The Daughter of Siena (31 page)
Now she understood. She took his face in both hands.
‘You were a child yourself,’ she said. ‘And if you’d stayed, you would have died that day and not lived to see this. You tried to save Vicenzo and now you have a chance to save more lives. Take it.’
He looked in her eyes and nodded once. She forced herself to speak again.
‘And now I must ask you something much harder, and beside this, to win the race is nothing.’
‘What is it?’
She uttered the most terrible sentence she’d ever had to say. ‘You must leave me here. Promise.’
‘You have to get me out of here. Promise.’
Violante’s heart was thudding in her ears, so hard that she could barely hear Dami. ‘Tell me.’
‘You’ll free me?’
And she forgot Pia. ‘Yes.’
Dami let out a long breath, and began to tell a story that was twenty years old. He had never repeated it to anyone else, not even Gian Gastone, and even now he knew he could not tell the worst of it, lest this woman kill him dead right here with her own hands. He would tell the light, not the shadow, the white, not the black.
For Giuliano Dami had committed the worst and the best acts of his life twenty years ago. When, on Gian Gastone’s orders, he had dressed as a priest to take Violante’s twins from her and murder them, he had thought he was equal to the task. He had directed that Violante should be drugged before the abduction and when he entered the birthing chamber he could see that it had been a wise precaution. Even in sleep, she had an arm around each tiny babe as each suckled away at a full, blue-veined breast. Violante’s face, as she slumbered under the heavy coverlet of laudanum, was a picture of serenity and happiness. But Dami felt no misgivings as he took each child
from the breast, both dribbling a little warm milk from their mouths as they released Violante’s nipples with tiny twin pops. Even this did not touch Dami’s heart. He took the keening babes in his black robes to the next chamber.
from the breast, both dribbling a little warm milk from their mouths as they released Violante’s nipples with tiny twin pops. Even this did not touch Dami’s heart. He took the keening babes in his black robes to the next chamber.
There, in that dark room, he consigned his soul to hell, only to have it redeemed. He had never killed a child before, but thought it would be no great matter, for a babe so newly born could be easily dispatched and sent back to the void with only a momentary glimpse of the world he was never meant to inhabit. He laid one boy on the bed and held the other in his arms, in a horrible imitative pantomime of the way Violante had cradled the babes. He considered clasping his hand around the little folds of its neck, but found it difficult to get purchase on a throat so small. He cast about for a pillow to smother the child, but they had all been taken next door in the service of the new mother. In the end he pushed his forefinger down into the tiny mouth.
What happened next gave him a glimpse of the abyss down which he was to fall, for the babe, having been taken from its mother’s teat, closed its warm wet lips around Dami’s finger and began to suckle. Dami felt a shock of tenderness through his body, a dread so sharp that he reacted violently, forcing the finger further and further in, until the baby began to thrash around and then, at last, stop.
The other boy lay calmly on the bed, watching murder done. He followed Dami with caper-green eyes as he laid his dead brother on the bed next to him. As the purple eyes met the open gaze, Dami knew he would rather die
himself than commit such an act again. And so, Giuliano Dami’s damned soul flew from the closing jaws of hell just as the flames and demons snatched at his heels. He had killed one of the twins as he had been ordered by his master and lover. The other, he would save.
himself than commit such an act again. And so, Giuliano Dami’s damned soul flew from the closing jaws of hell just as the flames and demons snatched at his heels. He had killed one of the twins as he had been ordered by his master and lover. The other, he would save.
He wrapped both children, the dead and the live together, and took them down the back stair unobserved. By the banks of the Arno he took the living babe from the cloth, replaced him with three great stones and wrapped the bundle again. He heaved the other tiny body into the river, turning away before he even heard the splash. Then he picked up the living child and headed back to the
palazzo
.
palazzo
.
By the great gates he found a fellow untying his horse. He knew the man slightly, a master farrier from Siena, known as the best in all Tuscany, come to tend to the duke’s favourite horse. The man was on his way home, he said, and would ride from the city tonight, likely never to return. Siena was not far away, but it was far enough. Dami gave the child to the man to take away from Florence, telling him that he was to raise the child as his own on the grand duke’s orders. He could see that the fellow was softened by the baby’s eyes and the minute hand that reached up from the swaddling cloths. But the deciding factor was the purse that Dami proffered. It was almost as heavy as the child itself.
His soul by turns heavy and light, Dami went straight to his master, who was sitting, waiting patiently in a chamber as dark as the one where he had done murder.
‘It is done,’ he said. ‘You are now the heir to Tuscany.’
Gian Gastone nodded once, and Dami turned from him, loving him a little less than he had done before. Only when he closed the door behind him did Dami begin to shake.
Gian Gastone nodded once, and Dami turned from him, loving him a little less than he had done before. Only when he closed the door behind him did Dami begin to shake.
