“No,” Cassandra said with a laugh. “They don’t.”
Suhan walked away to examine the work of an artisan selling his wares.
“What is the meaning of that?” Lauro pointed to holographic letters floating above the Campo, readable from any angle. MARINO FOR MAYOR, it proclaimed.
The scientists looked at one another. “Come,” said Professor Carver. “Let’s find out. Suhan!” He motioned for her to join them.
He led them to a café where they sat at an umbrella-covered table. A waiter came over to take their order.
“Tell me, cameriere,” Lauro blurted, referring to the man simply as ‘waiter,’ “what do these words mean, ‘Marino for Mayor?’ What is a mayor and who is Marino?”
The young man looked around helplessly. Lauro’s archaic Italian must have been difficult for him to understand. Though the waiter probably had an automatic translator for the tourists, Cassandra spoke to him in Italian. “Scusi. My friend is foreign. Who is the sindaco, the mayor of Siena?”
“Giulia Brogi,” the waiter said with a tone that indicated the information should have been obvious to them.
“Brogi!” Lauro cried. “The descendents of those imbeciles, Marta and Tulio?”
“Calm down, Lauro,” said Suhan, pulling up a chair. “I realize that everyone else on the team was otherwise occupied while you were gone, Cass, but I took the time on my breaks to get to know Siena. I could have told you about this contested election that’s going on. I knew that this guy, Franco Marino was descended from the artist. Everyone knows that.”
Professor Carver ordered sparkling water all around. “With James and I in London most of the time you were in the past, Cassie, we paid no attention to the local politics.”
“Will that be all?” the waiter asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Carver replied.
The waiter moved off to the bar.
“Ah!” Lauro yelped. He’d gone pale. He pointed to a corner just over the waiter’s head where two miniature, transparent people hovered in the air at tiny desks, involved in a heated debate. The waiter looked up in surprise at Lauro’s reaction. Professor Carver jumped in to offer a quick explanation of the hologram, relating it to the television programs he’d shown Lauro the evening before.
“Yes,” said Suhan. “That is Franco Marino and Giulia Brogi. They are bitter rivals in this race. Apparently, Marino wants to do away with the Palio. It’s a huge uproar, but his family has a lot of money and they have built a powerful campaign, claiming the horserace is dangerous, expensive, dirty, and bothersome to the locals.”
Lauro looked at her with interest. “We did not have this particular competition in my time.”
“It didn’t come to be until the seventeenth century,” Suhan continued.
“Believe me,” Cassandra remarked, “before that, they had all kinds of other violent and dangerous competitions taking place here in the Campo. I’ve seen them first hand.”
The waiter brought the water, and then hovered nearby.
“Though all the contrade of the city are rivals,” Lauro explained, “we stage such competitions to keep ourselves strong so if we ever have to battle the Florentine Guelphs again, we will be prepared.”
“The Florentine what?” asked James.
“The Guelphs. You must all know this.”
Cassandra only had the most basic knowledge of that ancient history.
“Let me explain,” Lauro went on. “It is what Dante’s Commedia was based on. In the thirteenth century, there was much in-fighting between the noble families in Siena and the popular party of the time. However, we were a self-governing republic, and of course still were when you and Jacopo were there,” he said to Cassandra, “though now, from what I’ve learned, we are one united republic called Italy. How extraordinary.” He shook his head. “However, back in the 1200s, the city-states were always in a struggle for political power. We, the Ghibbelines, supported the Holy Roman Empire, while the Guelphs were behind the pope. Finally, on September fourth, 1260, it came to a battle. We dedicated our city to the Virgin, and went out to meet the Florentines at Montaperti. We were only twenty thousand, while the Florentines were at least thirty thousand. When a white cloud descended over the battlefield, it gave us cover and we were able to attack the Guelphs and defeat them, killing half their army. It was the Virgin who sent the cloud and her blessed protection. From that time, whenever we engage in competition with the Florentines, we remind them of our superiority by yelling, ‘Remember Montaperti!’”
