The Daughter of Siena (29 page)
Pia understood perfectly that Gian Gastone had no regiments approaching. Having lived with her father’s dramatic posturing all her life, she knew Gian Gastone had drastically overplayed his hand. She edged to the pew’s end and watched as the duke began to back from the church, challenging the conspirators.
‘So now, what do you say?’
The Nine, in a silent malevolent circle, watched him, none of them making an answer, the only movement coming from their guttering torches. Pia knew they could overcome this interloper and his footmen in a fight, but something restrained them and in some ways their silence and their immobility was even more threatening.
Gian Gastone retreated, still making grand pronouncements, but they sounded increasingly hollow. He delivered his parting shot on the threshold. ‘And don’t forget that one of yours is my creature! The eyes of the Medici are everywhere.’
As Pia heard the rumble of the Medici carriage speeding away, she realized the danger she was in. But even when Faustino cried, ‘Search this place!’ she did not feel fearful. There was nowhere to run; her capture was inevitable. She lay there, beneath the pew, waiting, looking up at the concentric circles on the round roof, following the path of the spiral as the Nine closed in ever-decreasing circles around her. And when the torches finally lit up her hiding place, and as she looked up into her husband’s cruel face, her only hope was that Riccardo might have got away.
Riccardo was nearly floored by the Medici carriage rolling past him.
With sudden foreboding, he ran on silent feet to the door of the hermitage, but the tableau he saw there stopped him in his tracks. Pia, who had been in his arms so recently, was now in the arms of Nello, who held her not tenderly, but with a knife to her throat. Riccardo looked at its wicked, keen blade. If he revealed himself Pia would die before he reached her, and he would give himself away into the bargain. If he did not, Nello would punish her, with nameless, hideous abuses that he could not bear to speculate upon. Then, unbidden, he thought
of Violante and knew that he owed something to her, to finish what he’d begun.
of Violante and knew that he owed something to her, to finish what he’d begun.
Sick at heart, hating himself, he hid as the Nine rode past.
The Caterpillar
A
caterpillar was crawling very slowly in a beautiful garden when he was met by a lively ant.
caterpillar was crawling very slowly in a beautiful garden when he was met by a lively ant.
‘Out of the way,’ said the ant, ‘and don’t block the path of your superiors. It is beneath my quality to talk to such a mean creature as you.’
The caterpillar, unmoved, went upon his way, coiled himself into a silken cocoon and emerged the next morning as a beautiful butterfly. He flew into the air and spied the ant scuttling below on the ground. The ant was taken aback.
‘Proud creature,’ called the butterfly, ‘there is none so mean that he may not, one day, be exalted above those who thought themselves his better.’
‘Wake up, madam! Wake up!’
Violante opened her eyes to find Gretchen standing in her nightgown in a circle of candlelight, her old hands shaking so much that tallow dripped on the coverlet. The chamber was still dark, and below she could hear a loud banging and voices shouting.
‘It is the horseman. Come quickly!’
Violante flung back the coverlet. ‘On the tower?’
‘No, madam, at the doors – hammering fit to knock them in.’
Violante leaped to her feet and grabbed a shawl. ‘What’s the hour?’
Gretchen, already hurrying away, answered the question over her shoulder. ‘Barely sun-up, madam.’
The duchess followed her servant down the stairs to the main entrance where her guards were struggling to hold an impassioned Riccardo Bruni behind a cross of pikes.
‘Let him pass!’ she commanded.
As he came closer she could see the violet shadows beneath his eyes and knew that he had not slept. Something had gone badly amiss.
Riccardo pushed past Violante and mounted the great stair to the
piano nobile
, taking them three at a time. She followed at his heels, waving away the guards as they followed. Riccardo flung open every door he found until he came to Gian Gastone’s presence chamber. There he found his quarry, snoring in the solar. Dami, dressed and immaculate, and playing solitaire at a side table, waiting for his master to awaken, was flipping over the cards with his long white fingers.
piano nobile
, taking them three at a time. She followed at his heels, waving away the guards as they followed. Riccardo flung open every door he found until he came to Gian Gastone’s presence chamber. There he found his quarry, snoring in the solar. Dami, dressed and immaculate, and playing solitaire at a side table, waiting for his master to awaken, was flipping over the cards with his long white fingers.
Riccardo strode to the bed, ripped back the covers and grabbed an ample handful of Gian Gastone’s nightshirt. It was no mean feat to drag the heir of Tuscany’s bulk to a sitting position, but Riccardo did it, and with one hand too.
Dazed, Gian Gastone opened his eyes, snorted once and focused his gaze on Riccardo. At the same time Dami leaped to his feet and the card table tipped, spilling the cards on to the floor.
‘What,’ asked Riccardo of Gian Gastone, ‘did you do?’ He spat out every word, his tone barely below a shout.
‘What the—’ began Gian Gastone. He got no further.
‘I’ll tell you what you did.’
