Sabina

by C. De Melo

  Sabina grimaced. “My gray hair and wrinkles are daily reminders.”

  “You’re as beautiful as the day I met you.”

  “And you are as charming as the day I met you,” she said with a glance over her shoulder.

  He put down the ivory comb and caressed her shoulders. They did not make love as often as they used to when they were younger. The fiery passion had become a mellow but steady flame. Massimo was involved in Florentine politics and often came home tired. Sabina worried constantly about Anne while caring for an infant, which was both physically and emotionally draining.

  Massimo bent his head to kiss her neck and Sabina smiled at him through the reflection in the looking glass. Slowly, his hands undid the laces of her dressing gown and slid down to caress her breasts.

  “Mmm…are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Does a husband need to seduce his wife? I would think you would comply willingly.” Still facing the looking glass, she reached behind and slipped her hand between his legs. His breath caught in his throat. “You can still make me burn with desire for you, Sabina.”

  Their lovemaking was sensuous and satisfying. Afterward, they watched the fire in the hearth until there was nothing but glowing orange embers.

  Sabina traced patterns on his chest with her fingertip. “Massimo?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think Anne will be all right?”

  “She should count her blessings. Many of the people I know would not be so lenient with their daughters.”

  “That’s because many people are close-minded with no sense of compassion. By the way, have I ever mentioned how lucky I am to have you as a husband?”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Not lately but feel free to do so now.”

  She propped herself up on her elbow and drowned in the gaze of his blue eyes. “I’m so lucky to have you. I love you, Massimo.”

  “I love you, too, Sabina. I always will.”

  ***

  Sabina woke up the following morning and was surprised to see Massimo still in bed. He was usually in the Signoria with the other men at that hour. The lovemaking from the night before had probably left him exhausted. Smiling, she debated whether or not to wake him. It was the day before Christmas and he may have important business to deal with before holy day celebrations began in the city. “Massimo,” she said softly in his ear. “Wake up, my love. The sun is high.”

  He didn’t move. She called his name again a little louder. Nothing.

  Sabina placed a hand on his bare shoulder to nudge him and recoiled in horror. His skin was cold. “Oh my God,” she gasped as her nervous fingers pressed into his icy neck to find a nonexistent pulse. Holding his stiff, lifeless body, she cried, “No! Massimo! You can’t do this to me! You can’t leave me! We have a beautiful granddaughter to raise!”

  Teresa rushed into the room and crossed herself at the sight of Sabina embracing her husband’s corpse. A moment later, Cecilia’s concerned face hovered in the background while Anne cried over the loss of her stepfather.

  The servants brewed calming draughts for Sabina and Anne while Teresa summoned the physician. During the examination of Massimo’s body, a strange, dark bruise was found behind his ear. The physician offered a ruptured vein as the probable cause, and assured Sabina that her husband’s death happened suddenly, perhaps while he was sleeping.

  “At least he did not suffer,” Sabina said, her eyes filling with tears.

  Many people came to pay their respects at Massimo’s funeral, including Caterina, Carlo, and their three sons: Giovanni, aged sixteen, Marcello, aged ten, and four-year-old Vittorio.

  On that day, Sabina’s heart was entombed along with her beloved Massimo. She would never love another man again.

  ***

  Prior to their departure a few days later, Caterina and Carlo invited Sabina to stay with them in the Mugello. She thanked them for their generosity but politely declined. She had to remain in Florence in order to help Anne with the baby.

  Sabina missed Massimo so badly that her heart physically ached for days, but nothing could prepare her for the tragedy that occurred shortly after her husband’s funeral. On New Year’s Day, 1521, poor Teresa found Anne swinging from a makeshift noose attached to the ceiling rafters. Stefania was peacefully asleep in her crib. A suicide letter had been placed on top of the coverlet.

