Dante's Flame

by Jannine Corti-Petska

  “I fear, Messer Cristiano,” Alessandra began, using the title of reverence practiced by the Florentines. “I gave neither Fabroni nor Dante reason to prolong the marriage. Because I sought more than running a household, I am now willing to suffer in my new role as wife.”

  Dante lowered his head and wagged it from side to side. “Not any more than I,” he muttered, though his suffering was of a carnal nature. How could he have known he’d crave the wench day and night? If only he had been forewarned, perhaps he would have better concentrated on the reason he returned to Naples. “I fear Alessandra has yet to settle into her new role.”

  “Not so,” she disagreed sweetly.

  Dante itched to wring her slim neck when he realized her allusion. He refused to answer to anyone about the consummation of their union and got to his feet abruptly. “There is one constant in my wife’s life…her penchant to confess to Father Damiani.”

  She rose and fussed with imaginary wrinkles in her peach surcoat. She was doing her best not to sling a sarcastic retort at him; he was sure of it.

  ****

  Alessa awaited the portly priest inside the church. She prayed she was doing right by the French queen. Often she wondered if she should have confided in Dante. Or, perhaps, demanded he take her to the authorities in Naples.

  At last, Father Damiani appeared. His mouth puckered with annoyance when he saw her, then smoothed into a smile as he approached.

  “My dear, signora. How may I be of service to you today?”

  Alessa glanced about the church, searching for prying ears. “May we speak in private?”

  “Of course.”

  She followed him to the same small room they had used before. Once he lit a candle and closed them in secrecy, he offered her a seat on an old, warped bench. She organized her thoughts and started by testing the priest’s position.

  “Your pardon, Father, but I am ignorant of the politics gripping this city.” She paused to study his features. Not a single muscle moved in his face. “I do not know if the French are better suited to rule Naples than the Spanish.” Again she searched for a sign of his loyalty and found none. She believed he didn’t pledge his fealty to either country.

  “You have come to me to talk of politics?” he asked, puzzled she would speak on a subject suited to men.

  “Not so much the aspects of politics but the wrong that could be committed by devoted but misguided supporters.”

  “Go on.”

  “I overheard a conversation about plans to—” she leaned in and whispered, “bring harm to the French queen.”

  The priest remained calm. “Know you who spoke the threat?”

  Should she protect the queen or her own blood, no matter the vile man Benito was? “It is that which I am pained to reveal. Yet I cannot in good faith ignore the plan against a woman who has done naught but become queen through marriage.”

  “Ofttimes things are not what they seem.”

  “I fear I do not understand.”

  “Some say Queen Isabelle is behind the Anjevin rule and not her husband.”

  Thinking on it, Alessa realized a bit of truth existed in his statement. From what she had seen of the young, beautiful queen, the woman was poised and confident. Still, a life was not worth taking in the name of politics, even if Queen Isabelle was the one pushing for France to gain Naples as it own.

  “I see the indecision clouding your eyes,” the priest went on. “Mayhap if you tell me who is behind the plan to murder the queen, we may be able to prevent her premature death.”

  Alessa nodded and asked God for strength. It was not easy exposing blood to such a horrible plot. “It was Benito.”

  Shock widened the priest’s features. “Are you certain?”

  “As certain as I am sitting here confessing to you. But I do not know the other man with whom he spoke. The voice sounded familiar, but…” She shook her head. “I could not place the voice with a face.”

  Father Damiani stroked his chin.

  Alessa added, “I knew not what to do with this knowledge. I thought you may guide me to what is right.”

  “Have you told your husband?”

  “No,” she admitted regretfully. “Should I?”

  “That decision is in your hands. You have done what is right by coming to me, dear girl. I shall report this to the council of nobles. Benito will be arrested.”

  It was for the best, she told herself.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Alessa awoke early the next morning, troubled by the awful dreams she’d had during the night. Her mind harped on Benito’s dreadful plan. She truly hoped confessing to the priest would ease her guilt over the evilness of her own blood. But naught obliterated her cousin’s conversation from her head.

