Wolves in Winter

by Lisa Hilton

  Each evening, a message came from Valentino to ask if the Countess would take supper with him, and each evening I refused for her. The month was nearing its end when word came that we were to be moved to the Palazzo Paolucci, where the French command was lodging. At least my lady submitted to me now, though she maintained that silence that I understood so well. What use are words when everything has been taken from you? But she allowed me to bathe her in warm water and scent her skin with attar of roses, to comb out and braid her hair and lace her into a soft gown, which hung a little loose at the waist and hips. She was not to go out as a prisoner, but as an honoured guest; the French sent an escort of guards and even a trumpeter, as though she was an ambassador rather than a trophy of war. We made the short walk across the city in twilight, through empty streets. Those who still remained in Forli had barricaded themselves in their houses, and though the ravages of the French could be seen on every side, the town seemed curiously peaceful. The Countess kept her eyes to the ground, she would not raise them to the skyline where the blackened hulk of the Rocca loomed above us.

  As we came into the piazza we heard shouts. A group of drunken soldiers had cornered two young girls, dragging them, leering and stumbling, towards San Mercuriale. The girls’ cloaks were torn from them, they clutched their gowns pathetically over their breasts and then, as we watched, one of the group took his dagger and slit their chemises, exposing their naked skin. That, finally, wakened something in the Countess. Even as the guards rushed over to discipline the men, she screamed. Shrieking, her arms flailing wildly, she tried to break away, and when one of the men held her arm she fought him desperately, kicking and writhing. It took three of them to subdue her, sobbing hysterically on her knees, as I rushed to her side and held her hand tightly.

  ‘Please, Madonna,’ I whispered. ‘Please, not here. Not where we can be seen. Come, now.’

  She clung to me, as she had done once before. I knelt awkwardly to support her weight, stroking her shoulders and hair to soothe her until the storm of weeping had passed.

  ‘You must be brave,’ I told her, ‘you mustn’t let them see.’

  She calmed, I helped her to rise, settling her gown into place, glaring furiously at the smirking guards.

  ‘My lady was unwell,’ I said loudly. ‘It is the shock of the night air. But she is better now.’

  ‘Blasted wildcat,’ muttered the guard who had restrained her, sucking at his arm where she had bitten it.

  ‘You will know your place or regret it, sir,’ I answered stoutly. My lady composed herself and continued walking, her head held high now. I shuddered at the cries of the soldiers, unchastened and jeering, prowling the piazza for another victim.

  We were greeted by Monsieur d’Allegre, the representative of the French king who had heard my lady’s submission. He offered refreshments, which the Countess refused. Nor would she speak, nor send me away, though Monsieur d’Allegre addressed her first in Italian, then in French, then, despairingly, in schoolboy Latin. I had taken one of the gowns that had been sent in for the Countess, the most modest I could find, a dark blue silk, and covered my hair decently with a mantle. I hoped I did not look too odd. I stood behind the chair she had been offered before the fire and cast my eyes at my folded hands in the long silence.

  I saw how the Frenchman watched her, how his curiosity to see the legendary lady of Forli was overcoming even his good manners.

  ‘There is some doubt, madam, as to whom, that is, where . . .’

  He coughed and tried again.

  ‘His Majesty of France is of the opinion that you, my lady . . .’

  Caterina turned her face up to him, her eyes alive for the first time in so long. Her voice was hoarse, ugly.

  ‘You are uncertain, sir, as to who owns me? Whose trophy I am, no?’

  ‘The French king does not take women as prisoners, madam. Honour requires us to protect and release any ladies who are, ahem, that is.’

  ‘But I am not a lady, am I, sir? I am Countess of Forli. Or, at least,’ her hand went to her throat, her fingers seeking her lost ruby, ‘at least I was. Which means I am valuable to you. Though I very much doubt that there will be any in Italy who will step forward to ransom me. I am rich in admirers, I believe, but no longer in friends.’

  ‘I think it best, lady, if the matter of your-ah-peculiar case be left to my master, His Majesty, to decide.’

  ‘My uncle of Milan—’

  ‘There is no ruler in Milan, madam, but the King of France. I wish only to know whether you prefer to remain here, as my guest, naturally, until this matter has been decided, or whether you wish to continue under the-ah-the protection of Monsieur le Duc de Valentinois.’

