by C. De Melo
“Shall I prepare an invigorating tonic for you?”
“No, thank you, I’ll be fine. Would you please accompany us this morning and help mind Paolo?”
“With pleasure.”
It was a short distance to Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral. Sabina and Tommaso were relieved to see Giuliano limping across the piazza. Apparently, the injuries he’d sustained from the hunting accident were minor. Handsome as ever, he flashed his charming smile at a pair of young girls who almost swooned at the gesture.
“He must be feeling better,” Tommaso commented drily before leading them through the cathedral’s porta santa.
They padded down the nave toward the high altar, the area reserved for the Medici family and their allies. Clarice was already present with her ladies, her head bent over a prayer book. It was not long before Lorenzo and Giuliano took their places among the armed guards and loyal supporters.
Sabina yawned several times during the tediously long mass. Inevitably, her mind and eyes wandered throughout the massive space.
Cecilia gave her sister a reproving look, but it did no good. “Paolo seems to be paying more attention than you are,” she whispered.
It was true. The little boy quietly offered the priest his rapt attention.
“I’m sure God will reward him for it,” Sabina shot back.
Don Antonio put his finger to his lips, admonishing his daughters to be silent. Seeing this, Tommaso hid his amusement.
At the high point of the Easter Mass, several people bowed their heads in respectful anticipation of the holy act of transubstantiation. Sabina’s stomach churned as the anxiety she felt earlier intensified. There was a chill in the air and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She discreetly looked around while the congregation bent their heads in solemn reverence. As the priest lifted the wine-filled chalice toward Heaven, Giuliano de’ Medici was viciously attacked by two assassins. Using razor-sharp daggers, they repeatedly stabbed him with such ferocity that poor Giuliano was dead even before he collapsed onto the floor in a pool of his own blood.
Sabina witnessed the sacrilegious slaughter and looked to Lorenzo. A man stood behind him with eyes revealing murderous intention. Without a moment’s hesitation, she cried, “Lorenzo! Behind you!”
Lorenzo turned around, his body tense and coiled for action. The cold steel of a dagger nicked his neck, missing the arterial vein by a fraction of an inch. Had he not moved, the assassin’s blade would have accurately hit its mark, causing fatal consequences. Lorenzo quickly undid the clasp of his cloak, threw the garment at the man’s face, and unsheathed his sword. Undeterred, the assassin also drew his sword. Onlookers cried out in fear. Two guards helped Lorenzo flee the scene by jumping over the high altar and slipping into the sacristy. Before the door closed, Sabina saw one of the guards sucking the blood out of the wound in Lorenzo’s neck—a precautionary measure against a blade laced with venom.
The conspirators were soon surrounded by Medici allies, and a vicious fight ensued. Don Antonio clutched at his chest when he saw Giuliano sprawled on the cathedral floor. Following her father’s gaze, Cecilia gasped in horror. Sabina was relieved that Lorenzo was alive, but now Tommaso was lost in the melee.
“Where is Paolo?” Cecilia demanded, her voice shrill.
Teresa looked around frantically. “He was right here a moment ago.”
People ran toward the doors in a state of sheer panic.
“Oh my God, where is my Paolo?”
While Cecilia, Teresa, and Don Antonio went off to find Paolo, Sabina searched for Tommaso. She finally spotted her husband on the south transept, defending himself against one of the assassins. Tommaso was a decent swordsman, but he faced a younger, stronger opponent who was highly trained in the art of murder. Tommaso continued to wield his sword bravely until a second man arrived on the scene.
Sabina cried out in horror as the newcomer lunged forward and ran his sword right through Tommaso’s belly. The cold-blooded killer then pulled out the sword, wiped the blade on Tommaso’s cloak, and ran off.
With no concern for her own safety, Sabina ran toward Tommaso. She knelt beside him and put her hand over the wound. Hot blood oozed between her fingers. “Oh, God, no! Tommaso!”
His eyes fluttered. “Sabina…”
“I’ll fetch the physician!”
