Sabina

by C. De Melo

  Cecilia saw that the angel was leading the man away from the Righteous and back toward the Damned congregated at Christ’s left.

  Angelina continued, “He represents the majority of us on Judgement Day. Once we realize that we’re doomed, we’ll attempt to sneak over to the other side.” At that point, she laughed. “I know I will!”

  Cecilia was horrified that Angelina found such a notion humorous, but she was even more disturbed when Sabina muffled a giggle.

  “I’m going to sit in the courtyard for a moment,” Cecilia said coolly. “I think I may have had too much wine, and I need to clear my head.”

  Sensing her sister’s unease, Sabina offered, “I’ll accompany you.”

  Angelina shivered. “Are you daft? It’s cold outside.”

  Cecilia glared at Angelina with unmasked contempt before walking away. Sabina followed closely behind.

  “That girl is intolerable,” Cecilia whispered as they descended the stairs. “Who is she, anyway?”

  “One of the biggest gossipmongers in Florence.”

  “Please tell me she is no friend of yours. Her lack of respect for Christ’s divine judgment is deplorable.” Sabina merely shook her head, prompting Cecilia to add, “Is Angelina a courtier at the palazzo?”

  “This isn’t a royal court,” Sabina corrected. “Florence is a—”

  “Republic. Yes, I know. What exactly is Angelina’s relationship to Lorenzo?”

  “A distant cousin.”

  Cecilia smirked. “Cousin? I may not be as sophisticated as you are, Sabina, but it’s clear that she’s on intimate terms with him.”

  “There’s no proof of that.”

  “She speaks of him as though she owns him—Lorenzo this and Lorenzo that. What more proof do you need of a woman’s obsession with a man?”

  “You’re right, sister,” Sabina agreed. “She did make a good point about the cold weather, however. Let’s stay inside where it’s warm.”

  “Fine, but I would appreciate it if we could avoid Signora Angelina.”

  “Signorina,” Sabina reminded her.

  “What that impertinent girl needs is a stern, religious husband to set her straight.”

  “I do not doubt it. Come, let’s socialize a bit, shall we?”

  While they chatted with a group of older ladies, Sabina noticed Tommaso’s grim expression as he stood beside Giuliano and several of Lorenzo’s men. When the men dispersed, Sabina excused herself and sought out her husband. Cecilia remained behind, engrossed in a deep conversation about the expansion of a local church.

  Taking her husband’s arm, she inquired, “You seem upset, Tommaso. Is everything all right?”

  “Jacopo de’ Pazzi had the nerve to show his face here tonight.”

  “Was he not invited?”

  “Of course not! You know the Pazzi are enemies of the Medici.”

  “I saw two members of the Strozzi family here tonight,” she countered. “I thought they were enemies, too.”

  Tommaso waved his hand dismissively. “The Strozzi are mere rivals. It’s different with the Pazzi.”

  “How did he get in? Medici guards are posted around the entire palazzo.”

  He indicated a pretty woman across the room with flowing hair the color of honey and skin as pale as alabaster. “That is Fiona, younger sister of the famed beauty, Simonetta Vespucci. Fiona saw Jacopo slip past the guards, nestled within a group of guests.”

  Famed beauty? “Is Jacopo still here?”

  “No, he was escorted out.”

  Sabina cleared her throat and inquired, “Who is Simonetta Vespucci?”

  “She was Botticelli’s favorite model and is considered to be the ideal of feminine beauty—at least here in Florence.”

  “Oh.”

  “Unfortunately, La Bella Simonetta died in April of last year.”

  “Such a shame. If Simonetta was as lovely as Fiona, I can understand why women strive to look like her.”

  “Me, too,” he agreed a bit too readily for Sabina’s taste.

  “My complexion is golden and my hair is almost black. I suppose I’m the opposite of the Florentine ideal.”

  Tommaso’s serious mood was lifted by his wife’s jealousy. “Perhaps, but you are no less beautiful, my dear. As for Simonetta, she was not a chaste wife to her husband.”