  Dear Mother,

  I have been praying for the courage and the right moment to end my miserable existence. You are already grieving for Massimo, so you may as well mourn for me at the same time. Since I cannot rejoin the convent, my life is no longer worth living. I hope you can forgive my act of selfishness and cowardice. I have forfeited the prize of Heaven in taking my own life, but Hell cannot be worse than the guilt and pain I suffer every day. Besides, I cannot live with the shame of the truth. Please take care of Stefania and tell her I’m sorry. I do love her, but she is much better off without me. Thank you for everything, Mother. I love you. Tell Aunt Cecilia that I love her, too.

  Your Daughter, Anne

  Cecilia read the letter to Sabina, who merely stared at her daughter’s swinging corpse and purple face. When Cecilia was done, Sabina walked to her bedchamber and stretched out on the bed.

  “Sabina,” Cecilia said, the tears streaming down her face. “Say something, for God’s sake!”

  Sabina was numb to the world, staring at the ceiling in silence. The next day, Cecilia arranged for Anne’s body to be buried. Since her niece’s death was a suicide, no priest could pray for her soul and her body would be interred in unconsecrated ground. Sabina did not cry during her daughter’s meager funeral and merely stared at the wooden coffin being lowered into the grave. As the gravediggers began to shovel dirt, the sound jolted her from her stupor and she began to scream. Teresa and Cecilia tried to calm her, but she kept on screaming until she fainted and fell to the ground.

  When Sabina opened her eyes, she saw worried faces hovering above her. It was raining and the cold water seeped through the fabric of her garments, but she didn’t care. One line from Anne’s suicide letter kept tormenting her: Besides, I cannot live with the shame of the truth.

  The moment she was back at the house, Sabina raced to Anne’s room and began going through her daughter’s things. Cecilia and Teresa stood in the doorway while Stefania fussed inside her crib.

  “What are you doing?” Cecilia finally asked gently.

  Sabina continued to search frantically. “She knew…”

  Teresa took a tentative step toward her mistress. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes, Signora Sabina. You should rest now.”

  Sabina’s eyes were wild as she dug through piles of clothing, flipped through books, and peeked into the corners of a chest. Teresa wrung her hands nervously before picking up the baby and leaving the room. Cecilia watched as her sister slowly lifted a small piece of red wax from the floor. After examining it closely, she got down on her hands and knees and peered under the bed.

  Reaching under the mattress, Sabina extracted a letter and handed it to her sister. “Read it.”

  Cecilia recognized half of the Vatican’s red seal on the partially broken wax. With shaking hands, she unfolded the letter.

  Dearest Anne,

  I pray to God daily for your health and that of our child. I want you here in Lucca where I can provide for you both, but your mother strictly forbids it. She has even threatened me with physical harm if I go near you or the baby. Perhaps it’s her jealousy that keeps us apart, for she and I were in love once, before she was forced to marry Tommaso Caravelli. I urge you to dismiss her poisonous counsel and return to me.

  M.

  Sabina laughed without mirth. The sound was chilling.

  Cecilia regarded her sister with a mixture of fear and concern. “You cannot blame Marco for this. Anne’s mind was sick, fragile…”

  Without a word, Sabina walked out of the room. She couldn’t sleep that night or several nights afterward. She sat with the baby every
afternoon, but there was no joy in her face, only sorrow. Cecilia did her best to lift her sister’s spirits, but two great losses in such a short span of time was too much—even for Sabina Rossi. Cecilia woke up one morning to discover that her sister was gone. She went into Sabina’s study and found a book of poisonous herbs on the desk.

  “Oh, God,” Cecilia cried before she got on her knees and prayed.

  Chapter 24

  Sabina patiently waited until the evening mass was over before sneaking into the church of San Michele. Sticking close to the shadows, she crept to the sacristy then to the bishop’s private chambers. The door was slightly ajar to allow some fresh air into the room, and she watched Marco through the narrow crack like a silent cat. After several minutes, she knocked on the door.

  “Who’s there? Natalino, is that you?”

