A painter’s apprentice (chapter 1-6)_(2)

A painter’s apprentice (chapter 1-6)
Chapter 1
Sixteen year old Lucrezia lay huddled for warmth. She was half delirious, soaked from the rain and chilled down to her core. But she preferred this to what was waiting for her back home.
Suddenly she felt two hands wrap gently around her shoulders. She knew without a doubt that they weren’t the rough hands of a man, but the soft hands of a woman. Even in her exhaustion their touch seemed to stir up some mysterious desire in her flesh. They were warm and soothing on her bare skin. Maybe she had just imagined them, but they made her feel safe, and she could conjure no strength do anything but put all of her trust in them. Suddenly she heard a silky voice whispering in her ear and opened her eyes to see a woman’s face.
“Hello. It’s going to be all right. I’m Mesalina.” Lucrezia had been running all night and was so exhausted she could only nod her head feebly. “You nearly died of the cold. I found you huddled behind the barn.” She was now dry and wrapped in a blanket. “You have nowhere to go?” She shook her head listlessly. Mesalina’s hands were still soothing Lucrezia’s trembling skin. Even in this state, the attention that this woman was giving her made her briefly aware of a fluttering in her stomach, and a brief tingling between her thighs. It only lasted for a split second. She hoped it would pass. It was like when she saw a pretty girl at the market. She couldn’t explain it, and it troubled her. “I think I might be able to help you.” Lucrezia let her head drop weakly into Mesalina’s lap. She had no choice but to trust her. She needed help. She surrendered. She didn’t care what happened anymore. Anything was better than what was waiting for her back home.
Since Lucrezia was little her father worked her to the bone as a milkmaid, and he sold the milk, butter and cheese at the market.
She went to mass every Sunday. She loved the incense, the choir, the windows, and the arched vaulting in the ceiling. She seldom listened to the priest and didn’t like the way he shouted. The cathedral stood in the center of the village of Vitellino, with a steeple for all to see and bells for all to hear. All of the other buildings were sagging, and dismal, but the cathedral was the people’s pride. Lucrezia felt honored to be in its presence.
What she loved most of all was a painting in the center of the altar. It was of a bloodied man nailed to two beams of wood being carried down a crowded road. She hadn’t listed to the priest enough to know with certainty, who the man was, but for some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. She felt immediately sorry for him and was transfixed by the paint strokes. They were as luminous as the stained glass. His bloody naked body was so vivid and life-like it was made beautiful. It seemed there was some innate feeling in her that was so stirred by the painting it made her insides ache. She couldn’t explain it. She would sit in her pew and dream of being an artist as great as whoever painted the altarpiece.
Her mother had died when she was a small child and her father, Jacopo Della Rizzi said it was because of the falling sickness; she perished of epileptic fits. There was no further need for explanation because she could still remember them; her mother collapsing and going rigid, her limbs trembling and her body writhing, and the incoherent mumbling afterwards.
Father Bellicci at first concluded that the fits were brought on by demons. After several unsuccessful attempts to cast them out, he moved onto other remedies.
“This,” said father Bellicci, giving Jocopo a ring “is made of iron and carries the blessing of St. valentine. It cures falling sickness.” Jacopo sought remedy after remedy until his wife finally went into a fit on the floor and writhed until her face turned blue and her body went cold and still for good.
From that day on they never went to mass again. Jacopo began to beat Lucrezia, and forced her to milk and tend the cows from sunup to sundown. He drank away their wages and left Lucrezia cold and hungry.
She thought of the painting at the altar. The man’s ribs were protruding and gnarled like dead branches and in them she saw her own hunger. His eyes were rolled back in pain and in the man’s eyes she saw her own suffering.
“Why don’t we go to mass again?” She asked Jacopo timidly. Jacopo’s eyes suddenly brimmed with hatred, but he kept his composure.
“You’re dumb aren’t you, little whelp? Do you even know what Father Bellicci preaches about every Sunday?” Lucrezia looked down, her face red, and shyly dug her toe into the dirt. She didn’t want to be called dumb and longed to prove her father wrong, but realized that she had no idea what father Bellicci preached about, since she never listened. “He preaches about giving to the poor! Why then, does he try to build the grandest cathedral in all of Tuscany while the peasants go hungry?” Lucrezia didn’t know. “He’s a god damn liar!”
“The choir boys, they have the voices of angels, no? Why do their voices never change? Their voices never get deeper as they age. Why?” Lucrezia didn’t know. “Because they’ve been castrated like steers.” He paused for a moment to relish the horror on Lucrezia’s face. “Father Bellicci preaches about chastity while he fucks the altar boys. What do you think he’d do to your cunt if he got the chance?” Lucrezia said nothing. She never asked about mass again.