Riccardo’s heart and head were on fire and his anger was compounded by an unbearable feeling of guilt: if he had not left Pia alone, she might still have been safe. He had put the city above Pia, and would not do it again. He blamed himself very much indeed. In his passion he lost all coherence, all the arguments that had been marching through his head as he had ridden back through the night from San Galgano.
‘You as good as told Faustino Caprimulgo last night that you had a spy in the church. Pia was discovered there and now he will think she is the Judas in his own family, a traitor to the
contrada
. Never mind what the law may say; now,
now
, Nello will visit such retribution upon her that I cannot, I cannot—’ He broke off, balling his fists with frustration.
contrada
. Never mind what the law may say; now,
now
, Nello will visit such retribution upon her that I cannot, I cannot—’ He broke off, balling his fists with frustration.
Gian Gastone held up both of his vast hands. ‘Wait … wait. I don’t know who any of these people are.’
Standing in the doorway, Violante covered her eyes with her hands. So Gian Gastone had barrelled into the clandestine meeting. With his ego and hubris, he would bring their whole secret scheme down. She took her hands away.
‘Faustino Tolomei is the captain of the Eagle
contrada
. Pia Tolomei is wed to his son, Nello.’
contrada
. Pia Tolomei is wed to his son, Nello.’
‘And you,
you
…’ Riccardo advanced on Gian Gastone again, but was halted by the tone of the duke’s voice.
you
…’ Riccardo advanced on Gian Gastone again, but was halted by the tone of the duke’s voice.
‘Do not put your hands on Tuscany again,’ he said quietly. ‘You are lucky I do not have you whipped and thrown from these doors. You are fortunate that I will even question with you. For it is beneath my quality to talk to such a mean creature as you.’
Riccardo dropped his hands to his sides in a gesture of hopelessness. Violante looked from him to her brother-in-law, and Gian Gastone, missing nothing, caught her anxiety.
‘But, since you
are
the fortunate favourite of my dear sister-in-law, and because you are so pretty, I will forgive your transgressions.’ He sniffed. ‘If it means so much to you I can tell the Eagles’ captain that it was nothing to do with the silly little bird.’
are
the fortunate favourite of my dear sister-in-law, and because you are so pretty, I will forgive your transgressions.’ He sniffed. ‘If it means so much to you I can tell the Eagles’ captain that it was nothing to do with the silly little bird.’
Riccardo snorted with derision. ‘You won’t get the chance.’ With this, he turned on his heels and started down the stairs.
Violante followed him out of the room, pulling at his sleeve.
Riccardo rounded on her, all respect and rank forgot. ‘How could you tell him?’
Violante spread her hands hopelessly. ‘I thought he was the help we needed. I wrote to him, the day we first met. I never heard from him. Then he arrived, out of the ether.’
‘And you
told
him? We had the matter in hand. All of us together.’
told
him? We had the matter in hand. All of us together.’
She could have wept. ‘A little boy, an old lady, a middle-aged one and you? You said it yourself!’
‘And yet we could have stopped them. And now Pia is discovered. She’s under lock and key, she may be put to
death
under our laws –
your
laws! And now I am gone too.’
death
under our laws –
your
laws! And now I am gone too.’
Violante did not move until she had heard his feet recede all the way down the steps and out of the palace. Then she moved to the window and watched his back depart through the crowd gathering to watch the horse draw. The Palio was in less than a week, but now it seemed not to matter anyway. Their scheming was at an end.
She pressed her hands to the place below her ribs where the stays of her corset bit. Lest the pain might kill her dead upon the spot, she transformed it, with a conscious effort, into blind fury at her brother.
So it had come to this. Pia was, at last, a prisoner.
Not in a tower like the first Pia, but back in Siena, in a dank cellar, deep underneath the Eagles’ palace. Nello had dragged her down there himself, as if he would not entrust anyone else with the task. She had fought him
then, and laid open his cheek with her nails. But he had shoved her into her cell regardless.
then, and laid open his cheek with her nails. But he had shoved her into her cell regardless.
It was a stone room, with a studded door on one wall and a stone relief of the Eagle on the other. The eagle seemed to be watching her with its stone eye. She would not go near it.
There was one torch in a sconce, but it gave little comfort, throwing stretched and hideous shadows long upon the floor, shadows that could hide nameless terrors. But reality was worse than imagination; there were bloodstains on the stone floor that the scattering of rushes could not hide. She put her hand to them and rubbed the rusty bloom between her fingertips. The Panther’s blood. Egidio Albani, beaten to death on this very spot. Egidio Albani, who had begun this whole coil with a stroke of a whip across Vicenzo’s face. But her charge was different. Medici spy. A grievous charge, enough to hang her.
She must be publicly tried, but this would not save her from the summary justice of the Eagles who had tried and condemned and executed a man in this very room. The evidence was black and white; by now Nicoletta would have found the
Morte d’Arthur
, and it would take Faustino little time to divine that it was the book that had given her the clue to the meeting place of the Nine. She could not enjoy the irony that Thomas Malory had written it while himself in prison in the Tower of London, nor that his heroine Queen Guinevere had been imprisoned for betraying her husband.