  “Oh no?”

  He shook his head. “She was Giuliano de’ Medici’s mistress.”

  Gossip lurked in every corner of this city! Sabina looked around. “By the way, where is my father? I thought he was with you?”

  “He was, until he ran into an old friend of his. I’m sure Don Antonio is sitting in some quiet corner talking of old times.”

  A gentleman approached Tommaso and began to speak with him in a hushed tone. Not wanting to intrude on their conversation, Sabina wandered aimlessly until she reached a corner of the main hall where she could observe the festivities unnoticed. She soon felt a presence behind her.

  “Why are you alone, Sabina?”

  She spun around and was face to face with Lorenzo de’ Medici. He was arrayed in black velvet with an under tunic the color of fresh blood. Florentine Red. A heavy gold chain in the shape of a rope hung around his neck and at the end was a medallion sporting a miniature head of the Marzocco lion. She recalled that the original Marzocco, symbol of the Florentine Republic, was carved by Donatello and stood in the Piazza della Signoria.

  He continued, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  She nodded. “It’s a lovely party.” Whenever she found herself in close proximity to Lorenzo it seemed as if her cheeks automatically burned and her heart raced.

  “Angelina informed me that she showed you my new painting depicting the Last Judgement. Do you approve?”

  “It’s marvelous, like all of your artwork. I’m sure the artist will obtain many commissions now that you own one of his pieces.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, never taking his eyes off her. “You have not visited my library lately.” Her face must have registered surprise because he added, “My servants tell me everything.”

  “Your servants are correct.”

  “You cannot be bored of my collection so soon.”

  “I could spend years in your library.”

  He took a step closer to her. “What has you so occupied these days?”

  She detected the subtle scent of fragrant oil on his skin. The appealing, masculine scent distracted her thoughts. “The inclement weather has kept me indoors, so I’ve been busy writing.”

  Lorenzo’s eyes widened. “What do you write?”

  “Foolish verses,” she replied dismissively.

  “Something tells me that nothing you set your mind to is foolish.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “You are not that kind of woman.”

  There was an awkward silence and she changed the subject. “The musicians are playing such merry melodies tonight.”

  He would not be swayed, however. “I would like to see your work.”

  She gave a nervous little laugh. “Ah, no.”

  “Are you denying my request?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I write for my own pleasure, Lorenzo. My work would pale in comparison to the fine literature to which you are accustomed.”

  Putting his face close to hers, he said, “Let me be the judge of that.”

  For an instant, she thought he was going to kiss her. As if reading her thoughts, his eyes dropped to her mouth and a slow smile spread across his face before he backed away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Angelina Bardi walking toward them.

  “I was wondering where you’d wandered off to, Lorenzo,” she said, taking his arm. “Your wife has retired for the evening.”

  “Perhaps the wine has made her sleepy,” he commented while keeping his eyes on Sabina.

  “Perhaps,” she agreed, casting a steely glance in Sabina’s direction.

  �
�Angelina, did you know that Sabina possesses a talent for writing?”

  “I did not,” she replied with sticky sweetness.

  “I would love to see her work, but she’s too shy to show it to me.”

  “There’s no need for shyness, Signora Sabina,” Angelina chided. “Lorenzo is the best critic in Florence.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” Sabina said.

  “Then we shall read your work and give it a proper critique, won’t we, Lorenzo?”

  Sabina, who was unsure about showing her work to Lorenzo, relished the prospect of doing so even less after Angelina’s comment. She hoped that her annoyance at the other woman’s meddling did not show too plainly on her face.

  Noticing Sabina’s discomfort, Lorenzo immediately reverted to being the perfect host. “We have taunted our lovely writer enough for one night. I look forward to our next meeting,” he said to Sabina as he bowed over her hand.

  Sabina shivered as his warm lips touched her knuckles. “As do I.”

