by C. De Melo
He took a step closer and her eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, but I would dare!”
“Stealing kisses from maidens is the work of knaves.”
“I would gladly suffer the insult to taste your sweet lips…And you would beg me to kiss you again.”
“Perhaps in your dreams I would behave thusly.”
“Oho! What a sharp retort for a girl with such an innocent face and gracious demeanor.”
“I believe you lack proper manners, Signore Cesare,” she said lightly, her sweet tone laced with a bit of venom. “You need a lesson in chivalry.”
His eyes reflected genuine pain. “You wound me to the core. Your words pierce my heart like an arrow.”
“I’ve made your acquaintance only a moment ago, yet I hold the power to wound you? Take care with that fragile heart of yours, sir.”
Cesare placed a hand over his heart in supplication. “What? No honeyed words for your new admirer?”
“Unfortunately, I have no beehives to provide the honey...”
“Face of a goddess, tongue of a shrew,” he said, eyes sparkling with excitement as she drew close.
Allegra placed her lips to his ear. “Face of a god, tongue of a charlatan.”
Cesare was genuinely shocked. Up until that moment he assumed their verbal spar was all in good fun. Most girls behaved coquettishly, but gave in to his charms after a round or two of playful banter. Such was not the case with Allegra Castagno.
They continued dancing quietly as his mind raced to find something suitable to say that didn’t involve teasing or shallow courtly phrases. Allegra deprived him of the chance, by curtsying and walking away the moment the music stopped. Stunned at being rejected by a lady for the first time in his life, Cesare stormed off the dance floor.
Allegra paused at the buffet table and scanned the room. Isabella danced with Troilo, her mother chatted with a group of ladies, and her father spoke animatedly with a man sporting a crop of reddish hair. Although he had his back to her, she could see the man’s clothing was of good quality. Curious, she walked toward her father and regretted it instantly when the man turned his head and caught her eye. Her gaze shifted to her father, who was now obliged to make an introduction.
Vittorio said, “This is my daughter, Allegra.”
Bending over her hand, the man said, “Matteo Vanusi, at your service.” He searched her face, squinting his eyes. “I must say, Signorina, you look familiar. Have we met?”
Allegra’s heart raced. “No, I don’t believe so.”
Vittorio looked from one to the other, perplexed. “It’s highly unlikely that you know my daughter.”
“I must be mistaking her with someone else,” Matteo agreed. Noticing Allegra’s necklace, he frowned. “May I inquire where you got that?”
“It’s was made by the goldsmith, La Castagna.”
A shadow crossed his face. “I hear his name more and more each day.”
“I’m not surprised. His designs are unique and his pieces are expertly crafted,” she pointed out, ignoring her father’s warning look.
Matteo bristled. “You seem to be very familiar with his work.”
“I’ve seen a number of ladies flaunting his creations.”
“Yet you’re the only one doing so tonight.”
Vittorio gave Allegra a meaningful look and said, “Signore Matteo is swiftly gaining recognition in the city as a goldsmith.”
“Is that so?” she inquired with feigned interest.
Matteo named his noble patrons in an attempt to impress them. To Allegra’s satisfaction, the list was short. Smiling smugly, he added, “I doubt La Castagna will ride out the storm. Few of us do. People will tire of his audacious designs soon enough.”
His arrogant words transported Allegra back in time to the Piazza delle Cipolle, when she was pushed to the ground. The sneering vendors, the horse dung, the humiliation…
Allegra’s eyes narrowed. “Do you really believe that, Signore Matteo?”
“I most certainly do.”
“And yet…Isabella de’ Medici informed me only a moment ago that she commissioned a necklace similar to mine from La Castagna.” It was her turn to humiliate him, and she did so with great satisfaction. “The storm you speak of is little more than gentle summer rain.”
Matteo’s face was deep red as he turned to Vittorio. “Spinelli still hasn’t discovered who this man is?”
Vittorio’s eyes were on his daughter as he replied, “No.”
