by C. De Melo
“We all pity him. Losing a child is the most painful thing in the world.”
Bruno suddenly cradled his head in his hands and gave into tears. The sight of such anguish made a few mourners cry, including Allegra.
It was later discovered that Anabella had contracted the disease from her lover before passing it on to her son. Her infidelity had caused the death of an innocent child. To Bruno, this knowledge was the final coup-de-grace, leaving him a broken man.
Domenico resumed his lessons with Allegra several weeks later, but he, too, had changed. At one point, he doubled over and silently wept.
Allegra set down her tools and gently patted his back. “It pains me to see you suffer, Maestro, I’ll have Gianna make a draught to soothe you.”
While she went in search of Gianna, Vittorio entered the workshop.
Sensing his friend’s presence, Domenico hastily wiped his eyes. “Forgive me. Every time I picture my grandson’s face…”
Vittorio placed a comforting hand on the old man’s shoulder. “My prayers are always with you and your son. How is Bruno?”
Domenico shook his head sadly. “While that bastard still breathes my son will never know peace.”
The man with whom Anabella had committed the crime of adultery not only survived the illness, but had fled the city to avoid legal repercussions. Bruno tried in vain to chase him.
“God will punish him soon enough,” Vittorio assured. “You should be grateful that Bruno’s life was spared.”
“My son knew his wife had admirers, but he never suspected Anabella of being unfaithful. Oh, how he loved that stupid girl...” The old man’s face contorted into a grimace. “We never thought her capable of such a vile deed. I hope she’s burning in Hell right now.”
“She was cursed with beauty and attracted too much attention.”
“Vain, silly woman!” Domenico cried vehemently. “She forsook her loving husband and beautiful child—for what? Compliments, trinkets, and moments of stolen pleasure. The wanton whore.”
There was an awkward silence before Vittorio said, “Bruno is young. In time, he will recover from this blow.”
Domenico was about to reply when Allegra entered the workshop.
“Gianna said this will make you feel better, Maestro,” she said, offering him a ceramic cup.
“Thank you, Allegra,” he said before taking a sip of the warm liquid. Turning to Vittorio, he added, “My son is leaving Florence. He told me so this morning. He claims there are too many painful memories here.”
Allegra inquired, “Where is Signore Bruno going?”
“A group of Portuguese dignitaries traveling from Rome stopped in Florence to pay their respects to the Medici. One of them, a respected navigator, came into the bottega to purchase gifts for his wife and daughter.” Domenico paused, his eyes watering. “Bruno convinced the man to allow him to join his crew.”
“Bruno isn’t a sailor,” Vittorio pointed out.
Domenico shrugged sadly. “I know. I’ve tried to talk him out of it, but there’s no reasoning with him in his current state of mind.”
“Who will run the bottega?”
“I will. A few of the senior apprentices will help me.”
“You can count on my help. I’m here for whatever you need.”
“I can help you, too,” Allegra chimed.
Vittorio inquired, “When do the Portuguese depart?”
“Within a fortnight.”
Later that evening, after the family had supped, Allegra crept into the workshop and went through her father’s satchel.
Vittorio appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing, Allegra?”
“Where is that old compass you received as payment last year?”
“Why do you want it?”
“I’d like to remount it and offer it to Signore Bruno as a parting gift. He has suffered so much, I thought a token of our goodwill might cheer him.”
“A compass is a most fitting gift for one is about to depart on a long journey. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture. Let me fetch it for you.”
Originally from Germany, the mariner’s compass fit perfectly into the palm of Allegra’s hand. Its round face was composed of lapis lazuli and it boasted ivory coordinates. She sat at the workbench and carefully pried the delicate instrument from its dented brass casing.
In a matter of days, Allegra created a new casing for the compass in silver, etching an elaborate border along the edge. The center flaunted a meticulously rendered Florentine giglio.