  She watched the two of them walk away arm in arm, and was relieved a moment later when Tommaso expressed his desire to go home. She was tired from the festivities and longed for the comfort of her bed.

  Chapter 7

  Don Antonio, Cecilia, and Paolo remained in Florence until the end of Epiphany.

  Prior to their departure, Don Antonio said to Sabina, “You must come to Lucca soon.”

  “I will, Papa,” she assured. “Promise me that you will spend Easter with us in Florence.”

  “If God wills it.”

  Sabina turned to Paolo and held out her arms to him. “Did you have fun?”

  “Yes!” he replied, waving the wooden sword Tommaso had given him before embracing his aunt.

  Sabina kissed his cheek. “Do you want to come visit me at Easter?”

  Paolo nodded. “Will I get a shield next time?”

  Sabina felt a pang of envy. She suddenly wanted a child, too. “I will make sure that you do. Go inside the carriage now, Paolo. I love you.”

  Don Antonio and Cecilia said their farewells, then Sabina watched the carriage roll down the narrow street.

  ***

  January proved to be a dreary month with very few days of sunshine. The rain began the day after Epiphany and continued intermittently for almost a week. When it finally stopped, several clouds convened over the city like a giant wet blanket. Sabina remembered the arid, sultry days of August and longed for one such day to break up the gray monotony.

  The weather improved slightly in February, but it was still too cold to sit outside and enjoy the courtyard garden. She took advantage of the inclement weather and completely gave herself over to writing in her journal. When no more blank pages were left, she decided to present it to Lorenzo. She was still uncomfortable with the idea of allowing him to see her work, but she was in no position to deny his request.

  Another musical protégé was scheduled to perform at the Palazzo Medici during the first week of March. Tommaso had mentioned to her in passing that Messer Bardi was taking his family to Verona to visit relatives, so Angelina would not be present. Sabina would seize the opportunity to see Lorenzo privately.

  The day of the concerto dawned clear and, despite the chilliness, the sun’s fragile rays broke through the clouds. Sabina held her red journal close to her chest as she walked beside her husband and two armed guards. A well-dressed man passed them on the street and inclined his head toward Tommaso, who politely returned the gesture. Sabina was quick to notice there was no friendliness in her husband’s eyes, only anger and distrust. The guards immediately placed their hands upon the hilts of their swords, closely watching the man until he was completely out of sight.

  “Damned Pazzi,” Tommaso muttered under his breath.

  “There’s that name again,” Sabina said. “You told me they were our enemies, but you never explained why.”

  “They’re devious and power-hungry—a dangerous combination.”

  “So are many other families in the city.”

  “Other families have not openly defied Medici rule.”

  “What have the Pazzi done that is so wrong?”

  “These are matters meant to be discussed among men.”

  Sabina gave him a disbelieving look. “You have said yourself on more than one occasion that I’m smarter than many of your peers in the Signoria, and what a pity for Florence that I wasn’t born male. Now you imply that my ears are not meant to hear the matters of men?”

  “Still the Tempesta, I see. Very well. The pope demanded an exorbitant bank loan. Lorenzo felt inclined to deny the request.”

  “Why on earth would Lorenzo do something like that? It’s the pope.”

  “It’s not that simple. Pope Sixtus is an extremely ambitious man. If he were to secure such a large sum of money, he would become powerful enough to threaten Lorenzo’s authority in Florence.”

  “What does this have to do with the Pazzi?”

  Tommaso glanced over his shoulder at the guards. “The Pazzi went behind Lorenzo’s back and secured the loan for the pope.”

  “Thus making the Medici an enemy,” she concluded.

  “Correct.”

  “I would be angry if I was Lorenzo.”

  Tommaso laughed without humor. “You can rest assured that he is.”

  They arrived at the Palazzo Medici as Giotto’s bell tower chimed. Giuliano quickly found Tommaso and led him down a hall while Sabina made her way to the salon. The musician was an attractive, large breasted woman with a commanding voice. She sang in perfect harmony with a harp player. Sabina closed her eyes and simply allowed the music to fill her soul.

