‘We are part of history,’ Paolo said proudly to me as we neared Ferrara and saw the throngs of citizens on the ramparts awaiting us.
An open-air feast was held that night. They lit a huge bonfire in front of the Palazzo dei Diamanti and the townspeople danced around the bronze body of the Pope.
There was a great mass of people in the inner city of Ferrara when Charles and I came from our billet in the early part of the evening. We struggled through the streets to the Piazza del Castello, where the celebrations were more organized. An area had been set aside for dancing, and musicians were playing folk tunes for the benefit of the townsfolk.
The duke and duchess had chosen to grace the event with their presence and sat on a raised dais watching proceedings. The duke soon tired of the revelry and slipped away, no doubt to build up the fires of his forges in readiness to roast the Pope, even if it was only his effigy. Donna Lucrezia had been crowned Queen of the May. She had flowers in her hair and was wearing a dress of filmy white lawn, and was attended by her ladies similarly attired.
Charles nudged me. But I had already seen the one whose form and figure I recognized.
Eleanora d’Alciato.
‘I will take my leave of you.’ Charles spoke in my ear. ‘I have a different quarry to pursue tonight. There is a good gaming table in the inn over there. Happy hunting.’
Despite my coaching by Graziano and Felipe, I was unsure of the etiquette. I guessed that during Carnival, or on an occasion like this, the constraints were relaxed. Where was Charles when I needed his advice? And Paolo? He would be polishing his armour in readiness for the next battle. Could I approach a lady unannounced?
With a mask, anything is possible.
I paid a few coins and purchased a small eye mask from a street seller. I tied it on and went boldly forward.
‘May I claim a dance with a beautiful lady?’ I offered Eleanora my hand.
She drew back a little and pulled her cloak about her.
One of the courtiers in attendance placed his hand on his sword hilt. Having some experience of weaponry, I saw that it was a light blade with an ornate handle. The type carried for display rather than practical use. He was some poet or other, of which there were always a number hovering around the Duchess Lucrezia.
‘I had hoped that the lady would recognize me,’ I said softly. ‘We have danced together before. But then of course it was the more sophisticated French dance La Poursuite and we were in a different ballroom.’
Eleanora gave a little gasp.
‘The steps of this round are less complicated,’ I continued, ‘but very diverting none the less.’ I paused. ‘With my guidance I am sure that you would learn them easily.’
Her eyes flashed.
Aha! A hit!
Eleanora looked to the Donna Lucrezia. ‘If I may?’
Lucrezia Borgia surveyed us with an amused look. ‘You know this man?’ she asked Eleanora.
‘I do. We have met properly within your own palace, my lady.’
Donna Lucrezia nodded her permission. ‘You may dance with Donna Eleanora,’ she told me, ‘but you must remain where I have sight of you, and I am restricting you to one dance only.’
I made an acceptance of her terms and extended my hand to Eleanora.
I led her down to the piazza.
The dance was a peasant round, traditionally performed in the vineyards during the time of grape crushing. We had to form ourselves in a circle and at once I felt a jar of jealousy as I saw that her companion on the other side was a man. I took her arm and escorted her to a different place in the ring so that she was between myself and another woman.
Did she smile to herself at my action? I did not have time to study her face for the dance began and was immediately lively.
In the first round we stamped our feet many times and she complained that her shoes were not sturdy enough for the rough cobblestones.
‘Look!’ she said. She raised her skirts a little and showed me dainty feet with rose-coloured satin shoes and rounded ankles encased in white stockings.
I offered her my boots.
She laughed. I saw her evenly spaced white teeth with her tongue between. Within my own hand hers was small and doeskin-soft. Her eyes had the flames of the bonfires in them, and we spun round in the circle and her hair came loose around her face in little curls, and her mouth was wet with moisture and I so, so, much wanted to kiss her.
Chapter Sixty-Six
WHEN THE DANCE was over one of the Duchess Lucrezia’s attendants appeared to escort Eleanora back to her place on the dais. This man was not the fey poet but a more solidly built example of Ferrarese manhood and there was no time for any privacy.
He walked behind us as I returned her to the group of ladies.
We were almost there when she said in a low voice, ‘I still have to discover, Messer Matteo, why it is you chose such an unorthodox way to visit my aunt’s convent last year.’
Then the Duchess Lucrezia beckoned and Eleanora dipped her head and bade me farewell.
Over the next days the Ferrarese foundrymen worked to make the new cannon. Clad only in loincloths, their sweating bodies laboured under their duke’s directions to transform Michelangelo’s masterpiece into an implement of war. I went to watch part of the process and had a sudden image in my mind of the merry face of Zoroastro as he bent over the fire in his forge.
The molten bronze glowed red as the river of hot metal ran into the moulds set in the ground. With this intense heat and the power and majesty of the elements, I saw how easily men could believe in magical alchemy. We create form using other substances, transmuting the elements, bending them to our will. What being, other than a god, can do this?
When the new cannon was complete the duke sent a defiant envoy to Rome to inform the Pope that his holy person was now in another guise defending Ferrara. By poster and proclamation it was announced that II Julio was ready. Then the huge gun was wheeled out for the populace to see, and we had a special day of games and jousting on the stretch of sward below the Castel Tedaldo.