He clasped her hand with surprising strength. “Don’t leave me.”
“I need to get help—the wound is deep.”
“So deep that it’s fatal.” He winced. “I’ll be dead before you return.”
“No! You will live, but I need to go now.”
“I’m already feeling dizzy and cold…I would rather spend my last few moments with you, gazing at your lovely face.”
Teresa ran up to them and began to cry hysterically when she saw her master sprawled out on the floor in a pool of blood.
Sabina turned to her maid and shouted, “Get help!”
Teresa nodded and obediently ran off.
Tommaso’s face was ashen. Shivering, he whispered, “I’m so cold.”
She removed her cloak and covered her husband’s body as best she could. “I promise I’ll bear you a son if you live. Stay with me.”
“Kiss me, Sabina,” he said through chattering teeth.
With tears streaming down her face, she leaned over and tenderly kissed her husband’s lips for the last time. He attempted a smile, then froze.
“Tommaso,” she cried, shaking him. “No!”
It was too late. She had lost her dear husband and good friend.
“You meddlesome bitch!”
Sabina looked up to see the man who had tried to kill Lorenzo standing over her and wielding a dagger. She scrambled to her feet in an attempt to run away, but he grabbed her arm and yanked her backward, causing her to fall to the floor.
I’ll be joining you shortly, Tommaso.
Suddenly, the assassin let out a loud groan. His eyes bulged and he fell to his knees, revealing another man standing behind him with a bloody sword in his hand. It was Massimo.
“Come,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her toward the exit.
“Wait, my husband! I can’t leave him here like this!”
“There’s nothing we can do for him now.” When Sabina resisted, he cried, “It’s unsafe for us to remain here!”
Massimo continued to pull Sabina through the throng of people. They were separated at one point and she tripped over a dead body, banging her arm against the stone floor of the cathedral. Massimo picked her up effortlessly in his arms and carried her across the piazza to safety.
Pale and trembling from shock, she whispered, “Tommaso.”
“I’m taking you to the Palazzo Medici.” She began to cry and he added gently, “I’m sorry. Your husband was a good man.”
“My family is still inside…Paolo, my nephew, is lost.”
“I’ll find them. Stay here.”
Sabina huddled in the deep doorway of a building and watched the madness unfold in the piazza. A few of the conspirators attempted to mount horses in order to escape, but Medici supporters dragged them down and stabbed them to death. One nervous horse reared its front legs and galloped across the piazza, evoking screams in its wake. She remained perfectly still in the shadows, cringing at the smell of blood in the air. Massimo returned several minutes later carrying a child who Sabina immediately recognized as Paolo. Her father and sister staggered at Massimo’s side, both white with shock.
“My son! My son!” Cecilia wailed, falling to her knees.
Don Antonio and Teresa helped Cecilia to her feet.
Massimo said quietly, “Your sister was leading her son across the piazza when a horse came at them.”
Sabina felt sick. “Oh, God.”
A nearby woman screamed, prompting Massimo to urge them toward the Palazzo Medici. “We need to get inside now.”
Sabina put her arm around Cecilia and led her out of the piazza. There was chaos in the streets of Florence
as they blindly followed Massimo. Once inside the palazzo, he gently set Paolo down on a long table. Cecilia embraced her son and made a sound akin to that of a wounded animal. Don Antonio sat in a chair, covered his eyes with his hand, and wept for his daughter and grandson.
Clarice entered the room and her face paled as she took in the scene. “Is my husband dead?” she demanded. “Has anyone seen Lorenzo?”
“He vanished after Giuliano was stabbed,” someone replied.
“He escaped into the sacristy,” Sabina said. “I saw him.”
“Santo Cristo,” Clarice exclaimed with gratitude, crossing herself and kissing the crucifix that hung around her neck.
A moment later, Lorenzo arrived at the palazzo accompanied by the same two men who helped him escape. Clarice immediately ran to her husband and embraced him.
“Your neck,” she said, trying to pull aside the bloody cloth that Lorenzo held against the wound.
