Primavera

by Mary Jane Beaufrand

  Nonna sniffed the head of Riorio’s goon. A fly buzzed out of a lock of his hair. “It couldn’t hurt you to go with them,” Nonna said.

  His only response was to toss the knife and pick it up. She grabbed him by the earlobe. “I’m talking to you, simpleton.”

  I think I knew what was in the air even before Nonna did. This is what I knew: Nonna couldn’t help being Nonna; the one with the flies around his head was too quick with his blade.

  The man jerked Nonna’s hand off his ear, slammed her against a wall, and put the knife to her throat. “Keep quiet, old woman. We don’t answer to you.”

  As soon as he was on his feet I threw myself on his back, scratching at his face, trying to gouge his eyes. “Get away from her!”

  I was little more than a nuisance, but it seemed to work. The man took his blade away from Nonna’s neck and sliced my forearm. The pain was fierce but I hung on tight. Emilio yelled a deep and terrible yell and twisted the blade away from him. I thought he would wrench the man’s arm right out of its socket, he was so rough.

  The goon changed his tactic and slammed my back against the wall. Still I hung on, furious. Nobody treated Nonna like that. I brought my good arm up to his greasy head and yanked out a handful of hair. He roared terribly and slammed me again, this time jerking me free. Then he pitched me into the street as though I were a sack of straw. I landed in the muck.

  For a moment my head swirled so badly all I could see was spires. When I looked up at least ten daggers were out of their sheaves (ours) and pressed against human flesh (theirs). Real daggers — not wooden ones, of which my bloody arm was evidence.

  Captain Umberto sat on the chest of the man who started it all, pointing a knife at his throat. “Enough! I don’t care who your master is,” he said, with a look so ferocious I thought he must no longer be a man, but some beast intent upon the kill.

  He had his blade close enough to the man’s neck to draw a drop of blood. He didn’t relax his grip. I crouched there for a moment, then two, then three. Then, when I thought it was over, Captain Umberto gave an inhuman bark, brought the knife up to the man’s face, and made a deep, jagged cut along his cheek.

  I found myself backing away, looking around for Emilio only to find him suddenly cushioning my back, cradling my injured arm. I shook despite the warmth of the spring air. “Tranquilla,” he whispered. “Be calm.” But his voice was tense.

  I reminded myself to breathe. Of all the things that had happened in the past few minutes — the knife drawn on Nonna, the breaking of my own skin — what scared me most was the look on Captain Umberto’s face as he cut that man.

  Riorio’s goon brought his hand up to his cheek but didn’t make a sound. The look on his face was terrible — full of hatred and darkness.

  Captain Umberto stared back at him with a look just as dark. “I’ve divested you of your good looks. Threaten any of the women of the house again and I shall divest you of something else.”

  He stood up, walked over to me, and offered me a hand. “Va bene, Flora?” he asked.

  “Si,” I said slowly, standing up to my full height. I was terrified of him in this moment, but in one part of my mind, the one beyond fear, I knew Umberto was being so terrible because of us. I knew who the real enemy was, and I was not willing to let them see me cower. “It’s just a scratch,” I said as he examined my arm. Indeed, it was. A long cut but not deep.

  Emilio stood next to me, watching Riorio’s men retreat across the street. He drew in saliva as though he were going to spit, but Umberto put a hand over my friend’s mouth. “No,” he said quietly.

  I looked around. Nonna was back to her normal stooped posture, twisting her black-dog ring around and around her finger. Piero, the only other one bloodied, was already in the kitchen getting drunk enough that Nonna could sew him together. All that lingered was the unholy scent, which I no longer minded.

  But there had been damage done there that day. I looked again at the blood on my arm and felt as though I had just been baptized.

  Captain Umberto bowed to Nonna. “A word with you please, signora,” he said.

  Nonna nodded and the four of us — Emilio, Umberto, Nonna, and I — went inside the courtyard.