Morte d’Arthur
, and it would take Faustino little time to divine that it was the book that had given her the clue to the meeting place of the Nine. She could not enjoy the irony that Thomas Malory had written it while himself in prison in the Tower of London, nor that his heroine Queen Guinevere had been imprisoned for betraying her husband.
She wondered if they would feed and water her, but countless hours passed before she heard the scrape of the
lock and the grating of the opening door. Her heart leaped and raced with fear, but the huge bulk of Nicoletta filled the doorway, carrying a tray. Her smiles were enormous.
lock and the grating of the opening door. Her heart leaped and raced with fear, but the huge bulk of Nicoletta filled the doorway, carrying a tray. Her smiles were enormous.
‘Well, my pet. ’Tis a sorry chamber you’ve descended to and no mistaking. But you’ve Nicoletta to look after ye.’
She banged down the pewter platter, spilling the jug of water, dousing the bread and wetting Egidio’s bloodstains, to make them red once more.
‘Santa Maria, but it’s dark in here. And you’ll not have heard the news about the
contrada
.’ The maid spoke conversationally, as if they were in a parlour, not a cell. ‘They’re talking about the Padovani heiress who turns thirteen this week – Eagle family, vintners, and the little mistress fair stuffed with coin.’ Nicoletta leaned into the cramped room, looking over both fat shoulders before whispering conspiratorially, as if they shared a confidence: ‘Mortal good match that’d be, for some lucky Eagle feller.’ The maid’s piggy eyes shone like beads in the dim and her smile stretched further.
contrada
.’ The maid spoke conversationally, as if they were in a parlour, not a cell. ‘They’re talking about the Padovani heiress who turns thirteen this week – Eagle family, vintners, and the little mistress fair stuffed with coin.’ Nicoletta leaned into the cramped room, looking over both fat shoulders before whispering conspiratorially, as if they shared a confidence: ‘Mortal good match that’d be, for some lucky Eagle feller.’ The maid’s piggy eyes shone like beads in the dim and her smile stretched further.
So, Pia thought, her replacement had already been found.
Having delivered her message, Nicoletta turned to the door and spied the torch. ‘Mercy! What a poor little light they’ve given ye! ’Tis hardly worth having.’ She spat on her meaty hand and doused the light, the torch hissing in matching malice as the door closed again.
Plunged into the dark, Pia remembered how she had once told Riccardo Bruni that she could see in the dark,
like the owlet, like Minerva. Why did everything bring her back to him? He was lost to her now, and she was blinded and afraid; shorn, in this blackness, of the little power she had ever had.
like the owlet, like Minerva. Why did everything bring her back to him? He was lost to her now, and she was blinded and afraid; shorn, in this blackness, of the little power she had ever had.
She had to feel for her bread and could not be sure, as she chewed it, that it had not been sopped in Egidio’s blood.
She digested her meal and Nicoletta’s news together. Nello would remarry when she was dead. They would keep her alive until the race was won, she thought, for even Salvatore would baulk at the murder of his daughter and Salvatore, the prior of the Civetta, was crucial to the Nine. But after that?
In the dark she began to talk to Egidio Albani, the only other person who’d felt what she felt now.
On the evening of the horse draw, Violante decided to challenge her brother-in-law. She entered Gian Gastone’s chamber without knocking and came across him as he was being assisted into his clothes by Dami. She did not turn her back to shield her eyes from the sight.
‘Why?’ she said, abruptly and without preamble.
‘But, sister, you
asked
me for help.’ He seemed genuinely puzzled.
asked
me for help.’ He seemed genuinely puzzled.
She shook her head. She could not deny the truth of what he said.
Gian Gastone flicked at his cravat with irritation, and Dami, with the ease of long practice, untied it and began again.
‘My dear sister, that man – Faustino is it? – is a thug. He exists in another century. He needed to be faced down. Now he has met with the Medici there will be no further trouble, you may be sure of it. By the end of our meeting he seemed quite amenable. You asked me for help. I helped. There is an end on it.’
Violante did not believe a word of it. But she thought she understood him.
Gian Gastone had anticipated his dukedom. She knew he had been mouldering in his wife’s castle, unloved and with nothing to think on but the dukedom that was not yet his. She had conferred power upon him and he had jumped at the chance to rule, but he had done so wrongheadedly. He had given away any advantage they had; he had lost their chance to discover the identity of Romulus; they knew nothing more save that a coup was planned for the day of the Palio, not where or how this was to be achieved.
The only point upon which she could be glad was that Riccardo’s name was kept out of the affair; and unless his boldness in striding in and out of the palace that morning had been observed, Faustino and the Nine were ignorant of his part in the plot to save the city for the Medici. However, in the process of preserving his own secrecy, Pia’s presence in the hermit’s church – however she’d come to be there – had been revealed. Riccardo had neatly summed up her fate: Faustino thought he had a traitor in the family and could quite possibly act against Pia with the support of the law; or leave it to the vengeful Nello to punish his treacherous wife without it.
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