“Remember Montaperti!” several workers and patrons of the café yelled in response, including the waiter.
Lauro put his hand to his heart. “All these centuries later, the tradition continues.”
Suhan smiled at him. “The Palio began in order to honor the Virgin and thank her for all the protection the people believe she has granted Siena over the years. The winning contrada receives a palium, or banner,” she said to the others, “hand-painted on silk and designed by well-known artists. It’s famous all over Italy. People come from everywhere to see the horse race. It is the grandest celebration and the greatest opportunity for each contrada to compete against the others. It is a huge source of pride for Siena, and Marino wants to do away with it. It used to be very dangerous for horses, riders, and even spectators but so many precautions have been put in place that is no longer quite as true.”
“What motive could he have for wanting to discontinue it?” Cassandra wanted to know.
“It’s just a platform for his election. There is a new wave of people in Siena, people connected to the university, for example, who are here in town for a short time and then move on, who hate the Palio and all the tourists it brings thronging into the city. However, the ancient families and the working people, those deeply connected with their contrade, see it as a source of great civic pride. Giulia Brogi argues that Marino is pandering to the flock of wealthy foreigners rather than protecting the old traditions.”
“And it was his ancestor who sold Giuliana to the Louvre?” asked Professor Carver.
“Sold Giuliana? What do you mean?” Lauro asked.
“Maestro, the portrait that Francesco was doing of Giuliana, well, it became very, very famous,” James explained. “However, his ancestor sold it to a museum in Paris…when was it Suhan?”
“Around 1928, two centuries ago. Before that,” Suhan went on, “people flocked to see it in the Museo Civico. However, it was only on loan to the museum. This great-grandfather of his, or great-great, or something like that, undermined tourism in Siena with his greed. He took it back from the Museo Civico and sold it to the Louvre. Now, there’s no one work of art here as famous.”
“Scusi,” Lauro began.
“I mean, there’s lots of incredible art and architecture here,” she continued, “but nothing as famous as Giuliana was, and still is in the Louvre.”
“Is it possible to meet with the current mayor, you think?” Professor Carver asked Suhan. “Maybe there’s something we can do to help her defeat this Franco Marino.”
“Her offices are just across the Campo in the Palazzo Pubblico. Let’s find out.”
Chapter Three
Cassandra’s own words woke her: “Where’s Giuliana?” She sat up in bed. Did she just say that out loud? She’d had a dream about the painting again, and tried to catch bits and pieces of it before it faded from her memory. There was a painting. It was in the Louvre. It was of Giuliana. Of course, that was why they’d gone back to 1509, to save the painting. Hadn’t they saved it? Of course; they’d saved Francesco’s life. Why then, was she having a hard time picturing the painting? It was the same feeling she’d had when the collective dream first started back in May, before they’d gone on the time-journey.
They had an appointment that morning to see the mayor, though it had taken a week to secure it. Cassandra knew she should be getting dressed, but this feeling was too compelling. She wondered if everyone else was still asleep. She tiptoed out into t
he hallway, the tile floor cool on her bare feet. She stopped short when she got to the door of Jake’s room. He was standing there in his pajama bottoms with an odd look on his face.
“You scared me,” she said to him.
“I just had the strangest dream.”
“What?”
“About a painting. It was a painting of Giuliana. Like the dreams I had before we went back to Siena. Didn’t we go because we were trying to save the painting? Cassandra, what’s happening? Could it be the drugs I’m taking for my wound?”
“Oh my God, let’s take a look at the net.”
They went back into Jake’s room, and he put on his skin-link and entered the words, “Guiliana, painting, Francesco Marino.”
“I feel like I’m having déjà vu,” Cassandra said.
The information presented by the computer told them there was a painting of that name by that artist that had hung in the Museo Civico in Siena until 1928. After that, no record of it existed.