And so Domenico Bruni, crippled by grief at the loss of his young wife, but buoyed by his commission to Grand Duke Cosimo III of Tuscany, unknowingly took the Medici princeling home to Siena.
Giuliano Dami, now facing his own death, did not want to take a chance on whether or not his act of murder or his act of salvation would weigh more heavily in the scales on Judgment Day. He just knew that he had a card to play, and he played it to save his own sorry skin.
He had feared Violante because he had wronged her so much, and she was nothing but a source of terror to him. How Satan himself must have laughed that she now held his life in her hands. Dami did not, of course, tell Violante the whole story. Even
in extremis
he was clever enough to know that if he confessed to the murder of one of her twins, she would never release him.
in extremis
he was clever enough to know that if he confessed to the murder of one of her twins, she would never release him.
He diluted the tale thus: one of the twins had died, and been cast into the Arno; the other was to be murdered on the orders of Gian Gastone. He, Dami, had saved the child by giving it to Domenico Bruni. He realized he would be burning his bridges with his master, but could see no other way out of the noose.
Violante, shattered, sat for a long, long moment in silence, the chill of the jail freezing her hands and feet, her
heart burning with the sun and shade of joy and loss. Joy that she had a son, and what a son! A man she already loved, with a love to which she could now give free rein. She felt again the aching loss of the boy who had died, whose little bones lay bleached at the bottom of the Arno, with three stones for his bedfellows, one for each hour he had lived. She felt loss, too, that she had missed twenty years of her living son’s life, his first smile, his first tooth, his first communion. But then joy again that she had been given this gift of a truly good, a truly brave, a truly caring young man. She could take no credit for his manners or his bearing. She might have attributed his gifts to heredity, for Ferdinando had once been the finest of young men, Gian Gastone, too. But both had given their love to boys and men, and reduced their wives to misery; and one had stooped to infanticide to clear his path to the dukedom. What inheritance was that?
heart burning with the sun and shade of joy and loss. Joy that she had a son, and what a son! A man she already loved, with a love to which she could now give free rein. She felt again the aching loss of the boy who had died, whose little bones lay bleached at the bottom of the Arno, with three stones for his bedfellows, one for each hour he had lived. She felt loss, too, that she had missed twenty years of her living son’s life, his first smile, his first tooth, his first communion. But then joy again that she had been given this gift of a truly good, a truly brave, a truly caring young man. She could take no credit for his manners or his bearing. She might have attributed his gifts to heredity, for Ferdinando had once been the finest of young men, Gian Gastone, too. But both had given their love to boys and men, and reduced their wives to misery; and one had stooped to infanticide to clear his path to the dukedom. What inheritance was that?
Violante stumbled from the dark cell into the blinding sunlight, pausing only to tell the jailer that Dami should spend one more night in prayer and penance and would be freed on the morrow with the dispensation of the Palio.
As Violante crossed the square, Gretchen had to hold her up. Violante was grateful for Gretchen’s support and silence. She could not have recounted the tale, for she could barely make sense of her own thoughts. She only knew, as she entered her own dark door, that she had finally realized why Riccardo had always seemed so familiar, why she had recognized him on the first day they met, why she had warmed to him at first sight. He
had recalled to her mind the young Ferdinando, his father. And the final joy and loss was felt as she passed the Torre del Mangia. For she might have found her son, but he had gone, angered, from her sight.
had recalled to her mind the young Ferdinando, his father. And the final joy and loss was felt as she passed the Torre del Mangia. For she might have found her son, but he had gone, angered, from her sight.
Violante could not face Gian Gastone yet. She knew he would be waiting in her presence chamber, pacing, awaiting the outcome of the interview with Dami. She wondered if he would still want Dami free if he knew what he had confessed to her. With a strength she had not known she possessed, she determined to conceal what she knew. She would use Dami as a bargaining counter in this chess game between herself and her brother-in-law.
She sent Gretchen to find Zebra, and when the boy arrived she took his hand and looked at the nine-year-old’s bitten nails. What she would have given to have known Riccardo at this age. She smiled especially sweetly at Zebra today and asked him gently if he knew where Riccardo Bruni might be.
‘As for today, Duchess, I do not know,’ he replied, ‘for he rode Leocorno out of the gates this morning, early. He’s training hard, mistress.’
Zebra did not say that it was Riccardo’s visit to Pia that had changed him, inspiring him to ride again, to win, to kiss his abandoned horse’s white nose and ask for forgiveness. Zebra had seen it all, at daybreak, as Riccardo vaulted on to Leocorno’s back and rode him into the hills, the westward way that they always took, to see the western aspect of the city. There, the boy knew, they would ride circuit after circuit, against the backdrop of Siena, training to win. Zebra said nothing of all this; for much as
he liked the kindly duchess, he kept his information to be parcelled up for coin. He squinted up at her plain, troubled face and relented.
he liked the kindly duchess, he kept his information to be parcelled up for coin. He squinted up at her plain, troubled face and relented.
