“Was I inside or outside of the church?” I had to know.
“Halfway between, Monna Simonetta. You collapsed in the threshold.”
“Where are you taking me?” I certainly didn’t want to go to some archaic ospedale, where they would give me some horrible syrup and drain my blood.
“Marco instructed us to take you back to the palazzo.”
I nodded in agreement. Before long, I was carried up to my bedchamber and placed gently on the bed. The all-male retinue was careful not to touch any inappropriate areas on my body.
“I will fetch your attendant,” the kind face man replied.
“I am right here!” Antonella called from behind them as she forced her way through. “Are you ailing?”
“I’m fine. Just not a fan of church services,” I laughed.
Antonella excused the retinue so that they might return to the Ognissanti, then she brought a cold washcloth to my forehead as I’d done for Jacopo the night before.
“I don’t have a fever, Antonella. I’m perfectly all right.”
“Still, I insist you rest.” She attempted to remove my fairy tale gown while I lie supine on the bed, but those damn dresses were hard enough to deal with while standing.
“Antonella, I can get up.” She wanted to protest, but I was already on my feet before she could.
“Why would you swoon like that, if not from fever?” she asked while she removed the blue, satiny dress.
“I had…a panic attack.”
“Ahh, you need the chamber pot?” She went to reach for it under the bed.
“Wait. What? No, no Antonella,” I put my hands up to stop her.
“Then you need an infusion of barley porridge, egg yolk, and cinnamon for the colic.”
“No. Not colic. My stomach is fine. I panicked. I got scared…of the church…and I didn’t want to go in.”
“You are frightened of the church? But your favorite nun is there,” she said sarcastically.
“Exactly!”
“You must rest,” Antonella insisted again with wide-eyed concern for my sanity.
“Okay, Antonella. I think I will. How long until the rest of the family gets home?”
“It is the Lord’s day, Netta. You know they will be socializing for the better part of it.”
“Why don’t you take a nap as well, then,” I suggested.
“Me?” Antonella questioned, but then yawned. “Yes, I am quite fatigued after our late night. Since no one is here to witness, I believe I will.” She walked into her adjacent room and closed the door behind her.
Suddenly, a chill of excitement ran through me. It was the same feeling I had when my first boyfriend left me alone in his house. And I did exactly what I did then.
I searched it.
Having no idea what I was looking for, I strolled through my sitting room and the dining area, relishing the opportunity to admire their splendor without anyone wondering why I studied the contents so intently. My hunt only intensified when I entered Marco’s bedchamber, but after rifling around for a while, I found nothing of any real significance. After that, I walked in and out of the multitude of rooms, admiring the décor, but with the same results; no tidbits to shed any light on this noble family.
Finally, I reached the last door of the hallway, which led into the most elaborate set of chambers in the palazzo. A large sitting room opened into a bedchamber, with gold paneled walls wrapped around a sculpted four post bed. The bed had a canopy and drapes of red velvet fringed with gold tassels; the ensemble crowned with something resembling a giant gold tiara. The cobalt blue mosaic flooring with gold wasps was partially covered by an extravagant Turkish rug. Beyond the bedchamber on one side resided a bathroom of sorts and a small chapel. What interested me the most dwelled on the other side: a library with a delicate bureau desk as its centerpiece. I thumbed through books on banking, notarization, and the laws of Florence, disappointed that no literature, philosophy or poetry were anywhere to be found.
I turned my attention to the desk. Two framed certificates adorned the top shelf—both in honor of Piero Vespucci. The first stated that Marco’s father served in office for the King of Naples, the second that he also held the post of Chief Magistrate, or Podestà, of Milan.
There were several small inkwells and even more quills tucked under the first shelf. Stacks of documents and letters were filed in slots. I took one pile at a time, careful not to disturb the order in which I found them. Once I moved past my enchantment with the beautiful calligraphy penned on the delicate parchment, I examined the papers more closely. There were several bank notes indicating many of Florence’s citizens were indebted to Piero, and a number of letters from dignitaries in Genoa, Milan, and Naples.
