Primavera

by Mary Jane Beaufrand

  We were by his sister’s grave in Fiesole.

  I had to get back. I didn’t belong here, where the horses grew fat on tall grass and the spirit of Emilio’s sister stroked our faces. This was a place of peace, and I was still at war.

  I crept quietly toward the horse but not quietly enough. Emilio turned around, saw me, and tackled me to the ground.

  “I have to go back!” I kept saying as I scratched at his face. “I have to go back!”

  “You can’t go back!” he said, wagging his finger. “Don’t you understand? It’s not just Nonna. Everybody’s dead.”

  I stopped struggling. How long had I been out? Could it have happened so fast?

  “Are you sure? You saw them?”

  There was a lie on the tip of his tongue. I saw it sit there like a fine pearl. But he didn’t utter it. “No,” he said. “But they will be if they stay in town any longer. We have to trust Captain Umberto. He’ll get them out if he can. Our part in this is over.”

  But it didn’t feel over. In fact, it didn’t feel as though it had even begun.

  I didn’t like most of my family, but I couldn’t just abandon them. And then there was Nonna’s body. Medici’s men would call her strega. They would tear her apart and feed the bits to the dogs.

  I had to go back. But how? Emilio would not let me out of his sight. If I even suggested such a thing we’d waste valuable time fighting each other, and he would win. I hated to admit it, but he was the stronger of the two of us. I needed an advantage. A little of Nonna’s finesse.

  In my mind I worked backward from last night and tried to think of what led us to this point. I remembered Mamma’s humiliation, Nonna’s secret room, Papa and Count Riorio talking in the library . . . I had it. I had my plot.

  “Listen, Emilio,” I said. “Papa didn’t act alone. He was in league with the pope.”

  Emilio nodded. “The seal,” he said, remembering the letter he delivered that first day he was with us.

  “The pope sent an army to help him. Even now they are at the Porta Romana in the south of the city. Captain Umberto doesn’t know about them. It’s all up to you. You must ride quickly and intercept the pope’s army. Tell them what happened. Get them to come to the palazzo. It’s their only chance.”

  Emilio shook his head. “I won’t leave you. I have to get you to the convent. You’ll be safe there. Then, in a couple of days, I’ll go back to the duomo. I’ll get the purse we kept with Father Alberto. We’ll go north to Milan — or even farther. We’ll go to Venice and book passage aboard a ship, the way you wanted.”

  “Look at me,” I said, grabbing his shoulders. “Who do you think needs more help? Me? Or them?”

  He said nothing but neither did he whack me on the back of the head. I was making progress.

  I continued: “They’re still in danger. Captain Umberto is good, but he can’t hold off the whole city.”

  Emilio still said nothing. So I pressed him further. “Come on, Emilio. Didn’t you swear to protect us? All of us?”

  He closed his eyes. I awaited the lecture about how I shouldn’t do this or that. But it never came. “Yes, but I don’t love the others,” he said in a voice just above a whisper.

  His words passed over me like a breeze. For a moment then, I looked at my friend, really looked at him, and I saw Emilio for what he had become. All the things I thought defined him: spindly, foul-breathed; they were not the measure of him. Signor Botticelli would be ashamed of me. I had been looking for beauty in the wrong things. The boy whose arms I gripped was no longer spindly; his breath was fresh as mountainous air. And his eyes, the way they looked at me now — they were soft as velvet, and still they made me shake in a way I didn’t understand.

  Perhaps . . . no, I couldn’t think about him that way now. He was my friend, not my swain. Besides, I had to get down off this mountain. Nonna was still down there.

  Emilio snapped out of his trance and looked around, suddenly animated. He squeezed my hand. “Do you still have your squarcato?” I nodded. “Bene. Go straight to the convent and wait there for me. If anyone tries to stop you, use your weapon. Do you understand, Flora? I’ll come get you in a couple of days. Do not go to Venice alone.”

  Then I looked my best friend in the eye and I lied like a Pazzi. “I’ll be at the convent. I promise.”

  He mounted his horse and galloped away. I watched him until he was nothing more than a speck of dust.