Vittorio examined the finished piece with satisfaction. “Excellent work. You must think highly of Signore Bruno to put forth such an effort.”
She felt the color rise in her cheeks. “I want him to have something special to remember us by. I hope he likes it.”
“I’m certain that he will, but he must not know you made it.” Allegra nodded in understanding and he added, “I’m going to the bottega and can take the compass to him.”
“I would prefer to say goodbye to him personally, if you’ll allow it.”
Vittorio regarded her thoughtfully. “Very well.”
Allegra wrapped the compass in linen and tied it with a scrap of ribbon before accompanying her father to the Spinelli bottega. She was completely unprepared for Bruno’s disheveled appearance. His thin, unshaven face failed to hide the gray pallor of his skin, and two dark smudges beneath his eyes revealed lack of sleep. His clothing was in bad need of laundering, too.
“Buongiorno, Bruno. It’s good to see you,” Vittorio said gently. “How are you these days?”
Bruno’s eyes glistened. “I am alive, Vittorio.”
Vittorio nodded solemnly. “Your father told us of your plan to go to Portugal. Although we’re sorry to hear it, Allegra and I came to say goodbye and wish you well.”
Bruno’s eyes slid toward Allegra, and the pain reflected in his gaze almost made her wince.
She placed the parcel on the counter. “This is for you.”
Slowly, he unwrapped the gift and stared at the compass before gently touching the silver casing with his fingertips. “It’s a fine piece.”
Allegra reached across the counter and boldly touched his wrist. “May it guide you well and bring you back to Florence.”
Both men looked at her in surprise, causing her to blush.
Bruno leaned over the counter, closing the gap between himself and Allegra, then pointed to the giglio etched into the casing. “Did you select this design for me?”
His eyes twinkled and, for an instant, she saw a trace of the old Bruno.
“Yes,” she lied.
“I shall never forget your kindness, Signorina.” Looking to Vittorio, he added, “Or yours, Signore Vittorio. Thank you both for this fine gift.”
“God bless you and keep you, my friend,” Vittorio offered before guiding his daughter out of the bottega.
Allegra looked over her shoulder to find Bruno staring after her.
***
Bruno departed for Portugal on the eleventh of November. Eight days later, the nineteen year old Bishop of Pisa, Giovanni de’ Medici, died. Oddly, it was the same month and day as his sister Maria’s death. Eleonora and Cosimo took this as a bad omen—and rightly so. Fifteen year old Garzia died less than a month later on the twelfth of December, followed by Eleonora’s death on the seventeenth of December. She was forty years old. The reports concluded that the duchess and her young son had expired from malaria while visiting Pisa.
Cosimo was inconsolable. It was bad enough to have lost three of his children in such a short span of time, but his wife’s death set him over the edge. The duke’s beloved consort was laid to rest in a luxurious gown embellished with gold embroidery and gemstones. Great care had been taken with her final ablutions to make her appear as attractive in death as she was in life. The Florentines came to pay their last respects with tears in their eyes, including the Castagno family.
Stefania approached Cosimo to offer him words of comfort and he pull
ed her into an embrace. Vittorio moved to shield them from the eyes of curious onlookers as his wife whispered soothingly into the ear of her former lover. The intimate gesture should have made Vittorio jealous, but the only emotion he could muster toward Cosimo was pity.
Cosimo whispered, “What’s to become of me, Stefania?”
“You’ll go on, my dear friend. You’re the ruler of Florence and the people need you.”
“Oh Eleonora…”
Stefania stepped out of his arms. “Calm yourself, Your Grace. This is a public event and people are watching you like hawks,” she warned, her tone gentle but firm.
Heeding her wise counsel, Cosimo cleared his throat and quickly composed himself.
She placed her lips to his ear. “My home is your home if you need to mourn privately. No one will bother you there.”