  She stretched her arms above her head and turned over, disappointed to find Dante gone. She brushed a hand over the indentation left in his pillow, still warm from where he laid his head. She leaned over to sniff his lingering scent, a comforting scent. She searched the bedchamber as loneliness from his absence unraveled over her.

  As she sat up, the covers slipped down her naked body. She glanced down at herself, wondering if there was a noticeable change now that she was truly a woman. If not on the outside, she surely was different inside.

  The chamber door crept back slowly. Agata peeked around it, and her tremulous smile bothered Alessa. “Buona mattina, signora.”

  “Good morning to you, too.” Alessa tried her utmost to be cheerful.

  Unmindful of her nudity, she left the bed and kneeled to pull out the bedpan. “Has my husband left the castle?”

  “No, signora. He is in the solar.”

  Alessa donned the gray and burgundy clothes Agata laid out on the bed. But when she slipped on her shoes, she was overcome with panic. The coins were gone! Immediately kicking off the shoes, she searched beneath the bed but couldn’t find the two gold coins.

  “I removed them to a safer place,” Agata told her.

  Alessa popped up and peered over the bed to the maidservant. She then crumbled to the floor and leaned against the bed frame, her heart thudding painfully. “You gave me a fright.” She feared Dante had found the evidence of her cousins’ dangerous deceit. “Where are they?”

  “Tucked into the cover of your journal.”

  “Think you they are safer there?”

  Agata nodded. “No man dares enter a woman’s private writings.”

  Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Agata must have found the small tear in the leather cover. However, Alessa couldn’t wholeheartedly agree with the woman. After all, Fabroni had ventured where he was not allowed. “You should have told me.”

  “I apologize, signora.” She lowered her head. “Shall I inform Signor Santangelo you are awake?”

  “No need. I shall surprise him.”

  ****

  Dante found sitting a nuisance. He doubted tying himself to a chair would cure his agitation. For some reason, tension gathered between his shoulder blades, and his gut was on fire. Something was brewing with Alfonso, but he and Etienne had naught to prove it, even though both continued to believe the Valentes aided the Spanish king.

  At the narrow window, he stared out over the strip of land in his sight, the vegetation brown from years of neglect. Only the hearty pines and a few olive trees endured. If he had planned on remaining in Naples, he’d hire field workers to sow the fertile soil. But he planned to return up north as soon as King Rene joined Isabelle. As it was, the king’s release from prison had been delayed. The queen continued admirably in her husband’s stead, but it was advantageous for Rene to join her if he intended to maintain the city. As competent as Isabelle was, most men believed a woman had no place in the midst of a political war. It was just a matter of time before Alfonso took advantage of the fact.

  “Alessandra is still abed?” Cristiano asked as he strode into the solar.

  Dante turned away from the window with a half-hearted smile. “She did not sleep well last night,
I fear. Something is on her mind, and she is keeping it to herself.”

  Observing the Medici as he poured a cup of morning ale, Dante was reminded of a majestic lion. The man held himself tall and proud. Much had been spoken about the influential Florentine family. If all the men were built as sturdy as this particular Medici, Dante now understood how they gained respect and fear from anyone who dared cross them.

  “Did you ask her outright?”

  “She’ll not tell me.” He hesitated in disclosing the truth, fearing it would not be in Rene’s best interest.

  “What are you not saying?”

  Dante held the Medici’s steadfast stare. Perhaps having the man’s alliance could very well boost the French position. “I am not merely a translator for the French.” The admission lay heavy on his tongue.

  Cristiano set his cup down with deliberate slowness. “Continue.”

  “When word spread that Alfonso was building an army to take Naples away from the French, I returned here to teach at the university. After Queen Giovanna died, the throne was handed to Rene. The university closed, so I remained as a French tutor and confidant to the French army after they moved in.”

