by C. De Melo
“Are you happy to be back in your palazzina?”
“Yes.” She glanced at her daughter. “Anne likes it, too.”
His gaze shifted to Anne. “Do you, now?”
“Yes,” Anne replied. “My room has a lovely view of the city.”
There was a knock at the door. A young man walked in and handed Lorenzo a pile of documents. “You remember my eldest son, Piero?”
Sabina suddenly felt the weight of the last ten years.
Lorenzo’s face paled abruptly, as if seized by a painful spasm.
“Father!” Piero cried. “Are you all right?”
“Forgive me, Sabina, but I must rest,” Lorenzo allowed his son to help him stand. “I’m overjoyed that you’re back in Florence, where you belong.”
“I hope to see you again very soon.” She looked to Piero and added, “If there’s anything you need, please send word.”
“Thank you, Signora Sabina.”
Sabina led Anne out of the room and closed the door.
“He is very sick,” Anne commented.
“Yes, he is.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
Sabina led her daughter to the palazzo’s exit. “Gout. The Medici have always suffered from it.”
“Is Lorenzo de’ Medici the most important man in Florence?”
Although she was not sure anymore, she replied, “Yes.”
Anne’s eyes took in the fine furnishings and rare artwork on their way out. “Did you come here often before going to England?”
“I did. It was a magical place back in those days,” Sabina replied, her eyes glazing as she remembered the banquets, the concertos, the talented artists...
Massimo.
“You seem to be a good friend of Signore Lorenzo.”
The question broke her reverie. “I would like to think so.”
“When will I meet my Aunt Cecilia?”
“Soon.”
“Mother, I think I’m going to like living in Florence.”
“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.”
Cecilia arrived in Florence a few days later. She and Anne took to each other quickly, like two kindred souls coming together. Anne was fascinated by the fact that her aunt was a nun.
“May I visit the convent someday?” Anne asked of Sabina.
“If your Aunt Cecilia doesn’t mind.”
Cecilia smiled indulgently at her niece. “You’re more than welcome to visit me and stay for as long as you like.” To Sabina, she whispered, “She certainly didn’t take after you.”
Anne excused herself in order to prepare for her studies with Umberto, giving the sisters an opportunity to speak privately.
“He threatened to kill you?” Cecilia asked, aghast, after Sabina explained the circumstances which led to her hasty departure from England. “I had no idea you were suffering so much.”
“James was a good husband at first, and I enjoyed my life in England—until recently.”
Cecilia was pensive. “Did James spend all of your money?”
“No, and whatever remains of it will be returned once he marries whichever English bride his father chooses.”
“Dear sister, God must have something special in store for you.”
Sabina snickered and replied, “Hopefully, it does not involve a man.”
***
James procured his divorce from Sabina and immediately married Lady Catherine of Chartwell. Tutor John, who had always admired Sabina, occasionally sent her letters from England.
In John’s most recent letter, he stated that Lady Catherine was already pregnant. The earl rejoiced at the prospect of finally having a grandson, but happiness came with a price. Several people at court inquired about Sabina’s sudden disappearance, forcing the earl to invent excuses until the truth of the divorce became public knowledge. Scandal was inevitable. John went on to describe Catherine as “rather plain and prone to corpulence.” Sabina placed the letter in her lap when she had finished reading it and laughed aloud.
“What’s so funny, Mother?” Anne asked, entering the room.
“Nothing, my love.”
“What are you reading?”
She folded the letter and tucked it into her bodice. “A letter.”
“About father?”
“Yes, he has remarried.”
A shadow settled upon Anne’s small features. “Who is it?”
“An English noblewoman. Lady Catherine of Chartwell. She’ll soon be the mother of your half-brothers and half-sisters. When you’re old enough to travel to England—”
Anne frowned. “Travel to England? What for?”
Sabina was taken aback by her daughter’s tone. “To visit them.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Whatever transpired between your father and me has nothing to do with you,” she said gently.
“Yes, it does,” Anne countered with tears in her eyes. “If I’d been born a boy, Father and Grandfather would not have been so cruel to you. I prayed to God every day when we lived in England. I wanted Him to forgive me for not being a boy.”
“Anne, dearest, you being a girl does not make your father and grandfather love you any less.”
“I once overheard Grandfather refer to me as a ‘worthless girl’ and father did not disagree with him.”
Sabina suddenly hated James and Thaddeus for making their obsession for a male heir so apparent to her innocent child.
“Listen to me, Anne, and listen well, because this is the only time I will say this to you. I don’t care what stupid thoughts filled the heads of your father and grandfather. In England, they may be important, but here they are nothing. Do you understand me? Nothing.” Anne nodded, her expression solemn. Sabina continued, “I’m the widow of Signore Tommaso Caravelli, who was an important man in the city. I was born in Lucca, and my noble name goes back to the forefathers of Tuscany. I am respected here in Florence and enjoy not only the friendship of the most powerful man in the city, Lorenzo de’ Medici, but also his protection. Furthermore, I’m happy you were born a girl, for women possess special gifts that men do not. From today onward, you will hold your head high and be proud of who you are. You will not shed another tear. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Do not forget that half the blood running through your veins is my blood. Rossi blood.”
