so than the Florentines—I must now convince them that this peace of ours will not provide the Vitelli, with whom they have an unpleasant history, the liberty to attack them. I keep offering the Florentines a separate agreement to ensure their security, and in return they have merely sent me an amusing secretary, to interminably delay the matter. Their merchants and bankers find the expenses of peace too onerous, without regard for the far greater exactions of war.”
Valentino stopped and faced me, though his eyes were down. “But if you ask me which is more difficult,” he said, nearly sotto voce, “themaking of war or the making of a peace, I will tell you that it is the latter.” Here he pointed his gaze to Oliverotto da Fermo and Paolo Orsini, the two of them standing with heads nodded together, conferring like Pharisees; I could only presume that whatever observations they were at pains to keep to themselves would soon be shared with Vitellozzo Vitelli.
“It is even more difficult to believe that these gentlemen’s current treachery is their only offense worthy of pardon,” I said in a quavering voice, knowing I would have only a few words with which to save my little boy. “You know as well as I who put Juan’s amulet in that poor woman’s charm bag.”
Valentino took my arm and drew me deeper into our corner of the room, the velvet drapes almost wrapping us up. “We have sent ships across the ocean and discovered a new world that my father has now divided between Spain and Portugal. Perhaps that will be the patrimony of those nations as we enter this new age.” He fixed me with a stare so earnest that I did not even wonder what the division of this new world had to do with his brother’s murder. “But we Italians now have the opportunity to end this ceaseless warfare and build the new world here, on our native soil. Damiata, you have never seen such things as Leonardo has drawn. We will begin in Cesena and Cesenatico, then the rest of the Romagna, then all Italy. Ports, canals, new roads, all the gifts that scienza offers us. Or we can continue with our wars and factions, refuse to move ahead, and watch impotently as our people become the slaves of foreigners.” His nostrils flexed. “Let us assume your accusations are correct. Even if I were to walk across this room and wring a confession from those two, Juan would remain buried beneath the floor of Santa Maria Maggiore. His bones will not save Italy, any more than the names of his murderers will bring us peace.”
I closed my eyes, as if he had pried up the church pavement to show me those bones. “So this is what you wished to tell me tonight. There will be no instruction from Rome.” My throat clutched. “I am finished here.”
“You are no longer Rome’s concern. I have made clear to my father that I can better determine your usefulness.” My eyes flew open and I saw his, bright as polished jade. “His Holiness has agreed.”
I returned his stare. Had the pope already ceded him my fate? Yet before I could so much as stammer a question, Duke Valentino gave me a short bow, his arm across his waist, and walked away.
Only then did it occur to me that I still held a card I had not played, so to speak. I called after him: “Excellency.”
Valentino turned abruptly, as if I had threatened him. Yet he lifted his gloved hand in a carefree gesture. “You needn’t address me as ‘Excellency.’ You know who I am.”
I knew nothing of Duke Valentino. But at that moment a memory I had kept of his former life, when he was mere Cesare, came without bidding. My house on the Via dei Banchi, a winter afternoon, the shutters slightly parted on a rain-streaked sky, a crow huddled outside on the gray stone sill. On instruction from his father, Juan was encamped before the Orsini castle at Bracciano, trying to assemble his troops and artillery in the rain and the mud, a task he hated with all his soul. Cesare was no less bitter that his father had
Valentino stopped and faced me, though his eyes were down. “But if you ask me which is more difficult,” he said, nearly sotto voce, “themaking of war or the making of a peace, I will tell you that it is the latter.” Here he pointed his gaze to Oliverotto da Fermo and Paolo Orsini, the two of them standing with heads nodded together, conferring like Pharisees; I could only presume that whatever observations they were at pains to keep to themselves would soon be shared with Vitellozzo Vitelli.
“It is even more difficult to believe that these gentlemen’s current treachery is their only offense worthy of pardon,” I said in a quavering voice, knowing I would have only a few words with which to save my little boy. “You know as well as I who put Juan’s amulet in that poor woman’s charm bag.”
Valentino took my arm and drew me deeper into our corner of the room, the velvet drapes almost wrapping us up. “We have sent ships across the ocean and discovered a new world that my father has now divided between Spain and Portugal. Perhaps that will be the patrimony of those nations as we enter this new age.” He fixed me with a stare so earnest that I did not even wonder what the division of this new world had to do with his brother’s murder. “But we Italians now have the opportunity to end this ceaseless warfare and build the new world here, on our native soil. Damiata, you have never seen such things as Leonardo has drawn. We will begin in Cesena and Cesenatico, then the rest of the Romagna, then all Italy. Ports, canals, new roads, all the gifts that scienza offers us. Or we can continue with our wars and factions, refuse to move ahead, and watch impotently as our people become the slaves of foreigners.” His nostrils flexed. “Let us assume your accusations are correct. Even if I were to walk across this room and wring a confession from those two, Juan would remain buried beneath the floor of Santa Maria Maggiore. His bones will not save Italy, any more than the names of his murderers will bring us peace.”
I closed my eyes, as if he had pried up the church pavement to show me those bones. “So this is what you wished to tell me tonight. There will be no instruction from Rome.” My throat clutched. “I am finished here.”
“You are no longer Rome’s concern. I have made clear to my father that I can better determine your usefulness.” My eyes flew open and I saw his, bright as polished jade. “His Holiness has agreed.”
I returned his stare. Had the pope already ceded him my fate? Yet before I could so much as stammer a question, Duke Valentino gave me a short bow, his arm across his waist, and walked away.
Only then did it occur to me that I still held a card I had not played, so to speak. I called after him: “Excellency.”
Valentino turned abruptly, as if I had threatened him. Yet he lifted his gloved hand in a carefree gesture. “You needn’t address me as ‘Excellency.’ You know who I am.”
I knew nothing of Duke Valentino. But at that moment a memory I had kept of his former life, when he was mere Cesare, came without bidding. My house on the Via dei Banchi, a winter afternoon, the shutters slightly parted on a rain-streaked sky, a crow huddled outside on the gray stone sill. On instruction from his father, Juan was encamped before the Orsini castle at Bracciano, trying to assemble his troops and artillery in the rain and the mud, a task he hated with all his soul. Cesare was no less bitter that his father had
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