“Lower the drawbridge, and I will come inside and show it to you,” she said. “You know my lord’s signature as well as anyone.”
Zocho folded his arms and shook his head. “Dear lady,” he said, “I heard how you took the fortress at Sant’Angelo, and have no desire to let you inside. I will tell you this: bring Girolamo’s heir, Ottaviano. If he will pay off his father’s debt, I will happily turn over Ravaldino to him.”
No amount of arguing would convince him. Infuriated, Caterina swung her horse about and rode away; I followed.
Girolamo did not die. Over the next week, his pain gradually eased, though he suffered for three days for want of wine. Afterward he remained too weak to sit at the gambling table.
Interestingly enough, Zocho failed to outlive his master. As he was enjoying his supper inside Ravaldino in the company of two fellow soldiers—one of whom had been inside the Castel Sant’Angelo when Caterina seized it—they turned on him with knives, and Zocho was no more. Ravaldino was now in my lady’s hands, with a new castellan, Tommaso Feo, who was utterly loyal to her.
I asked no questions; I did not want to know the truth, and Caterina offered up no details.
On the night of the fourteenth of April 1488, I woke in my husband’s arms to the sound of a woman screaming; the cry emanated from the contessa’s apartments and was so dire that Luca and I bolted from the bed and ran toward the source immediately. Soon there came not one cry, but many, some of them triumphant. From the ground floor came the sound of intruders.
We reached the door to my lady’s bedchamber just as the nurse and Caterina’s eldest, Bianca, were herding the children inside to their mother. Nine-year-old Ottaviano sat quietly weeping on the bed beside his younger brother Cesare.
Caterina emerged from her closet holding two swords and a dagger; she handed one of the swords to Girolamo’s old valet, Niccolò, who was trembling so badly that he could not hold on to the hilt. The other she tried to press onto Ottaviano, but he would not lower his hands from his face.
Caterina’s eyes were dazed, her cheeks still damp from an earlier rush of tears, but her voice was unsettlingly calm. “Dea, help me push the furniture against the door. They will be coming for us. Girolamo has been murdered.”
At this, the older children let go fresh wails; Caterina did not notice them, as her gaze fell on Luca.
“Do you know the way to Milan?”
Luca nodded.
“Go to my uncle as fast as you can,” Caterina said, “and tell him I need military help at once, or Forlì is lost. If you can stop safely at Ravaldino on the way, tell the castellan that he is not to surrender under any circumstances.” As Luca swiftly kissed me, Caterina added, “Be careful going to the stables. If they see you, they will kill you.”
I watched, panicked, as Luca left, but I knew that his chances of surviving were actually better than ours. By then, Marta the chambermaid had arrived and helped Lucia comfort the children. With the help of Niccolò, Caterina and I bolted the door and pushed my lady’s heavy wardrobe against it.
“That is all we can do,” Caterina sighed, and sat down on the bed to hold her children. As she pressed her lips to four-year-old Giovanni Livio’s crown, she shared a dark glance with me: we had no means of escape, and little time before Girolamo’s killers would break through our pathetic barrier.
“Hush,” Caterina said gently to her children. “When our enemies arrive, remain calm and be courteous. We cannot fight them with so few weapons, so no one is to strike out at them first. You are Riario; your father suffers no more, but is in Heaven now, looking down upon you. Make him proud. If they take me from you, don’t be afraid. I am your mother, and I will fight to the death for each and every one of you. Do you understand?”
Ten-year-old Bianca, mature for her age and the most fearless of the group, nodded solemnly on behalf of the others.
“But I do not intend to die,” Caterina said. “If I can, I shall outwit them. So don’t believe anything they tell you.” She put a hand upon Ottaviano’s shoulder. “I will not let Forlì be so easily lost.”
I hugged myself and walked rapidly to the room’s single large window. Thrice you will enter the Tower, I had told Caterina, and decided that I had been wrong. There was no possibility we could survive; they would slaughter us here, and quickly.
The window opened onto the small square in front of the palazzo; the glass caught the golden light of torches in the street, and the cries of those below floated up into the bedchamber.
