Sabina

by C. De Melo

  After casting a critical eye over her reflection one last time, Sabina fetched a fur-lined cloak and met her husband in the main hall. Tommaso complimented her lavishly as they made their way outside. The autumn chill had already set in and Sabina shivered, nuzzling her chin into the cloak’s downy fur.

  Two of Tommaso’s guards accompanied them, each one armed with a deadly rapier. The Medici had many enemies and, since Tommaso was a friend and supporter of the family, he was considered a foe.

  The impressive Palazzo Medici was a striking three-story structure located a stone’s throw from the Basilica of San Lorenzo. The ground floor of the palazzo, which led to the inner courtyard, consisted of open arches. Constructed of heavy rustic stones, it reminded Sabina of a fortress. The second and third floors boasted smooth masonry and double lancet windows, creating an elegant façade. A stone bench wrapped around the exterior of the palazzo.

  They passed the Medici guards and entered the main gate. Sabina was impressed by the series of tall arches surrounding the large square area within the tiled courtyard. Silky white plaster walls and ceilings were paired with smooth gray stone columns the locals referred to as pietra serena. The malleable stone was easy to carve and therefore served a popular building material for many architects.

  “This courtyard design reminds me of the church where we were wed,” Sabina commented.

  “This entire palazzo was inspired by Brunelleschi’s passion for classical lines, but it was designed by Michelozzo,” Tommaso explained.

  Sabina gasped and pointed. “Oh, look!”

  Tommaso smiled at her childlike pleasure at seeing ornate wooden birdcages suspended from every other arch. Each one contained a colorful songbird within.

  Sabina moved toward the birdcages, then stopped when she noticed a bronze statue of David. Depicted as a lithe boy sporting a helmet, he stood coquettishly with the massive decapitated head of Goliath at his feet. An oversized sword was propped at his side. If the sculpture miraculously came to life, there was no way the delicate David would have the strength to wield such a heavy weapon.

  Sabina continued to stare at the sensuous figure as she slowly walked around its base. The feather on Goliath’s helmet was so long that its tip caressed the bottom of David’s buttocks—and beyond. The shocking eroticism made her blush.

  Tommaso moved to stand behind his wife. “It was created by the sculptor Donatello. Elegant, is it not?

  “I’ve never seen David depicted so…so…”

  “Come,” he said, urging her forward. A smile played upon his lips as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  Tommaso informed her that the statue had been privately commissioned almost forty years ago by one of the Medici rumored to have homosexual appetites. Sodomy, although illegal, was rampant in Florence. In fact, in some European cities, the words “sodomite” and “Florentine” were interchangeable.

  They came upon yet another bronze statue set upon a fairly high base, gilded with pure gold. There was nothing erotic about this piece because the two figures depicted were Judith and Holofernes. Judith had just hacked into the neck of Holofernes with her sword. The defeated, dying man was at her feet, and the heroine’s arm was raised to deliver another savage blow.

  “This one is also by Donatello,” Tommaso said. “It’s a fountain—see here?” He indicated a small hole in the sculpted cushion where Holofernes sat, in which water poured out and quietly trickled into a small pool below. “Sometimes, Lorenzo runs red wine through this fountain instead of water, allowing his guests to fill their chalices with the ‘blood’ of the villain.”

  Sabina shuddered in disgust. “Why would anyone want to have such a violent, gruesome statue in a courtyard?”

  “Many foreign dignitaries come here to discuss business and politics with Lorenzo. This contrived statue makes a mighty statement and sends an equally powerful warning.”

  Sabina understood. By instilling fear into the hearts of others, the Medici secured the loyalty of the people. “It’s hard to believe that the artist who carved the elegant David also carved this piece.”

  “Donatello was legend within his own lifetime. A genius, really.”

  Music flowed into the courtyard from inside the impressive palazzo. Tommaso gently took Sabina’s arm and led her toward the sound. They climbed the great staircase and saw the musicians’ horns draped with the coat of arms of the Florentine Republic: a red giglio, or lily, on a white background. As soon as Tommaso’s political companions spotted him, they were drawn into a circle of chatting guests. Sabina had already met many of them at her wedding celebration, so she felt at ease. The men eventually began talking about politics and far-off wars, and the women edged closer together in order to be out of earshot.