Attended by their squires, the French knights paraded first. In surcoats of satin and gold, and seated on their warhorses, richly caparisoned in brocade and heavy velvet, they moved ponderously about the field. After these panoplied knights the stable grooms brought out the lighter animals to display their skills in horsemanship. They rode round and showed how their horses could be made to go at a gallop, and canter, then trot elegantly, or turn in a circle and shake their head. Everyone who watched marvelled at these things but I smiled quietly. These were easy tricks that any gypsy child could train a horse to do.
The men of the various condottieri made jousts at each other and broke wooden lances. And then it was the turn of the Bande Rosse. In the armoury in Bologna Paolo had found a Swiss army rule book and had been training our men in new formations. We cantered forward and, with a great shout, flung our hats in the air. Then we turned our horses away and galloped hard across the sward. Wheeling round suddenly, we raced back and leaned down from our saddles to scoop up our hats. I fancied myself as the best horseman there.
Was she watching me from the duke’s platform?
To end the tournament the event known as the Ladies Prize took place. A long stake was driven into the earth in the centre of the field. It was studded with nails whose heads protruded enough for ribbons to be tied to each one. The men had to come riding past in a group and attempt to snatch these favours from the pole. The ladies taking part took some ribbons from their hair or dress and held these up so that all could see who they were and what colours they owned. A page made the appropriate declaration and the crowd repeated the name and colours as the lady tied her ribbons to the pole.
It required courage on the part of a lady to do this. Some refused, being too shy, or fearing that no man would choose to ride for their colours. Or yet again, a lady might shrink from pinning up her colours like this in public in case she suffered abuse from the wags in the crowd who wer
e not averse to naming the current scandal associated with her name. A husband might find out his wife’s infidelity in this way, having had no prior inkling of her impropriety.
I was watching for one person. My pulse quickened as I saw her among the rest of the ladies.
The Duchess Lucrezia had placed her own Borgia colours of mulberry and yellow at the highest point on the pole. As soon as the gallants lined up on their horses at the far end of the course saw her do this they began to jostle for prime position. Each wanted to be the one to seize Lucrezia’s ribbons. But my eyes were on the lilac and pale-green bow that had been fastened a little lower down. Eleanora’s dress was green brocade, slashed at the sleeve and neck to show lilac silk edged with white lace. When Eleanora had tied her ribbons on she had not held them up, nor waited for her name to be called. Rather she had fixed them on quickly and hurried away. And she had not glanced in my direction.
The field was crowded. Men dashed to their horses to win the favours of the Duchess of Ferrara. Most had changed into clean clothes for this last event of the day. I was dressed in a white linen shirt, ruffed at collar and wrist, but loosely laced across my chest to lie open for freedom of movement. I wore black suedeskin trousers with long boots which covered my knees. My gauntlets were of soft leather and I had a steel sleeve on my bridle arm, which meant that I had more control of my horse, for we had to ride bareback – no saddle or stirrups to help us. Gripping the horse with my knees, I felt the powerful flanks of the stallion between my legs.
The signal!
My horse leaped forward and I was in the rush.
Twenty men and only five favours to win.
I was close to the lead but I must not win the race: if I got there first, then I would be obliged to take the Duchess Lucrezia’s ribbons. The others crammed in around me as I tried to hold them off, yet still allow the Ferrarese nobleman now out in front to reach the pole before me.
The animals’ hooves threw up great clods of earth and the crowd roared as we thundered past.
We were at the pole! And the first man took the duchess’s ribbons. Now the way was clear for me to take my prize.
I put my hand on the lilac ribbons.
But another man, older and heavier than I, aimed a blow with his fist at my face.
The onlookers screamed vile language at him.
I veered away.
He grabbed for the ribbons. They were tightly tied and he could not loosen them.
The crowd laughed at him and I came back into the fray. My horse breasted his and the animals struggled against each other. His mount bit out at mine.
But I had travelled with my stallion and groomed him every day and taken stones from his shoes and crept in by his side on the cold winter nights in the field outside Mirandola, and he did not fail me now.
So my horse reared against my opponent, hooves flailing. And the other horse neighed in fear and was driven out.
I stretched up.
I had the ribbons! I had the ribbons!
Now she must come to claim them from me.
The five victorious men lined up to return the favours. A fanfare called the ladies in turn to collect their ribbons.
The Duchess Lucrezia permitted her victor to kiss her fingertips.
To the hoots of the watchers the next lady slid her foot from her shoe and offered the tip of her toe.
The next two ladies proffered their hands.
The last trumpet note.
The page announced, ‘The Lady Eleanora d’Alciato!’
She came down the steps and I nudged my horse. My stallion bent his foreleg and lowered his head down before her. The crowd laughed in delight and applauded.
I could tell she was pleased. Though she affected an air of calm superiority, this Eleanora d’Alciato, she could not hide her high colour and the dimples that went in and out when she smiled.
‘I claim my kiss.’
My throat was dry. I could hardly croak the words.
