La Serenissima by Secret Heart
Disclaimer: Do not own Sailormoon.
Thanks very much for all the reviews; and so a longer chapter is out for you! Thanks also to the same lovely people who looked over/edited this chapter. More to say at the end of the story …
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Quia natura mutari non potest idcirco verae amicitiae sempiternae sunt
- Since nature cannot change, true friendships are eternal. (Horace) -
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Chapter 1
"Let me ask again: just who are you? What is your name?"
Her annoyance rose another degree. "You can keep up your inquiries, but then let me repeat again: I am not obliged to tell you. Now go chase after your girlfriend."
Either Endymion chose to ignore her tone of voice, or he was just plain dense. "If not your name, at least tell me who you are. How come you havearoused fear in Francesca? She's a pleasant and obliging girl..."
She narrowed her eyes, disliking the questions that he threw her. "Because I have earned the right to be feared..." She shut up before she revealed anything more.
Endymion ransacked his memory for anyone who he had bedded in this locale. That could be quite troubling, since he had been paying visits ever since he reached the age of understanding - that was, the age of understanding the advantages of being acquainted with women.
Now in his twenty-seventh year of existence, his body was at its prime physique, and yet, his mind could not place the beautiful yet cold woman in front of him. Something must be done. He would not let a woman get the best of him. And goddamn it, she could not act this way! She must desire him!
Obviously, all women in this palace had previously made their way to him. Or shall we say, his disarming charisma, his physical prowess, and his renowned skill at making sex a mutual ecstasy for him and each courtesan had attracted all of them.
Well, almost all, he reprimanded himself.
In this celebrated Venetian 'harem', all the courtesans were of high stature. Well-trained in the art of culture, flirtation, and sexual pleasures, they were thus shared only amongst the men whose families were registered in the official genealogy known as the Livro D'oro, or the Golden Book.
Only the highest Venetian nobilities, with ancient histories reaching back to 12th century and yonder could be inscribed into the illuminated manuscript with a golden brush. And so, he much preferred to frequent this locale above all other ones, especially since these women had the wit and charm to provide titillating and rousing conversations.
But this particular conversation was getting nowhere.
In fact, he was feeling rather frustrated, but he refused to show it. Any sign of weakness in front of a woman could be used against himself.
No. Rather, to get what you want, you must charm your way out, and that had always been his favourite method.
Putting on a falsely dazzling smile, he spoke: "Carina, you mustn't act so distant. We must get to know each other more ... intimately. I know what beauty is when I see it, and she is standing in front of me..."
She made a fake yawn, acting as if she had received thousands of similar comments. How could she be so immune to him?
He grudgingly continued on, barely hiding his impatience. "I know a lot of beautiful women. Hell, my uncle built this palazzo of the lower courts with his wealth and prestige, and so far, no one can resist me. I have been with all of you... "
She raised her brow, and returned a rejoinder. "Well, it seems that not all of us, as you say, have been with you."
Ignoring the barb, he persisted. "But how is it that I have never seen you around these compartments before?"
"Because I have not deemed you worthy enough to know me. It is no accident that you see me now: I chose to be seen," came her retort.
"But why now?" Intrigued, he walked towards her with determined steps. Just as he reached to lift a strand of loose hair from her high cheekbone, she took a step back.
"Unfortunately, that's a mere mistake on my part, and it's only because I'm extremely tired. I wish to go to bed. Now if you would excuse me..."
Endymion interrupted with laughter at the thought of her words.
"Why, carina, this is a most unusual way of enticing a man. I must admit, you have piqued my interest. You confound me: first you refuse to tell me your name and your identity, then, you are so forward as to invite me to bed with you."
"Don't deliberately misinterpret my words, Darien."
He was glancing at how sensuous her hair carelessly hung around her head. But the name quickly woke him up to his dissatisfaction. He strode closely to the woman,edging her into the confines of the wall.
It made him even more irate, the fact that his bold actions did not intimidate her one bit. Her defiant look gave her away.
"How dare you ... where did you learn of that? No one calls me by that name anymore." His eyes narrowed, barely hiding the anger that she so easily created in him. "Just who did you sleep with to get that kind of information?"