  One of the older ladies said, “Sabina is such a lovely young thing, is she not? Una bella fanciulla.”

  “Yes,” another lady agreed, almost begrudgingly.

  “Are you enjoying married life, my dear?”

  “I’m fortunate to have married such a good man,” Sabina replied.

  “I only hope that my daughter can make such an advantageous match.”

  The lady changed the subject by commenting on a new fashion trend, and Sabina listened quietly, contributing little to the conversation. She focused her attention on those around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lorenzo. It was Giuliano who eventually caught her eye as he approached her husband.

  “Tommaso,” he said, placing a hand on the older man’s shoulder.

  “Giuliano, my friend. I haven’t seen you since the day of my wedding. Where have you been?”

  “Where have I been? The question is where have you been?” Giuliano shot back playfully.

  “I’ve been dutifully fulfilling my political obligations at the Signoria, like a good citizen should.”

  “I’m sure my brother has given you many assignments to keep you busy and away from your comely wife,” he teased, tossing a glance at Sabina.

  “Indeed he has,” Tommaso confessed. “But that’s no reason why we can’t see more of each other.”

  “I’m usually running errands or doing some other business for Lorenzo. He’s so busy these days,” Giuliano confided. “But you’re right, there’s no reason for us not to see more of each other—and we will, starting tonight.”

  “I see that your brother has been teaching you the art of diplomacy. Soon, your skill will land you the role of Ambassador.”

  Giuliano blushed slightly at the compliment and turned to Sabina, kissing her hand. “I bid you welcome, Signora. Your presence graces our home.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “The palazzo is truly grand.”

  “My grandfather, Cosimo, wanted to build a palazzo like no other in Florence and I think he succeeded in his goal. I’m glad you like it.”

  “The artwork is divine.”

  “Then we shall make sure that you are a frequent visitor here. My brother is always planning concertos, discourses, banquets—this is not only our home but also the cultural center of the city.”

  Thrilled by the prospect, Sabina said, “I would be honored to be in the presence of so many talented and enlightened people.”

  “Come, Tommaso. Lorenzo is eager to see you and to meet your new wife,” Giuliano said, offering Sabina his arm.

  They walked to the far corner of the large main hall where a chair was set upon a slightly raised platform. Seated like a king on a throne was Lorenzo de’ Medici, elegantly dressed in a brown brocade tunic and black velvet surcoat trimmed with ermine. There was a marble bust of his father beside him. The sculpture was life-sized and Piero looked to be fairly young when it was created; one could see a slight resemblance between father and son.

  Sabina discreetly studied Lorenzo from where she stood. His olive complexion stood out in contrast to his shoulder-length black hair and dark, piercing eyes. A strong jaw jutting slightly outward was contrasted by a generous mouth boasting full lips. His nose, which was long and crooked, afforded him
a harsh profile. He wasn’t nearly as handsome as Giuliano, but he possessed a certain sensuality that was attractive in its own right. She deemed his face to be interesting, yet easily capable of instilling fear upon his enemies.

  Lorenzo unexpectedly turned his head and captured her gaze, causing her face to redden. His eyes bore into her own, giving Sabina the impression that he could read her mind if he chose to do so. The intensity and power he emitted was so great that she shivered. In that moment, she knew without a doubt that beneath the calm and cool exterior existed a lethal man. The image of a cat ready to pounce crept into her mind.

  Sabina knew she should drop her gaze for propriety’s sake, but found she could not. Instead, she stood there staring like an idiot at the most important man in Tuscany. A slow grin spread across his face before he looked away, leaving her mortified.

  What was it about this man?

  “It’s good to see you again, my friend,” Lorenzo said as he rose from his chair to embrace Tommaso. It was a gesture noticed by those who stood nearby. He added cryptically, “Forgive me for not attending your wedding. You knew the problem I had to deal with in the North.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. It’s good to have you back in Florence.”

