What Remains of the Fair Simonetta (19 page)

Caught up in our own private celebration, we drifted away from the congregation, and found ourselves on the south side of the garden behind the
palazzo
. Our eyes met under the veil of shadow created by the large building. Overpowered by the mood, our lips migrated together. This time it wasn’t me who initiated it, but rather some force outside of ourselves pulling us together, despite all the odds against us. Entranced by the magic of the evening, I lost myself in the warmth of his lips and his soft breath, until we heard some rustling and moaning emanating from close by. Sandro and I crept a few steps along the outer wall of the palace to discover the source of the commotion, and when I focused my eyes, I almost laughed out loud. Giuliano was sucking face with our faux Flora, Fioretta, pressed up against the side of the Palazzo Lenzi. We scurried away before they had a chance to come up for air.

“I guess that solves that problem,” I said to Sandro when we resumed our dancing.

“I wish it could be that simple,” Sandro sighed. “Fioretta is not of noble birth, and is obviously quite attainable. Giuliano has made a public display of courting you. His expectations will remain intact, despite any other entanglements.” I didn’t want negativity to ruin this evening, and pushed any thought of Giuliano’s expectations from my mind.

As the current song came to a close, Sandro and I agreed to separate and mingle so as not to draw attention. I took hold of any and every other man, dancing and charming my way through the crowd, sampling goblets of wine along the way. I danced with Lorenzo, Leonardo, Poliziano, and even Giuliano once he finally returned to the ball. I resisted the temptation to divulge what I’d witnessed, and realized that being admired by many men wasn’t the worse thing in the world. After all, the evening was not about my mission with Mariano, conspiring with Leonardo, Lorenzo’s politics, or Poliziano’s poem—but pure unadulterated fun.

Across the garden, Eleonora appeared to be having the time of her life at her bachelorette party of sorts. She and Albiera kidnapped poor Sandro and dragged him up to the stage to dance around him. I considered reuniting with my fellow Graces, but noticed Marco at the edge of the crowd, brooding.

Hoping to appease him, I approached Marco and curtsied, “The Lady wishes to dance with the god of the western wind.” Even if dancing and charming were not my fortes before this night, I had longstanding talents for manipulation and persuasion, and figured it couldn’t hurt to get along with Marco.

Marco cocked his head, and squinted his green eyes. “Are you certain?”

“Just because I don’t wanna crank out kids, doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company, does it?” The wine had obviously gone to my head, returning me to my less-than-charming self, so I pulled him into the throng before he responded.

Marco danced stiffly, with a look of paranoia, as if I might bite or sashay him to death. It took several minutes for him to loosen up, and even longer for a subtle smile to cross his face, but eventually it came. Just as I felt Marco truly start to defrost, we were interrupted by a short, round, pug-faced woman in a yellowish-green draping gown. “I wish to dance with my spouse,” she declared in a shrill voice. Marco’s eyes grew into small planets.

“You must be Chloris,” I laughed. They
were
husband and wife after Zephyrus abducted and raped her, but this Chloris didn’t seem to object. “Be my guest.”

I took the opportunity to rescue Sandro from the Eleonora and Albiera flirt-fest. It didn’t take much prodding for the two Graces to go in search of a new victim.

“Come to me on the morrow,” Sandro said, as if dismissing me. “I shall start the
Saint Augustine
.”

“At the Ognissanti?”

Shit. I can’t go there.

“But the night is still—” I argued.

“Please come to me, Simonetta,” Sandro interrupted. “I shall work late into the evening, but it appears you must now attend to your husband.”

I followed Sandro’s gaze to where Marco cut through the crowd with a swift gait, the pug-faced Chloris in hot pursuit. Marco’s once neatly combed hair was disheveled, his mantle sideways with one wing of Zephyrus now higher than the other, and he sported red kiss prints across his cheeks. He glanced dismissively at Sandro before locking eyes with me.

“Our time here is at an end, Simonetta. We must leave before that woman catches up to me.”

“What on earth did she do to you?” I asked, while chuckling at the serious look on his face. I received only a stern gaze in reply. “If you want to go, I’m sure I could find another escort home.”

I had to give it a shot.

“I think not,” he replied, staring daggers at Sandro, as he grabbed me forcefully by the arm. And with that, the party was over.

Chapter 33

The nymphs and Cupids still danced well into the night, but the only ones I could see now were those carved into the ceiling of my bedchamber. I stared at the wooden festivities happening above me, and wondered again what my presence here meant. I had embraced Simonetta more than ever that evening; feeling for a time that I’d actually
become
her. And it was glorious.

I wanted to continue the girls-night-out theme, but even though Antonella had forced herself to stay awake until we returned so that she might bathe me and prepare me for bed, she was clearly exhausted, and not in the mood for conversation.

Unable to sleep, I cross-examined myself with a multitude of inquiries: Did Simonetta love Sandro? Or was it Giuliano she cared for? Is it possible she willingly went to Giuliano? And what was the deal with Mariano? Had I really done anything to repair his relationship with Sandro? Why was that damn coyote taunting me again? And did I have enough time to figure it all out before I kicked the bucket? I had answers to nothing, but questions galore.

