embarrassment in front of Isabella, who had come to Ferrara to visit her family flushed with marital bliss and the news that Francesco had been appointed captain general of the Venetian army, the youngest man in the Republic’s history named to that post.
With the wedding date also came news of fresh corruption in Milan, which sounded like a complete mess to Beatrice, a snake pit of connivances. Young Gian Galeazzo, Duke of Milan in name only, remained a constant source of scandal. His wife, Duchess Isabel of Aragon, with whom Beatrice had played as a child in Naples, was forever writing to her family, begging to be taken back to their court. The young duke paraded his boy-lovers in front of Isabel, leaving her bed cold. Tongues wagged all over Europe that Ludovico kept the young duke busy with sodomites so that he, as regent, would not have to compete with any legitimate heirs. Only when King Ferrante informed Ludovico that he would not pay the final (and enormous) installation of Isabel of Aragon’s dowry did Ludovico see to the consummation of the marriage. And then, if rumors were correct, all sorts of bribes, potions, and illusions in the dark had to be used in order to get Gian Galeazzo to impregnate poor, lonely Isabel. Now the rumor was that she was pregnant, and Ludovico had another legitimate heir to worry about.
Oh, there seemed to be more intrigue in the court of Milan than in a Venetian assassination plot. The cast of characters was sinister indeed. She had heard that Isabel of Aragon was terribly threatened by the idea of Beatrice’s marriage to Ludovico. Already he had too much power. The last thing Isabel, the rightful Duchess of Milan, wished to see was Ludovico’s legitimate sons competing with her husband and her own offspring, should she be fortunate enough to bear this one to fruition. In Isabel of Aragon was Beatrice to find not a long-lost childhood playmate but a formidable and dangerous rival?
At the same time, Beatrice had read a letter that Messer Trotti had sent to her father from Milan, expressing concern over Ludovico’s ability to hold power, due to the amount of maneuvering he would have to continue to do against his enemies. “The Duke of Bari is already the great man that he fully intends to be. At the moment, he is everything. But who knows? In a short time, he may be nobody at all.”
Duke Ercole had assured Beatrice that the ambassador was merely trying to console them on the occasion of another of Ludovico’s postponements of the marriage. That was possible. But she wished that she could remain in Ferrara forever, under her father’s protection. Such as it was. She was fully aware that girls were often the sacrificial lambs to their father’s political ambitions.
Lying on her back now under the covers as the barge jerked over rocky waters, with a wet-nosed puppy on either side, Beatrice contrasted her circumstances with those of her sister. Here she was, floating on this funereal barge toward the dreaded Ludovico, while a year earlier, Isabella had made a grand entrance into Mantua as its new marchesa on a gold-draped chariot, with Francesco on one side and the Duke of Urbino on the other. Royals and nobles had come from all over Italy, and Isabella had basked in their attentions.
The entire year prior to Isabella’s wedding, the Duke and Duchess of Ferrara had employed hundreds of artists, jewelry and furniture makers, weavers, ceramicists, glassblowers, and goldsmiths and silversmiths to prepare for this great union. Leonora sent to Naples for exquisite tapestries that were part of the Neapolitan treasury, which, it was said, had taken Flemish weavers one hundred years to make. Wedding trunks decorated by Italian masters, a luxurious carved marital bed that looked most promising for beginning intimate relations, and a chariot draped with gold were all made in a frenzy of activity, with Isabella and her mother supervising and approving each singular detail. The two were
With the wedding date also came news of fresh corruption in Milan, which sounded like a complete mess to Beatrice, a snake pit of connivances. Young Gian Galeazzo, Duke of Milan in name only, remained a constant source of scandal. His wife, Duchess Isabel of Aragon, with whom Beatrice had played as a child in Naples, was forever writing to her family, begging to be taken back to their court. The young duke paraded his boy-lovers in front of Isabel, leaving her bed cold. Tongues wagged all over Europe that Ludovico kept the young duke busy with sodomites so that he, as regent, would not have to compete with any legitimate heirs. Only when King Ferrante informed Ludovico that he would not pay the final (and enormous) installation of Isabel of Aragon’s dowry did Ludovico see to the consummation of the marriage. And then, if rumors were correct, all sorts of bribes, potions, and illusions in the dark had to be used in order to get Gian Galeazzo to impregnate poor, lonely Isabel. Now the rumor was that she was pregnant, and Ludovico had another legitimate heir to worry about.
Oh, there seemed to be more intrigue in the court of Milan than in a Venetian assassination plot. The cast of characters was sinister indeed. She had heard that Isabel of Aragon was terribly threatened by the idea of Beatrice’s marriage to Ludovico. Already he had too much power. The last thing Isabel, the rightful Duchess of Milan, wished to see was Ludovico’s legitimate sons competing with her husband and her own offspring, should she be fortunate enough to bear this one to fruition. In Isabel of Aragon was Beatrice to find not a long-lost childhood playmate but a formidable and dangerous rival?
At the same time, Beatrice had read a letter that Messer Trotti had sent to her father from Milan, expressing concern over Ludovico’s ability to hold power, due to the amount of maneuvering he would have to continue to do against his enemies. “The Duke of Bari is already the great man that he fully intends to be. At the moment, he is everything. But who knows? In a short time, he may be nobody at all.”
Duke Ercole had assured Beatrice that the ambassador was merely trying to console them on the occasion of another of Ludovico’s postponements of the marriage. That was possible. But she wished that she could remain in Ferrara forever, under her father’s protection. Such as it was. She was fully aware that girls were often the sacrificial lambs to their father’s political ambitions.
Lying on her back now under the covers as the barge jerked over rocky waters, with a wet-nosed puppy on either side, Beatrice contrasted her circumstances with those of her sister. Here she was, floating on this funereal barge toward the dreaded Ludovico, while a year earlier, Isabella had made a grand entrance into Mantua as its new marchesa on a gold-draped chariot, with Francesco on one side and the Duke of Urbino on the other. Royals and nobles had come from all over Italy, and Isabella had basked in their attentions.
The entire year prior to Isabella’s wedding, the Duke and Duchess of Ferrara had employed hundreds of artists, jewelry and furniture makers, weavers, ceramicists, glassblowers, and goldsmiths and silversmiths to prepare for this great union. Leonora sent to Naples for exquisite tapestries that were part of the Neapolitan treasury, which, it was said, had taken Flemish weavers one hundred years to make. Wedding trunks decorated by Italian masters, a luxurious carved marital bed that looked most promising for beginning intimate relations, and a chariot draped with gold were all made in a frenzy of activity, with Isabella and her mother supervising and approving each singular detail. The two were
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