  “Why would you become involved in French affairs?”

  “My mother is French…and cousin to Rene.”

  He should have stopped there, but he sensed the Florentine would press for more. Better to speak it voluntarily instead of having it forced out.

  “The Valente family is suspect in aiding Alfonso’s cause. Truth be told, both Captain Lemont and I are beginning to doubt if we were right in assuming the Valentes’ part. While I have been in Naples, they have done naught suspicious.”

  He poured another cup of the sweet ale. After swigging down half the contents, Dante set his thoughts in order and forged on.

  “After Alessandra arrived, I feared she may have come as part of the Valentes’ plot to oust the French. When Fabroni called me in to tutor her, I saw an opportunity to gain a better position in the family.”

  Cristiano’s features darkened considerably. “And your marriage to Alessandra?”

  Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dante pressed the thickness in his muscles which were pulled tighter than the strings on the fabled musician’s lyre. “That is where it becomes complicated.”

  He disliked the fierce storm clouds drifting into the Medici’s eyes. He swallowed the remainder of his ale, then set the cup on the table before explaining the rest.

  “When Fabroni approached me with the idea of marriage to Alessandra, my first inclination was to say no. Then I mulled it over—”

  Of a sudden, Cristiano stood before him, his fists closed tightly on the front of Dante’s surcoat. He hauled him closer to his snarling face. “You married her solely to extract information from the Valentes?”

  No one suffered more guilt than he. “I did.”

  A tortured wail outside the solar door sank like a load of rocks to the pit of Dante’s stomach. He tore Cristiano’s hands away and bolted, flinging back first the solar door then the main door just as a blur of gray and burgundy rushed into the front yard.

  “Alessandra!” His long strides caught up to her in an instant, but she shook him away when he attempted to hold her still.

  “Do not touch me!” She backed away from him as if he’d turned into a three-eyed monster. Tears streamed down her cheeks, breaking his heart.

  “Hear me out.”

  “I suspected your reason for marrying me had something to do with my cousins. And now it is too late to have our marriage annulled.”

  The mere mention of annulment plunged a sharp dagger of regret into Dante’s heart. He should have told her the truth from the start. But he had to be cautious, had to be careful about whom he trusted. And now he was about to lose the one woman who had burrowed so deep in his heart, losing her would shatter it into a thousand pieces.

  “Alessandra, please let me explain.”

  “It is too late for that.” She dashed away, leaving him to stare at her hair billowing behind her like a pale cape of fine silk.

  Cristiano came up beside him. “You have much to learn about women, amico mio. Let her cool off before you go after her. Only then will you be able to convince her you have lost your heart and soul to her.”

  Dante cast a wild-eyed look on him, disbelieving how the Medici knew what was in his heart.

  Cristiano shrugged as if it was common knowledge. “I have walked down the same path as you with my wife.”

  ****

  While Dante sat with Queen Isabelle in Castel dell’ Ovo, his mind remained on Alessandra’s crestfallen features. If only she had let him explain, she’d have known how much he cared about her. Not even Cristiano’s advice saved his battered emotions. Perhaps she did need time to calm down, but he knew Alessandra well and feared she’d do something foolish…like go to the Valentes with her knowledge of his purpose in Naples.

  Dante chastised himself. She’d not do anything as harmful as exposing him. She wasn’t a spiteful woman. But then, lying to a woman was akin to raking her over a red-hot camp fire. He pitied the man who knew what a scorned woman was capable of doing.

  “Is that not right?” the queen asked.

  Dante lifted his head and gave her a vacant stare.

  “I fear Dante is not among us,” Isabelle said to Cristiano. “At least not in mind.”

  “Your pardon,” he begged, appalled by his lack of etiquette in the queen’s presence.

  “Do not fret, Dante.” She smiled graciously. “I, more than anyone, know your allegiance to the French is strong. However, I believe there is naught I can do to help you in other matters.”