I prepared myself for a troubled slumber that would surely be bombarded with flashes of the church, the coyote, and my grave. But when I finally drifted off, I dreamed of something I hadn’t prepared for at all. I had become a sister of the convent.

Garbed in a gray and white habit, I scrambled to blend in with fifty other nuns who knelt in the nave of the Ognissanti. The recitation of the
Liturgy of the Hours
was led by the Sister Constance look-alike, who was
not dressed like an abbess at all, but rather half-naked again, clothed only in the loose drape, and holding her javelin.

In unison, the congregation chanted vespers, “O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever
.
Amen.” I had heard the words so many times after my death, I had no difficulty keeping time with them.

With the benediction completed, the nuns each lit and carried a candle offering in front of Giotto’s
Madonna
at the base of the high altar. Taper in hand, I followed the others and made my way after them, somehow not afraid to face her.

“Anastasia,” the half-naked leader of the consecrated religious whispered. I looked up to meet her gaze. “I have always been here, Anastasia.”

“But why are you dressed like that?” I asked.

“You see me as I truly am.”

No closer to ending the mystery, I awakened in the usual manner, with Antonella ripping the covers off me, shoving cheese, bread, and wine in my face, and performing the whole gamut of beautification rituals. While she tugged and tormented, I came to the conclusion that the whole scene in the Ognissanti was not a vision, but merely a delusion of my intellect, as no one in their right mind would ever consider the likes of me for a religious order.

I had almost forgotten I was to model for Leonardo, but Marco hadn’t. He sent the kind-faced member of the retinue to escort Antonella and me. As we commenced the journey, I wasted no time conjuring methods to butter up our new companion, as there would be a need for him to look the other way at some point. Sandro was expecting me.

“There goes my day of leisure,” Antonella whispered, as the kind-faced man, dressed in his Vespucci livery, walked a few steps behind us.

“What’s his name?” I asked in a hushed voice. “He’s doted on me, and carried me here and there, but I’ve never asked his name.”

“It is Carlo. I know what you are thinking Netta, but you will not bend him to your will. He will serve only his master.”

Damn.

I made light conversation with Carlo anyway, and threw in a few compliments about how reassuring his presence felt, and held onto his arm for “warmth.”

When we reached the shop of Verrocchio, Leonardo greeted us with a smile, but looked sideways at our new companion.

“Yes. Marco sent Carlo along with us.” I said through a clenched-toothed smile. “To ensure my safety.”

“Carlo,” Leonardo greeted him with a pat on the back. “I am appurtenance in this
bottega
, scarcely superior to an apprentice, and therefore tiresome to behold. But could I beguile you with the privilege to regard our Master Verrocchio while he forges a golden
palla
to be positioned on the pinnacle of
 Brunelleschi’s
cupola
.”

“Verrocchio?” Carlo asked, as if that was the only word he understood.

“Yes.” Leonardo pointed to the far corner of the workshop where Verrocchio was hidden behind a small crowd. Without another word, Carlo was drawn towards the spectacle like an addict to heroin.

“I should like to watch as well,” Antonella said, as she shuffled slowly away sideways; her interest really more about getting away from Leonardo and his potential to make her model, than for the art of Verrocchio.

Leonardo asked me to put on a conservatively round-necked, red, gathered smock, with a gold cord around the waist.

“Are you sure you want your Madonna wearing red?” I asked, as I emerged from the dressing room. “Where I come from it’s the color of floozies and prostitutes. Just sayin’.” I don’t know what I was thinking questioning a mind as great as his, but he seemed to take my taunting well.

Leonardo chuckled. “Here, vermillion is the hue of authority, the blood of Christ, and martyrdom. Besides, your vestment is not yet complete,” He handed me a reversible silk drape with blue on one side and gold on the other, which I promptly threw over my shoulder.

“Much better,” I said, sarcastically. “I know you don’t really need me to be here.” I approached his easel. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

Leonardo smiled and pulled several sketches from the tray. So far I was still just a floating head; m
y golden hair looking somewhat frizzy and my sculpted eyebrows nonexistent. They were more interpretive than actual lifelike sketches, but beautiful just the same.

“My cartoons replicate the image of my intellect, and are not absolutely from nature. I require a model for the configuration of hands, and migration of muscle. I restrict myself from painting precisely from life, lest I should be forcibly commissioned for a portrait.” Leo already had an awful lot of
do’s
and
don’ts
for one so young. “Now, I shall sketch the folds of your garments.”

“Okay, then.” I sat in the chair he provided me. “So, I’m wondering, what do you know about me? Not about
me
me. But about Simonetta. I’d like to know all I can.”

“I am a stride in advance of you, and have ascertained much without drawing suspicion. I went directly to Lorenzo, for he is aware of all that transpires in our city-state.

“I’ve heard that.”

Big brother is watching
.

“I informed him that I wished to perceive ample information regarding the individual I would paint.”

“And he bought it?” I asked, dubious.

“As you have mentioned, I am a mite strange.” Leonardo looked up from his sketch. “Creative people are given some entitlement for oddness in the circle of the Medici.”