Then I found a deed, which read:
As dowry, in addition to monetary compensation for Simonetta Cattaneo of Genoa, betrothed to Marco Vespucci, son of Piero, I hereby grant this deed to the mineral rights of the Piombino Iron Mines on the island of Elba.
Signed,
Jacopo III d’Appiano
Even though I was quite familiar with the concept of dowries, it still shocked and infuriated me that Piero and Marco were actually paid handsomely to take Simonetta. I continued my search a little less delicately.
Had he sold me to Giuliano as well? And who is Jacopo d’Appiano?
I opened the drawers of the bureau desk one by one, by now so angry, that I paid little attention to the contents. As I went to return the papers to the third drawer, I noticed something peeking out from under the velvet liner at the bottom: two documents addressed to Jacopo III, Lord of Piombino—not Piero Vespucci—were hidden there.
As I attempted to interpret the concealed documents, I was suddenly halted by a clatter at the front door.
Chapter 30
I quickly returned the documents to their hiding place, grabbed a quill and inkwell from Piero’s desk, and scurried across the palazzo before anyone could catch me snooping. By the time I reached my bedchamber, out of breath, I realized the palazzo remained empty; not a soul in sight. I heard the clatter again, but this time I could tell it was someone knocking at the front door. In the twenty-first century, I would’ve thought nothing of answering the caller myself, but here I had to let custom dictate my actions, so I waited to see if Antonella would arise. I even opened her door slightly, hoping the noise would awaken her, but she was fast asleep. I looked out the window to see who was calling, and my heart leapt to see Sandro waving at me.
In only my shift, I ran down the stairs, flung the front door open, and yanked Sandro into the palazzo before throwing my arms around him, figuring my unclothed body wouldn’t exactly be a shock to him. “How are you still standing? Are you all right?” I asked.
“Me?”
“Yes, you! Your master has died, you have to care for his son, your uncle is sick, and you’ve been up all night.”
Without being on crack.
“But, you have fainted, Simonetta. I saw it with my own eyes. I have risked being discovered to ensure you are well.”
I took both his hands into mine, and pulled him into my bedchamber. “Come in here in case someone returns to the house, so you won’t be seen.” As it happened, my chamber was the only place in the palazzo I felt I could call my own in this alternate world. I propped a velvet chair up against the doorknob before turning back to him. “I’m fine Sandro. I don’t know what happened.”
“Where is Antonella?” he asked.
“Asleep in the next room.” Using the chair to ward away intruders left no other place to sit but the bed. Surprisingly, Sandro sat down next to me.
“I start the Ognissanti fresco on the morrow, and I fear I will not see you alone again,” Sandro said, almost in tears. “I will paint you forever, even if they keep me from you. I know this commission in the Ognissanti is designed to separate us, and you must give yourself to Giuliano.”
“But I—.”
“Despite what you think, Simonetta, you have no choice,” San
dro said firmly.
“What if Giuliano doesn’t win the joust?”
Although, I knew he would. But maybe I could trip him? Give him a trick lance? Glue the visor of his armor shut?
“Giuliano is an excellent athlete and both he and Lorenzo have rewarded many Florentines for their participation, including Filippino and your father-in-law, Piero. They have even paid for their armor, horse and trappings. His win has been ensured. ”
“There has to be a way out of it,” I muttered. Then I pondered what he had said. This could be the last time we were alone together. Ever. For a moment I no longer cared about the stupid joust or what would happen with Giuliano. I wasted no time kissing Sandro, doubling down on my previous infidelity. It occurred to me that I was always the aggressor, but each time he became more and more willing, soon allowing his lips to mold to mine. And once more we fell into a reclined position, but this time on my hard bed. We stared into each other’s eyes for less than a minute before Sandro drifted off into a deep sleep.