  “Your pardon?”

  Her smiled softened with understanding. “Mayhap you should see to your affairs at home before we discuss the affairs of my country.”

  Cristiano chuckled. “There is naught more distracting to a man than an unhappy wife.”

  ****

  Distraught, Alessa was certain her heart had broken into two unequal halves, both hurting for reasons she could not control. Moving blindly among the people of Naples, she was unable to stop the tears from drizzling down her face. Dante’s deceit crushed the love she truly felt in her soul for him. Even though she never wanted to believe it, deep inside she sensed he was using her. But after the last few nights, she thought he loved her as much as she did him. The truth hurt.

  The inner city was more crowded than usual. Bumped into and stepped on, Alessa shoved back in anger and grief. Only those who looked directly at her face knew she was upset, their pity plain to see. She wiped the tears away, but to no avail. More followed, so much more that her vision turned watery and indistinct.

  “Alessa! Over here!”

  She didn’t heed Attilo’s call. Instead, she darted down another street to avoid him. To her dismay, he followed.

  “Why are you running?” he asked.

  Too upset to answer, she turned her head away from his view.

  “What has happened?” His voice was rife with concern.

  “It is naught.”

  “You expect me to believe you?”

  Ashamed he’d see how badly she’d been fooled, she averted her gaze. She simply couldn’t admit her husband had used her like a stepping stone to further the French cause.

  “Did your husband beat you?” he asked.

  For all Dante was, he wasn’t physically abusive as were so many husbands. She could not in good faith allow Attilo to believe otherwise. “He did not harm me.” At least not of the flesh. Her heart was another matter. “Signor de’ Medici told me my father is ill, and I am worried.”

  “You should not be wandering the city unescorted.”

  Sniffling back the tears, she nodded. “I know, but I must buy…bread for our evening meal. Besides, it is daylight. What harm will come to me?”

  “Mind where you go, then.”

  She watched Attilo walk away, his gait rocking with clumsiness. Caught between boyhood and becoming a man, h
e was of the age where the course for a man’s future was set. Sadly, with a family as underhanded as his, Attilo’s influences were severely damaged.

  A half block away from the church, Alessa contemplated seeking out Father Damiani to ask if he had reported Benito’s evil plot. If Benito had been arrested, Attilo seemed unfazed by it. Perhaps the nobles had yet to devise a plan for Benito and those who stood with him. She hadn’t gone two steps when she caught sight of the son of the devil as he hurried from an alley shared with the church. She ducked behind several chatting women and pretended to be part of their group.

  Benito was angry. In fact, the murderous look descending his face made her wonder if his plans for the queen had been jeopardized. Clearly he had yet to be arrested. She tracked him with her eyes, then lost him in the crowd. She spotted him again just before he disappeared into a tavern.

  Alessa broke away from the women and slipped into the church. While her eyes adjusted to the soft candlelight, she listened for signs of life. When she recognized Amalia Valente’s plea coming from the priest’s private quarters, her heart pounded.

  “You must help my son.”

  “I will do everything in my power, signora.” Father Damiani spoke with genuine concern. “Alas, Benito must also help himself.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “Now that he has been found out, it is just a matter of time. Because I am a servant of God, it is my duty to prepare you.”

  “I am grateful to you, Father.”

  Alessa crouched behind a pew. After Amalia left the church and the priest returned to his quarters, she decided no matter the reason Dante married her, he must know about Benito’s plan to kill the queen. But first she’d make it clear to him she intended to seek an annulment based on his deception. If that was not possible, then she’d seek the aid of Cristiano, who knew nobles and popes alike. Surely one of them would understand Dante’s treachery.

  She fled the inner city. Once on the other side, she veered away from the main road, wishing to put distance between her and those who traveled to and from the city through this particular gate. She gazed off to the sea, contemplating how to approach Dante. Needing time to sort out her thoughts, she walked down the slope leading to the shell-shaped bay.