  We left behind us ten of our men, each one standing tall. As they crossed their spears, it didn’t look as though they were playing at all.

  When we were out of sight of the street, Captain Umberto leaned forward into a marble column, breathing heavily, as though he were about to vomit. I understood what this episode cost him. This is what it took to keep my sister’s skin fair and her neck decorated with pearls.

  “You were right,” Umberto said to Nonna. “Three days locked in with those rats was enough to make animals of all of us.”

  “Did you discover anything?” Nonna asked.

  “Not a thing,” Umberto said. “Other than they are not to be acted on like regular men. This proves it,” he said, pointing to my arm.

  I nodded as though I understood what they were talking about; but I understood nothing. What had they hoped to discover?

  “It is worse than I feared,” Nonna agreed. “I’ll prevail on my son yet again. Perhaps it’s not too late for him to see reason. For all our sakes, I hope this party Saturday is a success and we can call Domenica Signora de Medici.”

  Captain Umberto’s head snapped up at the mention of her name. “Saturday?” he said. “So soon?”

  Nonna nodded. “I know it pains you, but it’s for the best.”

  “It’s all right, Signora Cenesta,” he said wearily. “This winter I would never have wished such a thing. But after today . . . ’twould be enough were she safe.”

  Umberto clenched his eyes shut then stood upright. When he opened his eyes, he was once again a hero — the one with the easy smile and the soft words. Not the dark menace of a man who had slashed someone’s face only a moment before.

  He came over to me and ran a hand gently through my hair. I felt the motion in the tips of my toes. Say it, I thought. Call me amore just once.

  “You,” he said. “You two have not been idle in our absence.” His look went from me to Emilio and back again.

  I felt pain in more than my arm. His words were kindly meant, but they were not what I wanted to hear.

  “Yes,” Emilio said with sarcasm in his voice. “We were very effective against men of straw.”

  Captain Umberto nodded once. “You did well against men of flesh too,” he said. “But you’re right to be afraid. If the feast is Saturday we don’t have much time.” He took his hand off my shoulder. “Get cleaned up,” he said to me; “this afternoon we’ll teach you to use a staff. I think it’s a better weapon for you against a larger foe.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Nonna directed a bath for me to be poured in a tub in her room. I kept a damp cloth on my arm and immersed myself in the warm water, grateful for the time to be away from the rest of the house. I liked Nonna’s room. It was quiet and spare — there was just a cot, a trunk, a cross over her bed, and a bronze relief of a dog against a wall. It hung just about waist high. If I were standing I would have to bend down to see it, but since I was in the tub I could regard it easily.

  I kept thinking about what had just transpired. Nonna and Captain Umberto’s words in the courtyard kept echoing in my head. You were right. They are animals.

  The two of them had spoken so easily, almost as though they were teammates.

  Not teammates, I realized, conspirators.

  But conspirators in what? Billetted for three days together. Discovered nothing more.

  But the men were only locked in a house together because it was thought Cesare died of the plague. No one could plan that, could they? How do you manufacture an act of God?

  I heard muffled voices coming from the corner of Nonna’s room. I shrank down in the tub. “Graziella?” I called timidly. But she wasn’t here; there were no footsteps on the creaky stairs. I was alone. What was that sound?

  I looked arou
nd: the voices seemed to be coming from the bronze dog. I knew I’d seen that dog before but couldn’t remember where. Finally I realized: it was the same dog as on Nonna’s ring.

  There it was again: a low voice — no, two low voices.

  I grabbed a linen towel from where it was lying on a trunk and wrapped it around myself. I went up to the wall with the dog and put my ear to the wood paneling. What was on the other side? I had thought Nonna’s room bordered only the pantry.

  I put my hand out to stroke the head of the bronze dog, and a wall opened on silent hinges. I sprung back.

  Inside was a dark, cramped space filled with stoppered vials. I smiled. Nonna had a secret room. I was glad. She had too little around here.