Lucrezia was now sixteen and a half years old. She was thin from hunger, but her eyes were large and bright and her hair almost black. She still thought of the altarpiece and dreamed of the day she could meet the artist and praise him for his subtle brilliance.
She once traced the form of the dying man onto a scrap of wood using a piece of lead. She was concentrating on capturing the curves of his form and the expression on his face from memory when her father walked into the barn.
Jacopo was accompanied by his neighbor, Giovanni. Their lips were stained purple with wine.
“You never told me you were an artist, little whelp. Why, this could be a gift for the Medici! Fit for the popes ceiling!” he said with a smirk. With that, he snapped it in half over his knee then, threw the pieces into manure.
“You should send her to Florence to apprentice the great Michelangelo!” Giovanni slurred drunkenly.
Jacopo flung her into the stall of his tired old mare and threw a shovel at her knocking her backwards into the filth. “Make yourself of use! No more of this silly scribbling!”
Later that day as always, she met her father at the market to bring home the leftover milk that hadn’t been sold. The jug was just as heavy as always, and it took all the strength she could conjure just to keep her body upright. Her head slumped in effort, she glanced absent-mindedly at a pair of feet in polished leather boots that stopped in front of her.
“Hello Lucrezia.” She looked up and what she saw bewildered her. It was Marco santacelli; the richest man in vitellino, and he had addressed her by name. She dropped her head.
“H-hello.” She stammered meekly.
“Does your father have any cheese left to sell?”
“N-no. He sold it all” and he nodded
“Ah. That’s a shame. I’ll ask him tomorrow.” She didn’t respond. She stared dumbly as he walked away trying to make sense of the encounter. Why did he know her name? When she had recovered from the bewilderment her eyes happened to glimpse the waist length blonde hair of Mia Liberto. Her stomach fluttered. She barely knew Mia and these feelings perplexed and troubled her.
Still disoriented, her eyes fell upon Filippa Materazzi and her brother Sandro. She Froze. Hopefully they hadn’t seen her. Maybe if she walked away fast enough they wouldn’t notice. Their father Dante Materazzi was one of the richest men in the village and whenever they saw her, they taunted her mercilessly. Suddenly the milk jug was snatched from her shoulder and when Lucrezia reached for it she was knocked off of her feet onto her back, producing a startled yelp.
“Squeals like a rat!” remarked Sandro.
Filippa was older than Lucrezia. She looked about eighteen and was easily twice her size.
“Hello, little Lucrezia!” she beamed mockingly. “Coming from the market? Did you make enough money to eat today? I noticed you talking to Marco Santachelli. Do you really think He’d want a poor milkmaid?” Lectretia stared, not quite comprehending her question. “We have a dim little peasant girl here, haven’t we? rumor has it, little Lucrezia, that he’s looking for a wife. Don’t waste your breath, little peasant. He’ll take a rich girl.” She got timidly to her feet and raised the milk jug back to her shoulder.
“H-he wanted to buy cheese.” Filippa smirked, and Lucrezia prayed they would let her leave in peace but Filippa continued to follow her.
“Haven’t seen you at mass in a while, little Lucrezia. Why’s that?” When she didn’t answer she was deliberately tripped and her face landed in the mud and the milk sloshed all over her. They howled with mirth. “Just trying to keep you virtuous, little milkmaid!”
Lucrezia dreaded returning home with the empty milk jug, but what she saw froze her where she stood. Marco Santacelli was seated facing Jacopo, and from what she could tell they’d been discussing a serious matter. When their eyes fell on her she scurried out of the room.
“How old is she?” Marco asked
“Sixteen,”
“Has she bled yet?”
“yes.”
She listened in a cold panic. Suddenly Filippa’s words ran through her head; “He’ll take a rich girl,” and they gave her some comfort.
“Was her mother healthy? Was she fertile?”
“She was at first very fertile. She became pregnant within two weeks of marriage. She was very healthy too. She developed fits from the falling sickness, but that was all my doing. I swear she didn’t pass on any bad blood to Lucrezia. You see, I had hoped so much for a son. I had waited all those months. When I was handed a daughter it so angered me. I pushed her mother down the stairs. I hadn’t meant to knock her down a whole flight, but I didn’t know my own strength. She hit her temple and was out cold for the rest of the day. That’s when the fits started. It was caused by the fall. Before that she had been healthy.”
Lucrezia had never been told this and it turned her stomach. To her further horror, Marco gave a snort of amusement. “I always say women are to be used like chamber pots! Hidden away once a man has pissed in them!” They both erupted into roaring laughter.