“Wait a minute,” Cassandra cried. “I remember having this conversation with Lauro in that café near the Campo last week. We told him it was in the Louvre. Why would we tell him that if it wasn’t true? What’s going on?”
Jake was linking Carver. Cassandra had almost forgotten that her boss and James had left the day before to continue working on her son’s upcoming project.
In moments, their boss answered in a sleepy voice. “What time is it?”
“Well, it’s eight o’clock here, I guess that makes it seven in London.”
“What’s up?”
“Cassie and I both dreamed about the painting again.”
“What painting?”
“Giuliana.”
“Oh. So?”
“It’s not in the Louvre.”
“Well, of course it’s not in the Louvre. Nobody knows where it is.”
“No. Right after Cassie and I returned, we established it was in the Louvre and had been since 1928. Now, it’s not there.”
“Oh, yeah. How did I forget that?”
“Because something has gone wrong again.”
Cassandra was still checking the net. There were a few postings of people reporting dreaming of the painting again. Cameron Ralph, the British painter, was among them. But the phenomenon wasn’t sweeping through the public as it had before. Perhaps it was only happening to people who had recently had the painting on their mind. Or perhaps it was too early to tell. She passed on the information to Carver.
“And the Louvre doesn’t report it missing?” he asked.
Cassandra checked. “Actually, some of the online posts coming in about the dream are from people who work at, or are connected with, the museum. There’s one here from the curator, the director, and a security guard. They indicate they dreamt not only about the painting, but seeing it on the walls of the Louvre. I’m sure there will be more about this as the day goes on.”
“We’re going to be meeting with Siena’s mayor this morning, Professor,” added Jake. “Maybe she’ll have something to say about it.”
“Okay. Good. Keep me informed.” He disconnected.
Lauro still didn’t seem to be thrilled with venturing outside, but when Cassandra suggested they take a transport to the Mayor’s office, he balked even more so at the thought of traveling by vehicle. As they walked into town, they talked about the dream. He hadn’t had one. His memories of the painting were merely that of Francesco working on it. He did, however, remember clearly the time-travelers telling him it was in the French museum.
At the Palazzo Pubblico, they were ushered into the office of Giulia Brogi.
“You say you knew an ancestor of mine named Marta?” she asked Lauro once introductions had been made. She was sitting in front of him on the edge of her desk. She looked at him with fascination, as if he were a museum piece.
Cassandra watched Lauro’s eyes travel over the mayor’s long, tanned legs, crossed in front of him, saw him notice the curve of her hips under her slim-fitting skirt and the cleavage that could not be contained by the buttons on her tailored shirt.
“Yes,” Lauro said, lifting his gaze to rest on her youthful face. “And her husband, Tulio Brogi. They had many children, but I don’t remember their names.”
“My bloodline.”
“Certainly.”
“The way you speak is so beautiful!”
“Grazie, signora.”
“Signorina.” She tapped a high heel against the wood of the desk.
“Scusi.” He bowed his head.
“Signorina Brogi,” said Jake. She turned her attention to him. “We made this appointment to ask if we could be of help to you in your campaign against Franco Marino. We don’t know how much longer we’ll be in town. We have to decide… that is, we and Lauro have to decide what will be best for him: to go back to his time, to go back to a later time, or for him simply to stay here. However, something has come up since, and as it has to do with all of us really, including Siena and the Marino family, we thought you needed to know.”
“Please,” she said, smiling at him warmly. “I would be happy to be of assistance.”
“Are you familiar with a painting called Giuliana, done by Franco Marino’s ancestor, Francesco?”
“Of course. Though I’ve never seen the painting, that is, in person. It was here in the Museo Civico until 1928. Then the Marino family reclaimed it, and it was lost.”
Cassandra and Jake looked at each other. “You may find this strange, Signorina Brogi, but Jake and I, as well as other people such as administrators at the Louvre, dreamt last night that the painting was once there, at the Louvre.”
