What Remains of the Fair Simonetta (7 page)

Chapter 13

I wanted to scream “No!” to Leonardo, like a spoiled child, while stomping my feet in a tantrum.

    
Don’t make me go back to him!
 

I knew, realistically, I didn’t have a choice, and even as ingenious as Leonardo was, he didn’t really have a way to return me to the future.

Sandro turned from his conversation with the other painter, appearing a bit put off by the intimacy of my exchange with Leonardo as I was leaning in very closely to him so no one else would hear.

“Come, Simonetta. Let us see the halberd,” Sandro interrupted brusquely, as he approached.

Quickly, before Sandro was in earshot, I whispered to Leonardo, “It’s important we keep this between us.”

Leonardo opened his mouth to speak, but Sandro pulled me away before any words made it out. I could tell there was just a glint of belief in Leonardo’s eyes, and he probably had a million questions, but Sandro was the last person I wanted to offend. And upon considering once again that this may be the only day I would spend in this marvelous world, I wanted to enjoy it.

Sandro laced his arm inside of mine and escorted me through the
palazzo
as if he had full run of the place. We entered a small room containing all manner of armor, swords, shields, axes, and chains on display. Sandro lifted the halberd from its angled wall mounting. It was shiny and bejeweled, but otherwise exactly as he described it: a pole weapon with an axe on one side and a spike on the other—and a familiar sight. It looked identical to the weapon that Camilla held in Botticelli’s misnamed
Pallas and the Centaur
, the companion painting of his famous
Primavera.

“The halberd was a gift to Lorenzo from a Swiss knight when Lorenzo won the Florentine Joust of 1469.” Sandro seemed to know everything about Lorenzo and his house.

He handed the halberd to me, taking care to wrap his hands over mine to prevent me from dropping the heavy weapon. His magical touch was about business rather than pleasure, but it caused sensations in my new body, I’d long since forgotten were possible. The warm touch of a man was not something I’d ever expected to experience again.

The halberd was quite heavy and long—much taller than either of us when it stood on end. The small muscles of my previous, waifish body couldn’t have handled the weight as he let go of the halberd, leaving it only to my hands. I dared not move. Without a word, Sandro pulled some paper from a bag he carried, and sketched as I held the monstrosity.

The best part of modeling was that I could unabashedly stare at Sandro as he worked. It was my job to stare at him, as it was his to examine me. I could look directly into his eyes, and take in every curve of his strong masculine features and curvaceous, kissable lips. I watched him breathe as he meticulously sketched; as everlasting life was created.

So enraptured, I barely noticed the tall, dark, muscle-bound man who entered the room, until he charged at me, smiling. The beautiful creature reached for me like a crazed zombie about to eat my brain.

Oh crap. Who is this dude?

My first instinct was to cross the halberd defensively in front of me, inspiring him only to chuckle as the weight of it was more than I could handle, and I had to set it down.

“
La Bella
, I did not expect to see you here!” he bellowed, seemingly unaffected by my defensiveness. As I rose up, I looked more closely at his face, noting the long eyelashes that framed sparkling brown eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and a slightly cleft chin. He resembled Lorenzo, only a substantially upgraded version.

“I didn’t expect to see you either,” I muttered, still trying to figure out who in the hell he was.

“But I live here!” he said through his handsome smile.

“I have brought Simonetta here so she might pose with the halberd,” Sandro calmly interrupted.

“Interesting,” the enthusiastic man replied, rubbing his chin and nodding.

“I have decided to paint your banner with Simonetta representing the Pallas Athene, goddess of wisdom.”

“Why would a woman need to be wise?” the man chuckled. “You should paint her as Venus, goddess of beauty!”

His attitude seemed much more boorish than any of the other well-educated guests with whom I had come into contact at the
palazzo
.

“But Giuliano, there is so much more to her…”

Of course. How could I be so stupid?
Giuliano de’ Medici, the playboy brother of Lorenzo.