‘But I can tell you for sure where he will be tomorrow morning.’
‘Where?’
‘Why, in the church of the Torre. At the blessing of his horse.’
Of course. On the morning of the Palio, each
contrada
blessed their horse in their own church. The Palio was to be run tomorrow. Violante forced herself to focus on the implications of this. Riccardo Bruni,
her son
, the finest rider in the city, was to ride in the Palio for the Torre party. The woman he loved was imprisoned by the Eagle’s captain, whose son Nello was destined to win the Palio. Riccardo, the only rider with the skill to threaten the plan, had been given a horse by Faustino, a horse bred to lose the race. Nello was going to win and fulfil the expectations of a betting syndicate who would then bankroll the Nine. Siena, her city, would be taken from her. No, she thought with a shock,
Riccardo
’s city would be taken from him. The peasant that Gian Gastone had pronounced below his notice now outranked him. Violante had, at last, fulfilled her destiny. Tuscany had an heir.
contrada
blessed their horse in their own church. The Palio was to be run tomorrow. Violante forced herself to focus on the implications of this. Riccardo Bruni,
her son
, the finest rider in the city, was to ride in the Palio for the Torre party. The woman he loved was imprisoned by the Eagle’s captain, whose son Nello was destined to win the Palio. Riccardo, the only rider with the skill to threaten the plan, had been given a horse by Faustino, a horse bred to lose the race. Nello was going to win and fulfil the expectations of a betting syndicate who would then bankroll the Nine. Siena, her city, would be taken from her. No, she thought with a shock,
Riccardo
’s city would be taken from him. The peasant that Gian Gastone had pronounced below his notice now outranked him. Violante had, at last, fulfilled her destiny. Tuscany had an heir.
Violante had a moment of sudden clarity. If Riccardo could win the Palio, the Nine would be beggared, and her son would still have a city. And according to Zebra, he was trying, and training, desperately to win. As for the threat of Romulus, whoever he was, and whatever higher
power that threatened the city: well, Gian Gastone would have to step in. She must treat with this murderer. He had to atone for his crimes.
power that threatened the city: well, Gian Gastone would have to step in. She must treat with this murderer. He had to atone for his crimes.
The duchess went upstairs to her presence chamber and turned the handle. Gian Gastone was there, waiting, and turned to her. She looked into his fat anxious face, the concealment of her revulsion the hardest dissembling she had ever done. He, and he alone, was responsible for the twenty lost years with Riccardo. She went to the ivory box below her window and drew out the statute that she’d hidden there. She handed it to her brother-in-law.
‘I will free Dami.’
His face collapsed in relief.
‘
If,
’ she said, ‘you will write to your sister Anna Maria Luisa. We need an armed force in the city; she has the Palatinate army billeted at Florence. You have little time.’ She knew how he hated his sister, who had married him to a wife he detested and exiled him from his beloved Florence, but she did not care.
If,
’ she said, ‘you will write to your sister Anna Maria Luisa. We need an armed force in the city; she has the Palatinate army billeted at Florence. You have little time.’ She knew how he hated his sister, who had married him to a wife he detested and exiled him from his beloved Florence, but she did not care.
‘Then send me a scribe, dear sister.’ He was wheedling now.
‘In your
own
hand, with your own seal.’ She thought better of it. ‘In fact, take off your signet ring and packet it up with the letter.’
own
hand, with your own seal.’ She thought better of it. ‘In fact, take off your signet ring and packet it up with the letter.’
Gian Gastone, his chins quivering with emotion, twisted the Medici ring on his sausage-like finger. ‘But, sister, I am not sure it will come off.’
Violante planted both hands on the writing table and leaned in to him. ‘It will,’ she said, barely recognizing
the strength of her own voice, ‘even if we have to cut it off.’
the strength of her own voice, ‘even if we have to cut it off.’
Letter in hand, Violante headed to the courtyard to seek out her fastest galloper. As she passed through the Hall of the Nine she saw again, staring out from the fresco of good government, the lady who held the hourglass, the sands of time running through her fingers. Violante quickened her steps. She must be swift; the Palio was tomorrow and Florence was a good few hours’ ride away.
In the shadowy courtyard, where she had first greeted her brother-in-law, she called for her ostler. She commanded the old fellow, an ancient of the Dragon
contrada,
to find the fastest horse in the city to take an urgent missive to Florence. What about the horse Berio, she asked in a rush of inspiration, the big bay who had won the July Palio? The star horse had been missing from this month’s horse draw, so was not needed for tomorrow’s race. But the old ostler told her that after the July Palio, Berio had disappeared and had not been seen since.
contrada,
to find the fastest horse in the city to take an urgent missive to Florence. What about the horse Berio, she asked in a rush of inspiration, the big bay who had won the July Palio? The star horse had been missing from this month’s horse draw, so was not needed for tomorrow’s race. But the old ostler told her that after the July Palio, Berio had disappeared and had not been seen since.
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