  “You’ve brought your wife,” Lorenzo said, his eyes taking in Sabina’s shapely form beneath the gown. “She is lovelier than Giuliano described.”

  “Thank you,” Tommaso said, turning to Sabina and urging her forward.

  Lorenzo bent over her hand and lightly brushed his lips against her knuckles. “Welcome to Florence, Signora Sabina. Your beauty graces my home this evening.” To Tommaso, he added, “You will have to be a watchdog tonight, my friend.”

  “It’s an honor to be here and to finally meet you.”

  Lorenzo smiled. “I’m familiar with your family name. In fact, I remember my grandfather speaking highly of Signore Bernardo Rossi. It’s a name you should be proud of.”

  “Thank you. I’ve heard many things about you, Signore Lorenzo,” she said, ignoring her husband’s raised brow.

  “Good things, I hope,” Lorenzo shot back, casting a curious glance in Tommaso’s direction.

  “Oh, yes. Very good things.”

  Tommaso was about to lead his wife away when Lorenzo stopped him with a subtle gesture. “Such as?”

  “I was told that you’re one of the greatest patrons of the arts,” she replied. “You also embrace the new philosophies of our time.”

  “I encourage artists and writers to express themselves freely, yes. After all, man was created by God, therefore, man has much to offer. God creates good things, does He not?”

  “God also created Hell,” she countered.

  “She is a clever one, Tommaso,” Lorenzo commented, his eyes never leaving Sabina’s face. “Yes, but even Hell can be good.”

  “How so?”

  “There are good lessons to be learned. I’m sure you’re familiar with La Divina Commedia?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He spread out his hands. “Well, there you have it.” When Sabina’s brow creased in confusion, he inquired rhetorically, “What do we learn from Dante’s description of Hell? That we should strive to become godly people in life. Otherwise, we may end up with the same fate as those sorry souls doomed to eternal suffering.”

  They laughed and Lorenzo gave Sabina a playful wink. “If you’ll excuse me, Signora, I have to discuss a boring political matter with your husband.”

  “I do not find politics boring in the least. It’s what shapes our society.” Lorenzo raised an amused eyebrow, but Tommaso was not smiling. Fearing she had spoken out of turn, she added, “Forgive me.”

  “I’ll see you at supper, Signora,” Lorenzo said. “I hope you’ve brought your appetite—my cooks have prepared a grand feast. Afterward, I’ll show you the chapel. Tommaso, I believe your wife would enjoy that.”

  “She would indeed,” Tommaso agreed.

  “I look forward to it.” Sabina curtsied to both men and quickly walked toward a page carrying a tray of wine-filled goblets. She selected one, then took a long sip to calm her racing heart.

  Later, during the delicious meal, Sabina noticed Lorenzo’s wife for the first time. Clarice Orsini had descended from her private chambers to dine with her guests. Although she was only twenty-five years old, her plain, high-cut gown made her appear older. Long, delicate fingers graced her hands, and she flaunted an ivory complexion that many women undoubtedly envied. She kept her brown eyes downcast for the most part, and almost every strand of her reddish-brown hair was tucked inside a veiled headdress.

  Lorenzo spoke to his wife occasionally, pointing out different guests or making amusing comments. Clarice returned his attempts at joviality with a wan smile as she picked at her food.

  Tommaso glanced at his wife. “It’s impolite to stare.”

  Sabina looked down at her plate. “I’m too curious for my own good.”

  “It’s natural to be curious about the Medici, especially Lorenzo.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  He took a sip of wine and cleared his throat. “He was only twenty years old when his father died. The Signoria, as well as the heads of many leading families, doubted his ability to assume a position of leadership in the city.”

  “Did you doubt him?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d always known Lorenzo as a kind, sensitive boy. Intelligent, too. He was quiet, kept to himself, and he hated speaking in public. Even now, he’s a man of little words. I grossly underestimated him—we all did. He’s proven himself to be a political genius: strong, cunning, and shrewd. These qualities have gotten him far. Nothing escapes his notice—nothing.”

