Painting Mona Lisa. Jeanne Kalogridis

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СКАЧАТЬ that had begun to paint the bottoms of the columns revealed that today Giuliano’s glory was sorely dimmed. His hair had not been combed, his clothes had obviously been hastily donned – and his eyes were noticeably bloodshot, as though he had not slept. For the first time in Baroncelli’s memory, Giuliano did not smile. His manner was sombre, and he moved slowly, like a man weighed down by heavy armour. Icarus, Baroncelli thought. He has soared too high and has now been scorched.

      When Giuliano spoke, his normally melodic voice was hoarse, almost as rasping as his brother’s. ‘Good day, gentlemen. I understand Cardinal Riario has taken offence at my absence from Mass?’

      Baroncelli felt a strange sensation in his chest, as if his heart was flipping over. Giuliano looked like a beast resigned to the slaughter. He knows. He cannot possibly know. And yet … he knows …

      ‘We are so sorry to disturb you,’ Francesco de’ Pazzi said, his hands clasped in an apologetic gesture. ‘We have come at the behest of Ser Lorenzo …’ Despite the business rivalry between the Medici and the Pazzi, they were related by the marriage of Giuliano’s elder sister to Francesco’s brother Guglielmo. This called for a public show of cordiality, even affection – a fact Francesco was relying on now.

      Giuliano released a short sigh. ‘I understand. God knows, we must take care to please Lorenzo.’ A glimmer of his old self returned, and he added with apparently genuine concern, ‘I only hope it is not too late to reassure the Cardinal that I hold him in the highest regard.’

      ‘Yes,’ Baroncelli said slowly. ‘Let us hope it is not too late. Mass has already started.’

      ‘Let us go, then,’ Giuliano said. He gestured for them to move back towards the entryway, and as he lifted his arm, Baroncelli noticed that Giuliano had dressed so hurriedly that he wore no sword at his hip.

      Out they went, the three of them, into the bright morning.

      The scowling man who had been waiting out in the loggia glanced up as Giuliano passed. ‘Ser Giuliano,’ he called. ‘A word with you; it is most important.’

      Giuliano looked over and clearly recognized him. A disgruntled banker, Baroncelli thought. Perhaps Lorenzo had recently let the man go. Or could it be someone with knowledge of the plot? Someone who was deliberately trying to stall them?

      ‘The Cardinal,’ Francesco urged frantically, then addressed the man himself. ‘Good man, Ser Giuliano is late for an urgent appointment and begs your understanding.’ And with that he took Giuliano by the arm and dragged him away down the Via Larga.

      Baroncelli followed. The fright had made his mind finally take leave of his body. He marvelled that, although he was terrified, his hands no longer shook and his heart and breath no longer failed him. Indeed, he and Francesco joked and laughed and played the role of good friends trying to cheer another. Giuliano smiled faintly at their efforts but lagged behind, so the two conspirators made a game of alternately pulling and pushing him along. ‘We must not keep the Cardinal waiting,’ Baroncelli repeated at least thrice.

      ‘Pray tell, good Giuliano,’ Francesco said, catching his young brother-in-law by his sleeve. ‘What has happened to make you sigh so? Surely your heart has not been stolen by some worthless wench?’

      Giuliano lowered his gaze and shook his head – not in reply, but to indicate that he did not wish to broach such matters. Francesco dropped the subject at once. Yet he never eased their rapid pace, and within minutes, they arrived at the front entry of the Duomo.

      Baroncelli paused. He was already half-mad, already doomed to Hell, so saw no point in suppressing any further urge towards deceit … and the sight of Giuliano moving so slowly, as though he were heavy laden, pricked at him. Feigning impulsiveness, he seized the young Medici and hugged him tightly. ‘Dear friend,’ he said. ‘It troubles me to see you so unhappy. What must we do to cheer you?’

      Giuliano gave another forced little smile and a slight shake of his head. ‘Nothing, good Bernardo. Nothing.’

      And he followed Francesco’s lead into the cathedral.

      Baroncelli, meanwhile, had laid one more concern to rest: Giuliano wore no breastplate beneath his tunic.

       IV

      On that late April morning, Giuliano faced a terrible decision: he must choose to break the heart of one of the two people he loved most in the world. One heart belonged to his brother, Lorenzo; the other, to a woman.

      Though a young man, Giuliano had known many lovers. His former mistress, Simonetta Cattaneo, wife of Marco Vespucci, had been hailed as the most beautiful woman in Florence until her death two years ago. He had chosen Simonetta for her looks: she was fine-boned and fair, with masses of curling golden hair that fell far below her waist. So lovely was she that they had carried her to her grave with her face exposed. Out of deference for the husband and family, Giuliano had watched from a distance, but he had wept with them.

      Even so, he had never been faithful. He had dallied with other women during their affair and, occasionally he had revelled in the talents of whores.

      Now, for the first time in his life, Giuliano desired only one woman: Anna. She was handsome, to be sure, but it was her intelligence that had entrapped him, her delight in life and the greatness of her heart. He had come to know her slowly, through conversation at banquets, and at parties. She had never flirted, never attempted to win him; indeed, she had done everything possible to discourage him. But none of the dozens of Florentine noblewomen who vied and simpered for his affections matched her. Simonetta had been vapid; Anna had the soul of a poet, a saint.

      Her goodness made Giuliano view his former life as repugnant. He abandoned all other women and sought only the company of Anna, yearned to please only her. He wished to marry her, to father her children and none other’s. Just the sight of her made him want to beg forgiveness for his past carnal indulgences. He longed for her grace more than God’s.

      And it seemed like a miracle when she had at last confided her feelings: that God had created them for each other, and that it was His cruellest joke that she was already given to another man.

      As passionate as Anna’s love was for him, her love of purity and decency, was even greater. She belonged to another, whom she refused to betray. She had admitted her feelings for Giuliano, but when he pursued her – when he cornered her alone during Carnival at his brother’s house and begged for her – she rejected him. Duty, she had said. Responsibility. She had sounded like Lorenzo, who had always insisted his brother make an advantageous match, and marry a woman who would add even more prestige to the family, and not disgrace.

      Giuliano, accustomed to having whatever he wanted, tried to bargain his way around it. He pleaded with her to come to him in private – simply to hear him out. She wavered, but then agreed. They had met once, in the ground floor appartamento at the Medici palazzo. She had indulged his embraces, his kiss, but would go no farther. He had begged her to leave Florence, to go away with him, but she had refused.

      ‘He knows.’ Her voice had been anguished. ‘Do you understand? He knows, and I cannot bear to hurt him any longer.’

      Giuliano was a determined man. Neither God nor societal convention gave him pause once he had made up his mind. For Anna, he was willing to give up the prospect of a respectable marriage; for Anna, he was willing to endure the censure of the Church, even excommunication and the prospect of damnation. It seemed a small СКАЧАТЬ