Liberty! Liberty! Long live the Orsi!
Careful to hang back in the shadows, I glanced down at the street, where Ludovico Orsi was urging on a crowd of angry peasants who swarmed like insects over a long, pale object in the dusty street. The glow from their torches caught the film of unshed tears in my eyes, dazzling me. When my vision cleared, I saw their prize: a man’s naked corpse, its face and torso covered by blood. A merchant from town knelt beside it, and, lifting its lolling head in his hands, bit deeply into its scalp and pulled his face back, brown hair and blood streaming from his mouth. He spat them out, and bent down again to take another bite. At the same time, a fellow beside him used a dagger to slice flesh from the underside of the corpse’s arm.
A very long arm, and a very tall corpse. I recognized Girolamo from the shape of his body, not his features, which were already crushed or cut away. I clamped my hand over my mouth and turned away.
As I faced the bed and the furniture shoved against the barricaded door, I heard the first strike of an ax against the wood. Caterina straightened her shoulders, rose, and walked calmly up to the shuddering door.
“There is no need to destroy anything else,” she called. “We will let you in. Put down your weapons! There are children here!”
I hurried to help her push the furniture aside.
To my astonishment, the men led by Cecco Orsi did not kill us. Instead, they permitted Caterina to calmly kiss each of her children before leaving the room. Surrounded by a cluster of armed men, whose presence protected us from the irate crowd as it hurled curses at Caterina, we were led on foot to the Orsi palazzo. There, we were put under guard and treated civilly; even Niccolò, the elderly valet, who had been an eyewitness to the murder, was allowed to stay with us. It was then that he finally told us the tale of Girolamo’s murder.
The Orsi brothers, who had been Girolamo’s constant companions until his illness, knew well where the key to the Hall of the Nymphs was hidden; Girolamo so distrusted the Forlivese that he had taken to locking any room after he had entered it. That night, he had felt well enough to dine in his favorite room. When he had finished supper, he dismissed all of his attendants save one: Niccolò.
“It happened so quickly,” Niccolo said mournfully. “His Illustriousness had opened the window and was taking in the night air, when Cecco Orsi suddenly appeared. Of course, he trusted Cecco with the key, and expected no harm; in fact, the count greeted Cecco, and held out his hand to see the piece of paper that Cecco was waving. Cecco was saying something about being able to pay the meat tax, and just at that moment, one of the count’s military captains—Ronchi, I think his name is—came up behind His Illustriousness with a drawn sword.
“I cried out, but by then, Cecco had already buried his knife in my lord’s ribs.” The old man began to weep softly. “But Lord Girolamo did not fall. He ran for the door, but the captain blocked him. In despair, he dove beneath the table, but they grabbed him by his hair and pulled him out.
“By then, Cecco had completely lost his nerve, and was ready to flee; he dropped his knife and turned away while the captain quickly finished the job.”
Caterina listened tearlessly, but the corner of her upper lip was curled with hatred and disgust. “Cecco lost his nerve? And where was his brother, Ludovico?”
“Downstairs, I suppose. Ser Cecco is by far the braver of the two.”
Caterina’s expression hardened, but I saw the faint glimmer of hope in her eye.
“Cowards
,” she whispered, too softly for the guards to hear. “We are dealing with cowards.”
When morning came, the papal governor of the neighboring town of Cesena paid Caterina a visit. Monsignor Savelli was short, slight, white-haired and dressed in a priest’s simple black frock, but he moved with the confidence of a Roman cardinal. He was also supremely polite, and greeted Her Illustriousness warmly; they had met on several occasions, and though Savelli cared nothing for Girolamo, he was quite taken with Girolamo’s wife. The monsignor had taken command of the town in Pope Innocent’s name, and was ferreting out the truth behind the uprising, after which he would decide whether the Orsi’s request to replace the Riario had merit. The Orsi, of course, were fully cooperating with him, as they needed the pope’s blessing to rule. In return, they were allowed to hold Caterina prisoner and continue in their efforts against her.