  I tried to convince myself that I would see him again. It’s just a little space, I told myself. I needed the time to retrieve Nonna’s body and then I would come back. I would be where he told me to be. The two of us would ride away together and I would be happy.

  Still, watching him go left a foul, poisonous taste in my mouth, and I knew that I had seen the back of him for all eternity, that all my chances for happiness rode away with him.

  Allora. Nothing to be done about it now. I had a task to perform.

  What I did next was something I’d rehearsed a hundred times in my dreams. The only difference was I imagined doing this to steal out of the palazzo. Now I needed to steal back in.

  I took Captain Umberto’s squarcato out of my girdle and cut the hem of my dress until it was the length of a tunic. I brought the blade up to my head.

  The chances were good that the Medici army was already at the palazzo. I wouldn’t be able to get in the door, let alone up to Nonna’s room, if people recognized me as one of the family. The only way I could get in was as someone else, a piece of riffraff.

  I pulled a hank of hair in front of my face and cut it off. Then more, and more, until I felt a chill on my neck. When I was done my hairline felt ragged, but I didn’t care. It didn’t have to be clean.

  I looked down at the dress I’d torn into a tunic. Underneath the dirt and grass, Giuliano’s blood had dried to an earthen brown. I hoped I would just look dirty. I grabbed a handful of soil and spread it over my face.

  I walked the remaining horse down the narrow path to Fiesole’s town square. I looked at my reflection in a well. It was not a perfect disguise but it would have to do. At least I should be able to get back to the city without being recognized.

  I mounted up and rode home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Once inside the city I slowed my horse to a trot. I didn’t want to look as desperate as I felt. Up and down the streets people leaned out of windows, good people whose faces were transformed into snarls from outrage. They shook their fists and barked news to one another across narrow streets. I heard my family’s name. Murder. Treason. Sacrilege. I hunched over and prayed no one recognized me.

  There was no one on the bench outside our kitchen, so I slipped in as quietly as I could. Inside was evidence of a struggle. Sacks of flour were open and spilled on the floors, turning them white; kettles rolled this way and that. Two troughs of flour ran from the hearth to the courtyard door, as though someone had been dragged by the hair. I followed the furrows and looked out.

  The Medici troops had arrived — more than twenty men with the symbol of the palle on their tunics. One stood on a bench and read a proclamation. He was a skinny, narrow man. I remembered him from earlier that morning at the duomo. He was the one who had urged me on to the sacristy. This way, signorina. And even earlier, he was the one who, many months before, had cut a woman’s nose from her face in the Piazza della Signoria.

  I couldn’t hear all of what he said, but this much I did catch: “. . . and furthermore the coat of arms of the Pazzi family shall be stripped throughout the town, the contents of the bank forfeit. The women in this traitorous nest of vipers shall never be allowed to marry. And as for the men” — he glared at where Papa and Renato and Andrea stood — “your lives are worth nothing. From this moment on you breathe on the sufferance of Lorenzo de Medici, and he is not inclined to mercy. I would take this opportunity to say goodbye to your loved ones, which is more than Il Magnifico’s poor murdered brother was able to do.”

  Captain Umberto and our gu
ard stood between the Medici troops and my family. Behind them I caught a glimpse of the rest. No, this couldn’t be. They were all there: Papa, Mamma, Renato, Andrea, Niccolo, Galeotto, Giovanna, Domenica. Papa leaned on Andrea for support — not Renato.

  Renato stood a little apart, with the rest of my brothers. He looked as though he were about to cry. He kept rubbing his hands together, and I realized: this was the first time I’d seen him completely stripped of his rings. Mamma leaned on no one.

  Then two of the Medici men brought forth the Botticelli Madonna.

  I wanted to look away, but I forced my eyes to stay on the delicate painting. I couldn’t bear to see anything happen to it. But then I realized: that wasn’t the coming tragedy. My family still breathed but they were about to be torn to pieces and thrown to the dogs. If ever there were a time to act, it was now.

  I said a quick prayer for strength, drew my squarcato, and stepped out into the light of day.