“A cut, nothing more,” he assured, untangling himself from her arms. “The people think me dead. They must know that I’m alive.”
Leaning out the window as far as he could, he showed himself to the Florentines who had gathered around the palazzo.
Someone in the crowd shouted, “There he is!”
Florence’s most beloved son was alive! As if on cue, the people began to chant loudly, ‘Palle! Palle! Palle!’ in reference to the familiar balls on the Medici coat of arms.
Sabina heard their cries and, despite the gruesome carnage she’d just witnessed, something in her heart stirred. Oh, how the people loved him.
And so do you, Sabina.
Lorenzo turned away from the window and called out the names of his closest friends and associates. When he called for Tommaso and received no reply, he frowned. “Where is Tommaso?”
Massimo cast a glance at Sabina and said softly, “He’s dead.”
Lorenzo’s face registered shock before a sinister shadow settled across his features. Sabina immediately recalled Tommaso’s words: ‘he can be a formidable enemy if the need arises.’ He walked toward Sabina, his gaze locked on the dead little boy and his inconsolable mother.
Taking her hands into his own, he stared into her eyes and vowed, “You may rest assured that I will do everything within my power to avenge Tommaso’s death and the death of your nephew.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“Had you not cried out in warning, I would be dead.” Cupping her face with his hands, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “I promise you, Sabina, from this day forth, you will be cared for as one of my own. You and your family are now under my personal protection. It’s the least I can do to honor Tommaso in death.”
Lorenzo turned to Don Antonio and put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. He gave him a look that required no words. Cecilia was lost in an ocean of tears and Teresa did her best to console her.
“Tommaso and the boy will have the best funerals Florence can provide,” Lorenzo promised. To his assembled men, he said, “Tell me what you saw and what you know.”
Someone confirmed the identity of the treacherous men who led the attack, then added, “They are crying ‘death to the tyrants’ as they ride through the streets of Florence. They plan to take the Signoria.”
Lorenzo’s hands curled into fists as he listened to the man. He recalled the image of Giuliano’s lifeless body on the floor as he had made his way down the nave toward the sacristy. There had been no time for him to stop, no time for last words or a simple farewell. The grisly image of his younger brother would haunt him forever.
“We are going to take back the Signoria,” Lorenzo declared. “First, we must bury the dead.”
Giuliano’s funeral was attended by almost every Florentine in the city. Tommaso and Paolo were buried the day afterward. Sabina had never been in love with Tommaso, but she did foster genuine affection and respect for him during their brief time together. She would miss him, but the death of her husband paled in comparison to losing Paolo. Her beloved nephew, the precious little boy she had come to love as her own, was gone forever.
Don Antonio and Cecilia were inconsolable. Sabina desperately tried to convince them to stay in Florence with her, but they refused. Cecilia claimed that she could not bear to look at the cathedral. The enormous dome of Santa Maria del Fiore was visible throughout the city, forcing her to relive the horrific memory every day. Teary-eyed and brokenhearted, Sabina said farewell to her father and sister, and she remained at the window long after their carriage had disappeared.
Hell broke loose in Florence when it was discovered that Archbishop Salviati and the Pazzi family were deeply involved in the Medici assassination plot. Lorenzo and his men stormed the Signoria, and the enemies lurking within were put to death immediately. This in itself did not surprise the Florentines. What did surprise and disturb them was the gruesome manner in which they were killed—defenestration. Lorenzo threw the conspirators out of the highest windows of the Signoria, their bodies smashing into bloody bits on the stones below. The people in the crowded piazza cringed at the gory spectacle. It was later said that the Piazza della Signoria was drenched in blood.