“Wait a minute. You mean like that collective dream so many people were having a few months ago?”
“Yes,” Jake jumped back in. “That dream was the reason we went on our journey to 1509. We determined Francesco Marino had been prevented from finishing the painting because of my interference in Giuliana’s life.” His face flushed pink. “So we went back and made sure Francesco lived to finish it. He apparently did. We believe that timeline continued on until yesterday, when a new timeline took over that had to do with the painting being lost in 1928. We believe, according to this new dream, the painting actually hung in the Louvre until yesterday, and then suddenly it didn’t. It’s the same reason we were having the collective dream before: there’s one timeline in which one thing happened, and another timeline in which something else happened. The second timeline, as we’ve discovered, is the wrong one, the one that shouldn’t have occurred. Our subconscious remembers the original timeline, hence we dream about it.”
“Fascinating! But I don’t know how I can help you.”
“Actually,” continued Jake, “we don’t either, yet. But while we are here working on the puzzle, and trying to figure out what is best for Maestro Sampieri, perhaps it will come clear how we can be of mutual service to each other.”
“You know, I never really thought about that painting much,” the mayor said, “other than that Giuliana herself mentions it in her diaries. You would think the Marino family would have been more protective of it. How could they have just sold it away?”
“I’m sorry,” Jake interrupted, “did you say Giuliana’s diaries?”
“Yes. When Palazzo Guerrini was torn down, various things were sold at auction. My great-great-grandmother bought Giuliana’s diaries. She wrote a book about Giuliana’s life and the work she did, based on the diaries, though no one outside of Siena likely ever read it. From it, and other writings of the time, we Senese came to know of all the good Giuliana did for the city, and that there was this painting Francesco Marino did of her. Anyway, the diaries were passed down to me. I was named after her as a matter of fact. You said you knew her? That you ‘interfered in her life?’ What do you mean by that?”
“Perhaps she mentioned me in her diaries. We were in love. But I left her. Twice.” Jake’s voice choked.
“Wait a minute,” the mayor said, jumping off the desk. “You are Jacopo G
renefeld?”
“Well, actually, my name is Jake Hershowitz—”
“No, no, the Jacopo from Giuliana’s diaries.” Giulia stared at him with penetrating, chocolate brown eyes.
“Yes.” Jake turned away as if he couldn’t bear to admit the fact.
“The diaries are at my house, in an archival glass case. I don’t look at them often because they’re very fragile. You must come and see them, I mean all of you.”
“Really?” said Jake.
Giulia smiled at him, her teeth white beneath her full lips. “I can’t believe you are the Jacopo! I always wondered what you’d be like.”
Cassandra stood. “Thank you for seeing us, Sindaco. We won’t take up any more of your time today. Though I believe we should try to meet Franco Marino and see what he has to say, if anything, about the painting.”
“Oh, he’s not in town. He’s only here when he’s campaigning. He has so much money to throw at this contest he doesn’t need to be here. Good luck contacting his office too. It’s very hard to talk to anyone there. However, next week, he and I are giving our final campaign speeches before the city gears up for Ferragosto, and the Palio the next day. Then most Italians go on vacateion. Would you be my honored guest?” she asked Lauro. “I would like to introduce you, and tell the people who you are. Dr. Reilly and Dr. Hershowitz, I would like you to come too, and perhaps speak about your experiences and the implications of Maestro Sampieri being here.”
Cassandra looked at Jake before responding. “We don’t want Lauro to be mobbed by curious people,” she said. “This is a delicate situation. He is a man displaced from time at the moment.”
“Yes, but I know it would help my campaign to have someone from the past talk about how important our history and traditions are. It would make a huge impact.”
“I would be happy to do it,” cried Lauro.
“Let’s talk about it first,” Cassandra said, motioning him out of the office.
The Time Contessa (The Time Mistress Book 3) Page 18