She met my gaze. There was a current between us.
Her eyes fixed on mine. They darkened as she looked at me. Though the day was bright, the pupils of her eyes widened.
Then she turned her face.
And I put my lips to her cheek.
That night there was another great festivity in the square. I was there early to secure a position where I thought the duchess might appear with her ladies. But as the night wore on and she did not come I enquired from one of the royal courtiers if anything was amiss. The day’s events had exhausted their good duchess, he told me. She had taken ill and had gone away to recover.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
WITHIN A FEW days we learned that the Duchess Lucrezia had miscarried a child. She and her attendants would remain for an extended stay at the Convent of San Bernardino.
I was now bereft of Eleanora’s presence and began to torment myself with thoughts that I had imagined she was attracted to me. Perhaps during this stay at San Bernardino she would think that the life of a nun suited her very well. She might decide to remain there and I would never see her again. I missed Eleanora, and my mood was mirrored by the court of Ferrara, who sorely missed their duchess.
Without Lucrezia there to woo the army commanders the French became restless. Charles told us that they would wait out another winter in Italy, but unless they won a decisive victory the French troops would be withdrawn. King Louis was becoming less interested in Italian conquests and more concerned for the safety of the heartland of France.
But even without his duchess by his side Duke Alfonso d’Este would not bend his neck to Julius. The capture of Bologna and his new cannon was a source of immense pride to him and annoyance to the Papacy.
‘You would think the Holy Father would be flattered,’ Charles joked with us, ‘to have such a piece of powerful machinery named for him.’
But even though the Pope was once again very ill he could still pour out more fire than any cannon. He was beside himself that Ferrara would not yield to him. When he heard that the Bentivoglios were reinstated in Bologna he vowed vengeance on Ferrara for aiding his enemies. Duke Alfonso’s envoys reported that Julius had dragged himself from his bed and raged through the corridors of the Vatican saying that he would have Ferrara if it was the last thing he did on the earth – that he would die like a dog before he gave it up.
Which served only to strengthen the resistance of the Ferrarese and their resolve to fight on. And Paolo wished to be part of that. But for myself, I did not know what course to take in my life.
When we had returned from Bologna letters awaited me from Milan. One from the Maestro and one from Felipe.
At last [the Maestro wrote], we have news of the whereabouts of an errant boy! My pens are in disorder and my silverpoint pencil has been missing for days. Why is this? Because the person responsible for ensuring that these items are to hand has taken it into his head to run off without notice. How can I work efficiently?
Yesterday I was walking by the canals on the outskirts of the city and considering how sluggishly the water moved. I thought upon the body of the old man we anatomized and how at that time we likened the constriction of the veins to silting. I turned to call your attention to this fact, and you were not there, Matteo.
I felt tears start in my eyes and I reached my hand out to touch the paper. It moved me that my absence was noted and I had not been forgotten.
Take care [his letter finished], for to train another assistant would be a troublesome expense for me.
A joke? I took it as such and smiled. And then thought later that there was sadness and regret in his words.
Felipe’s letter was more brisk and practical.
You will have no doubt heard that the French troops in Milan are somewhat beleaguered at this time. Graziano sends his best regards and [I laughed at his next words] asks that you recommend him warmly to the fair Lucrezia. He has been unwell of late else he would write himself. He hopes that you are upholding his teaching regarding your manners at her cour
t.
Then he added:
The master wishes you to know that, despite these difficulties, you would be most welcome, Matteo, should you ever return.
But I could not return at present. Paolo wanted to agree another contract with the French. Our men had to make their mark upon the document. The ones who had survived last winter and the battle at Mirandola were mostly prepared to do this. They were in better spirits after our success in Bologna and the feasting in Ferrara. Doctoring seemed more to my liking now than soldiering, but what choice did I have? Eleanora d’Alciato was a good enough reason to stay in Ferrara. The Maestro himself was finding it difficult to maintain his household. My place at the University of Pavia had been dependent on the good offices of Marcantonio della Torre. Now he was dead. Therefore I must also sign my name to the contract of my condottieri captain.
Our agreement with the French specified a certain number of men and horses so these needed to be brought up to the required amount. One or two of our men had deserted in Bologna. Another had fallen in love with a girl and had asked to be released from his bond. We needed to replace both men and horses. I sought out and bought the best horseflesh while Paolo recruited more men and armed and trained them.
These new men mainly had no provenance. They were the type who appear and attach themselves to whichever side is winning. Paolo had to work hard to contain their temperament, but he had become a good condottieri captain. He constantly sought new methods of soldiering from the French and put them into practice. He was beginning to prove himself a leader, and by dint of hard training he brought our new recruits to heel.
Paolo spent a great deal of money in kitting us out anew. He bought pistols and ammunition, gunpowder and shot. In order that we would be better protected in future battles he traded our thick leather helmets for ones made of steel, with side plates to guard the cheeks and a flap at the back to protect the vulnerable part of the neck. He purchased coats of buff leather and separate breast- and backplates to wear over these. To protect our hands we had leather gloves of the gauntlet type and also breeches with long riding boots.
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