Peeking out from behind the column, Giulietta was able to make out her handsome Romeo in the crowd of nobles-unless she was mistaken, he was stretching and looking around for her, too, getting more and more frustrated that he could not see her anywhere-and next to him stood a man who could only be his father. She felt a surge of joy when she saw them, knowing that they were both determined to claim her as a member of their family, and when she saw them approaching her uncle Tolomei, she could barely contain herself. Moving discreetly closer, from column to column, she tried to bring herself within hearing range of the men without their discovering her presence. Fortunately for her, they were all too absorbed in their heated conversation to pay attention to anything else.
“Comandante!” exclaimed her uncle Tolomei, when he saw the Marescottis advancing. “Tell us, is the enemy at the gates?”
“The enemy,” replied Comandante Marescotti, nodding curtly at the man with the animal eyes standing next to her uncle, “is already here. His name is corruption, and he does not stop at the gate.” He paused briefly to allow for laughter. “Messer Tolomei, there is a matter of some delicacy that I would like to discuss with you. Privately. When may I pay you a visit?”
Tolomei looked at Comandante Marescotti, clearly mystified. The Marescottis might not have the riches of the Tolomeis, but the torch of history shone upon their name, and the Marescotti family tree had surely sprouted in the camp of Charlemagne, five centuries ago, if not in Eden itself. Nothing, Giulietta suspected, would please her uncle Tolomei more than to enter into a business venture with someone of that name. And so he turned his back to the man with the animal eyes and opened his arms. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
Comandante Marescotti hesitated, unhappy about the public setting and the ears surrounding them on all sides. “I cannot imagine,” he said, diplomatically, “that Messer Salimbeni would find our business very entertaining.”
Hearing the name Salimbeni, Giulietta felt her whole body stiffen with fear. Only now did she realize that this man with the animal eyes-the one who had elicited motions of humility from Monna Antonia just a moment ago-was the man responsible for the murder of her family. She had spent many hours imagining what this monster might look like in person, and now that he finally stood before her, she was shocked to see that, apart from his eyes, he did not look the part.
She had imagined someone square and unforgiving, whose whole body was built for war and molestation; instead she saw a man who had surely never wielded a weapon of his own, and who looked as if his arts were those of rhetoric and the dining room. There could be no greater contrast between two men than there was between Comandante Marescotti and Messer Salimbeni; one was an expert at war, yet desired nothing but peace, the other had civility draped around him as a robe, but, underneath his fine fabrics, lusted for conflict.
“You are mistaken, Comandante,” said Salimbeni, enjoying his own power over the conversation, “I am always intrigued by any business that cannot wait until morning. And as you know, Messer Tolomei and I are the best of friends; surely he would not scorn my”-Salimbeni was honest enough to chuckle at his own choice of words-“humble advice on his very important business affairs.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the Comandante, wisely bowing out, “but you are right. This can wait until the morning.”
“No!” Romeo was incapable of walking away without having stated their business, and he stepped abruptly forward before his father could hold him back. “It cannot wait! Messer Tolomei, I wish to marry your niece, Giulietta.”
Tolomei was so utterly surprised at the straightforward proposition that an immediate response was impossible. He was not the only one silenced by Romeo’s impulsive interference in the men’s discussion; everywhere around them, people were stretching to see who would have the nerve to speak next. Behind the column, Giulietta held a hand to her mouth; she was thoroughly moved by Romeo’s determination, but horrified that he had spoken so impulsively, against his father’s wishes.
“As you can hear,” said Comandante Marescotti, with remarkable calm, to the gaping Tolomei, “I would like to propose a marriage between my oldest son, Romeo, and your niece, Giulietta. I am sure you know that we are a family of means as well as reputation, and, with all due respect, I believe I can promise that your niece would experience no decrease in comfort or status. After my death and upon the succession of my son, Romeo, as patron of the family, she will become mistress of a large consortium comprising many households and extensive territory, the details of which I have outlined in a document. When would be a good time for us to visit, that I may give you the document in person?”
Tolomei did not reply. Odd shadows traversed his face, like sharks circling their victims beneath the water’s surface, and he was clearly in a state of anguish, searching for a way out.
“If you are concerned,” Comandante Marescotti went on, not entirely pleased with the hesitation of the other, “for her happiness, it is my good fortune to be able to assure you that my son has no objections to the marriage.”
When Tolomei finally spoke, his voice held little encouragement. “Most generous Comandante,” he said, grimly, “you do me a great honor by making such a proposal. I shall peruse your document and consider your offer-”
“You shall do no such thing!” Salimbeni stepped in between the two men, furious to have been ignored. “I consider this matter settled.”
Comandante Marescotti took a step back. He might be an army commander and always prepared for foul sneak attacks, but Salimbeni was more dangerous than any foreign enemy. “Excuse us!” he said. “I believe Messer Tolomei and I were having a conversation.”
“You may have all the conversations you like,” Salimbeni shot back, “but that girl is mine. It is my one condition to maintain this ridiculous peace.”
Due to the general uproar following Salimbeni’s outrageous demand, no one heard Giulietta’s cry of horror. Crouched behind the column, she pressed both hands against her mouth and sent up an urgent prayer that she had somehow misunderstood the men’s conversation, and that the girl in question was not her, but someone else.
When she finally dared look again, she saw her uncle Tolomei stepping around Salimbeni to address Comandante Marescotti, his face contorted in embarrassment. “Dear Comandante,” he said, his voice unsteady, “this is, as you say, a delicate matter. But surely, we can come to some agreement-”
“Indeed!” His wife, Monna Antonia, finally dared speak again, this time to throw herself obsequiously at the frowning Comandante. “I have a daughter, fully thirteen, who would be an excellent wife for your son. She stands over there-see?”
The Comandante did not even turn his head to look. “Messer Tolomei,” he said, with as much patience as he could still muster, “our proposal is for your niece Giulietta alone. And you would do well in consulting her on the matter. These are not the barbarous ages, where a woman’s wishes can just be ignored-”
“The girl belongs to me!” snapped Tolomei, angry that his wife had intervened, and unhappy to be the victim of a lecture, “and I can do with her as I choose. I thank you for your interest, Comandante, but I have other plans for her.”
“I advise you to consider this more carefully,” said Comandante Marescotti, taking a warning step forward. “The girl is attached to my son, whom she considers her savior, and she will most certainly give you grief if you ask her to marry someone else. Especially someone”-he cast a disgusted glance at Salimbeni-“who does not seem to appreciate the tragedy that befell her family.”