Anne embraced her mother tightly. “You were a widow when you married father?”
“I was married for a brief period before my first husband was killed.”
“Killed?” Anne asked, interested in hearing more.
Sabina patted the seat beside her. “Sit down. It’s time you learned a few things about me.”
***
After her serious talk with Anne, Sabina noticed a change in her daughter’s demeanor. She wanted to know more about Tuscan culture and the history of the Rossi family. She even informed Umberto that she wanted to read Dante and Boccaccio.
Sabina had promised to take Anne to Santa Lucia, and her daughter reminded her periodically of that oath. According to Cecilia, a few changes had taken place at the convent while she was away in England. The most tragic was the sudden death of Mother Marcella. The new abbess, Mother Alfonsina, was a great admirer of Savonarola and adopted his strict rules. This made Sabina uneasy, but it didn’t stop her from going to Lucca with Anne.
The day they visited the convent, Sabina fell ill. What had started out as mild apprehension in the cloisters became actual nausea when Cecilia led them toward the church that housed the frescoed chapel in the back—the same chapel where Marco had raped her so many years ago. She froze, unable to follow them.
“Mother are you feeling unwell?” Anne asked.
“You’re as white as a sheet,” Cecilia observed.
“Please, continue with the tour. I’ll stay here.”
Cecilia frowned. “Are you certain?”
Sabina nodded and sat on the low wall. She rested her head against one of the cloister’s columns
and gazed at the fruit trees in the garden. They were much taller than she remembered.
“Signora Sabina, is that you?”
Sabina turned her head. “Hello, Sister Olivia.”
“How good to see you. Sister Cecilia told me that you married and moved to England. How long will you be staying in Tuscany?”
“I won’t be returning to England.”
Sister Olivia’s face crumbled. “Oh no. Did your husband die?”
“He is alive and well.”
The gossipy nun waited for some kind of explanation, but Sabina offered none. “I see,” she finally said. “Well, the others are waiting for me. We’re going to the orphanage today.”
“A most commendable endeavor.”
Sister Olivia turned to go, then stopped. “Your friend, Marco Alfani, is now a priest. I thought you’d like to know.”
Sabina’s stomach lurched, but she managed a polite nod.
The nun continued, “He’s an avid supporter of Savonarola—a true man of God. Thanks to his many loyal parishioners, Father Marco is growing more powerful by the day.”
Sister Olivia walked away, leaving Sabina alone to ponder over the information. Power given to a man like Marco could be dangerous.
Anne eventually emerged from the church with a grin on her face. “What a beautiful chapel! Zia Cecilia said that I could spend the summer here at Santa Lucia. May I, please?”
Cecilia gave Sabina a victorious look.
Chapter 20
Anne spent the summer of 1491 with her aunt at the Convento di Santa Lucia. She returned to Florence at the end of August a different person. Sabina later confided to Camelia that her daughter was “filled with the fire of the Holy Spirit.” Even Umberto noticed a great change in his pupil’s tastes once her studies commenced. Anne no longer wished to learn about pagan myths or literature with questionable moral themes, and—much to Sabina’s disappointment—Dante and Boccaccio were of no interest to her.
Sabina displayed great patience toward her daughter, dismissing this newfound zeal as a mere phase of youth. Anne’s strange behavior persisted, however, and she begged to be allowed to spend the following summer with Cecilia. Sabina decided it was time for a serious talk.
“Anne, I would like to speak with you about something,” she said as they walked along the Arno River on a Saturday afternoon.
Florence had become dangerous for people who were not Savonarola’s followers, so two armed guards followed them at a discreet distance.
Sabina continued, “Umberto tells me that you refuse to read certain books because of their immoral content. Is this true?”
Anne squinted against the sunshine to look at her mother. “Yes.”
“I personally approved the books used in your lessons. Do you think I would allow any material that would morally corrupt you?”
“No…not intentionally.”
Not intentionally? “Mythology and philosophy are part of history. Umberto also mentioned that you believe music is wicked. Where are you getting these radical ideas?”
“Fra Girolamo.”
“How do you know so much about that fanatic?” When Anne didn’t respond, Sabina prompted, “Answer me.”
“I’ve heard his sermons.”
It took Sabina a moment to understand the implication of her reply. “Have you been sneaking out of the house?” Anne nodded, her expression one of guilt. “Are you mad? Do you realize how dangerous it is to be walking the streets of the city alone?”
“I’ll be ten years old this winter.”
“You’re still very much a child and know nothing of the world. Promise me that you will never sneak out of the house alone.”
“I promise.”
“You will allow Umberto to do what I pay him to do—educate you. Most girls your age are being groomed for marriage and receive barely enough instruction to run a household. Their lot in life is to wait upon a man and bear his children. I want much more for you.”
“I am grateful, Mother. It’s just…”
Sabina waited, but nothing came. “It’s just—what? I’ve always been honest with you and I want you to be honest with me.”
“I don’t want to learn about things that may displease God.”
“Let me ask you a question. Did God create man?”
“Yes.”
