Veronica COURTESAN Read Online Free

neck long, hands folded, I’m wearing my favourite of the second-hand dresses, deep blue silk with pale cream heavily-embroidered sleeves. The bodice is trimmed with gold to draw attention to the plunging neckline. My breasts have been forced upwards to such an extent that my nipples are peeking out over the top. Wide skirts billow from the jewelled v-shaped band below my waist. The dress contains so much material I hope the Doge is not out and about, for he has approved a law limiting the display of sumptuous clothing not only by courtesans, but by the wives of the patricians who govern this floating city. Such apparel is deemed to be wasteful and challenges male authority. Ha!
    I wonder about the Doge, who wears white-and-gold regalia, and is picked by means of a series of secret ballots so complicated that Mamma cannot explain the process to me. When he die s – as this one will soon enough, I think, for I’m told he’s as wrinkled as an old prune, his family will be excluded from the next ballot. In this way Venice prides herself on being a true republic. Ah, Venice. How I love my city. Venice: the best, most beautiful, most ancient, most just, most peaceful. Venice – la Serenissima – the Most Serene Republic. Why do I feel this way? I’ve never been anywhere else, but I’ve read our history and have compared it with that of the other Italian states. Truly, there is no comparison.
    I think about our politicians, who wear long, dark coats, cloths like togas thrown over one shoulder, and the simplest of black caps on their heads. When I was a child, Mamma would take me to mass at St Mark’s and I’d see them gathered in the square like a flock of well-kept crows. Only men have political power. Sometimes, I wish I’d been born a boy, but not today. Today, dressed up like I am, I’m relishing my femininity.
    There’s a freshness in the air, signalling the end of summer. I want to draw my shawl around my shoulders, except I’m here to put on a show. Has anyone noticed me? We pass a boatload of men dressed in the bright red robes of senators; their necks swivel at the sight of us. Mamma has already received a bid from Jacomo, but she wants to be sure his is the highest.
    She’s worked wonders with my hair; she’s coaxed and teased it into feathery curls at my brow, ringlets around my cheeks, and the rest of it falls in slow, rolling waves down my back.
    We do not alight for to do so would attract unwelcome attention. Courtesans are tolerated, indeed their taxes swell the coffers of the Senate, but the way I’m dressed would be deemed too extravagant.
    There are men standing in groups below the twin pillars of justice. Except ’tis not the merchants who catch my eye, but the cooling embers of a large fire.
    ‘What happened there?’
    Mamma sighs. ‘’Tis where they burnt a sodomite last Wednesday.’
    ‘Who did the burning?’
    ‘The State Inquisitors, cara .’
    A chill, and my teeth chatter. The pyre has cast a blight upon the afternoon and I suggest to Mamma we return home.
     

     
    I’m waiting for Jacomo to arrive. Relief washes through me that he’s won the bid, for I wouldn’t like to give my so-called virginity to a man I’ve never seen before. For a short while, Mamma and I feared Papa would ruin the evening. He came home, roaring drunk and demanding even more wine. Mamma gave him a flagon full and now he’s snoring in his chamber; he should stay that way until morning. We hope.
    I’m nervous; my hands are shaking. Will Jacomo di Babolli be kind to me? The plug of pigs’ blood is in place, and I’m dressed in such finery I’m like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. We purchased this gown yesterday and ’tis my new favourite: emerald green silk stitched with seed pearls, the skirt and train has used so much cloth the Doge would deem it scandalous.
    A knock at the door, and Mamma ushers Signor Jacomo into the room. We’ve splurged on beeswax candles rather than tallow, but, not having been