Zuana stands paralyzed. She knows she should move, take hold of her, bring her back, but …
The moment stretches out around them.
The girl smiles. “Thank you,” she says simply.
She turns her attention to the ropes—and as she does so there is sudden movement behind them.
“Get hold of her. Stop her—now!”
It is the voice of the abbess.
Zuana responds involuntarily, throwing herself across the wood, grabbing the girl’s arm, pulling her back while she flails and kicks and yells. Within seconds the abbess is with her, grasping the other arm, wrenching the girl’s fingers off the ropes, and then both of them are dragging her away from the river’s edge, back from the boat toward the open doors, inch by screaming inch, until they cross the storeroom threshold. Anyone within listening distance will be hearing bloody murder now, though being Carnival it might be mistaken for overenthusiastic courtship.
“The keys. Give me the keys, Zuana.”
The abbess lets go of the girl to lock the doors behind them.
“Noooo!” the girl howls in the darkness, breaking free of Zuana again and throwing herself toward that disappearing sliver of freedom between the closing doors. But the abbess is there, blocking her way, and Zuana grabs her again.
“Noooo! Jacopo! Jacopo! Where are you?” The desperation bounces and echoes off the walls.
The door bangs shut, the key turns, and suddenly the outside world is gone: no lapping water, no expanse of night sky, no open air, nothing. Nothing.
“Aaah! No-o-o-o!”
The girl sags, suddenly such a dead weight that Zuana has to let her down onto the floor. The abbess recovers a hooded candle from by the door and, lifting it up, moves over to where the girl is lying, slumped and moaning in Zuana’s arms. She stares at her for a moment, then shakes her head. “It is over,” she says quietly, almost wearily. “It is over.”
But the girl is moaning to herself and does not seem to hear her.
She raises her voice. “You should thank me. You could have waited out there all night and he would still not have come.”
Now she has her attention. “What? What do you mean?”
“I mean he is not here anymore. He left Ferrara two days ago.”
“No! No, you are lying! You don’t know anything about him.”
“On the contrary, I know a great deal. I know for instance that he—Jacopo Bracciolini; that is his name, yes? — is a very fortunate young man. His composing and vocal talents have been recognized, and he has accepted an offer of work in Parma as assistant capella master. You should be happy for him. It means he is saved from the prosecution and imprisonment that would certainly have followed an attempt to kidnap a novice of one of the city’s greatest convents.” She brushes down her skirts, as if this is an ordinary matter of convent business she is now attending to. “Indeed, he is doubly lucky, since I cannot imagine any other employer would have taken him, given that he was dismissed from his last post for the attempted rape of one of his noble pupils.”
“No-o-o-o,” the girl moans.
The abbess waits. She looks at Zuana and shakes her head slightly. While there are things they must talk about, this is clearly not the time.
She bends down and offers the girl her hand. “Come. It would be best if you walked back yourself rather than having to be carried.”
But the girl recoils fiercely from her.
“You think me cruel, no doubt.” And her voice now is almost friendly. “But I am less cruel than he has been. You should know it was not hard to persuade him to abandon you. He does not really care, you see. He may say he does, he may have sworn everlasting love—I am sure he did; you were fruit ripe for picking, and had he been able to trick your father into marriage there would have been money in it for him. But in the end you are not worth the trouble you would cause him. The trouble you would cause all of them. Do you understand?”
But the girl does not answer, just moans quietly to herself.
“The truth is that God cares for you much more than any man ever will. And so will we—however much you might hate us now.”
Now the girl looks up. “You’re wrong. You’re wrong about him. He loves me. He wouldn’t just leave.”
The abbess sighs. “Believe that if you will. But believe this also.” Her tone is harder now. “For the welfare of your family and the convent, this—what happened here tonight—never took place. Is that clear? And if one word of it should become gossip, I will make sure that, however good his voice, Jacopo Bracciolini will spend the rest of his life rotting in a castle prison for gross indecency.” The girl stares at her. “I think you know by now that I can do this.”
She gets up, making a gesture to Zuana to do the same, leaving the girl curled on the ground like a broken doll.
They move quickly into the outer storeroom.
“I must return to the refectory. I have been away too long. You will have to get her back to the cloisters on your own.”
Zuana nods, though it may be too dark for it to be seen.
“Take her to her cell and stay with her until I decide what to do. Can you do that?”