  ‘I may choose?’

  ‘Of course, madam. We are not barbarians.’

  My lady rose. She was graceful again, haughty. ‘Of course not, sir. Merely minions. Very well, you may inform your master that until he makes his pleasure known, I prefer to remain with my countryman, Monsieur le Duc. I wish you good evening. Come, Mora.’

  And in the flick she gave to the train of her gown as she left the Frenchman staring, I saw the girl who had held a castle in Rome with nothing but her will, the woman who had chosen Ser Giovanni as her husband, who had defied the Pope himself. I knew that my lady was come to herself again, and that she would fight once more, if only for her freedom, which I dearly hoped would also be mine.

  So we returned to the Palazzo Numai, where the Countess immediately set about tumbling the bundle of silks on the bed.

  ‘What age is the Duke, Mora, would you say?’

  ‘Four or five and twenty, madam, I should think.’

  ‘Hmmm. Have we a looking glass?’

  ‘The Duke has thought of everything. Look, here, madam. And brushes, and creams.’

  ‘Was anything saved from the farmacia?’

  ‘I believe not.’

  My lady regarded her face ruefully in the glass, a beautiful little thing with a silver handle set with lapis lazuli.

  ‘Then this is all I have, little witch. We must make the best of it.’

  ‘I could have some things sent, madam, from the kitchens. Perhaps the receipt for the face, with the chicken broth and the borage? We need only boil it.’ I was almost laughing, I was so relieved to have her back.

  ‘My face can shift for itself. I had in mind—’

  I understood.

  ‘Uxare de luxsuria?’ It was one of my invented names, we had used it before. ‘ I could make that . . . I need the blood of a wild boar, though. Cantharidin, strong wine.’

  She giggled. ‘Oh, but you are bold, little witch! You would be conjuring, even now?’

  ‘I will be careful, very careful.’ I would do anything to help her.

  ‘Hurry then. And water for my bath, olive oil. And salt and rosemary for my teeth, be quick. What is the time?’

  ‘About six, madam.’

  ‘Then have the things sent and make it quickly, look there’s a basin, you can do it here. And tell the maid that I accept Monsieur le Duc’s offer to sup with him, in an hour or so.’

  *

  I accompanied the Countess to Valentino’s rooms, still dressed in my dark gown. When we came to the door I was shaking, breathless. How could I tell my lady that I was come to the end of my dreams? I could not help the feeling that it was not the Countess of Forli Valentino was waiting for, but me.

  The sala of the old palazzo was empty. It was less fine than I had known at the Rocca, but it had been prepared carefully, with the Duke’s own furnishings. I heard that when he travelled he even took his own privy with him, made from solid silver, in a curtained litter, and the Countess giggled again like a girl when I told her that and said she hoped we would not be seeing that this evening. She was beautiful again, her thinness making her seem younger than her thirty-seven years, and I had arranged her hair loosely in a gold-looped filet so that it hung away from her temples, over her back, showing warmly against the white of her skin in a low cut m
antle the colour of flame. I wondered whether she had picked that out on purpose, to remind Valentino of what he had brought her to. The room smelled of spiced incense, warm and soothing; the fire was built up with sweet cherry wood. My lady arranged herself carefully on a settle, spreading out her gown.

  ‘Monsieur le Duc would keep me waiting, Mora?’

  ‘Not at all, madam.’

  I started. The deep shadow beside the fireplace resolved itself into a figure, a tall man, and as he stepped forward into the light I saw that his own clothes were black again, exquisite Spanish velvet, even his hands encased in fine gloves. When he raised the Countess’s hand to his lips I caught the glint of a jewel over the leather on his right hand, a huge ring in plain gold, set with the great Riario ruby.

  ‘It looks very well, Monsieur le Duc, I must admit,’ remarked my lady composedly.

  ‘The spoils of war, madam.’ For the first time I heard the sibilant hiss of Castilian beneath his Italian.

  He nodded for the servants to leave, but my lady caught at my sleeve.

  ‘I prefer that my slave remain here with me, sir.’

  ‘As a chaperone, madam?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Then the girl may serve us.’