  Marco’s eyes grew wide when Sabina slowly pushed the door open. She took in the bishop’s miter on the table and the golden crozier leaning against the wall before meeting his gaze. The torch flames flickered across her face and bathed her in golden light. He stood up in anticipation of another angry encounter.

  “Forgive my intrusion, Your Excellency.”

  Marco’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. “Why are you here?”

  “I came to apologize for my behavior the last time we spoke.” When he eyed her suspiciously, she added, “I overreacted. You’re the father of my granddaughter and Stefania needs you in her life.”

  “Stefania,” he repeated, happy to finally know his daughter’s name. He suddenly frowned. “What tricks are you up to now, Sabina?”

  “No tricks. I’ve been thinking about the situation for a long time. The enmity between us should end.” She forced a smile. “I’m getting old and tired, Marco.”

  “So you came all the way here to tell me this? Why not pen a letter instead?”

  “My sister is sick,” she lied. “I have come to spend a few days with her at the convent.” She licked her lips and tried to look demure. “I thought I would come and see you.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about Cecilia. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  She shook her head in response and sighed. “I want peace between us for the sake of little Stefania.”

  “I want peace, too.” He visibly relaxed and his expression softened. “I swear I never meant for Anne to get pregnant and be forced out of the convent. She’s a wonderful girl and I’ve always admired her zeal. I want her and Stefania here in Lucca. Rest assured, they’ll be afforded every comfort they deserve.”

  Sabina fought back tears and smiled. “I believe you.”

  “What a relief. Let us put the unpleasantness of the past behind us for the sake of this child, shall we? We’ll call a truce.”

  “You read my mind, Marco.” Her eyes scanned the room and stopped when they found a wine flask on the sideboard.

  He followed her gaze. “Shall we make a toast to seal our new pact?”

  “A fine idea.”

  Marco poured two cups of wine and handed one to Sabina before holding his own high in a toast. “To new beginnings.”

  Sabina never broke eye contact with him as she raised her cup and repeated, “To new beginnings.”

  After they both drank deeply, he set down his cup on a nearby table.

  “Sabina,” he began and hesitated. “I want you to know…Well, what happened at the chapel…what I did to you—”

  “I know you’re sorry.”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  Never. “Yes,” she replied, her teeth clenching slightly.

  “I only wanted to teach you a lesson.”

  “I know.” She averted her eyes and added, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “This sounds like a confession,” he teased lightly.

  “It is a confession. I’ve never stopped thinking about you. I admit, I was jealous when I found out about you and Anne.”

  Marco closed the gap between them. Taking hold of Sabina’s chin, he forced her to look at him. “I always knew you loved me,” he declared arrogantly. “You went off and married that old man who probably never satisfied you the way I could.”

  Sabina moved to stand beside the table where he had set down his cup. Turning her back to him, she said softly, “Many nights I would recall our passionate couplings in the woods near my father’s house…”

  A wicked twinkle appeared in his eyes as he remembered his lustful youth. “You were wild. I wonder if you still possess that fiery passion.”

  She peeked at him over her shoulder, her green eyes almost glowing in the dimness of the room as her hand moved discreetly over his cup. She quickly flipped open the top of her recently purchased poison ring to allow a small amount of white powder to fall into his wine. Fashioned from pure gold with a big oval jade from the East, it possessed a hollow compartment under the stone.

  Sabina turned around as Marco approached to caress her face. When she did not flinch at his touch, his other hand cupped her neck and gently pushed her head back. “You’re still lovely, even after all these years,” he said before nuzzling her throat. Her body had aged, but her mind and spirit had mellowed like fine wine—and no aphrodisiac could have proved more powerful.

  She placed a hand on his chest. “This seems rather inappropriate,” she whispered in his ear. “Need I remind you that you are the father of my grandchild?”

  Marco did not stop kissing her throat. Instead, he groped her breast. Afraid he would rape her again, she said, “I want you to make love to me, Marco. The way you did when we were young.”