  I grew bold and took a step inside. The ceiling was low and I banged my head on a beam. I crouched down. The room was so dark, I had to feel in order to see. I knocked something over.

  “What was that?” a voice said, a male voice. It was coming from the other side of Nonna’s stoppered closet. I stood still and held my breath.

  “It was nothing,” said the second voice, my father’s. “That fireplace creaks from time to time.”

  Carefully, I picked up what I knocked over — a glass vial with a symbol of the black dog etched on it. I also noticed one ceramic goblet — not the good kind, like the ones used in the great hall, but the ordinary kind, like the ones we used to serve the guards their meals. I brought the goblet to my nose.

  It reeked of almonds.

  I turned in the direction of the voices and pressed gingerly on the wall. It was heavy, but it swung open slightly. My face grew hot as though it were on fire. And then I realized where I was — behind the hearth in Papa’s library.

  “You have stalled too long, Jacopo.” This was the second voice, the one I recognized as Count Riorio’s. “You are no innocent, remember? You’ve promised the pope he would be rid of the Medici this week. His Holiness will not be pleased if you waver.”

  “I am not wavering, Riorio. Believe me. I just need time.”

  “Time for what? We are not weak men. We must act.”

  “And we shall. After tomorrow night’s party.”

  I heard something slam, like a ledger on a table. “Tomorrow night and tomorrow night. I’m telling you, my men are back. The time to strike is now.”

  “Prudence, my dear count. Il Magnifico and his mother and brother are coming to the feast in person. I want to see how they function together. Lorenzo is growing bolder in the Signoria, but I suspect he is not the one we really need to worry about.”

  “You think Giuliano is more formidable?” Riorio said.

  “No. I’m talking about their mother, Lucrezia.” Papa chuckled. “I know from experience never to underestimate old ladies.”

  I heard a sigh, then Riorio spoke again. “I see. You are unwilling to act because you are worried about retribution from someone’s mamma.”

  My father said nothing. Count Riorio continued, his voice polished slick: “There are those who say you are not really with us. They say that you are secretly plotting an alliance with the Medici.”

  “Why would I do that, Riorio? I hate the Medici as much as you.”

  “Why do you do anything, Jacopo? For profit, of course.”

  In the silence that followed, I thought it must be clear that Papa was lying. “Bene, after tomorrow night then,” Riorio said. “Delayed action for the prudent man it shall be.

  “While you are being prudent, Jacopo, keep this in mind: today is Friday. Sunday the pope’s army arrives at Porta Romana. They expect to support the new ruler of Florence. That man can either be you, or it can be someone else. Someone who knows how to treat old ladies.”

  I remembered Nonna earlier today with a knife to her throat, and I realized that Nonna and Captain Umberto had been conspiring to rid us of Riorio’s army of rats.

  I had heard enough. I closed the door as softly as I could and backed out of the closet.

  There, holding my clean shift, stood Nonna.

  Chapter Twelve

  Put that down,” Nonna said, her skin as gray as her hair.

  I had forgotten I was holding a goblet. “Put it down!” she said with more force.

  I set it back on a bench in the dark room. I’d never seen Nonna this angry. She was a tiny woman, but in her wrath she was a giant.

  “Did that thing come anywhere near your mouth?”

  I made no reply. I was still as a bronze statue.

  “You heard, girl. Did you put your lips on that goblet? Did you take a drink?”

  “It was empty,” I finally blurted.

  She examined me as she would one of her patients, lifting my lids, opening my mouth, glancing under my arms. What was she looking for? “Bene,” she said finally, yanking me out of the dark room and slamming the door shut behind us. Then she plunged my arms up to the shoulders in the tub and scrubbed them until my wound reopened. I bit my lip to keep from yelping.

  When she was done, she toweled me off and handed me my shift. “Put this on and sit over there.” She pointed to her narrow cot. I did as she said.

  She paced the room, shaking from head to toe.

  Watching her pace, I began to suspect something, although I didn’t dare give it a voice. I’d once heard that arsenic, when heavily used, smelled like almonds. Perhaps that was how someone could manufacture an act of God.

