Carpe Diem!

By Daisy Drews

Carpe Diem! is a novel, a love story. It is also a history book dealing with the Renaissance, Reformation, and Discovery. It covers major events, innovations, and changes in the political, economic, social, artistic, religious, intellectual, and scientific areas. The Contarini family members provide access to all of the areas discussed. Although they are fictional, their interactions are with real historical characters. It is a novel way to learn history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781943612123

Book preview

32

Chapter 1

A Small Village About a Day’s Journey to Florence – 1490

Stop! Thief! Carlo Contarini leapt to his feet, inadvertently knocking over his carafe of wine as he did so. The urchin, who had grabbed Carlo’s small leather pouch from where it lay on the table, was already across the square and disappearing into a side alley. Mio Dio! My own fault. If only I hadn’t been so mesmerized, I would have been more attentive, he thought. The object of his rapt gaze had been another youth crouched down by the side of the road that cut through the piazza who had been drawing pictures in the fine dust hewn by centuries of travelers. Carlo turned to find that the youth who had held his attention, had sprung up with agility and was sprinting after the thief. But, the alley he ducked into was not the same and Carlo felt a pang of disappointment; the lad was clearly an accomplice. They must be in cahoots, laughing at having duped me and sharing the few coins I keep in that pouch.

He looked about him and took hold of the upended carafe of wine. Even the katydids were surprised into momentary silence; an occasional coo from one of the ever-optimistic doves interrupted the utter tranquility of the square. Squinting in the bright sunlight that seemed to make the air shimmer before his eyes, Carlo turned and walked into the dark interior of the inn. It was one of two public buildings facing the square and situated at the opposite end of the piazza from a small, but charming, church. Being in that time of day when the intense heat generates a languor, there were few patrons. The owner, a matronly woman, referred to by all as Mona Brigitta, put down the pitcher she had been drying with a linen dish towel and asked him what was amiss.

"Uffa! Some boys have robbed me of my purse. Don’t fret, I still have another hidden away. I was watching the younger one drawing. He was really quite good, I must say."

Nicolo? exclaimed the proprietress. "Nicolo would never steal your money, Sir. You must be mistaken; mischievous, yes, a ladro, no!" Mona Brigitta’s tone indicated that her hackles were raised in defense of the lad.

Well, it’s done. Is Nicolo your son?

No, responded the woman, modifying her tone somewhat. But I look out for him. Father Giulio asked me to take him in when the boy was abandoned a few years ago, and I was happy to do so. He’s a good boy, even if he does waste his time with his fanciful drawing.

All the while she was talking, Mona Brigitta had refilled his carafe and then accompanied Carlo out to his table, which was beginning to be traced with leafy shadows from the nearby acacia tree. Setting it down, she looked across the square and saw Nicolo emerging from one of the alleys and proceeding toward them.

See, here he comes now. I told you he wasn’t a thief.

As the lad came up to them, he held out the leather pouch to Carlo. This is yours, Sir. I don’t think Ronolfo had time to take anything but you had best check.

Carlo took the pouch and poured the coins into his hand. You are right! Thank you. How did you manage to get it? His tone was somewhat skeptical as Nicolo was much younger and of slighter frame than the thief.

Oh, it wasn’t all that difficult. Ronolfo is big but his mind is slow. I ran through a shortcut I know and as he came out of the alley, I tripped him. He dropped the bag so I scooped it up and ran. He is slow, and I am nimble.

Nicolo, for the first time, looked up and smiled at Carlo. His black hair fell back, exposing a clear brow and large green eyes. Carlo sucked in his breath. Mio Dio! I know that face. Where, when? Who does he remind me of?

Well, come and I will reward you for your good deed. Mona Brigitta, a glass of something for our young hero.

Carlo walked over to his horse tethered to a post and lifted the flap of his tooled leather saddlebag. Nicolo had followed him over and was rubbing the horse’s finely muscled shoulder, which rippled in response.

Be careful, Esmeraldo bites. He has a fiery temper, almost took a chunk out of my arm the other day.

Nicolo laughed. "E magnifico. And, not as bad tempered as they say, are you fella?"

The horse belied Carlo’s words, lowering his head to gently blow down his nostrils at the boy who began scratching his silky forelock. Meanwhile, Carlo withdrew a folder and charcoal from his bag and returned to sit at the table.

Come, let us see if you can do more than doodle in the sand.

What is that, Sir? It’s so white. What is it made of? The paper that Father Giulio uses is yellow and much thicker.

Hey, one question at a time. His is probably vellum, made from stretching hides. This is made of rags, quite an interesting process, actually. Instead of stretched animal skin, flax and linen fibers from old rags are mixed in a big vat until the fibers separate and then caught in a flat wire mesh. Felt is used on either side to absorb the moisture and then it is bleached by the sun in the drying stage and, see, it is much lighter in weight as well. And this is a charcoal pencil. One of my daughters loves to draw and I pick up materials for her. Here, pick a subject, and let us see what you can do.

Nicolo took up the charcoal and drew a faint line across his palm.

It will be darker on the paper, but be careful. If you do it too hard, the excess will smudge, Carlo warned.

Nicolo sat at the table opposite Carlo and stared at the paper, seeming to concentrate all of his energy onto that pristine space. He then started to draw. With quick strokes, he followed the vision in his mind. A slight smile began to curve his lips and he worked with a sureness and fluidity that surprised Carlo. Carlo sipped his wine and wondered at finding such a skill in this isolated village. He looked out over the undulating hills and valleys, the flocks of sheep grazing under the wooly clouds that occasionally dotted the sky.