  I had the philtre in my sleeve. The dishes were set along the table, the same plate I had seen in the days of our captivity, chased with the flames of the Borgia sun. I took the lids from a serving of partridge with raisins and another of hare in wine. I filled a plate for the Countess and set it before her, and took up another, curling my hand back to pull out the phial. The Countess was speaking of Rome, of the changes in the city since she had lived there, as smoothly and casually as if she were entertaining in her own rooms at the Rocca. I had the cork out and was set to tip the mixture into the juices and wine on the plate when I felt the grip of leather on my wrist. I had not even seen his hand move.

  ‘You mistake me, Countess? Or perhaps this is some sort of joke. You would seek to poison a Borgia? Disappointingly amateur.’

  He pronounced it the French way, sardonically drawling, but the vice on my wrist was crushing the bone and I recalled the speed with which his blade had found the throat of the bounty hunter. I tried to control the trembling that began again in me, knowing he had the right of it if he put his dagger in my breast. I dared not glance at the Countess, but I spoke to him quickly in Castilian.

  ‘Forgive me, sir, my lady knows nothing of this. I made it myself, it’s harmless, sir.’

  My lady was counterfeiting shock and confusion, perhaps a little too much.

  There was a slight, a very slight, loosening of the tension on my arm.

  ‘You are Spanish?’

  ‘From Toledo, sir. This is nothing, I swear to you.’

  My lady adjusted her expression to the placidity of perfect innocence.

  ‘You would have me believe that? I could slit your throat.’

  I was desperate to pull away, but he could have killed us both before I was halfway to the door. And I knew he would do it.

  ‘I’ll swallow it myself, sir, look.’

  The fingers relaxed, drawing caressingly over the underside of my wrist. I felt a contraction deep inside me, for a moment the room lurched and the flames of the fire rose high in his black eyes. He was looking into my face. I saw only him.

  ‘Do it then.’

  I took it down neat in one burning swallow.

  ‘And its purpose?’

  ‘To make you kind, sir. To make you look well on my poor lady.’

  ‘Stay over there. I will watch you as we dine. If you are ill, you will die, you know that?’

  ‘I understand, sir. Thank you, thank you.’

  ‘And we will see if your lady can make me kind nonetheless, shall we?’

  I watched an hour in the shadows while the drug worked on me. Or perhaps it did nothing, perhaps it was that slight, lazy touch of his fingers that made my heart pound and my lips moisten. I could not tear my eyes from his face, from his throat as he swallowed his wine, from the blood that came in stars to his high cheekbones, from his mouth, his beautiful, beautiful mouth. When the Countess rose to her feet and made him a curtsey, I stepped forward to assist her from the room, but my body had become a stream, I could get no purchase on the floor.

  ‘Your slave sickens.’

  ‘I believe not, sir. She is a good girl, but she knows nothing of medicines. She was only foolish, and I will leave you to teach her better.’

  The doors closed behind her. She had left me to him. She knew what I had done, she knew what was in the phial, and she had left me to him. It was not I, but she, who knew how things would come out.

  ‘Come.’

  I staggered and he held out an arm to help me.

  ‘You see, you sicken. I should call my men. Or cut your hand off myself.’ But the danger had gone from his voice.

  ‘I am not sick, sir,’ I managed to whisper.

  ‘I have seen you before.’

  My head swam with visions, of that night of fire, his hand on my arm, the red gleam of the ruby, of all the nights I had woken to him. I saw two forgotten bundles of blood and rags, my useless charms. My red dress, my mother’s stitching above my heart, wish, desire. Iron, to bind a demon.

  ‘The night you took the Rocca, sir. I gave you that.’

  ‘You were not dressed as a maid.’

  ‘My lady insisted. She thought I might escape, but I would not leave her.’

  ‘Pity.’

  His hand strayed at my throat now, the leather tracing the length of my collarbone. I felt my breath still inside my chest, the frantic pumping of my heart slowing, slowing, until all the blood in my body seemed to flow where his fingers travelled, red as a comet’s tail.

  ‘You are a maid, then.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘As I said, a pity. I had thought of that boy. But you will do.’