She merely scoffed.
"Why, you think that I can only get information by using sex? Men would do anything to converse with me, and many hold me to be their finest confidante."
Her self-confidence was absolutely maddening. His hands fisted in desperation; he was extremely vexed. "Puttana, you bitch! When I find out who you are, you better apologize to me, because I'm going to make you suffer. No one knows calls me that, and is still alive."
She smiled boldly. "Well, I am still alive, and you can't afford to kill me."
One hand shot out to block off her exit. The other hand reaching to the softness of her neck, he grasped her tightly, trying to frighten her. But she refused to bow down or be timid.
"Tell me one good reason why I should not strangle you right now."
"That is because, I am the only one who knows your true identity." She arched her eyebrow as she remarked, "why, I'm surprised at you, Darien. Don't you recognize me anymore?"
Endymion struggled to calm his brain. The only one who knows his true identity...
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He was thirteen. His best friend, ten-year-old Serenio, was barely catching up to his running. With a choked breath he muttered: "Darien, stop it, let me catch my breath!"
Endymion slowed down to wait. "Sery, you're so goddamn weak. Well hurry up then, we must run back before my father catches us out of our duties again."
"Ha, you know that Signori Cavalli is probably aware that we have been sneaking out to the countryside near Careggi. His eyes are all knowing, considering it is an occupational risk for him not to know ..."
"Yes, but he mustn't know that we have also started to eavesdrop on the men of the Platonic Academy and their drunken habits."
"I know. You are so unlike your father, the great condottieri who leads legions of armies into great battles. You certainly possess the same talent of jabbing men straight to death with precision and accuracy. And yet, you silently despise your profession."
"Yes, Sery, we have gone over this so many times. You are the only one who knows where my heart and passion lie. And don't you dare reveal to a single soul that I have been writing poetry."
"Yes, Darien."
"Nor my pseudonym either!"
"Si, si, Darien," Serenio replied with a mocking bow.
"Damn it, Serenio! You can be such a bastard sometimes! I'll start calling you by the nickname that you hate if you don't shut up about it."
"Alright, Endy. Your words are my command."
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He was fifteen. He had been in Florence for two years already, ever since his father signed on the contract with the Medici family to protect the city gates of Florence against papal Rome. Pope Sixtus IV was a great nepotist, so great were his ambitions to lift his Riario relations out of the rot that they deserved to be in, and into wealth and luxury. He would dare to raise a holy army with the royal Aragons of Napoli to invade and conquer the renowned wealth of Florence.
Endymion disliked war with a passion, and much preferred to philosophize and be in harmony with others as much as possible. In that way, he was very much like his friend Sery, who had been together ever since they met at the grand ball that the Medicis threw every year.
At an age when all girls acted too annoying and looked too strange to young boys, they became bored to tears with dancing. It was there that Sery and Endy had bonded. When they began to converse about their shared interest in the symbolisms of Botticelli's paintings and the complex poetry in the writings of Michelangelo, they became fast friends.
Now that he was older, he had been brave enough to sneak into Villa Careggi. Gathered at the villa were the infamous intellects who held Dionysian conversations.
Names such as the rich Lorenzo il Magnifico, Poliziano the humanist, Mirandola the noble heretic, and their teacher Ficino all laid reclining on the indigo couches, achieving ecstasy through philosophy and poetry, through cabalistic mysticisms and invocations.
It was here that Endy had been sneaking in to attend the ceremonial masquerades. Striding in with a mask, he would go by the name of Darien, and enjoyed a mutual comradeship with the rest of the intellectuals. Sery wanted to come, but he was much too young looking, and way too short not to be discovered.
"Endy, come on, you must let me in on the secrets you learned at the Villa. It's not fair that I have to wait for you outside by the shallow willows every day."
He ruffled Sery's hair. "You have a disadvantage of height. It is not my fault that you reach only up to my chin. Lorenzo and Angelo and the rest might recognize you, and you'd blow my cover."
"Lorenzo? Angelo? So you're on first name basis with them now?"
"Why of course. It's a pity you can't be there," he rubbed in, "the atmosphere is so enlightening. Today we debated on the idea of spirituality. Do you believe that there is something out there that controls our actions and that directs our lives?"