“Whenever her mother she had a fit, she had a miscarriage. I took her to the priest because that lying old jackass said he could cure her falling sickness. I took her to mass every Sunday! Really all I wanted was a son.”
“Very well! Where is she?” They found her huddled on the floor where she’d sat listening.
“Lucrezia,” said Jacopo bending over. “Marco santacelli has asked for your hand in marriage.” She stared numbly.
“I don’t need a rich girl,” said Marco. “I’ve been watching you for a while at the market, and you’ve caught my eye. I’ve married and buried several well-connected girls. Two died in childbirth, and one died of a fever. I’ve made enough alliances for the time being. I have plenty of money and a rich man should have a pretty wife. I don’t need a large dowry. “
“From now on,” brayed Jacopo, “It will be nothing but silver, gold and pearls for you, little milkmaid! Feather beds! Crystal glasses! Ambergris! And a house fit to entertain the Medici!”
“Now Jacopo, if you don’t mind I’d like to get a look at her.” At those words, Jacopo left them alone together. Marco studied her appraisingly. She looked at him furtively. He was twice her age. His teeth were yellowed with a blackened crust in the gaps. An enormous hairy gut spilled over the top of his trousers, which he never bothered to cover with his shirt. She couldn’t help but feel repulsed. At last he spoke.
“You’re very pretty, Lucrezia.” He began to tug at her clothes, loosening her dress. She tried to pull away, but he held her still. He ignored her whimpers and continued to undress her.
“Your father says you’ve bled?” She nodded.
“You’re fertile?”
“I-I don’t know!” She whimpered.
“As soon as we’re wedded we’ll find out, I have no sons either.” Finally she stood trembling and naked, squirming under his gaze. Then he started to run his hands over her body.
“First, lets make sure you’re a virgin!” One hand clutched her young breast and the other went between her thighs and prodded where she was most tender. She felt a panic welling up.
He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to her knees. He held her by the hair. He unbuttoned his trousers. He pressed her face closer to him.
“Don’t worry. This doesn’t spoil your virginity, my little peasant. You’ll still have some worth.”
He smelled rotten. Her mind was reeling. Her limbs flailed outwards in shock. She had launched herself away from him and she bolted clumsily out of the room and down the hall. Jacopo simply gaped in astonishment but he was standing between her and the door. She seized a wine bottle and hurled it through the window, and launched herself through the shattering glass.
She looked down in a frenzy to discover she was still naked. She savagely tore a curtain from the window and ran. She ran past the market. Faces gaped in amazement, but she ran past them.
“What have we here? Little Lucrezia!” a familiar voice gloated.
“Stop her!” roared Jacopo.
She was suddenly thrown to the ground. She squirmed frantically and finally freed herself from the grasp of Filippa Materazzi. She wrestled the curtain from Filippa’s hands as she bellowed with pitiless amusement.
She ran past the cathedral and straight out of vitellino. Her legs began to ache, then they went numb. Every time she thought of stopping she heard shouting and saw a dim glimmer of torches. The clatter of hooves. Cold rain stung her body. She did not know how long she had been running but she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. She ran as fast as she could past sundown and all through the night, refusing to let her body collapse, while the icy rain chilled her blood and numbed her to the core.
She looked up to see a dark shape looming in front of her. She was stiff and weak. Her vision was clouding over. Her mind was foggy. Her hand met splintered wood. There was a triangular roof. A door. If she knocked might someone come for her? Might someone help her? If she just knocked…
There was hay. There came a soft neigh from inside. A horse? It was a barn… It shielded her from the razor-sharp wind, and the rain. She would rest here for a little while. Just for a little while…


Chapter 2
It was Mesalina Pompeo who found Lucrezia. Who brought her inside the barn and wrapped her in a blanket to rest.
Suddenly the blanket was pulled off of her and the cold prickled her skin.
“You found her behind the barn, Mesalina? Why doesn’t she have any clothes?”
“I don’t know. That’s how I found her.”
“I don’t want her. She’s skin and bones. She looks like she could barely lift a candlestick. Send her back outside.”
Lucrezia listened lethargically to the two speakers not quite comprehending that they were talking about her. She vaguely remembered Mesalina, and her soothing hands, and dimly recalled that Mesalina had promised to help her somehow… She hoped she would…
“It won’t be hard to fatten her up. What’s your name?” She was gently nudged, and realized that she’d been asked a question.
“Lucrezia.” She murmured softly.
“This is Severina Sacci,” she said indicating an older woman next to her. “She’s looking for a maid. Are you willing to work?