  My neck was held in his palm, he turned me until my back was against him and I clutched at the chair to keep myself from falling. I felt the silk of the blue dress rising against my thighs. There was nothing to protect me. His mouth was warm against my skin.

  ‘Yes. You will do very well.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THAT NUBBY-BONED LITTLE CLERK WHO HAD COME TO Forli to treat for an alliance with Florence told me that he had warned the Countess. The best fortress in the world, he told her, was nothing without loyalty. No stronghold could withstand the force of a people’s hatred. Caterina had learned this, that the respect and love she believed her people to bear for her was no more than craven fear. The cruelties her vengeance had inflicted on Forli when her husbands had been murdered had never been forgotten, and when the moment came for the people to forgive her, that forgiveness was withheld, and the gates of Imola and Forli were opened to Valentino. She believed that her Sforza sword and her Sforza will were stronger than fortune, but she could not hold the Rocca. It burned because love and loyalty were nothing to her against her pride. Perhaps I should have warned him too, Machiavelli, that he would have dealings with Valentino, and that in the end princes lost the love of their people because they did not see us as people at all.

  So when everything else was taken from Caterina, her lovers and her children, her titles and her jewels, her home and her state, she laid me out for Valentino as casually as a gambler throwing down a card in a tavern. She took my love and my loyalty to her and she used them as she would, caring nothing for me, seeing only the slave who existed to serve her. I saw all this as I stumbled back along the passages of the Palazzo Numai. I saw it as I clutched my blue gown around me to stanch the ruby of blood that slid between my thighs. She had known exactly how it would come out.

  I remembered the scandalised reports we had heard from her spies in Rome about Valentino’s debaucheries, how his banquets were served by naked courtesans, how he had taken his own sister to his bed, how as his power increased he became ever more shameless about his tastes and ever more voracious in his desires. I thought
of the love charms we had brewed at the Rocca, of the noises I had heard from her bedroom at night. Had the door been left ajar, even then, to goad me or to teach me? Her body was her last weapon, and when she saw it would no longer serve, she made use of me. She had seen so far ahead, and I, fool, had followed her blindly. The boy’s clothes, the presentation of the ruby, the bungled pouring of the philtre, all this she had seen and planned, and it came out as she wished it. She thought that good little Mora, poor half-finished thing, would serve in her place, because she knew, as I did not, that sometimes more pleasure can be found in the broken will of ugliness than the willing submission of even great beauty. But Caterina, unlike me, was not accustomed to losing. I was glad now that I had not told her the worst of Adara’s treachery. She did not know that her little slave had spent the last weeks of her childhood in a brothel. She knew nothing of my dreams of the man in black. I had thought, in those frenzied moments before the battle for Ravaldino began, that we were alike, she and I; but now I saw that the call I had felt through the shadows of my blood was the call of his coming.

  I did not cry. I had no more tears for Caterina. My lady was lost to me. When I saw how she planned to use and discard me, to barter me for her freedom, all my love and hope and trust were sliced away, swift as a butcher’s knife on the throat of a screaming pig. It was a child’s plan, hers; she had not the measure of her man. But I did, now. And I saw as clear as my lost dreams how I would destroy her.

  *

  That first night, she was all gentleness and sympathy. She sent away the maid and lifted the blue gown from me with her own hands. She sponged the blood from my back and thighs as tenderly as if she were my mother, and my heart was raw that the softness of her attention, which just an hour ago would have made me rejoice in the certainty that my love was returned, was now merely the last act of a shameful masquerade. But she mistook my tears for those of any maid who has lost her maidenhead, and held me to her breast and soothed me, and took me to sleep in her bed, where I was sure to lie as calm as a child who has sobbed its grief into dreams. She was even a little ashamed, as Adara had been shamed, that she had sold me. When Valentino’s man came for me after supper the next day, she held me tightly to her and whispered that I had to be brave, that if I could endure I should save us both. And I answered my lady stoutly that she need not fear for my courage and that I should see us both safe, for had I not promised that I should never leave her? The next night, she suggested that perhaps I might wear my boy’s breeches when I was summoned, and the next she rouged my lips as eager as a bawd. And then I followed the man to Valentino’s chamber, where the fire was banked high, and waited for the soft click of the closing door.