"You mean, do I believe in fate."
"Well, if you want to put it that way."
Adamantly, Serenio launched into a lengthy argument. "No, I don't believe in fate or destiny, or god at all, whatever the name goes by. I stopped believing in it a long time ago. Besides, I want to do anything that I want to: I am the master of my own life, and if I can help it, nothing short of death would dictate or impede my path."
"But why, Sery? Why did you stop believing in fate or god, for that matter? Did something in the past change your mind?"
Serenio remained resolutely silent. Endy continued. "We are all taught by our education to attend church services, to love thy enemies and thy neighbors, and so on and so forth. Don't you want to think that there is a girl out there waiting for you to kiss and to love?"
Sery scoffed. "A girl? Schifo! What a disgusting idea!"
"Well, perhaps a boy then, if that is to your ... preference," he said suggestively.
"I don't go that way, Darien, not that there's anything wrong with it."
Trying to divert the conversation away from Endy's nosy questions on his past, Sery declared: "In fact, I heard that Angelo Poliziano, the tutor of Lorenzo's sons and daughters, have been quite intimate with il Magnifo at the Villa Careggi. Are you going to spill?"
Endy looked mischievous. "Of course not. I am sworn to absolute secrecy. Anything that happens in the villa stays at the villa."
"Come on! That's so not fair!" He complained half jokingly, half seriously. "I won't cover for you the next time your father asks me where you have disappeared to."
"Ha, you know what? I'll tell you if you beat me on the race home." Endy laughed wholeheartedly, and failing to see Sery's determined face, started to run off into the distance, closer to the place that he once called home.
Serenio slowed down, and watched silently as Endymion disappeared below the slope of the hill. He said silently to himself: "Why are you always making me run after you? It's as if our friendship is entirely composed of me trying to catch a hold of you."
Serenio was jealous that Endy refused to impart secrets to him. He promised himself to never be the chaser again. To never be used. Why should he always defend Endymion in front of his suspicious father, when he would never share the knowledge he reaped from the Villa? How could he be so selfish?
Why was he so stupid as to still be Endy's friend? Endymion, the boy who had all the good looks, the wealth, the intellect and the physique that would one day allow him to woe all the girls. He was the raven-haired boy that he fell in love with the day he sneaked into the Medici Palazzo to stare at the beautiful gowns, the dainty slippers of the girls and the handsome faces of the boys as they danced to the regal tunes of Italian madrigals. It was not fair at all. One thing Serenio learned from this useless friendship was that knowledge was power, since Endymion had so much hold over him, so much power over him.
He must not be weak anymore. He must not chase after Endy anymore: Serenio's desire now was to learn as much as he can by himself, and to use knowledge as a tool. He turned away, barely avoiding the shrubs planted near the edge of the Cavalli property, and headed towards his house.
Meanwhile, unaware that his father had refused to extend his protection in the midst of the intense war outside the gates of Florence if the Medici would not fund a larger salary for his men, Endy ran up the path to the gates of his temporary home. But Signori Cavalli was already making preparations to take his leave, and without so much as a word, swiftly hauled his entire family back to their hometown of Venice by the same evening.
Little did he know that Sery made a resolution to hate him. And little did he know that after that evening, he would never see Sery again.
Until now.
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As usual, please review! Grazie!
And to all previous reviewers: I am surprised by your enthusiastic responses! Wow! Thanks! Anyway, the inspiration was basically from non-fictional sources: a 4am studying insomnia for a midterm. I was going over notes on Venezia - Il Serenissima - and I thought, HEY Serenity! ... and then everything took off from there. As to inspirational fictional sources, I'll write down a few names in a more pertinent chapter. (J. Carey seems interesting, but I have never read her before. And also, I am pretty sure I didn't make any careless mistakes:I quadruple-check my work, but if you notice any problems, be sure to inform me! Thanks!)
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Italian terms:
carina/cara: dear, darling
schifo: shit, or yuck
Signori: Mister
condottieri: a mercenary military leader
Il Magnifico: the Magnificent; also Lorenzo de'Medici's famous nickname
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