Allegra interjected, “I find it fascinating that a genius of his caliber would wish to remain anonymous. It shows humility, which is a cornerstone of excellent character, don’t you agree?”
Matteo raised an eyebrow. “You obviously admire this man, Signorina.”
“Oh, very much so.”
Vittorio motioned to a nearby servant bearing a tray of silver chalices. “Let’s have a bit of wine, shall we?”
They drank wine and the conversation veered toward safer topics like construction projects and the installation of public artworks. Matteo’s attempts at garnering attention from Allegra through witty comments were met with monosyllabic responses.
Another gentleman approached them, eager to speak with Vittorio. Matteo seized the opportunity to dance with Allegra. This was her third dance of the evening. Was there a limit for the sake of propriety? Her mother hadn’t mentioned a specific number. As they dipped and pranced to the melody, he did his best to charm her, but she remained aloof.
When the music stopped, he said, “You must let me call on you.”
Allegra demurely lowered her eyes and headed to where Isabella stood.
“Who was that?” she inquired.
“Matteo Vanusi, the goldsmith.”
Cesare and Matteo exchanged venomous looks as they crossed paths.
Isabella chuckled. “Your first time at court and two men are already fighting over you. I’m sure you’re the envy of every girl present.”
“The girls can have them both for all I care.”
“You’re not the slightest bit interested in either one?”
“Not at all.”
“Which will only drive them—and other men—to pursue you more ardently. What a clever girl you are!”
Allegra was taken aback by the implication of her words. “That’s not my intention, Isabella, I assure you.”
“You’re serious,” Isabella observed, intrigued. “Lucrezia must have influenced you. She, too, had little patience for courtiers. Well, prepare yourself for unwanted attention; men are drawn to challenges.”
“Oh no…”
Seeing the distress on Allegra’s face, Isabella laughed aloud. “I’ll wager that every girl here is on display for the marriage market.”
“Not me. I find men to be boorish and arrogant.” Fearing she spoke out of turn, she added, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to imply that all men are wicked.”
“You need not explain yourself. In fact, I’m impressed by your prudence. The majority of girls have no concept of what courtship and marriage entails. Given the choice, I would not have married at all.”
“At least you remained here in Florence under your father’s protection after marrying the duke.”
“I do enjoy more liberty than most wives, it’s true. But it’s not the same as being free.” A servant walked by with a tray full of wine goblets. Isabella snatched two of them and handed one to her friend. “To spinsterhood.”
Allegra laughed at the jest before taking a sip, but deep down inside she believed spinsterhood to be the ideal subterfuge. A husband would surely put an end to her happy days of jewelry making.
Later in the evening, Cosimo pulled the Castagno family aside. “Be careful returning to your home, my friends,” he warned. “The Otto found the body of a Milanese nobleman beneath the portico of Santa Felicita this morning. He’d been stabbed and robbed of his coin purse. The poor fellow was in Florence visiting his aunt.”
“How terrible,�
� Stefania said. “What is this world coming to?”
Cosimo shook his head sadly. “I’ve done everything within my power to curb violent crime. Alas, my efforts have failed.”
“Crime is the bane of every city, Your Grace,” Vittorio said.
“Francesco and I walk past Santa Felicita every day before crossing the Ponte Vecchio on our way to the Palazzo Vecchio,” Cosimo said. “Easy targets for a pickpocket’s blade or an enemy’s assassination plot.”
“God forbid,” Stefania murmured, evoking a glance from Vittorio.
“I’ve already increased the number of my guards.” Lowering his voice, Cosimo added, “My heir is about to marry a distinguished member of Austrian nobility. I don’t want his wife to feel unsafe here in Florence. I can’t bear to think what would happen if some ruffian were to attack us in her presence. Such an affront before a lady of her status would be disastrous.”
“Pity you don’t have an underground tunnel like the pope in Rome,” Vittorio said. “His Holiness can easily traverse the route between the Holy See and the Castel Sant’Angelo privately and without fear.”
“It would be difficult to create a tunnel with the Arno in the way,” Cosimo mused aloud.
