and cruel, but he was rich, and that’s all that matters to a man like my father. And at that time, Roberto was living in poverty as a painter, under the name Giacomo. For his past too was a prison of sorts, hiding from the vendetta that threatened his life as the Doge’s son. It’s a miracle our paths crossed at all.
I go to pick up my discarded dress as Roberto pours us each a tumbler of water from a glass jug with images of swans etched and gilded on its handle. He hands me the water and I gulp it down gratefully. Roberto wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, recovering his breath. Beyond his head, a row of portraits of Doges past runs across the paneled wall. Roberto’s father, Alfonso, the present Doge, is last. The ancient faces that look down at me are stern and unforgiving, dark shadows lurking in the corners of one painting, a fierce dog sitting at its master’s feet in another. One day, Roberto’s portrait will hang there too, but I can’t imagine him gazing down on Venice with such ferocity.
Roberto removes his shirt and towels himself dry with it. As he moves, the muscles of his stomach contract and expand, so that the scar on his chest seems to writhe across his skin. It will always be a reminder to us of how precarious life can be in Venice. The wound, delivered when he was just a boy, has long since healed, but a few months ago the same blood feud almost claimed his life again. It was only the intervention of the Segreta that ended the cycle of violence and spared him.
The Segreta. The Secret Women. The female balance to the Doge’s brute force and power. I owe everything to them. They welcomed me to their bosom when I had nowhere else to turn. They rescued me from a marriage to Vincenzo, exposing his crimes and leading to his exile. Now they are my family. We operate under cover and behind the scenes, the hidden puppeteers who see that justice is done in a city teeming with corruption.
“What are you thinking?” Roberto asks, eyeing the sudden change in my expression.
I shake my head. “I’ve just remembered!” I say. “My brother arrives any day now, from Bologna. I can’t wait for you to meet Lysander.”
Roberto throws his shirt on the floor and pours himself another glass of water. “But will Antonio approve of him becoming acquainted with a ruffian like myself?” He raises the glass at me, then takes a deep draught.
I laugh. “Do you remember Father threatening to set the dogs on you, the lowly painter?”
Roberto rolls his eyes. “Oh yes. Those imaginary dogs.” He laughs too. Father has refused to have dogs in the house ever since I was a child and a pet mastiff chewed a hole in our finest rug.
A muffled sound from behind the floor-to-ceiling doors makes us both quiet abruptly. Roberto holds a finger to his lips as we listen to the sound of voices; then one of the doors is flung open and a figure falls into the room, pushing past servants.
“I’m a lady-in-waiting!” she screeches, before stopping short. Faustina blushes crimson as her gaze travels over the sight of Roberto and me. Suddenly, I am all too aware of Roberto’s naked torso and my own thin undergarments.
“Never did I think I’d live to see such a thing,” she mutters. She swivels round, turning her back on us. “Get dressed, for propriety’s sake!” A servant has peered around the open doorway and she shouts at him, “Get out! Leave!” She shakes a gnarled fist and his head quickly disappears from view.
Roberto and I scramble into our clothes, and I go to my maidservant’s side. If she wants to call herself a lady-in-waiting, I won’t object. Once my wet nurse, she’s always been my closest companion. My dearest Faustina, whose soft folds and tender hugs have comforted me through many troubles.
Her eyes flicker to one side, checking that I am back in my blue dress. “We have an appointment to keep, remember?”
I hadn’t forgotten—how could I? “Help me with my bodice?” I ask her. As she tugs on the ribbons, she glances over at Roberto. “Wait for me outside,” I tell her gently, turning to kiss her on the cheek. “We’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Don’t let him lead you astray,” she whispers loudly, scuttling towards the open door. Her hand darts out