I attended Caterina and him as they sat in the well-furnished antechamber on soft chairs and the children played back in the bedroom.
Savelli paid close attention to Caterina as she told him the truth of the matter: that Cecco Orsi, who had recently collected the annual meat tax for Girolamo, foolishly spent it, then begged his lord for extra time to come up with the money. His brother Ludovico was also still smarting from one of Girolamo’s tantrums. Girolamo had died as the result of a petty vendetta, not a genuine uprising; Savelli could go through the financial records himself and see how generous Girolamo had been to his people. He had never done anything to offend the Forlivese.
Savelli nodded sympathetically as he listened; when Caterina finished, he said, in the gentlest of voices, “I must apologize for intruding in this affair, but of course, you can understand the Holy Father’s interest in maintaining peace in the Romagna. It’s always possible that His Holiness might decide to invest your son, Ottaviano, with Forlì. In the meantime, peace would be best served if you surrendered the town, and returned to your property in Imola. There, you and your children can safely await our judgment.”
Caterina’s soft tone matched the priest’s. “Surely you realize, Father, that if I surrender now, Forlì will be forever lost to the Riario. We have no champion in Rome.”
“You have your nephew, the cardinal. He has a good deal of influence.”
Caterina smiled woodenly. “Raffaele’s influence does not extend to Peter’s throne, unfortunately.”
Savelli leaned forward and paternally patted Caterina’s hand, which gripped the arm of her chair. “Retire to Imola, dear girl,” he said, “and raise your children. You have just lost your husband; now is the time to grieve, not worry with politics.”
A deep flush traveled from the hollow of my lady’s throat to her cheekbones; her grip on the chair tightened as she pushed herself to her feet. “These Orsi are fools,” she said bitterly. “They lack the wits to govern. The fact that they have let me survive is proof of it. I will—” she began, but stopped and with great effort, controlled herself.
Savelli stared up at her blankly, benignly. “Yes, my dear?”
Caterina took her time answering him; when she spoke, her voice was silky and sweet. “I will consider everything you have said, Monsignor. Thank you so much for coming.”
The next day, we were all moved to more secure, less hospitable quarters: the stuffy room in the tower above Saint Peter’s gate, where watchmen usually slept. The room was so small that the older boys and I sat upon the floor without space enough to stretch our legs, while Caterina and the younger children sat cross-legged upon the narrow straw cot. It was disheartening at best, especially as the children made constant use of the single chamberpot, and there was no breeze to carry the smell away.
But Caterina’s grim mood soon lightened. The three men charged with guarding her were sympathetic to the Riario, though not enough to set us free; however, they were happy to provide the contessa with paper and quill so that she could write to her castellan, Tommaso Feo, who was still loyally holding the fortress at Ravaldino.
Even better, they were willing to deliver her letter.
The next day, Cecco and Ludovico Orsi, who were now feeling the full strain of their tentative position, came with an escort of armed guards to take Caterina away. Bianca began to cry, and the rest of the children soon followed. I did my best to comfort them, although I, too, was terrified that Savelli had secretly been offended by Caterina’s angry outburst about the Orsi, and that these men had come to take her to the executioner’s block.
Within two hours, Caterina was returned to us; I was frightened at first by the spot of dried blood on her neck, but she was not only well, but triumphant. “Luca!” she whispered exultantly to me, so our guards could not hear. “He made it safely to Ravaldino, and beyond!”
She sat on the cot, tucking her legs and skirts underneath her, and told the tale with relish. The Orsi brothers had taken her to Ravaldino, and dragged her in front of the fortress, at the very edge of the moat. As Cecco held a knife to her throat, he ordered her to call to her castellan, Feo. She did so. When Feo (whose name suited him, as he was unforgivably ugly) appeared, Cecco threatened Caterina with death unless she ordered her castellan to surrender.
Caterina flatly refused. Cecco insisted again, this time pressing the blade against her flesh.