“Man, in turn, creates wonderful things like music, poetry, and art. This is a tribute to God, not something wicked. Does that make sense?” Anne nodded reluctantly and Sabina continued, “There will be no more talk of moral corruption and wickedness. You will not make Umberto’s task more difficult than it already is.”
“Signore Lorenzo is getting worse,” Anne said, changing the subject.
Sabina froze in her tracks. “Who told you this?”
“Fra Girolamo said the Medici have provoked God with their wickedness and He will soon put an end to their rule.”
Sabina was furious. “Fra Girolamo should not be saying such terrible things about the family who has done so much for the city of Florence.”
“If what the friar said is not true, then why is Signore Lorenzo sick?”
“Many good people get sick and die. Even newborn babies die, and what wrongdoings are they guilty of?”
Anne pondered her mother’s words before asking, “Will you allow me to spend this coming summer with Zia Cecilia?”
“We shall see.”
***
By the end of March 1492, two things happened. First, a letter arrived from Tutor John stating that Lady Catherine was pregnant again. The woman had recently birthed a baby girl in January. James finally had what he wanted: a fertile wife. Despite this, there was still no male heir.
The second piece of news Sabina received was far more distressing. Lorenzo’s gout had finally gotten the best of him. Feeling the end was close at hand, he insisted on being taken to his favorite villa in Careggi. His body was so wracked with pain that he couldn’t ride a horse and had to be transported on a stretcher.
Upon hearing the news, Sabina left Florence at once and went to the villa to see her dear friend for the last time. There was already a crowd of people gathered at the villa, each waiting to bid farewell to Lorenzo. When it was finally Sabina’s turn, she was not prepared for what she saw. Lorenzo, the strong, virile man she had always known—the Great Il Magnifico—looked frail upon his deathbed.
She knelt beside the bed and took his hand in her own. Gazing into his glassy eyes, she could tell he’d been drugged. “Lorenzo…”
He smiled slightly, his lips cracked and dry.
She whispered, “How I hate seeing you like this.”
“I cannot complain,” he said softly. “Life has been good to me. Tell me, how is your daughter?”
“She’s fine.”
“Anne is beautiful, like her mother.”
Sabina’s eyes watered and she brought Lorenzo’s hand to her lips.
He swallowed hard. “I’ve instructed my son to keep you under our family’s protection. I don’t know if he’ll rule as I have. Pray for him. Piero is weak and young. Ask God to give him strength and wisdom.”
“I will.” She noticed the physicians quietly working in the corner of the room, grinding pearls and other precious gems into fine dust.
Following her gaze, he whispered, “They keep insisting the jewels will cure me. I drank pulverized rubies this morning, but I feel worse.”
“Oh, Lorenzo. If I could take your pain away, I would.”
“I know you would. You’ve always been so good to me…so loyal.”
A spasm of pain washed over him and he clenched his teeth. One of the physicians came over and made him drink a foul-smelling potion. Some of it ran dribbled down his chin and she could see iridescent flecks from the crushed pearls. Within minutes, he became groggy.
Lorenzo gave her a lopsided grin. “I should have bedded you long ago,” he slurred. “Go now. There are others I must speak to before this useless body fails me once and for all.”
Sabina’s tears flowed freely as she put her face close to his and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Lorenzo,” she whispered softly in his ear.
They shared a meaningful look before he closed his eyes and nodded. Sabina was led away from the bed by one of the Medici guards. Several people watched as she made her way downstairs to where others awaited Lorenzo’s inevitable death. She knew many of those present and spoke to some. She was in the middle of a conversation with an older woman when two men dressed in black priestly robes appeared in the doorway.
The woman whispered, “Savonarola.”
Sabina turned to gaze upon the individual who had caused such a radical change in Florence. She saw an unattractive man with an oversized hooked nose and thick lips. His companion was broader and taller, but the black hood of his cloak fell so low over his eyes that his face remained hidden.
“This way, Fra Girolamo,” one of the guards said as he ushered in the monks. “Signore Lorenzo has been expecting you.”
Surprised, Sabina whispered, “Lorenzo sent for him?”
The woman shrugged, perplexed.
“Sabina.”
Her name was uttered by Savonarola’s hooded companion. Slowly, he pushed back the hood to reveal his identity. She gasped in horror when she realized it was Marco Alfani. He had changed little except for the few strands of gray hair mingled with the black curls.
The memory of that terrible day in the chapel loomed in her mind, prompting her to recoil from him.
Marco put a hand on her arm. “Please—”
“Don’t touch me!” Sabina cried, drawing several looks.
“Let me speak with you,” he insisted.
She turned her back on him and rushed out of the villa.
He followed. “Sabina, wait!”
“Leave me alone!”
“I’m not that man anymore.”
Sabina called out to her guards. Two burly men came running toward their mistress with weapons drawn. Marco stopped his pursuit at the sight of them. The men stared at the priest with steely eyes.
Standing behind the guards, she warned, “Lay a hand on me and you’ll know the sharpness of their daggers.”
Marco held up his hands and took a step forward. The men advanced and he froze. “I’m a follower of Savonarola—a man of peace.”