Giuliano approached me and lifted my chin with one finger. He tilted his head to one side while leering at me. “I will soon find out how much more there is.” His sinister smile gave me chills up my spine. Before I could seek a reaction from Sandro or even have one myself, Giuliano pivoted to walk away. “Are you not coming to sup with us?” he tossed over his shoulder, and didn’t wait for an answer from either of us before retreating into another part of the
palazzo
.

“What was
that
about?” I asked Sandro, disgusted by the whole thing.

“I was under the impression that you and Giuliano were of mutual affection,
Signora,
” Sandro replied, slightly bewildered.

“I think not,” I retorted, as I grabbed one of the swords and lunged at the air, conjuring the smug face of Giuliano in my mind as the recipient of my awkward blow. How could I have affection for such a man? Particularly when he’d treated me like a barfly he wished to bed.

“Most Florentine women would be honored to win the heart of Giuliano de’ Medici,” Sandro replied with slightly downtrodden eyes, but I couldn’t quite tell if he was for or against my hooking up with Giuliano.

“I don’t think that display had anything to do with his heart.”

“Perhaps Giuliano is simply poor at conveying his affections.”

“I suppose we all are,” I agreed, not wanting to bash his apparent friend too much.

“Words are the most difficult way to express oneself,” Sandro replied. “That is why I paint. Although Giuliano is correct about one thing…”

“What’s that?”

“You would make a fantastic Venus. A Venus
Pudica
of course.”

“Pudica
?”

“The modest Venus. Pure and chaste.”

Chapter 14

Sandro apparently mistook my rejection of Giuliano’s affections as chastity. Although I hadn’t exactly been a trollop in my heyday, having had only three sexual partners during my life, I certainly wasn’t ‘pure’ and ‘chaste.’ I had, in fact, allowed several impure thoughts about Sandro to cross my mind since I’d first met him in the flesh. My lustful impulses caused me a certain amount of guilt since I’d been lucky enough in my life to have that one true love. And while I’d always loved Sandro simultaneously from afar, he was hardly a threat to my relationship with Wilbur in the twenty-first century. He was merely a face staring out from a frame—a series of painstakingly placed brush strokes left in his self-portrait. I felt greedy for wanting anything from Sandro other than his well-known platonic admiration of the woman whose body I now inhabited.

With no further reaction to Giuliano’s intrusion, Sandro was soon completely engrossed in his drawing once again. He was so hard to read. It seemed as though he was doing nothing more than providing Giuliano with Simonetta’s likeness in the form of a goddess—a portrait of the woman he wished to conquer.

Sandro quickly finished the sketch and, clearly hastened by Giuliano’s insistence, asked, “Shall we go to supper?”

Even though my new stomach had been growling for hours, and I was to have the privilege of engaging in conversation with such a lively, intelligent, and historically significant group, I wanted to avoid the likes of Giuliano. Though, skipping dinner was not a choice that was mine to make, as I felt Sandro’s reputation would be on the line if we didn’t do as Giuliano insisted. If there was one thing I felt down to my borrowed bones to be true, it was that Sandro played a part in my reason for existing in this world. Fortunately, we arrived late to the table, and had to sit at the opposite end from Giuliano and Lorenzo.

There was an additional guest to my left, one I had not seen earlier. I felt bold enough to introduce myself. The fear of being discovered as a fraud had waned since it seemed no matter how much I behaved like my prior self, only Leonardo was to notice.

“I’m Simonetta Vespucci,” I said, turning towards to the gray haired, dignified-looking man. “Have we met before?”

“No, I do not believe so, kind lady, although I have heard your name many times. I am Tommaso Soderini, uncle of Lorenzo and Giuliano.”

“Tommaso was very influential to my receiving the commission of
Fortitude
from the Mercanzia,” Sandro chimed in.

“Yes, and his finished work exceeded even
my
expectations,” Tommaso replied. “Simonetta, this is my wife, Dianora.” He gestured to the lady on the other side of him, who nodded politely before returning to a conversation with Poliziano. “I have been trying to convince Sandro to take a wife of his own, but have so far been unsuccessful,” Tommaso said, with a grin.