I wanted to strip him down and have my way with him, but he only reluctantly allowed my inappropriate advances when he was conscious. So it seemed we were doomed to remain somewhere between lovers and residents of the friendship-zone.
I lay next to him on the bed for a while, gazing lovingly at his gently snoring form. It was my only down time since awakening in this world and I wasn’t quite sure how to occupy myself. I was tempted to join him in slumber, knowing that resting next to him meant it would be a peaceful, dreamless sleep. But I had to listen for the Vespucci clan to return.
At some point Antonella opened her door and found me lying next to Sandro while he slept on the bed. She just nodded knowingly and returned to her chamber.
Then I remembered the stolen quill and inkwell from Piero’s chamber. I knew such items would never have been made available to a woman, and in my haste, I grabbed them as one might a precious treasure. From Sandro’s satchel I pilfered some paper.
I wanted to write to Sandro, something to let him know how much his paintings would one day mean to his father. To future generations. To me. Though before my pen even hit the paper, I thought better of it. I had such a clear mind when I was with Sandro, and even though he wasn’t conscious, the clarity remained. I wanted to write about my love for him, to hide it in some remote place that wouldn’t be found until years after Simonetta’s death.
But where?
Instead, I wrote about Sandro in the contemporary vernacular, not my corrupted modern version of Italian, but in Mariano’s Tuscan language of old, so it could be understood in this time. Chronicling all I had learned about him in our brief time, I wrote my personal biography of Sandro Botticelli while he slept by my side.
Chapter 31
At some point I fell asleep next to Sandro, an affirmation of my trust for him, since I’d slept next to very few people in my first life. And it was a restful slumber, just as it had been in the meadow, dreamless and peaceful. When I awoke, I reached to run my fingers through his hair, then stopped when I realized what had wakened me—the Vespucci were returning to the palazzo en masse. The churchgoers noisily entered the house after a long day of prayer and socializing. The clanking boots resonated on the marble, children happily squealed, and men and women laughed. It sounded like Mardi Gras; the aftermath of solemn worship.
I snapped out of my fog, and remembered the quill and paper scattered about me and the inkwell next to the clock on my nightstand. I hastily shoved the filched items into the drawer of the bedside table. “Sandro!” I roused him quickly, “They’re back!”
“How long have I been sleeping?” he asked, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Most of the day. I need to get you out of here. Someone is likely to check on me.”
Only because I’m valuable human capital.
I stood and grabbed Sandro’s hand. “Follow me.”
Antonella knew exactly what was required when I led Sandro into her sparse chamber, having already obtained the key to the outside from Amerigo’s room. She immediately opened the small door behind the painting and waved him through. Sandro agreed to stay hidden in the staircase until the Vespucci procession had finished entering the house and the excitement from the street died down, so that no one would see him escape through the alley.
He took an extra moment before releasing my hand. “I’ll find a way to see you. I promise,” he pledged. I kissed him passionately before closing the door behind him.
Only moments later, my bedchamber door rattled—gently at first, then with furious intensity. I raced back into my room and flung myself onto the bed just as the velvet chair gave way and toppled, and the door came flying open.
“What is the meaning of this?” Marco yelled.
Nothing came to me at the spur of the moment, so I remained still on the bed, pretending to have just awakened.
“We are two women alone in the palazzo, Signor Vespucci,” Antonella responded. “It was for Monna Simonetta’s protection.”
Piero entered the room and pushed past Marco, wearing a haughty red tunic with royal blue trim, regaled in gold embroidered Vespucci wasps. His presence created the same static, tense air as the first time I met him at supper, and Marco’s demeanor completely changed.
“How are you feeling, my dear?” Marco asked warmly. “You gave us quite a scare.”
“I did?” It seemed to me I was dumped off at the palazzo as some sort of great inconvenience.
“Is it possible you are finally with child?” Piero asked in his baritone voice.
