my face as the awful truth hits me with the taunts and insults that ring in my ears. The people of Venice hate me! They are filled with hate, filled and overflowing.
“Shall I try to talk to them, to explain?” I twist my neck to look up into my brother’s face, but he’s too intent on scanning the crowd to respond. He pulls me along now, forcing me to walk faster than my petticoats allow. I almost trip, and it’s only Emilia’s hand on my elbow that saves me from falling into the waste that pours down the open sewers of the street.
Thud! Something smashes into the side of my head. I stagger slightly as the sensation of warmth and moisture creeps down my cheek. I put a hand to my face. When I take it away to stare at my fingers, I frown with confusion, my thoughts struggling to keep up with what is happening. Someone has thrown a rotten fig at me, its golden seeds squelching out of the purple skin.
“You should be ashamed to be here!” shouts a man. He pulls back his head, purses his lips and then spits. Warm saliva hits my chest, and Emilia hurries to wipe it away with a handkerchief.
“Don’t,” I try to tell her, “don’t take it away.” But she can’t hear me for the clamor.
“Is that your daughter, old man?” someone else cries. I glance back at Father and see him turn away. He doesn’t try to defend me. I stumble onwards, looking neither right nor left.
“Your fiancé is a coward!” someone in the crowd shouts. “He deserves to die.”
“Murderer’s creature!”
“Harlot!”
“Roberto’s head should have rolled already,” a woman yells, her eyes narrowed. “Just because he’s the Doge’s son …” She stoops beneath the rope barrier and lunges towards us.
“Guards!” Father calls, his voice straining to be heard above the crowds. “Come and help!”
Men in cloaks carrying swords at their waists run over, and suddenly I am surrounded by a wall of broad shoulders. I am able to move quickly inside this cavern of safety, and our family is escorted the rest of the way to the Basilica, with its lead-covered domes and turrets. Lifting my skirts, I run up the steps. I can’t believe my arrival at Nicolo’s funeral is so undignified. Tears of shame swell in my eyes, and I wipe them away with a fist.
As we step inside, I’m grateful for the coolness that surrounds me. Lysander is looking at me hard.
“Why are they attacking you?” he asks, his voice somber. “You haven’t killed anybody.”
He suddenly sounds much older than the young man who sat at our table tipsily teasing his new wife, not so many days ago.
I look down at my stained skirts. “Neither has Roberto,” I say coldly. “It’s all such a mess.”
We turn to face the rows of official mourners. I gaze up at the cathedral’s high domed ceiling, which glistens with gold foil. We are surrounded by marble columns and bronze statues. Singers gaze down on us from the choir lofts, and the gilded mosaic ceiling makes my eyes dance. No wonder it’s known as the Church of Gold. It’s an exercise in opulence: Venice at its best—and its worst. After all, we are here because of a good man’s death.
My family walks down the main nave towards a row of seats that have been saved for us. On either side, women are dressed in their finery and men sport silken cloaks, the colors denoting their status. No one looks at us—whether out of respect for Nicolo or distaste for my presence, I don’t know. I spot a space farther back in the church and duck into it, leading Emilia after me.
“I don’t want to be too near the front,” I whisper in explanation. “For Paulina’s sake.”
I can see my friend, her back poker straight as she trains her face on Nicolo’s coffin where it rests near the high altar.
Emilia bobs her head in understanding and I sink onto a bench as Father and Lysander move ahead to take our family’s allotted place. I grasp the wooden bench in front of me, my fingers turning white. Emilia reaches over, takes my hand and holds it in her lap.
Beside Paulina sits the Duchess Besina, Nicolo’s mother. She glances over her shoulder and spots me in the crowd. Standing, she moves past the Doge and walks up the aisle towards me. Others shift in their seats, and I feel a hundred staring eyes. Emilia stands to