***
Isabella de’ Medici wasted no time fulfilling her familial duties. She stepped into her mother’s shoes as first lady of Florence, receiving guests and managing the family’s villas and palazzos on her grieving father’s behalf. Armed with an impressive aptitude for politics, she often discussed strategies with her father and brothers before they implemented any new policies. Francesco assumed a greater role in Florentine affairs since Cosimo shirked many responsibilities now that his wife was no longer at his side to guide him. It wasn’t long before he acted as regent on his father’s behalf.
Eleonora’s death cast a shadow over Christmas that year, and the holy day was celebrated in solemn reverence by the majority of Florentines. Vittorio, who had business to conduct in the north, left for Venice shortly after Epiphany.
On a cold January evening, Gianna entered her mistress’s private sitting room and announced, “There’s someone here to see you.”
Stefania looked up from her book expectantly. “Oh?”
Allegra, who sat beside her mother reading, closed her book. “Is it Domenico? Is he ill?”
“No, Signorina.” Gianna gave her mistress a meaningful look. “He insists on seeing you privately, Signora Stefania.”
Allegra stood. “Who is this person who refuses to announce his name? Mother, I’m going downstairs with you.”
Stefania shook her head. “Stay here.”
“But—”
“I said no, Allegra,” Stefania said before following Gianna out the door.
She descended the stairs and found a man in a hooded cloak standing in the main hall surrounded by four heavily armed guards. Medici guards. When he pushed back the hood, Stefania took in the dark circles beneath his eyes, the unkempt beard, and sallow cheeks.
“Your Grace,” she said with a respectful curtsy.
Cosimo’s eyes were intense. “Signora Stefania, forgive this intrusion.”
Conscious of the four men staring at her, she said politely, “On the contrary, my lord. You honor my household with your presence.”
“May I have a word? Alone?”
She nodded. “We can retire to the library, if you wish.”
Cosimo motioned for his guards to remain behind as he followed Stefania into the library. After closing the door, she indicated a chair by the fire and coaxed the embers within the hearth with a poker. He sat down and stared into the growing flames. Kneeling at his feet, she took his icy hands into her own and rubbed his fingers vigorously in order to warm them. The familiar intimacy between them required no words.
A nostalgic smile eventually touched his lips. “You used to do that when we were children.”
She returned the smile. “You used to like it.”
“I still do.” Suddenly, his face crumpled and tears streamed down his hollow cheeks. “I am lost…”
“I know how much you loved her.”
He shook his head sadly. “Eleonora wasn’t only my wife, she was my friend, my political advisor. She was everything.” He heaved a weighty sigh. “I can’t rule efficiently without her wise counsel.”
Stefania’s heart ached to see him in such pain. “Isabella and Francesco have been well-groomed for their roles in life, and they can help you. Right now, you must be strong for them and for the people of Florence.” She stood and smoothed the creases of her gown. “Warm yourself by the fire while I have my servants fetch us some wine.”
Stefania opened the door and came face to face with her daughter. Closing the door behind her, she whispered, “What are you doing here? I told you to remain upstairs.”
“Those are Medici guards,” Allegra said, eyeing the men in the other room. “Is my godfather here? If so, I would like to greet him.”
“He is unwell and wishes to speak with me privately.” When Allegra’s face fell in disappointment, she added, “Don’t be glum. Have one of the servants bring our best wine to the library and offer ale to the guards. Go, quickly.”
A servant arrived in the library with a tray. Stefania waved the girl away, then poured wine into a silver chalice before handing it to Cosimo. “Our best vintage.”
He took a sip. “Delicious. Thank you for receiving me like this.”
She poured wine for herself. “As I told you, my home is your home.”
“Everyone is watching me,” he lamented. “Sometimes, I hear them whispering behind my back.”
“Them?”
“Nobles, magistrates, people in general…”
“What are they saying?”
“One magistrate—I won’t tell you his name—said, ‘His Grace has become dangerously lost in his own bereavement.’ ”
Insensitive bastard. “You have the same right as any man to grieve the loss of loved ones.”