  Ah, the words he had been waiting to hear for so long! “I want you, too. I never stopped loving you,” he confessed as he began to press himself against her with urgency.

  “Not here. Let us finish our wine and go to your bedchamber, where we can take our time and be more comfortable,” she suggested, handing him his cup.

  Sabina watched as he eagerly downed the remains of his wine and waited for her to do the same. As he pulled her toward his bedchamber, he doubled over in pain.

  “What is it, Marco?” she asked innocently.

  He straightened and smiled. “A little indigestion. I always get it after eating wild hare. I’ll be—”

  He doubled over again, only this time the spasm of pain was worse.

  “You should rest a bit,” she suggested, opening the door of his bedchamber.

  She quickly took in the rich surroundings, ascertaining that Marco had done quite well for himself. The bed was hung with rich, red, patterned velvet and there were exquisite tapestries and fine paintings on the walls.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, reaching for her and untying the laces of her bodice with shaking fingers.

  “I should fetch the physician,” Sabina suggested with mock concern as she removed his hands from her bodice and led him to the bed.

  Marco reclined on the velvet coverlet while clutching his stomach and retched. “What in God’s name is happening to me?”

  Another painful spasm took hold, draining him of color and causing him to perspire. When it was over, he said weakly, “I felt fine until…” Looking at her strangely, his eyes suddenly lit up. “You bitch!”

  Sabina hopped onto the bed and straddled him. Since he was too weak and in too much pain to resist, she pinned his arms over his head.

  “How could you?” he asked through clenched teeth as another spasm took hold of him. “I’m the father of your grandchild!”

  Sabina put her lips to Marco’s ear. “I have been searching through my books for days to pick just the right herbs and roots for you. I finally chose a poison that will take some time to kill you and cause you agony in the process.” She paused, her chilling smile becoming a nightmarish grin. “How did I do? Are you in agony? Have I chosen well?”

  Marco perspired profusely. Soon the pain would be too much to bear. “Bitch! Liar! Vixen!”

  She cupped her ear mockingly. “What? Did you say something?”

  His body began to convulse. She co
ntinued to straddle him in the same manner one would ride a horse. White foam escaped from the corner of his mouth and his eyes rolled upward.

  Gripping his throat with both hands, she squeezed as much as she could. “Die, you filthy pig!”

  Marco’s last moments of consciousness consisted of Sabina’s curses, damning him to eternal torment in Hell. When he lay perfectly still, she left the room without a backward glance.

  There was a little boy in the corridor. “Where is Bishop Alfani?”

  “Who are you?” Sabina demanded.

  “Natalino, the altar boy. I’m looking for the bishop.”

  “Go home. Bishop Alfani is sleeping right now.”

  Cecilia sagged with relief when her sister finally arrived home. “Sabina, did you—”

  Sabina lifted a hand in protest. “Do not say another word, Cecilia. The less you know, the better.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve been riding for many hours and need to rest.”

  Cecilia crossed herself as she watched her sister ascend the stairs.

  ***

  Sabina couldn’t remain in Florence. Memories of Anne and Massimo lurked in every corner of the palazzina. In addition, news of Marco’s sudden and mysterious death would eventually spread throughout Tuscany. How trustworthy was the goldsmith from whom she had purchased the poison ring?

  Caterina wrote another letter to Sabina immediately after Anne’s suicide, insisting that she come live with her family. The Mugello was quiet and charming—most of all, it was safe. She accepted Caterina’s offer without hesitation.

  “What will you do in the Mugello? There is nothing there,” Cecilia inquired. “Would you not prefer to remain in Florence?”

  “I want to raise Stefania in peaceful surroundings, far away from any trouble,” Sabina replied. “Besides, there’s too much political turmoil in Florence right now.”

  “I will keep you both in my prayers. I always do.”

  Sabina touched her sister’s cheek affectionately. “I know you do. Thank you for everything.”