  “You make him sound intimidating.”

  “There’s no need for you to feel intimidated by him, but be aware with whom you are dealing. Never mistake his silence for weakness, and remember that he can be a formidable enemy if the need arises. Here,” he said, offering her a choice piece of meat from his plate. “Lorenzo is a fair man, good natured, too—until you cross him. I wouldn’t want him as my enemy; therefore, I’m careful not to offend him in any way. You would be wise to follow suit.”

  “I’ll be sure to heed your advice.”

  Seeing the worry in his wife’s eyes, Tommaso decided to lighten the mood. “Lorenzo has quite the sense of humor.” A faraway look came into his eyes, as if recalling a memory, and he chuckled softly. “He used to write poetry when he was a boy. He even recited some for me, once.”

  Sabina’s face lit up with interest. “He writes, too?”

  “He’s been writing poetry since childhood and can also compose music. No doubt he inherited these traits and talents from his mother, who was an accomplished musician.”

  “I see.”

  “Before you get excited, I should warn you that Lorenzo enjoyed writing and singing bawdy carnival tunes. The local Florentines loved them!” Lowering his voice, he added, “He also wrote some tawdry verses full of sexual references to various vegetables. Some would call his work vulgar, but it was all in good fun. He was a spirited lad with an awful voice, causing many to cover their ears when he sang.”

  She stole a glimpse at Lorenzo then stared at her husband in disbelief. “I thought you said he was shy and hated speaking in public.”

  He shrugged. “Not when it came to mingling with the common people. I still have some of the poems Lorenzo wrote when he was a fiery adolescent, but I don’t think them proper for a lady to read.”

  “The raucous youth has become a man to be reckoned with.”

  “Exactly,” he agreed, turning his attention to his food.

  When everyone had eaten to their satisfaction, the musicians struck up a tune and a boy began to sing. The high-pitched voice betrayed that he was castrato. The guests, feeling somnolent after the abundant meal, settled comfortably in their seats to listen and digest. After a few solos, the boy bowed to his audience and left. The m
usicians immediately began playing a livelier melody, encouraging the guests to dance.

  At that point, Lorenzo escorted Sabina and Tommaso to the palazzo’s chapel. As she walked into the space, she gasped aloud in delight. Every wall was frescoed with vibrant colors and heavily detailed with rich, shining gold.

  “It’s magnificent,” Sabina said, turning around in circles before examining each painted scene. “Who is the artist?”

  “My father commissioned Benozzo Gozzoli to paint the interior, but the architectural elements were designed by Michelozzo.” Pointing upward, Lorenzo added, “The ceiling was done by Portigiano but according to Michelozzo’s design.”

  The ceiling was of inlaid wood, painted, and gilded. Sabina was enchanted by the skill so lavishly displayed by Florentine artisans. Turning her attention back to the walls, she stood in silent awe as Lorenzo highlighted details within the scenes.

  “These are the three magi who make their way to Bethlehem and, as you can see, each of them has his own entourage,” he explained. “And there, on the north wall are the portraits of my grandfather, my father, and my uncles—Giovanni and Carlo.”

  “Let us not forget the two princes in the scene,” Tommaso interjected.

  Lorenzo chuckled. “Ah, yes. Those two boys are Giuliano and myself.”

  Sabina’s eyes took in the elaborate costumes of the kings, the carefully rendered pastoral scenes in the background, the serene angels, and the Medici men who were so meticulously portrayed. She noticed that Cosimo was seated on a mule rather than a horse, but the trappings on the animal were of luxurious gold. She walked to the altar and surveyed the Adoration of Christ painted on the panel. She recognized the artist at once.

  “This was painted by Filippo Lippi, was it not?”

  “Brava,” Tommaso said, impressed.

  Lorenzo inquired, “What do you think of our chapel?”

  Sabina clasped her hands together and whirled around. “It feels as if I’m inside a jewelry box filled with gold and precious gemstones.”

  “A fitting comparison. My grandfather was a man of excellent taste, and my father inherited that trait.”