“Why not build a tunnel in the sky, high above the street?” Allegra suggested. “You could walk over the rooftops.”
Vittorio and Stefania chuckled at their daughter’s outrageous suggestion. Cosimo, on the other hand, stared at Allegra with serious contemplation.
***
A colorful posy and a confection of marzipan wrapped in ribbon arrived at the Castagno household the next day. Stefania and Vittorio stood over their daughter’s shoulder as she read aloud the notes attached to each gift.
“Last night you accused my heart of being fragile, but you’re the one responsible for its weakened state,” Allegra paused to stifle a giggle. “Please accept these flowers as a small token of my admiration. Cesare Orsini.”
Stefania asked in a faint voice, “What does the other one say?”
Vittorio frowned. “You are unwell, wife.”
“Father is right,” Allegra agreed.
Stefania shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Go on, read the other letter.”
Allegra held up the other note. “Signorina Allegra, it was a pleasure meeting you and I look forward to our next encounter. Kind regards to your family, Your Servant, Matteo Vanusi.”
“At least that one is free of melodrama,” Vittorio commented drily.
Motioning to a nearby servant, Allegra said, “Place the flowers in a vase and set them out in the main hall. Dispose of these notes and take the marzipan to the kitchen.”
Vittorio heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I’m sure more of these young men will start lining up at the door. Like flies to honey.”
Stefania asked breathlessly, “Can you blame them? Look at our daughter, she’s a prize to be had.”
Allegra noticed that her mother’s speech was labored. “You should rest, Mother. Please.”
Her hand flew to her chest, her face white. “Perhaps you…are right.”
Vittorio walked to where Stefania sat and took hold of her hand. “Come. I’ll escort you to your chamber. Last night was too much for you. We should have stayed home.” To Allegra, he added, “Send each gentleman a brief and formal note of thanks, nothing more.”
“Yes, Papa.”
Stefania stood and swayed. “Oh my…I feel…”
Vittorio caught his fainting wife before she hit the floor.
Allegra called for help. Gianna and a few servants came at once.
“Fetch the physician!” Vittorio cried. “Hurry!”
They carried Stefania to bed.
“You should not have ventured out last night,” Vittorio chided.
Gianna’s brow creased with concern at the sight of Stefania’s white face. Touching her mistress’s clammy forehead, she gasped. “She is burning with fever.”
She hastily poured water from a pitcher into a basin, then soaked a cloth before applying it to Stefania’s hot brow.
Stefania tried to speak through chattering teeth. “Get out. Babies…sick.”
“Forget the babies,” Vittorio snapped.
Allegra hovered nearby. “Gianna, what can I do?”
“Stay with your mother while I go to the kitchen to fetch some feverfew.”
Stefania waved her hand at them and repeated, “Get out…babies sick.”
Vittorio finally understood. He grabbed Allegra’s shoulders and led her away from the bed. “I think she’s trying to tell us that the children at the orphanage are sick.”
“Could it be something contagious?” Allegra asked, alarmed.
“Let’s hope not.”
The physician arrived with disturbing news: the orphans at the Spedale degli Innocenti were battling the sweating sickness.
“How bad is it?” Vittorio demanded.
“Worse than the last time it raged through Florence,” he replied while removing several bottles and unguents from his leather satchel. “I will do my very best to help your wife.”
First, he administered an elixir consisting of coriander for fever and wolf’s bane for Stefania’s relentless headache, then he made her drink a fortifying tonic to regulate the humors. Before departing, he admonished Vittorio, Allegra, and Gianna to keep a vigilant eye on his patient.
They took turns sitting with Stefania throughout the night, periodically placing dampened cloths on her forehead as she tossed and turned with delirium. When her condition failed to improve, the physician was again summoned. This time, he resorted to bloodletting, which did little good.
“I’m going to die,” Stefania moaned weakly.
“No, you’re not,” Allegra countered.
Stefania tossed and turned in bed, growing weaker by the hour. Unable to hold down any solid food, she subsisted on small amounts of broth and watered wine.
