The Plague Doctor's Daughter

10. Giovanna

Giovanna didn't know how to answer her friend's painfully blunt question, but it was no doubt meant to be rhetorical. After all, Ottavia's views on the merits of the opposite sex had been defined for some time, unabashedly revealed after her mother died birthing what would have been her youngest sibling. As not only her father's first male heir, but also potentially the only one to carry on the Michiel family name, the baby was highly anticipated, greatly celebrated, and bravely sustained, yet he also did not survive childbed. It was then that Giovanna—barely pubescent herself—had first noticed that her friend looked upon men with obvious disregard. On a night similar to this, as they cuddled while sharing their thoughts, she finally asked about it. Ottavia's answer was surprisingly unsurprising.

Ottavia did not scorn boys because she disapproved of sword playing at sunset in the courtyard of the Accademia, disfavored langoustine catching at dawn under the long pier at the Arsenale, or disliked wine drinking with foreign dignitaries after supper at Ca' Fortuny. She would have rather just done any of it herself—or even better yet, with a pretty girl—instead of relegating the opportunity to a pompous, useless boy.

After all, in Ottavia's eyes girls were just as capable, if not more so than their masculine peers. And the traits that men liked to bring up as evidence of girls' weakness? Why, those were the true indicators of their strength, leadership, and wisdom. Because girls did not dismiss crying as something reserved merely for infants, and girls listened—truly listened—instead of talking over each other. They also did not demand, but rather requested. Nor did they assume, but instead asked. And, as Ottavia happily pointed out, never did girls argue, but alternatively, they persuaded. Yet while all of these justifications should have been reason enough, Ottavia still had her most straightforward, and therefore strongest, argument to make.

"Honestly, girls are just less tiresome," she had said with a laugh, but Giovanna knew from the dour expression that consequently befell her friend that there was pain behind the lighthearted words. For it was plainly evident that Ottavia's heart favored a mistress, not a master. And in their world, she could never live openly with whom she ultimately loved. Never had that been clearer than now—when at the whim of men—Ottavia's future was once again decided for her.

"I'm sure it all won't be terribly bad," Giovanna said in a lame attempt at consolation, trying to find any positives in the bleak situation. "The Grimanis occupy one of the finest palazzos in all of Venice, and you'll likely have the grandest wedding the city has seen in decades."

Ottavia scoffed. "And what thereafter? It has been bad enough with Nicco's spies keeping track of my every move, but now I'll have the whole city's tongues wagging any time I set foot outside. Not all of us can be so lucky as to have our husbands sent off to war from which they'll most likely never return," she said.

Giovanna rolled onto her back and threaded her fingers together over her stomach. Lucky. It was an odd word to describe her predicament. Was she lucky to be legally and sacramentally bound to a man she barely knew at just sixteen years of age? Or was she lucky that her father had the foresight to choose a suitor to provide her with his name and pension if he were to fall in service to his homeland? Perhaps her luck came from having her husband around for just a few short weeks before he was called to the battlefield, effectively leaving her to do as she pleased in his absence? The distinction probably didn't matter in Ottavia's eyes. Only the prospect of having a few extra months of life as a carefree maiden had allowed her to accept her own matrimonial fate so readily.

Yet it mattered to Giovanna. She didn't consider herself lucky because of those reasons, but rather in spite of them. It was true that the relative freedom she currently enjoyed came at the price of her husband's absence, and even so, she had been responsible for her own prosperity and well-being.