  Captain Umberto was the first to catch sight of me. His eyes narrowed. He shook his head subtly. Get back.

  I crept back to the threshold but kept my blade drawn. What could he be thinking? We were outnumbered; he needed my help.

  I watched his face for another sign. His eyes flicked upward, toward Papa’s library. At first I didn’t know what he wanted me to do, then I remembered Nonna’s secret room. That was where he wanted me. That was where I would go.

  I put the blade back on my belt, slunk back into the pantry, and climbed the rickety stairs to Nonna’s room.

  Nonna was lying as I had left her, still clutching her ring and the letter with my name on it. “These are heavy times, Nonna,” I whispered. “Perhaps best you don’t see them, eh?” I kissed her cold forehead then pried the ring and the note from her unyielding fingers.

  For a moment all was peaceful. Suddenly, I heard shouts coming from downstairs. Then clanking of blades being crossed, and finally, shrieks.

  I leapt to my feet. Madonna! It had begun. I had to go down. I had to help my family.

  No. I tightened my hands into fists and stayed. I followed orders like a good soldier. Perhaps Captain Umberto meant to bring the family up here that I might sneak them out the kitchen door, which, when I came through, was still clear.

  I unclenched my fists and pressed the bronze dog on Nonna’s wall and crouched in her poison room.

  Soon enough, shouts came from the library.

  “This way!” Umberto’s voice cried.

  I cracked open the door that led to the library hearth.

  Last night’s fire had died to embers, so I had a clear view of Captain Umberto running in, holding the hand of Domenica. Only Domenica. Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t he have brought Andrea as well? He shut the library door behind them and barricaded it with Papa’s heavy desk. As he moved it, an earthen pitcher fell off and crashed to the floor.

  Domenica stood against a wall, crying softly. “We can never be married. We can never be married,” she chanted.

  “Silenzio, signorina,” he said, darting to the fireplace. “We don’t have much time. Emilio, are you there?”

  What did he mean by calling for Emilio? I opened the door the rest of the way and stepped out.

  Captain Umberto looked startled. Then I remembered: I was dressed as a boy. “Emilio?” he said again, then he looked closer. “Flora? I would never have known you. Grazie a Dio, you’re alive. Good thinking disguising yourself. You two have a better chance to escape.”

  “You two?” I said. “You’re coming with us, right?”

  “I’m a soldier, Flora,” he said. “My duty is clear.”

  He jerked his head around. Murderers. Traitors. The cries were getting closer. He grabbed Domenica’s hand and shoved her past me into Nonna’s dark room.

  “You two stay in here. Flora, close the door on the other side, then take your sister and get out the back. No matter what you hear, don’t come out. Do you understand? I can hold them off myself.”

  “I can stand with you,” I said. “Domenica can go on her own. Please, I can fight. You taught me how.”

  “No, Flora, I beg you. Stay here with your sister. Take her away. You’re her only chance.”

  I looked over my shoulder at where my sister was crouched in the dark room, her eyes empty, her senses addled. She was useless. She would never get away on her own. I had to help her, though I didn’t want to. I wanted her to stay here, crouched in the dark, while I fought in the open next to Captain Umberto. That was the way things were meant to be.

  “Bene,” I said, resigned. “Stand tall. This is a dark day, but you have God on your side, I know it.”

  Captain Umberto smiled an open and warm smile. It was almost the kind of smile I used to dream about but not quite. There was love in it but not the kind I wanted. “Bless you, Flora. You are a good girl.” With that he kissed my hand, then slammed the door quickly.

  There was clattering in the hearth, and when I touched that wall again it was hot. He had stoked the fire.

  Whack! Whack! Someone was taking an ax to the library door. Despite what Captain Umberto told me, I opened the fireplace door a crack. The blaze was roaring now. But I saw his figure beyond the dancing flames. His sword was drawn, his knees bent, his face as vicious as a lion’s. There was another whack! and the Medici soldiers were through.

  The first two didn’t even make it over Papa’s chair. Captain Umberto skewered them within seconds. But more soldiers climbed over, and more and more. They forced Captain Umberto backward into the room.

