escape, all fell away. Sounds grew muted.Vision blurred. My mind stilled even as I crossed the river and my mount took us up into the southern hills.
This girl I had met, this woman, daughter of my enemy—Juliet—it was memory of her in the Medici courtyard that had silenced the city sounds, disappeared the world around me, rendered me empty, yet filled to overflowing. Blissful and terror-struck all at once.
Juliet. Those eyes that had steady held my gaze, never shy, never downcast. Unflinching. The curve of her rosy lips as she spoke, no bantered —audacious as a university boy. Her throat, long and pale in the moonlight. The round pillows of her breasts that heaved so gently as she laughed.
I had known girls before. Some beautiful. Some plain. But all ordinary. They simpered. They giggled. They failed to excite. But this Juliet, standing there so bold in that garden, was infinitely thrilling, brighter than the brightest star in the blackness of heaven.
Then I remembered my own stars. The woman they’d foretold for me. Is it possible? This, my family’s enemy, my wife-to-be? All of a sudden like a dam bursting, blood came rushing through my veins in a great torrent, roaring in my ears. Juliet, my fated one .
Then in a mysterious passage of time I was home, my horse groomed and stabled for the night. I had walked through the door, my mother smiling a welcome, her long hair loose about the shoulders of her night shift. The sight of her shocked me. She was the only woman I had, in my life, ever loved.
“Mama,” I’d whispered and kissed her cheeks, blushing behind her sight, strangely mortified. Am I worthy of Juliet , I wondered, worthy as my father was of my mother?
Now as I stood in the shadow of the cathedral door I recalled the sight of Juliet Capelletti under the great dome amid all of Dante’s devotees, so brave she would shout aloud, replying to my plaintive calls. She shocked me. Truly rocked the ground beneath my feet. Made the air shimmer with her power and grace. This woman had slipped free the prison of rules that governed us all and met me halfway to paradise.
I am in love, I thought. For the first time, in love !
Then I saw him—Jacopo Strozzi—exiting the church with the last of the Dante crowd. He moved within it, but his eyes said he was unmoved —that our poet had made no mark on his soul. Why was he here? Surely he could not have known of Juliet’s unplanned attendance. Had he come to win her affection? Perhaps he knew of her love for Dante and wished to make his bride happy by teaching himself the words of love.
Then I grew cold. He had not expected her to be at the symposium.Yet she was there. And she had proven herself a public shame, exchanging loving barbs with a stranger. Had he also seen me running like a fugitive from the ball? Certainly he must have heard later that the fleeing man had been a Monticecco. His partner’s enemy.
And yes, now I saw his eyes were black with fury. He did know. What a danger to Juliet! The Strozzi claimed nearly the strength and riches of the Medici but unlike Don Cosimo’s family, it was infamous for its ruthlessness, even brutality. Now I could see in this Strozzi’s face a terrible choler, one that my beloved lady and I had, by our actions, unknowingly provoked.
Then all of a sudden that expression changed—anger to fear, almost cowering. And I saw its cause.
A matron in the finest somber brown silk, her face shades lighter but still muddy, approaching him.
“Mama,” Jacopo said, and kissed her hand. “Coming to confession?”
I hid myself half behind the great door with one ear to the conversation.
“What is wrong with you, Jacopo?” Allessandra Strozzi demanded. Her voice lacked any of what I knew to be maternal warmth. “You look as though you’ve swallowed a melon whole.”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
“I saw your ‘bride’ leaving.” She said the word with unaccountable disdain. “With the Tornabuoni girl. Now, that
This girl I had met, this woman, daughter of my enemy—Juliet—it was memory of her in the Medici courtyard that had silenced the city sounds, disappeared the world around me, rendered me empty, yet filled to overflowing. Blissful and terror-struck all at once.
Juliet. Those eyes that had steady held my gaze, never shy, never downcast. Unflinching. The curve of her rosy lips as she spoke, no bantered —audacious as a university boy. Her throat, long and pale in the moonlight. The round pillows of her breasts that heaved so gently as she laughed.
I had known girls before. Some beautiful. Some plain. But all ordinary. They simpered. They giggled. They failed to excite. But this Juliet, standing there so bold in that garden, was infinitely thrilling, brighter than the brightest star in the blackness of heaven.
Then I remembered my own stars. The woman they’d foretold for me. Is it possible? This, my family’s enemy, my wife-to-be? All of a sudden like a dam bursting, blood came rushing through my veins in a great torrent, roaring in my ears. Juliet, my fated one .
Then in a mysterious passage of time I was home, my horse groomed and stabled for the night. I had walked through the door, my mother smiling a welcome, her long hair loose about the shoulders of her night shift. The sight of her shocked me. She was the only woman I had, in my life, ever loved.
“Mama,” I’d whispered and kissed her cheeks, blushing behind her sight, strangely mortified. Am I worthy of Juliet , I wondered, worthy as my father was of my mother?
Now as I stood in the shadow of the cathedral door I recalled the sight of Juliet Capelletti under the great dome amid all of Dante’s devotees, so brave she would shout aloud, replying to my plaintive calls. She shocked me. Truly rocked the ground beneath my feet. Made the air shimmer with her power and grace. This woman had slipped free the prison of rules that governed us all and met me halfway to paradise.
I am in love, I thought. For the first time, in love !
Then I saw him—Jacopo Strozzi—exiting the church with the last of the Dante crowd. He moved within it, but his eyes said he was unmoved —that our poet had made no mark on his soul. Why was he here? Surely he could not have known of Juliet’s unplanned attendance. Had he come to win her affection? Perhaps he knew of her love for Dante and wished to make his bride happy by teaching himself the words of love.
Then I grew cold. He had not expected her to be at the symposium.Yet she was there. And she had proven herself a public shame, exchanging loving barbs with a stranger. Had he also seen me running like a fugitive from the ball? Certainly he must have heard later that the fleeing man had been a Monticecco. His partner’s enemy.
And yes, now I saw his eyes were black with fury. He did know. What a danger to Juliet! The Strozzi claimed nearly the strength and riches of the Medici but unlike Don Cosimo’s family, it was infamous for its ruthlessness, even brutality. Now I could see in this Strozzi’s face a terrible choler, one that my beloved lady and I had, by our actions, unknowingly provoked.
Then all of a sudden that expression changed—anger to fear, almost cowering. And I saw its cause.
A matron in the finest somber brown silk, her face shades lighter but still muddy, approaching him.
“Mama,” Jacopo said, and kissed her hand. “Coming to confession?”
I hid myself half behind the great door with one ear to the conversation.
“What is wrong with you, Jacopo?” Allessandra Strozzi demanded. Her voice lacked any of what I knew to be maternal warmth. “You look as though you’ve swallowed a melon whole.”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
“I saw your ‘bride’ leaving.” She said the word with unaccountable disdain. “With the Tornabuoni girl. Now, that
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