  Finally, Nonna plunked herself down on the other side of the bed and sighed. “This could have been much worse,” she said at last.

  “Please, Nonna. I didn’t mean anything. I just heard voices. I wanted to find out where they came from.”

  “I’m not mad at you, Flora,” she said, placing her gnarled, spotted hand over mine. “I’m just a scared old woman.”

  “Shall I get you some wine, Nonna?”

  “No, cara mia. I am fine. But when I saw you standing there holding that goblet, I thought the time had come for me to pay for my sins.”

  “What sins? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Nonna stood up. “I am not ready to disclose all, cara mia, much as I love you. But I think I may share part of the story.”

  She pressed the bronze dog again. The door sprung open. “This passage was built by your ancestor, the original Pazzi — the knight your father keeps bragging about. The knight used it. His son used it. All the Pazzi men have used it, even your grandfather, my husband. Each and every one an adulterer. They would select their kitchen maids based on their looks and then house them here in this room. Then they would use that passage to slip away from their wives and come down here. Your nonno swore he wasn’t like the rest. He was a sinner, but he swore he would stop. He never did. So I made him stop.”

  I looked at the black-dog ring on her finger. She was spinning it round and round again, the way she always seemed to do when she was vexed.

  Poison. I said the word to myself. Nonna was not only a healer, she was a killer. She was telling me as much: she had killed my grandfather.

  Was I shocked? Perhaps. But not as much as I should have been. She was still Nonna, stooped and gray and beautiful.

  “I had hoped your father might be different. But now I know he’s like the rest. He merely traded lechery for greed and moved his deviousness to the Signoria.”

  “Papa? Devious in the Signoria? I thought he worked in the open.”

  Nonna shook her head and closed the closet door. “Haven’t you learned by now? No one in this town works in the open. Not even me.”

  That night I had trouble getting to sleep. When I closed my eyes, expecting to call up brisk winds and azure seas, instead I just saw a large, black dog. The more I tried to make him go away, the closer he came. It seemed to me I could smell his fetid breath and see the flies buzzing around his head. His teeth were sharp as daggers.

  With this image in my head, it was no wonder that I was still awake when Domenica came in for the night. She carried a lone candle that cast an eerie glow all about us. She rustled out of her skirts and
into her nightdress, muttering all the while. “Stupida, stupida, stupida.”

  Then my charming, beautiful sister let fly a word that would have made even Count Riorio blush.

  “Domenica?” I said.

  There was stillness on the other side of the room. She blew out the candle and crawled into bed.

  “Domenica?” I tried again. “Are you awake?”

  “No,” she said, flipping over.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked. I didn’t really think she’d reply other than with a complaint or a command. Maybe, if she were in good humor, she might say get me some cheese or fetch another candle.

  Instead she did something completely different. “I feel like a chicken!” she said, and burst into the most ferocious bout of crying I had ever heard.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  Her crying slowed. “I’ve been plucked,” she said. “Mamma said she had to do it tonight so no red spots would show on my face tomorrow.”

  “And that’s a problem?” I asked. “You pluck all the time.”

  “I pluck the hair on my head and sometimes those little downy ones on the lip. But this was different. I begged her to stop, Flora! But she wouldn’t listen. She told me to shut up, that I would bring shame on the House of Pazzi.”

  I listened to her snuffle a little more, still not understanding. So Mamma had overdone it with Domenica’s hair. Was that really worth crying over?

  Domenica spoke again: “It’s funny how a person can take little things for granted. Like eyebrows.”

  “She plucked off your eyebrows?”

  “She said all the fashionable women were doing it and I should keep still about it. But I don’t like it at all. It makes me look ugly.”

  That sent her off into a fresh round of tears.

  It was dark so I couldn’t see her face. I tried to imagine what she looked like.

  “Is Mamma sure it’s fashionable? The Medici won’t think you look like a ghost?”