  Lorenzo eventually emerged from one of the rooms to mingle with the people present, and Sabina wondered why he wasn’t with the rest of the men today. Perhaps it had to do with the lustful manner in which the singer’s eyes followed him throughout the room. Was she one of his many lovers? He caught Sabina’s eye and walked toward her.

  He kissed her hand, then asked, “What did you think of her voice?”

  “Once again, you’ve exhibited your talent for finding gifted people.”

  His eyes were drawn to the journal in her hand. “I see you have something for me. I haven’t forgotten, you know.”

  “Nor I,” she said, handing over the journal.

  “Come,” he said, lightly placing his hand on the small of her back.

  Sabina was led into a large room where two maps dominated an entire wall, and a wooden globe rested upon a desk. He indicated a window seat overlooking the courtyard. Despite the cold weather outside, the area in which they sat was pleasantly warm due to the sunshine pouring in from the round glass panes. He examined the journal’s red velvet cover before turning the pages, pausing whenever something caught his eye.

  “You don’t mind me reading your work?” he asked. “Be truthful.”

  “I was initially frightened because my work is, well, odd,” she confessed. “But I know you’re an intelligent man and possess an open mind, so I don’t mind—as long as you promise not to judge my writing too harshly.”

  He placed his finger on a written line and read aloud, “ ‘Ascending to purity with demons lapping at my heels…’ Such provocative words.”

  Sabina stared out the window as he continued to read silently. After a long moment, Lorenzo looked up and studied her face for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he gently touched her cheek. Her written words were dark and melancholic, yet full of beauty and grace.

  What was it about this woman?

  Lorenzo cleared his throat. “Would you mind if I kept this journal for a few days?” Her apprehension was apparent, so he quickly added, “I’ll be very careful with it, I promise.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Please show it to no one else.”

  “I will honor your privacy.”

  For some unknown reason, she trusted him implicitly. The sound of several approaching footsteps made them both look up. Clarice and her retinue of ladies passed by the
doorway. None of them bothered to glance into the room.

  “They are headed to my wife’s private chapel,” he explained. “They pray every day at this hour. Clarice is very devout.”

  “A most commendable trait.”

  “She’s a good woman,” he said distractedly before turning his attention back to the journal in his hands. He flipped through the pages until he reached the end. “You have no more blank pages left.”

  “I used up the last page several days ago. I suppose you can blame it on the bad weather. I prefer writing to boring needlework.” Realizing that Lorenzo’s wife most likely did needlework, Sabina said, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean—I know many women who love needlework and are quite good at it. I’m not one of them.”

  Lorenzo chuckled softly. “Thank God for that,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “In all seriousness, you must continue to write, Sabina. It would please me greatly if you do. I’ll get you a new journal.”

  “There’s no need for you to do that.”

  “It’s my way of thanking you for sharing your thoughts with me,” he insisted, casually taking hold of her hand. He began caressing her knuckles with his thumb as he read a few more poems.

  Sabina found the absentminded gesture distracting. His touch was warm and strong, making her feel safe, apprehensive, excited—all at the same time. In an attempt to mask her giddiness, she blurted the first thought that popped into her head. “Tommaso told me about the Pazzi.”

  Lorenzo was well aware of the effect he had on people, especially women. He squeezed her hand before letting it go. “What exactly did he tell you?”

  “They gave money to the pope behind your back.”

  “Obviously, Tommaso deems you trustworthy.” She remained silent and he asked, “Tell me, how would you react to such an insolent act if you were in my shoes?”

  She was not expecting such a question. “I…I don’t know.”

  “Surely a writer with such a vivid imagination can think of something,” he prompted. “Pretend the whole thing is merely a story. How would it end? Go on, indulge me.”

  Sabina thought for a moment. “I suppose you could send the entire Pazzi family into exile.”