Cosimo drained the contents in the chalice and Stefania swiftly refilled it. “I wonder if they even perceive me as human.”
“Ignore them,” she advised. “What do they know? They’re nothing but fuddle-minded old men.”
For the first time since his wife’s death, the corners of Cosimo’s mouth lifted slightly. “You’ve always been spirited and outspoken.”
“If my memory serves me well, you were the one with a clever retort at the ready.” She smiled slightly before taking a sip of wine. “The Castagno brothers were usually too slow to keep up with your sharp wit.”
“You weren’t too slow, that’s for certain.”
“Not everyone appreciates a sharp-tongued woman.”
“I do.” He sighed. “Vittorio is a fortunate man to have you at his side.” When she lowered her eyes, he added, “Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, my lord.”
“Actually, there is.” He followed this statement with a long, deliberate pause. “Have you ever forgiven me?”
She frowned slightly. “For what?”
Cosimo set down his chalice and walked to where she stood. “Where do I begin? I never apologized for breaking your heart, Stefania.”
“It happened so long ago,” she said dismissively with a nervous smile. “We were young and naïve.”
“We were young and in love,” he countered softly. “We created a child together.”
Stefania stared into the ruby contents of her chalice. “I lost the child, and you married Eleonora for love.”
“Political gain,” he reminded her. “First and foremost.”
“A strategic alliance that won your heart, nonetheless.”
“Love was an unexpected surprise. You know that.”
Stefania quietly sipped her wine as the memories she fought hard to suppress for so long bubbled to the surface. She wasn’t prepared to deal with them. Not now. Not ever.
“Stefania?” he prompted.
“Eleonora made you happy.”
“Yes, she did.” He took a step closer. “So did you.”
Stefania smiled sadly. “Our brief affair was nothing in comparison to your long, fortuitous marriage.”
“Our time together was meaningful,” he said, reaching for her hand.
She flinched from his touch. “Why are you here, Cosimo?”
“I needed to see you,” he confessed. �
�I am…”
She nodded in understanding. “I know.”
“I’ve had many women in my life, but I’ve loved only two of them. One is dead.” He caressed her cheek. “The other stands before me now.”
Stefania didn’t recoil from the caress. Encouraged by this, Cosimo closed the gap between them and claimed her mouth with his own. The familiar rush of passion consumed them and, for a fleeting moment, they were young lovers once again.
Stefania pulled away and put a stop to the temporary madness. “I love my husband,” she said firmly. “I’ve never been unfaithful to Vittorio and I don’t intend to start now.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the library door close.
He spread out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Stefania…”
“Dearest Cosimo, I know you’re lonely and in need of female comfort, but I can’t take Eleonora’s place in your bed.”
His dark eyes bore into hers with a burning intensity, then he heaved a shuddering breath and looked away. “I should not have come here tonight.”
“Don’t say that,” she countered, gripping his hand tightly for emphasis. “You’re free to be yourself and speak your mind here. No one in this household will ever betray you, least of all me.”
He met her gaze. “I appreciate your words more than you know.”
They sat together before the fire, quietly drinking wine until Cosimo felt it was time to go home.
Stefania saw him out, then went in search of her daughter. She found Allegra reading by the fire. “Did you go downstairs to spy on us?”
Allegra closed the book. “I won’t tell Papa what I saw.”
“You have no clue what transpired between us.”
“I have an idea, but I know it’s not your fault. Cosimo de’ Medici is not himself anymore due to his grief.”
“Who told you this?”
“Everyone in Florence is saying it. Besides, the servants talk.” Allegra studied her mother thoughtfully. “I’m relieved that you turned down his advances.”
“I love your father and would never betray him.”
“May I speak freely, Mother?” At Stefania’s wary nod, Allegra continued, “What I don’t understand is why my godfather would kiss you in the first place. I knew you two were friends in the Mugello…”