“I don’t see how,” I chuckled sarcastically.
Piero moved closer in order to loom over me properly. “What is your meaning?” he demanded in a way that actually frightened me. I found Marco’s attempts at intimidation to be only an annoyance, but I got the strong sense that his father was not a man to be trifled with.
I nearly panicked while searching my brain for a reply. Clearly, this was not the time to out Marco and Luciana to Piero; especially when I didn’t have a handle on the entire story or the identity of the real villain in this whole twisted scenario. And I certainly didn’t want to say anything that would encourage the creation of a child.
“Well…I didn’t want to say it, but it’s that time of the month,” I lied. “Which is why I fainted.”
Even in this day and age, where elders watched and instructed newlyweds during their first sexual encounter, it was obvious that my menstrual cycle was not a subject these men wished to discuss. They understood my meaning and asked no further questions.
“Do you require anything before I leave you?” Piero asked.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Very well. Just assure you are prepared for tonight.”
Tonight?
After Piero exited, Marco closed the door, then stink-eyed Antonella into returning to her own chamber. He sat next to me on the bed and rubbed a rough hand down the side of my face. “You are a beauty,” he said, with what resembled sincerity. “Twas unfortunate that I was not alone when you finally came to me the prior night.”
“Oh, no no…That was a mistake. I was…sleepwalking.”
And with that his angry countenance returned with a vengeance.
Sincerity now gone.
“As soon as you are given to Giuliano, you and I must produce a child no matter how unpleasant you view the task. Perhaps when your virginity has been taken, you will not find relations with me so distasteful.”
I didn’t know how to reply.
If I’m forced to shag someone else then you won’t be quite so gross?
“Do you intend to give up your lover?” I asked, now understanding that it was Simonetta who prevented the sexual union and not Marco as I’d suspected. She must have known about the affair from the beginning.
“We have been over this before. It is unfortunate you discovered my relationship with Luciana, as these matters are best kept private, but it is not as if I am the first nobleman to take a lover. Lorenzo f
or example. He does not even attempt to conceal Lucrezia Donati from his wife, and yet Clarice still bears his children. It is your duty Simonetta. You are an intelligent woman. You know I will have my way. I have allowed you time to come to me, but eventually I will be forced to take what is mine for the sake of the family.”
The whole idea that it was my duty to bed a man I detested was not a foreign concept to me. I’d been married to a monster once before. “Just one question. Do you love Luciana?”
“Why would you inquire about such a thing?”
“Just humor me. If I have to give up any dream I have of the way my life should be, for the sake of a family I didn’t choose, you could at least answer that one question.”
“Very well,” Marco sighed. “Yes, I suppose I do. She has been with us in the palazzo my whole life.”
I decided not to go the route of asking why he didn’t marry Luciana, or why she couldn’t “produce” children to carry on the family name, since I knew the answers to both. If the color of her skin wasn’t an issue, her societal standing would certainly prevent their legal union. “Does your father know you love her?”
“Of course not. You know what Father would do. But I must say, I am grateful to you for not divulging our secret.”
There came that sincerity again. And some possible blackmail leverage to boot.
I realized I was not the only victim of Renaissance custom. Marco had very few choices he could make about his own life as well. For a minute I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He must not have known what to do with the pity that washed over my face. “We are expected at the ball in only a few hours,” Marco snapped, as he quickly stood up again.
Since I was already on the shit list, I decided to ask, “What ball?”
“Yes, I suppose with all the commotion, I have forgotten to inform you,” Marco conceded. “Eleonora de Aragon is passing through Florence on her way to Ferrara to wed Duke Ercole d’Este. Lorenzo has arranged many last moment festivities to honor her including a ball in the gardens of the Palazzo Lenzi. An invitation arrived this morn while you were out with the painter. Make sure your attendant has you prepared.”
What Remains of the Fair Simonetta Page 16
