scandalously made him a cardinal, little more than a conduit for the revenues of the office—and otherwise a doorkeeper, a laughingstock. My sadness was occasioned not only by Juan’s absence; once he had begun the campaign against the Orsini, Juan had become distant even when he was present. So I played the “O mia cieca” for my lover’s morose brother, mocking both of us with the melancholy verses: “O misery of my life, sad annunciation of my death …” Soon enough Cesare and I were passing my lira da braccio back and forth, singing each tragic verse with ever more exaggerated sighs, miming our remorse like comic actors, laughing until tears streamed down our cheeks.
But perhaps that Cesare had died the same day as my lovely Juan, to be reborn in little time as Duke Valentino. So I put my question to this unfamiliar man, whom Fortune had lifted up, in the five years since his brother’s murder, in yet greater measure than she had cast me down. “Why do you think they cut that poor woman into quarters?”
Valentino exhaled as if he were gently blowing on a candle flame. Yet no words followed.
“The corners of the winds,” I said. “It is a peculiar phrase. In what fashion does the wind have corners? No doubt it means something.”
“It means a great deal.” When he blinked I saw a faint glimmer ofsomeone I had once known. “But as I told you, my father has now left this matter entirely to my judgment.”
Here he left me again, absent even a nod. And now I knew Duke Valentino well enough to understand that this time I could not summon him back.
I waited only long enough to avoid exiting directly on the duke’s heels before taking my leave. Nor did I wait for an escort to accompany me through the armories, which were now silent as tombs. I paused before the drawbridge, the sleet a hissing shower, to pull the hood of my cioppa around my face. The moat before me appeared as bleak as the river Lethe, where the dead wash away all memory of their lives.
“Might I see you somewhere?”
When I turned, Signor Oliverotto da Fermo already stood at my side. He looked down at me, his head cocked slightly, eyes as pale and glittering as frost. His athlete’s face was nearly unlined, save for the faint creases that framed his subtle, almost sweet mouth like parentheses. “It would be my pleasure to escort you to your lodging.”
“I would inconvenience you to little purpose, Signore. I am not going far from here.” I had no intention of informing Vitellozzo Vitelli’s errand boy precisely where I was lodged.
“You have a lovely voice. Do you sing? We are going to stay in Imola for a little while yet.”
Of course I knew what he was asking. But he had also told me, however inadvertently, that Valentino’s treaty with the condottieri was not yet signed and sealed. Details remained, perhaps to do with Florence, as Valentino had suggested to me.
“I no longer do business,” I said. “Can I presume, however, that yours is not finished?”
“It seems that you and Duke Valentino are familiar,” he said, perhaps with a note of irony. “So you know that he does not give way easily. But the Vitelli and I have our interests as well.” He cocked his head at a more severe angle, as if now required to examine me more carefully. It occurred to me that if this man knew I had been sent by the pope, as well he might, he would have considerable interest in knowing whatHis Holiness had established regarding Juan’s murder—and how far the pope would go to bring his son’s assassins to account. “We intend to work with renewed industry, and see that all parties are satisfied.” Spreading his hands, he ducked his bare head in a brief bow, at the same time stepping away from me. “Permit me to say how gravely I will be disappointed, if our work here is completed before I have had occasion to hear you sing.”
I watched as Signor Oliverotto crossed the drawbridge, then proceeded down the street that leads past
But perhaps that Cesare had died the same day as my lovely Juan, to be reborn in little time as Duke Valentino. So I put my question to this unfamiliar man, whom Fortune had lifted up, in the five years since his brother’s murder, in yet greater measure than she had cast me down. “Why do you think they cut that poor woman into quarters?”
Valentino exhaled as if he were gently blowing on a candle flame. Yet no words followed.
“The corners of the winds,” I said. “It is a peculiar phrase. In what fashion does the wind have corners? No doubt it means something.”
“It means a great deal.” When he blinked I saw a faint glimmer ofsomeone I had once known. “But as I told you, my father has now left this matter entirely to my judgment.”
Here he left me again, absent even a nod. And now I knew Duke Valentino well enough to understand that this time I could not summon him back.
I waited only long enough to avoid exiting directly on the duke’s heels before taking my leave. Nor did I wait for an escort to accompany me through the armories, which were now silent as tombs. I paused before the drawbridge, the sleet a hissing shower, to pull the hood of my cioppa around my face. The moat before me appeared as bleak as the river Lethe, where the dead wash away all memory of their lives.
“Might I see you somewhere?”
When I turned, Signor Oliverotto da Fermo already stood at my side. He looked down at me, his head cocked slightly, eyes as pale and glittering as frost. His athlete’s face was nearly unlined, save for the faint creases that framed his subtle, almost sweet mouth like parentheses. “It would be my pleasure to escort you to your lodging.”
“I would inconvenience you to little purpose, Signore. I am not going far from here.” I had no intention of informing Vitellozzo Vitelli’s errand boy precisely where I was lodged.
“You have a lovely voice. Do you sing? We are going to stay in Imola for a little while yet.”
Of course I knew what he was asking. But he had also told me, however inadvertently, that Valentino’s treaty with the condottieri was not yet signed and sealed. Details remained, perhaps to do with Florence, as Valentino had suggested to me.
“I no longer do business,” I said. “Can I presume, however, that yours is not finished?”
“It seems that you and Duke Valentino are familiar,” he said, perhaps with a note of irony. “So you know that he does not give way easily. But the Vitelli and I have our interests as well.” He cocked his head at a more severe angle, as if now required to examine me more carefully. It occurred to me that if this man knew I had been sent by the pope, as well he might, he would have considerable interest in knowing whatHis Holiness had established regarding Juan’s murder—and how far the pope would go to bring his son’s assassins to account. “We intend to work with renewed industry, and see that all parties are satisfied.” Spreading his hands, he ducked his bare head in a brief bow, at the same time stepping away from me. “Permit me to say how gravely I will be disappointed, if our work here is completed before I have had occasion to hear you sing.”
I watched as Signor Oliverotto crossed the drawbridge, then proceeded down the street that leads past
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