, before the teacher had explained that it was a mineral mined to extract copper, with evident harm to the environment – ‘they must have had a very good reason.’

‘Enough!’ Eva Maria raised her glass. ‘No more banishment. No more fighting. Now we are all friends.’

For about ten minutes we managed to have a civil conversation. After that, Eva Maria excused herself to go to the restroom, and Alessandro and I were left to each other’s devices. Glancing at him, I caught him running his eyes over me, and for the briefest of moments I was able to convince myself that it was all just a cat-and-mouse game to see whether I was sufficiently feisty to become his playmate for the week. Well, I thought to myself, whatever the cat was plotting, it was in for a nasty surprise.

I reached out for a slice of sausage. ‘Do you believe in redemption?’

‘I don’t care,’ said Alessandro, pushing the platter towards me, ‘what you did in Rome. Or anywhere else. But I do care about Siena. So tell me, why are you here?’

‘Is this an interrogation?’ I spoke with my mouth full. ‘Should I call my lawyer?’

He leaned towards me, his voice low. ‘I could have you in jail like this—’ He snapped his fingers right in front of my nose. ‘Is that really what you want?’

‘You know,’ I said, shovelling more food onto my plate and hoping very much he did not notice my hands shaking, ‘power games have never worked on me. They may have worked wonders for your ancestors, but if you recall, my ancestors were never really that impressed.’

‘Okay.’ He leaned back in his chair, changing tactics. ‘How about this: I’m going to leave you alone on one condition. That you stay away from Eva Maria.’

‘Why don’t you tell that to her?’

‘She is a very special woman, and I don’t want her to suffer.’

I put down my fork. ‘But I do? Is that what you think of me?’

‘You really want to know?’ Alessandro gave me the once-over as if I were an overpriced artifact put up for sale. ‘All right. I think you are beautiful, intelligent…a great actor…’ Seeing my confusion, he frowned and went on, more sternly, ‘I think someone paid you a lot of money to come here and pretend to be Giulietta Tolomei…’

‘What?’

‘…and I think that part of your job is to get close to Eva Maria. But guess what? I’m not going to let that happen.’

I barely knew where to start. Fortunately, his accusations were so surreal that I was too flabbergasted to feel truly wounded. ‘Why,’ I finally said, ‘do you not believe I am Giulietta Tolomei? Is it because I don’t have baby-blue eyes?’

‘You want to know why? I’ll tell you why.’ He leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘Giulietta Tolomei is dead.’

‘Then how,’ I retorted, leaning forward too, ‘do you explain that I am sitting right here?’

He looked at me for the longest time, searching for something in my face that somehow wasn’t there. In the end he looked away, his lips tight, and I knew that for some reason I had not convinced him, and probably never would.

‘You know what?’ I pushed back my chair and got up. ‘I’m going to take your advice and remove myself from Eva Maria’s company. Tell her thank you for the concert and the food, and tell her that she can have her clothes back whenever she wants them. I am done with them.’

I didn’t wait for his response, but stalked off the deck and away from the restaurant without looking back. As soon as I had turned the first corner and was out of sight, I could feel tears of anger rising, and despite my shoes I started running. The last thing I wanted was for Alessandro to catch up with me and apologize for his rudeness, should he be so human as to try.

Going home that night, I stuck to the shadows and the streets less travelled. As I walked through the darkness, hoping rather than knowing I was going the right way, I was so preoccupied with my discussion with Alessandro – and, more specifically, with all the brilliant things I could have said, but didn’t – that it took me a while to realize I was being followed.

In the beginning it was little more than an eerie feeling of being watched. But soon I began to notice the faint sounds of someone sneaking along behind me. Whenever I forged ahead I could discern a shuffle of clothes and soft soles, but if I slowed down the shuffle disappeared, and I heard nothing but an ominous silence that was almost worse.

Turning abruptly down a random street, I was able to pick up movement and the shape of a man out of the corner of my eye. Unless I was very much mistaken, it was the same thug who had followed me a few days earlier, when I had left the bank in Palazzo Tolomei carrying my mother’s box. My brain had obviously filed our previous encounter under danger, and now that it recognized his shape and gait, it set off a deafening alarm that forced all rational thoughts from my head and made me pull off my shoes and, for the second time that night, start running.

III.II

Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight.For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night

Siena, A.D. 1340

The night was ripe with mischief.

As soon as Romeo and his cousins were out of sight of the Marescotti tower, they threw themselves around a street corner, gasping with laughter. It had been far too easy for them to escape the house this evening, for Palazzo Marescotti was bustling with family visitors from Bologna, and Romeo’s father, Comandante Marescotti, had grudgingly put on a banquet with musicians to entertain the lot. After all, what did Bologna have to offer that Siena could not deliver tenfold?

Knowing very well that they were, once again, violating the Comandante’s curfew, Romeo and his cousins paused to strap on the gaudy carnival masks they always wore on their nightly escapades. As they stood there, struggling with knots and bows, the family butcher walked by with a rack of ham for the party and an assistant carrying a torch, but he was too wise to recognize the youngsters. One day, Romeo would be the master of Palazzo Marescotti and the one who paid for its deliveries.

When the masks were finally in place, the young men put their velvet hats back on, adjusting them for greatest possible concealment. Grinning at the sight of his friends, one of them picked up the lute he had been carrying and struck a few merry chords. ‘Giu-hu-hu-lietta!’ he sang in a teasing falsetto. ‘I would I were thy bi-hi-hird, thy little wanton bi-hihi-hi-hird—’ He made a few birdlike hops, causing everyone but Romeo to gag with laughter.

‘Very funny!’ scowled Romeo. ‘Keep jesting at my scars and I’ll give you a few of your own!’

‘Come on,’ said someone else, champing at the bit, ‘if we don’t hurry, she will be in bed, and your serenade will be nothing but a lullaby.’

Measured in footsteps alone, their journey this evening was not long, barely five hundred strides. But in every other way, it was an odyssey. Despite the late hour, the streets were crawling with people – locals mingling with foreigners, buyers with sellers, pilgrims with thieves – and on every corner stood a prophet with a wax candle, condemning the material world while eyeing every passing prostitute like a dog watching a string of sausages.

Elbowing their way up the street, jumping over a gutter here, a beggar there, and ducking under deliveries and sedan chairs, the young men at length found themselves on the edge of Piazza Tolomei. Stretching to see why the crowd had come to a standstill, Romeo caught a glimpse of a colourful figure swaying to and fro in the black night air on the front steps of the church of San Cristoforo.

‘Look!’ exclaimed one of his cousins. ‘Tolomei has invited San Cristoforo to dinner. But he is not dressed up. Shame on him!’

They all watched in awe as the torch-lit procession from the church made its way across the piazza towards Palazzo Tolomei, and Romeo suddenly knew that here was his chance to enter the forbidding house through the front door rather than stupidly standing around beneath what he presumed was Giulietta’s window. A long line of self-important people trailed behind the priests carrying the saint, and they were all wearing carnival masks. It was commonly known that Messere Tolomei held masked balls every few months in order to sneak banished allies and lawless family members into his house. Had he not, he would scarcely have been able to fill the dancing floor.

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