There, it is done! stated Nicolo. Carlo reached over and drew the picture to him. He laughed. Nicolo had drawn Carlo taking the folder from his knapsack and Esmeraldo twisting his head to nip his arm. The likeness was good, very good. The boy had caught the instant of surprise and the slyness of the horse’s action.

You see, Sir, he was only playing.

Carlo chuckled.

Nicolo, Mona Brigitta called from the doorway. "Don’t forget your lessons. Father Giulio will be disappointed if you are late. It is a kindness that he helps you. Vai a desso."

Nicolo stood up to say goodbye but Carlo forestalled him.

"Aspecta an momento, I will come with you." Carlo entered the inn, paid for his fare, and accompanied Nicolo to the opposite end of the piazza. Together they entered the cool interior and were greeted by Father Giulio. Carlo introduced himself and asked if they might speak. The priest looked at him appraisingly. Having heard the name Contarini, he wondered about the simple garments of the man before him, but, as he noted the quality of the fabric, revised his estimation. The house of Contarini was well known for its association with the de Medici, even if they were rival merchants. The older man before him, although not tall, was clearly one who generated respect and command. His hair was graying at the temples, and Father Giulio noted a certain kindness in the laugh lines that gave his face a softer appearance, at odds with the strong nose and firm jaw. Sensing that the gentleman wanted to converse privately, the priest sent Nicolo to replenish the candles in the front of the church.

Tell me. What do you know of this lad? inquired Carlo.

The priest looked at him attentively.

First, if you don’t mind, could you tell me why he is of interest to you? Am I correct in assuming you are of the Contarinis of Florence and, I believe, Venice? You don’t, by chance, have a son named Francesco who is studying canon law at the University of Bologna?

Yes, I am the head of the branch in Florence, I have many relatives in Venice. My son, Francesco is taking orders. My interest in the boy? Carlo paused. Well, I’m not sure. He looks strangely familiar. And, he clearly has artistic talent. Mona Brigitta tells me he was left here a few years ago, Carlo concluded with an inquiring tone.

"That is correct. A young Italian woman and Nicolo lived with a band of zingaris. It seems that the two of them had been traveling with the gypsy band for several years, possibly since Nicolo was a babe, but she and one of the young men wanted to run off to Florence. She didn’t want to take Nicolo with her, but neither did she want to leave him alone with the gypsies. So, she brought him to me. I asked Mona Brigitta if she would take care of him. She has a hard head when it comes to business, but she has a softer heart than she lets on. During the plague, about a dozen years ago, she lost her husband and their three children. Nicolo seemed like a bright lad, I would guess he’s about nine or ten, though he looks younger. I began tutoring him a little in Latin and mathematics. He’s very quick. And, from living with the gypsies, probably, as I speculate from birth, he speaks their language as well."

The two men looked upon Nicolo as he came up the aisle toward them. Carlo bent down on one knee to be on Nicolo’s level.

Will I see you again? the boy asked, almost forlornly.

Carlo was touched and determined on the instant to do something more for the child.

Yes, yes I think you will. How would you like to come and live with me? I have a villa near San Cascane and a house in Florence where I am compelled to spend most of my time running my business.

What do you do?

"I am a merchant, a banker, and occasionally an informal ambassador for the Signoria.

What is the Signoria? asked Nicolo.

The Signoria is the formal government in Florence. Lorenzo de Medici considers me a friend. Perhaps we can put some of your talents to good use. My sons are grown and making their way, but I still have two daughters at home. Caterina is about your age and the little one, Isabella, is seven. Would you like to come and live with us?

You mean it? Forever? Would I have my own horse?

Well, first things first. I presume that anyone raised among gypsies has expertise in riding and Esmeraldo certainly took a fancy to you. Maybe, we’ll see.

The priest smiled at the young boy’s enthusiasm for the projected change.

Come, let us have our last lesson together.

Turning to Carlo, he said he would meet with him later and they would finalize the arrangements.

As Carlo walked back to wait on the shady bench, the sunlight cast a golden hue. He mused over the boy’s history. And what would his wife say of his hasty action? Ah, Sophia would be pleased at the new addition; she was like the Madonna, always caring, serene, and confident of life’s promise.

The next morning, having taken leave of Mona Brigitta and Father Giulio with promises to return, the two of them set off for Florence. Carlo was mounted on Esmeraldo who was tossing his head, impatient to be away, while Nicolo was provided with a Sicilian donkey who was looking at the stallion with good natured disdain, as though to say, What’s your hurry?

Oh, by the way, I remembered that the young woman left this as well.

Father Giulio held up a small leather sack. Carlo took it, opened the drawstring, and turned it upside down. A small gold necklace fell into his palm. Suspended from a thin gold chain hung an oval medallion. On one side was an inscription, and, with quickening heartbeat, Carlo turned it over to see a coat of arms emblazoned in enamel. With a satisfied smile, he took up the other object, a slip of paper, and read the name Leah Romalfi written upon it. Very interesting!

I’m surprised she didn’t keep it, commented Carlo.

Well, I can only surmise that whoever had entrusted her with it, had called upon all of the saints and instilled the fear of God in her to keep her honest. She thrust it on me as though it burnt her fingers, almost as though it were cursed.

How prescient of her, muttered Carlo to himself.

Carlo’s smile was contemplative as he waved farewell. He turned his horse and beckoned for Nicolo to ride alongside him. With a last wave, the two set out on their journey.

By nightfall, we should be in Fiesole. We’ll stay there as they will have locked the gates to Florence. So, you speak Romany, eh?

Yes, Sir.

"Hmm, a difficult language, and