  He fought with everything he had — pounding men’s heads hard onto the marble floor, hurling another out the leaded glass window. Such speed and grace, even though he had on his face the look of the beast that I’d seen that day when Riorio’s goon threatened Nonna.

  Then more soldiers entered — including the one who read about forfeit in the courtyard. This one seemed more practiced than the others. He waited until Captain Umberto’s attention was turned to someone else, then drew his sword and swung it in a perfect arc. My hero’s head came off his body and rolled across the floor, a heavy thing.

  I closed the door quietly and slouched against a wall. I was going to be sick. “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  Nonna had said the night before that there came a time when we all must grow up. But she was wrong about one thing — my time didn’t come then, it came now. As long as Nonna and Captain Umberto were around, protecting me, protecting us all, I was free to behave the way I wanted. Now there was no one between us and the outside world. The outside world was here, within our walls.

  From the library I heard more voices. “Check his pockets,” said one. “Take what you find. The rest is now the property of Lorenzo de Medici. If you must keep something for yourselves, make sure you’re discreet.”

  I crept backward and tugged the hem of Domenica’s dress. “What’s happening downstairs?” I whispered.

  “We can never get married,” she repeated. I wanted to slap her from here to the Holy Lands.

  “Come on, Domenica, I’m trying to help. Now tell me: How many are left in the courtyard? Is there anyone in the kitchen?”

  I heard footsteps, this time coming from the other side of the closet, Nonna’s room.

  “Come on,” said a deep voice. “It’s just the maid’s quarters. Let’s go find the good stuff.”

  “Well, will you look at this. It’s the strega.”

  “She’s already dead. We’re wasting time.”

  “No, we’re not. I’m sure Il Magnifico will be able to find a use or two for the mother of that traitor Pazzi. He’ll make it worth our while.”

  Then there was light on my face and I let loose a scream that had nothing to do with God. I leapt out of the closet with my squarcato drawn. I heard it squish first and then crunch as I drove it into a man’s chest. A warm liquid spurted up and hit me in the eyes.

  Someone jumped me from behind. I kicked and clawed but couldn’t shake this second man off. So I slammed him against the
wall. I slammed again and again until I broke free. The man behind me crumbled to the ground holding his head. He was stunned but not for long. I yanked the hilt of my blade from the first man’s chest and plunged it into the chest of the second one. When it was buried to the hilt, I swiveled it around. I didn’t want this man to have anything left inside him.

  When it was over I pulled Domenica from the dark room. “Come on,” I said. “We’re getting out of here.”

  I went over to the bed and began to pull the black dress off Nonna’s cold, marbled body. “Mi dispiace,” I said. I was not as gentle as I would have liked. I was a soldier with a job to do. Right now my job was getting Domenica to safety.

  “What are you doing?” Domenica asked as I yanked Nonna’s dress over her head.

  “We won’t get far with you dressed like that,” I told my sister. “Take your gown off and put this one on. And try to slouch.”

  Domenica did as I said, all the while staring at the bodies of the Medici looters.

  “What’s become of you, Flora?” she muttered. “What’s become of your hair?”

  I didn’t respond. I was grateful that she had her senses back but had no time for her silliness.

  At last I managed to work Nonna’s dress all the way off and over her head. I threw it to Domenica, who stood shivering in the corner. Nonna had a clean linen shift on underneath, so I didn’t have to worry about shrouding her.

  Domenica in a threadbare black dress still looked like Domenica. Still shiny and delicate. Hers, like mine, was an imperfect disguise. I only hoped it would be enough.

  I threw Nonna’s body over my shoulder. I staggered under the weight but I didn’t crumple.

  Per piacere, Dio, I prayed, just let the horse be where I left him. I’ll manage the rest.

  Domenica and I tiptoed down the stairs and into the pantry. I pushed open the kitchen door. Graziella was there, seated on the floor with her legs out in front of her. She was gorging herself on everything in sight — meat, cheese, Nonna’s oranges. She looked up and saw us emerge. “MURDERERS! TRAITORS!” she called, summoning the Medici army while smiling a wicked smile.