The Scarlet Contessa. Jeanne Kalogridis

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      “I am no lord,” he replied, clearly troubled by the fact that the screams had turned ominously to muffled groans. “Only a commoner trying to help in an emergency. I beg your forgiveness in what surely must be a difficult time for you all. But can no one else in this palace hear that the lady needs help?”

      Bona bowed her head low, still too mortified to speak; Caterina stayed on her knees but peered past Bona at the speaker, clearly eager to see where this unexpected development would lead. Before the man could say more, a low wail emanated from a distant room behind the door, followed by wracking sobs.

      The self-professed commoner’s strong, homely faced twisted with pity at the sound; pushing aside his fellows, he threw his shoulder against the door with all his force. The thick, solid wood did not so much as tremble at the blow. Rather than leave in frustration, the commoner knocked the wood with the hilt of his short sword.

      “Your Grace! Good Your Grace!” he called, his tone playfully cajoling. “It is I, your secret guest, freshly arrived to enjoy your legendary hospitality. Let me repay it in small part now by offering the young lady an escort home.” And when no reply came, he added cheerfully, “I am determined, Your Grace; I shall wait at this door, and my fellows at the other, until we have her.”

      With that, he turned to his men and gestured in the direction of the chamber of rabbits; they understood and left at once, while the so-called commoner remained, his ear to the door.

      A long moment passed, during which Bona found her composure. She then crossed herself, rose, and turned to the man; at her side, Caterina rose as well, and watched with unselfconscious fascination.

      “Your Magnificence,” Bona said softly, slowly, as always in control, though I knew her heart was breaking. “My lord the duke informed me to prepare for a guest’s arrival, but he did not tell me that it was you. I fear I cannot greet you properly at this time, given the unpleasant circumstance.”

      He squinted hard at her and took a slow step toward her, frowning, until his eyes suddenly widened and his jaw dropped.

      “Your Grace!” he exclaimed softly, his voice hushed with embarrassment; his cheeks reddened. “Oh, my lady Duchess!” He bowed deeply from the shoulders, and remained in that position as he spoke. “I cannot— I would never have— Your Grace, I beg forgiveness for my cruel thoughtlessness! My judgment has failed me once again. Had I recognized you, I would have been far more discreet.”

      I applauded his desire to save the distressed lady, but could not forgive the humiliation he had just inflicted on Bona; my temper took abrupt control of my tongue. “How could you not recognize the duchess, good sir, when she stands directly before you? A poor excuse for such rudeness!”

      Bona moved to me and caught my elbow. “Dea,” she said, her voice very low. “His sight is poor. Now you, too, must apologize.”

      Behind us, Caterina giggled. Tongue-tied, I looked back at His Magnificence, and he looked back at me.

      “Dea,” he said, with faint surprise, and in his eyes curiosity dawned. He uttered my name as if it were a familiar one.

      Before he could say more, we all turned at the sound of footsteps approaching the door leading to the duke’s dressing chamber, and the squeal of the bolt being drawn. The door opened a crack; His Magnificence inclined his ear to it, and listened to whispered instructions from one of the duke’s valets. He gave a sharp nod to show he had understood, and the door closed again.

      His Magnificence turned to Bona and bowed to take his leave. “Your Grace, my apologies once more. When we meet tomorrow, I will greet you as you deserve and do my best to make full reparation.”

      “When we meet tomorrow, or any other day, dear Lorenzo,” Bona said softly, “we shall not speak of this.”

      “Agreed,” he answered, then nodded to Caterina and last of all, me. “Ladies,” he said briskly, and was gone; I listened to his ringing steps as he made his way down the loggia toward the chamber of rabbits.

      Like everyone else in Italy, I had heard tales about Lorenzo the Magnificent. At the tender age of twenty, he had become the de facto ruler of Florence upon his father’s death. I had glimpsed him only once, in 1469, when I was nine and had been living in Bona’s household only a year. Along with four other prominent rulers in Milan’s great Duomo, Lorenzo de’ Medici stood as godfather at Gian Galeazzo’s christening. Unlike us lesser mortals, Lorenzo possessed such intelligence, confidence, and charm that he could speak bluntly to Duke Galeazzo without provoking his wrath, and the duke, who routinely abused his family, courtiers, servants, and peers, treated Lorenzo with respect.

      Once Lorenzo had left the chapel, Bona turned to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “God surely answered our prayers, sending him to help the lady . . . and to teach me humility.”

      “Surely,” I gently agreed, though I did not believe for an instant that Bona had any pride left after eight years of marriage to Galeazzo Sforza. But I was grateful for Lorenzo’s attempt to intervene.

      “Take Caterina with you,” Bona ordered, “and make sure she gets to her quarters and stays there. You’re free to do as you wish until I summon you again.”

      “I will deliver her to her nurse, then return, if you like,” I said softly. I could see the duchess was in need of comfort. It is a hard thing to accept that one’s husband is a monster, and harder still to endure that monstrousness in polite company.

      Her gaze averted, Bona shook her head, and I suddenly understood: Lorenzo’s appearance had so shamed my mistress that she was no longer able to control her tears. As I herded Caterina out, Bona knelt again at the altar railing, pausing before she returned to her prayers to call: “Please close the door behind you.”

      I did, leaving her to weep in private.

      Caterina broke away from me the instant we were out in the loggia; she turned toward the men’s wing and, cursing her full woman’s skirts, lifted them high and half ran in the direction of the chamber of rabbits. I was taller, with a longer stride, and easily caught her by the elbow.

      She tried to shake free, but I held fast, wheeled her about, and dragged her with me toward the women’s wing.

      “Bitch!” she snapped. “I’ll tell my father!”

      “That I am following the duchess’s orders?” I paused. “What would your father say, were he to see you waiting in the chamber of rabbits?”

      She said nothing, but accompanied me, sourly, back down the loggia toward Bona’s chambers, where servants had managed to clear out the smoke and close the windows, though the smell of burnt wool and nuts lingered. Next to it was little Gian Galeazzo’s and Ermes’s quarters in the northeast corner, and just past them was the northernmost room in the ladies’ wing, the pink chamber, so named because its walls were covered in rose moiré silk. It served as nursery to Bona’s daughters, five-month-old Anna and four-year-old Bianca Maria, who had already been married off to her first cousin, Philibert, Duke of Savoy. Just past it was Caterina’s room. I deposited her there and informed her nurse of Bona’s order, knowing all the while that the duke’s headstrong daughter would likely dash off the instant I had left.

      I did not care. I proceeded southward down the endless ladies’ loggia, with its life-sized murals of those in Bona’s household, framed against a summer garden backdrop. Near the duchess’s quarters, there was a painting of Bona, seated and gazing proudly СКАЧАТЬ