“I guess that works out well for you, then.” I smiled.

“Tell me first what
you
know of Simonetta.”

“Okay, so I’m married to Marco, but we haven’t consummated our marriage. He’s taken a servant in the
palazzo
as his lover, but hides her from his father. And Piero is demanding a grandchild.” I scratched my head. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Do you know more?”

“Quite a lot more,” he said. “But I am uncertain whether it will be advantageous information. Your mother, Catocchia Spinola, was married to a member of the Campofregoso family. However, her husband left her, married another, then died, leaving her with a myriad of children and stepchildren. Your half-brother, Pietro II, served as
doge
of Genoa.”

“Really?” I asked, somewhat proud of Simonetta’s heritage.

“Until he was stabbed to death,” Leonardo clarified.

“Oh.”

“Your mother was then remarried to Gaspare Cattaneo, but both the Campofregoso and Cattaneo families were soon forced into exile by the Sforza.”

“You know I’m not gonna remember all this, right?”

Leonardo put a quill to parchment. “I am scribing it as we converse.”

“You’re not writing it backwards are you?”

He smiled deviously, “One cannot be too careful.”

“Whatever,” I shrugged.

“There is more. Your family sought exile in Piombino, because your half-sister, Battestina, is married to its lord, Jacopo III Appiani.”

“I almost forgot! I found some documents that were addressed to Jacopo III Appiani hidden under the liner of Piero’s desk. Why do you think he would have them?”

“The only logic I can deduce is that Piero used his connection to thieve the letters from the Appiani in order to deliver,
or sell
, the information to Lorenzo.”

“Nice. A fine thank you to Jacopo Appiani after he gave money and iron mines to the Vespucci as part of my dowry.”

“Yes, and the income generated from the iron mines of Elba is so vast, that Lorenzo seeks a similar arrangement in order for Giuliano to marry your cousin, Semiramide Appiani.”

“So Giuliano wants to marry my cousin? That’s so weird. And Lorenzo is Florence’s First Citizen
and
matchmaker?”

“Lorenzo has arranged many advantageous marriages. You were already promised to Luigi della Stufa, but Lorenzo and Piero ensured that those marriage negotiations failed. Piero was in Piombino at the time, as the captain of a
galleas
serving Ferdinand of Aragon, King of Naples.”

“And last night’s ball was for Eleonora…
of Aragon
.”

“Precisely. The King’s daughter.”

“Ahh. No wonder Piero was so insistent that I attend, when he didn’t even go himself. It’s all such a tangled, incestuous web, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Leonardo agreed.

“How do you remember all of this information?” I asked Leonardo, as he had completed his “scribing,” and had begun to sketch with charcoal.

“After Lorenzo told me, I made use of the photographic memory you spoke of.”

“Uh…no…you have to see it…oh, never mind. But what does any of it have to do with me? Anastasia?”

“It is unclear. Do you have any specific similarities to Simonetta?” Leonardo pondered.

“Let’s see…nobility? No. Beauty? Maybe at one time, but not like this.” I noted, as I waved down my body. “Royal blood? Not so much. I was an illegitimate child raised by a single mother.”

“As was I,” Leonardo sighed. “What of your father?”

“My father was Russian, and married to another woman. But he and my mother were deeply in love.”

“They chose each other from passion rather than arrangement?

“Yes.”

“My conception was the same. I believe that you and I are the most special of creatures. Since I was young, my insight and intellect have been singled out as extraordinary, and you have special insights as well. I believe it is because of your conception.
”

“Hmm, interesting theory. But if that were true, almost everyone in the twenty-first century would be a super genius.” I chuckled.

“I also seek to demonstrate that the child-bearer provides an equivalent amount of genetic material to an infant as the father.” I decided to hold my tongue. He paused his drawing and looked up at me. “Anastasia, convey my triumphs.”

“That’s it. I can’t take it. Speak human, Leo.”

“My meaning being…,” he muttered nervously. “What can you disclose about…what you articulated at the Palazzo Medici…about me?”

I heard a lecture once on Leonardo. He hardly ever finished anything. Only nine completed paintings are attributed to him, and no sculptures of his still exist. He had notebooks and notebooks on multiple subjects— mathematics, geometry, mechanics, geology, astronomy, botany, zoology, bird flight, and the military arts—but never really focused on one in particular. It’s like he had ADD or something of that nature. But I didn’t want to tell him he should finish anything or do things differently. Where would the world be without his notebooks
?

“Many believe you have the greatest mind the world has ever known,” I finally replied, “But you were born in the wrong period, same as me. I always felt I belonged in
this
time and place, but I lived in an era of extraordinary science and discovery. Your mind is way ahead of what current times can provide you to work with. Having said that, I don’t want to say anything that would change the focus of your genius. Just know that your legacy continues to live, even six-hundred years in the future.” He simply nodded and smiled a
Mona Lisa
smile. “Sorry, but can we get back to me? I have another issue. I’m…in love with Sandro.”

“Love?” He questioned. “I assume you are referring to the Neo-Platonic concept of Marsilio Ficino?”