While Allegra remained optimistic in regard to her mother’s condition, Vittorio didn’t foster any false hope. It was common knowledge that those afflicted by the strange malady seldom survived. Some blamed foreigners from Africa for spreading the disease in Tuscany, while others claimed it came from consuming improperly cooked meats. A few implied it was a consequence of too much sexual activity.
Gianna acquired dottore masks, stuffing the long noses with potent herbs to prevent contagion. Allegra and Vittorio took turns reading to Stefania when she was lucid, and praying for her recovery when she was asleep.
By the end of the fourth day, the physician pulled Vittorio aside. “I’ve done everything within my power, Signore. Your wife is in God’s hands now. I advise you to prepare yourselves for the inevitable.”
Sickened with grief, Vittorio fought back tears. “How long?”
“A day, perhaps two.”
The following morning when Vittorio entered his wife’s bedchamber, he froze. Stefania’s pallor was ashen. With a heavy heart, he knew she’d be gone before the day’s end.
Seeing her husband’s shocked expression, she said, “I’m hideous.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“Vittorio…My love.”
“Oh, God, Stefania,” he cried, his eyes filling with tears.
“Be strong for our daughter…”
“I will.”
“Allegra must marry a man of her own choosing…for love, like us.”
He nodded, taking her hand into his own. “She’ll marry for love.”
“Swear it,” she insisted, her eyes fierce.
“I swear it.”
“Let her make jewelry…”
“I will.”
“Set her free.” Stefania faded in and out of consciousness, then whispered, “Cosimo…”
Vittorio’s mouth hardened into a thin line, but he immediately dispatched a messenger. “Tell His Grace that Stefania Rossi is on her deathbed.”
Cosimo arrived within the hour and donned the dottore mask in order to say farewell to Stefania. Vittorio and Allegra relucta
ntly afforded him some privacy by vacating the room while Gianna remained discreetly out of sight in her mistress’s antechamber.
Stefania smiled weakly. “You came…”
Cosimo sat in a chair by the bed, holding her hand. “Of course I did. I shall summon my best physicians and healers to help you.”
She closed her eyes. “It’s too late.”
“I’ve already lost Eleonora, I can’t bear to lose you, too.”
Mustering all her strength, she lifted her head from the pillow. “Watch over Allegra and Vittorio. Promise me…”
He removed the mask and gazed into her eyes. “I promise.”
“Thank you…” She closed her eyes. “Gianna.”
Gianna ran out of the antechamber. “Yes, Signora?”
Stefania croaked through cracked lips, “It’s time.”
Gianna sent for the priest.
Cosimo’s eyes filled with tears as he kissed her forehead. “God’s grace be upon you, my sweet Stefania.”
Vittorio and Allegra rushed into the room and surrounded Stefania, holding her hands. Cosimo retreated to the background and watched as his former lover struggled to pull air into her lungs. The priest was halfway through performing the last rites when Stefania heaved a final shuddering breath. The expression on her face was peaceful.
Vittorio threw himself upon the bed and wept for his dead wife. Allegra turned to Cosimo, who pulled her into his arms and soothed her with words of comfort.
Chapter 13
Vittorio traveled to Rome three weeks after Stefania’s funeral. Despite her father’s urgings to accompany him, Allegra insisted on remaining in Florence. For the next several months, her emotional distress served as the impetus for creating remarkable jewelry. The loss of her mother had left a hole in her heart, and she attempted to fill it by immersing herself completely in her craft. Sometimes, the tears of grief mingled with the precious metals and gemstones. When she had finally exhausted herself, she carefully wrapped each exquisite piece in linen, placed them in a basket, and went to Domenico’s house.
***
The old man stretched as he slowly got out of bed. At his age, moving cautiously was a necessity. Brittle bones and aching joints—how much longer would God allow him to live? The sun had not yet risen and the sky was tinted gray-violet. The hungry cat scratched at the door, mewling loudly in her demand to be fed. The flea-bitten animal was sometimes a nuisance, but at least she was a loyal companion.