The manhunt continued and the people of Florence aided the Medici in this vengeful endeavor. What the scheming conspirators never anticipated was the love the Florentines held for their leader. It did not take long before another twenty traitors were found and killed. Salviati’s men were surrounded in the courtyard and stabbed to death by Medici supporters. Salviati himself was brought before Lorenzo, who saw fit to hang and disembowel the archbishop. Jacopo de’ Pazzi, the patriarch of the Pazzi family, had tried to escape by hiding in a nearby village. The villagers, being loyal supporters of the Medici, seized him and dragged him back to Florence where he was executed. Francesco de’ Pazzi, one of the two murderers who had stabbed Giuliano to death, was also executed. The only member spared was Guglielmo de’ Pazzi, husband of Bianca de’ Medici. Lorenzo, ever merciful, condemned his brother-in-law and his sister to exile.
Lorenzo insisted that the corpses of the traitors be strung up and publicly displayed outside the Signoria for several days. The bloated, rotting bodies served as a warning to anyone who dared raise a hand against the Medici.
The bile rose in Sabina’s throat one morning as she and her maid passed by the Signoria and saw crows picking at the flesh of the decaying corpses. She fervently hoped that Mendi was not among them.
In the end, eighty people died in what was later to be called the Pazzi Conspiracy. The incident had a profound and noticeable effect on Lorenzo. The Ruler of Florence became withdrawn, serious, and overly suspicious. The days of carefree living, jousts, carnivals, and other public forms of entertainment were over.
An ominous cloud had settled over Florence.
***
Lorenzo had placed some of his armed guards around the Palazzo Caravelli during those dark days, and Sabina was grateful for the extra protection. Several weeks later, he sent her an invitation to come and dine at the Palazzo Medici. It was to be an intimate gathering of family and close friends, the first social event since her widowhood.
Wearing a black gown and no jewelry except for an onyx brooch to hold her cloak in place, she went to the Palazzo Medici accompanied by two guards. She was greeted with newfound respect for having aided in saving Lorenzo’s life.
Clarice, who had never sought Sabina’s company in private, did so that evening. She approached wearing a high-collared black gown and a severe hairstyle that made her look much older.
“I wanted to personally thank you for what you did, Signora Sabina.”
“There’s no need to thank me, Signora Clarice.”
Clarice held out a tiny box. “A token of our gratitude.”
Nestled inside was an exquisite diamond brooch. “It’s lovely, but I cannot accept such a gift.”
“Please accept it. For my sake.”
Sabina inclined her head. “Thank you.”
Clarice attempted a smile, then walked back to
her ladies.
There were only a handful of guests seated at the dinner table, and Lorenzo had insisted that his brother’s chair be kept vacant out of respect for his memory. Sabina found herself positioned between Massimo and Lorenzo, who naturally sat at the head of the table.
Lorenzo turned to Sabina and asked, “Have you started writing again?”
The other guests were deeply engrossed in conversation, so only she and Massimo heard his question.
“I find it difficult to concentrate these days,” she replied. “I’m sure that in time…”
Lorenzo nodded in understanding. “It would be a shame if you stopped. You know Tommaso would not have wanted that.”
“I know.”
Someone asked Lorenzo a question and he turned his attention from Sabina to answer it.
Massimo seized the opportunity. “You’re a writer?”
“No.” She sipped her wine, nervously aware of his closeness.
“I’m a great fan of female writers.” She threw him a disbelieving look, yet he continued, undaunted. “Take Christine di Pisan, for example, or Hildegard of Bingen.”
“You’re serious.”
“Of course, I am. Those women possessed a sensitivity and inner strength that shone through their writing.”
“Are you a lover of literature, then?”
“Very much so.”
“Dante?”
“Genius.”
“Boccaccio?”
“Brilliant.” Massimo reached for his goblet and took a sip of wine. She was impressed and he knew it. “What do you write?”
“Poems, short stories. I have a passion for penning my thoughts.”
Massimo imagined many other ways the intriguing woman seated beside him expressed her passion, then quickly reminded himself that she was recently widowed. “Perhaps you would honor me by allowing me to read some of your work?”
She lowered her eyes. “Perhaps.”
Lorenzo turned his attention back to Sabina in time to hear the end of their conversation, prompting him to give Massimo a warning look.
Someone at the table said, “Bianca has sent word to me, Lorenzo. She is begging for you to reconsider her exile.”