The Scarlet Contessa. Jeanne Kalogridis

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СКАЧАТЬ insulted by Lorenzo’s second veiled reference to the violated woman, he did not show it. He nodded, faintly bored, and watched as Lorenzo reached into the pocket of his tunic and produced a box of red velvet studded with tiny diamonds.

      “For you, Your Grace,” he said to Bona, and smiling, rose slightly in order to hand it to her across the table. “I pray this humble gift pleases you.”

      Bona forgot her embarrassment and beamed. “Your Magnificence,” she said, “dear Lorenzo, no guest of mine has ever been more welcome . . . or more gracious.” She took it from him and held the box so that the gold embroidery and the diamonds glittered in the candlelight. “How very handsome.”

      “Look inside, Your Grace,” Lorenzo prompted.

      Carefully, the duchess opened the lid. Inside, tied together with a silk ribbon, was a thick rectangular object, slightly longer and broader than Bona’s hand; she lifted it out of the box, revealing a deck of cards made of thick parchment coated with white gesso and painted.

      She did her best to mask her response, but I knew that she did not approve of playing cards. She forced a smile as she undid the ribbon. I stared with her at the backs, prettily illustrated with flowers and vases, and bordered by angels.

      “They’re lovely,” she said to Lorenzo. “Thank you.”

      “Turn it over,” Caterina said impatiently.

      She did, and like Caterina, let go a slight gasp of amazement at the sight.

      The front side of the card was covered in gold leaf, which had been painstakingly etched with numerous fine geometric designs; the texture made the bright gold flash with reflected light. Upon this dazzling backdrop was painted the image of a pauper, a young, wide-eyed man barefoot and dressed in tatters, with a walking stick resting against one shoulder. He stood on the very edge of a dark chasm; emerald and sapphire hills sprawled out behind him.

      Bona began to set the cards out in front of her, one by one. “But these are beautiful,” she breathed.

      “I know of your love for illustrated manuscripts,” Lorenzo explained. “I had hoped that these might please you. That one is the first in the deck; he is called the Fool.”

      Galeazzo let go a laugh. “I know of these!” he said. “These are triumph cards. Oh, I will dazzle my companions with these!” He lowered his voice and winked slyly at Lorenzo. “Yet another way for me to lose money at the gambling table!”

      The duchess tensed; Lorenzo saw, and said diplomatically to Galeazzo, “It’s true, my lord, that these are triumph cards. Yet this deck is special. Some would prefer to use it for more serious pursuits.”

      Galeazzo scowled in puzzlement. “Such as?”

      “Seeing the future.”

      The duke lifted a brow and peered down at the cards with renewed interest. “Really?”

      Beneath the table, Bona clenched one fist; only I could see, and only I knew that she wanted to cross herself out of fear. “These are devilish,” she whispered, so faintly that I was surprised that Lorenzo heard.

      “Far from it, Your Grace,” he told her. “They reveal what God wishes us to see of the future, that he may deal more directly with our souls. Yet they could, I suppose, be misused by those with evil in their hearts.”

      He said more, but I did not hear it, for Bona had just turned over the twelfth card. I found myself staring down at the image of a man suspended upside down from a rope bound to his ankle. His hands were hid, helpless, behind his back, and his unbound leg was bent at the knee and crossed behind the other, to form an upside-down numeral four.

      I was too riveted to stop myself from reaching for the card, from taking it and holding it before my eyes. At the time, I could not see the painting on the card of a man with golden curls; instead I saw Matteo, with his dark auburn hair falling straight beneath his head. On the card, the man’s eyes were dark and open, but I saw only Matteo’s eyes, shut, his features white and deathly still. Matteo, limp and dying . . .

      It was the image I had read in the stars, in the fire. Despite the blazing hearth, I grew cold. Matteo was in danger of dying, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

      “Dea,” Bona said sharply in my ear, and snatched the card from my grasp. I looked up and realized that the others had been speaking for some time; I had been somewhere else entirely. In the interim, the soup had magically arrived; a plate sat steaming in front of me.

      Lorenzo was studying me intently. “Madonna Dea,” he asked softly, “what do you see?”

      “My husband,” I murmured, stricken.

      He reached across the table and set a long, tapered finger down, pointing to the card. “This is called the Hanged Man. Yet you can see, he does not struggle.” Surrender to evil forces, I imagined him saying, though he uttered not another word, with the intent of sacrifice.

      “Does she see things in the cards?” the duke called gaily over Lorenzo. “Can she tell our future, then?” Ignoring Bona’s tense expression, Galeazzo pointed at me. “Gather them up,” he directed. “Mix them, and choose our futures.” He chuckled. “No gambling, so long as the ladies are here.”

      Bona had stiffened in her chair, but she handed me the deck; Caterina’s eyes were gleaming with curiosity and amusement at her and my discomfort. Galeazzo snapped his fingers again, and with a gesture, bade a servant clear away my plate.

      The cards were overlarge, unwieldy, stiff from the gesso plaster. I had expected them to be cool to the touch, yet they were warm in my hands, as if they were living things. I stared down at the table’s ebony surface, polished to a reflective sheen, and felt the present melt away.

      I set them down and fanned them out facedown upon the ebony. They were too stiff to be shuffled, so I moved them about, again and again, until it was impossible to identify the cards that Bona had turned over earlier. When I was satisfied, I gathered them together and fanned them out again, and said to Galeazzo, “Your Grace, choose one card.”

      He shot an excited glance at Lorenzo and grinned, then indicated his choice by pointing. I took the card and pushed it slightly toward him but decided that it was not yet time to reveal it.

      “Now His Magnificence,” the duke said.

      Lorenzo’s smile was encouraging as he met my gaze. It was unsettling to encounter a stranger who was exposing my ability to recognize portents, yet I trusted him. He reached out and tapped the wood near his chosen card.

      I pushed it from the deck toward him. Cicco, as always carefully appraising the others without revealing his own feelings, accepted a card without comment.

      “Would it please Your Grace for the ladies each to have one, as well?” Lorenzo asked with consummate politeness.

      Galeazzo gave a loud sniff of impatience, but nodded to me. I shifted in my chair toward Bona, but the duchess gently shook her head.

      “The cards are exquisite,” she said sweetly, “and I shall treasure them always, just as I shall treasure my friendship with the magnificent Lorenzo. But I am content to wait upon God to reveal the future in His own good time.”

      Galeazzo scowled at her and clicked his tongue. СКАЧАТЬ