“I want to tell you what happened to me not so many nights ago,” Sandro interjected. “I dreamt I had taken a wife, and was so disturbed by the notion that I woke up and, so as not to fall asleep again and dream of it once more, I got up and wandered the streets of Florence like a madman!”

Tommaso laughed in response to Sandro’s tale. “
Monna
Simonetta, I even offered to arrange for Sandro to use the Church of Miniato al Monte for the marriage ceremony! I suppose some are just not fit ground for planting vines.”

“Marriage does not suit everyone,” I replied, knowing it was true for me. “Sandro’s paintings are his vines, and they will outlast all of us.”

“Have you ever been to the Miniato al Monte?” Sandro asked, likely trying to change the subject.

“No. Actually, I haven’t.” Again, this was the truth. It was the one and only place in modern day Florence I hadn’t visited. Whether Simonetta had been there or not, I couldn’t say.

“Tommaso knows the Miniato is one of my favorite places.”

“Then you should take me there,” I insisted, but received only a shy, non-confirming smile from Sandro in return.

As we talked, grapes were offered to the guests by a regent of servants, all dressed in the Medici colors of yellow and red. Wine flowed freely as we were then served succulent, sweet roast beef, followed by multicolored salad and a selection of delectable puff pastry desserts. It was all much more elaborate and tasty than I had anticipated for this age.

I scanned the table and noticed that some of the guests were eating with their hands, while others had brought their own forks. Only a knife was provided. Tommaso just stabbed his meat with the knife to bring it to his mouth. Sandro pulled out some sort of fabric silverware cozy, and removed a solitary, ornate fork.

“A gift from Lorenzo, of course,” Sandro explained.

“I seem to have forgotten mine,” I cringed.

“I have no desire for such a thing!” Tommaso’s wife, Dianora, interjected with revulsion. “They are the devil’s instruments.”

Tommaso rolled his eyes.

“Worry not,” Sandro whispered. He handed his fork to me, and after I’d taken a bite, he gestured for me to return the fork, and we shared it for the meal. I noticed others at the noble table were doing the same, but not Tommaso, who was clearly browbeaten out of it.

This was probably one of the reasons so many ended up with the plague.

As the fork volley continued—a bite for Sandro, a nibble for me—I kept glancing over to Leonardo, who ate quietly across the table seated next to Verrocchio, returning a curious gaze to me. I hoped he wouldn’t tell anyone of our brief, unbelievable conversation.

The loud room silenced when Giuliano stood and announced with a raised goblet, “To the joust!”

“To the joust!” the crowd cheered back, holding up their goblets.

“And, to the unparalleled one!” Giuliano shouted once again. “The one with whom no other beauty can compare!” Suddenly, all eyes were upon me, with hands clapping boisterously—including those of Sandro.

I didn’t understand how everyone could applaud Giuliano’s obviously adulterous intentions. I suppose since he was a Medici, he could do whatever he pleased and everyone would be forced to cheer.

Poliziano then stood up and spouted words he had written for Giuliano: “Here, filled with wonder, he gazes upon the features of the nymph. It seems to him that from her lovely face and eyes, a new sweetness showers into his heart.”

My mind went back to how Guiliano had spoken to me in such a menacing way. His words conjured nothing resembling “sweetness in his heart.” My thoughts must have been clearly displayed on my face, as Poliziano turned his words into scorn towards me. “He sees his lady, harsh and unbending in aspect, fiercely tie Cupid to the green trunk of Minerva’s happy tree; over her white gown she wears armor which protects her chaste bosom with its Gorgon breastplate; and she seems to pluck all the feathers from his wings, and she breaks the bow and arrows of the wretch.”

Everyone laughed and clapped in amusement. Poliziano had turned me into a Cupid-killer for spurning Giuliano’s lusty affections. I felt the blood rush into my face, and had a sudden fear that at midnight, I’d turn into a pumpkin, or worse, a pile of ash. I didn’t wish to spend my final hours being singled out that way.