“When I refused again,” she said, “he pricked my throat and drew just a drop of blood. He touched it with his finger and showed it to me, thinking I would faint, I suppose. I laughed at him. The third time I refused, he began shouting at me.
“Out of pity for Cecco,” she said, amused, “I finally called to Feo to surrender. Of course, Feo would not, and poor Cecco had to put the knife to my throat again. By then, both Feo and I were grinning. Cecco threatened my life three more times, then simply gave up. And here I am.”
For the next three days, Cecco dragged Caterina to the fortress and repeated the farce, and for three days, the outcome was the same.
On the fourth day, our friendly guards escorted us from the little room in the tower down to the street, where four horses, a dirty wagon, Monsignor Savelli, three of his personal attendants, and the Orsi brothers awaited us. The Orsi brothers seemed bitter and downcast; Monsignor Savelli was in mildly cheerful spirits, with a faint hint of triumph in his eyes.
As two of our guards mounted horses and the third helped Caterina into the wagon, Savelli reined his steed alongside her.
After the two exchanged polite greetings, Savelli announced, “I received a messenger this morning from your castellan. He has indicated his willingness to surrender Ravaldino to me, if I will grant him one condition: a meeting with you, so that he can collect the back pay you apparently owe him. He also wants a letter praising his loyal service, so that he can obtain employment elsewhere.”
Caterina lowered her gaze. “Traitor!” she growled, then looked back to Savelli and said wearily, “Without the fortress, I have no hope. I will write the letter, but I have no money. Feo can be very stubborn; he will not surrender without it.”
“What sum do you owe him?” Savelli asked guardedly.
Caterina answered without hesitation. “Two hundred ducats.”
The monsignor sighed, and handed Caterina a small velvet purse. “At least you tell the truth,” he told her. “This is the same amount Feo asked for.” He also handed her a freshly inked quill, and the letter, already written, which she quickly signed.
As Caterina blew on the ink, Savelli continued. “As for the meeting . . . Your Feo has asked that it occur inside the fortress.”
“Really?” Caterina asked. “Are you not concerned that he will attempt some trickery?”
Savelli cleared his throat and shot a sidewise glance at the brooding Orsi brothers, who sat on horseback a short distance away. “Concern has been expressed. This is why we are taking you all; I have agreed to let the Orsi hold your loved ones while you are inside Ravaldino. If you do not return in three hours, the Orsi are determined to kill them.” He lowered his voice. “Apparently they do not understand a mother’s love. I
have reassured them that, knowing your children are hostages, you will return.”
Caterina looked to the Orsi and our armed guards. “Of course I will return,” she echoed solemnly.
The ride to the fortress did not take long. As the wagon rocked, I felt terror combined with a keen sense of the present moment, as if I had always rattled toward Ravaldino and an uncertain fate. I looked to Caterina, whose expression was utterly impassive; the armed guards were flanking us and able to see our faces, and my lady would not meet my gaze.
A group of curious Forlivese had learned of the coming drama, and had gathered a polite distance from the fortress to watch. They made little noise as we appeared; apparently they were not partisan, but pragmatically interested in the outcome.
When we stopped at the outer edge of Ravaldino’s moat, a guard swung Caterina down from the wagon while Savelli shouted for Feo to lower the drawbridge. The castellan’s face briefly appeared at a battlement, then disappeared again; soon, we heard the creak of the wheel and the clank of the chain as the bridge began to lower slowly.
Caterina, purse and letter in hand, turned back to gaze at each of us in the wagon, then spoke suddenly to Savelli. “I am afraid,” she said. “Feo has been loyal to my husband, but he is a soldier, and I a helpless woman alone . . .”
The monsignor nodded sympathetically. “Would you prefer that one of the guards accompany you?”
“Yes, please. Two would be even better; Feo is cunning and very strong.”
Savelli looked to our three guards. “Accompany her,” he commanded them all, and looked at the sulking Orsi. “You see? There is no chance of her escaping now.”
The guards dismounted and went to Caterina’s side. She looked at the drawbridge, now almost fully down, and back at the wagon.
The Scarlet Contessa Page 38
