Isabella laughed out loud. “Love doesn’t solve anything. It certainly doesn’t heal any old wounds; it makes them fester. It brings nothing but jealousy, bitterness and reproach. I have never heard of anyone who has been made completely happy by love alone.”
“Something or someone must have hurt you very deeply,” Matteo observed.
“No, it is just simply observation. Can you honestly tell me that you have known anyone who was made happy by love? I mean real love…the type that when it happens to you, you can’t stand to be away from that person? Then when you are torn away from him you can‘t stand to be without him? The only thing that can end your misery is your own death! Believe me, your two lovers in your story would be better off if they both died.”
“Which is better? Being alive and miserable, or to die without knowing misery?” asked Matteo, with much confusion.
“Death is better. The sweet oblivion that it offers is always better,” Isabella answered.
Matteo replied in sympathy, “You say that as if you know it to be true.”
“It is true,” said Isabella. “Let your two lovers end their family feuds if you want to, but it won’t happen because of their love. That wouldn’t be true. Let them end it by their deaths,” said Isabella. She then got up and left the old gentleman sitting by himself, pondering. He was baffled by the young, beautiful woman who was so obviously miserable.
A few months later Lia came home to Isabella’s with a short story written by her distant cousin and gave it to Isabella.
“Matteo insisted that I gave this to you. He said you inspired it. It’s quite a tragic story. He has named one of the characters after you. Did you tell him your name was Juliet?” Lia asked curiously.
“I did, for it seemed as good a name as any,” Isabella said with a smile. She liked the story and decades later she took it to England with her.
The next several months passed pleasantly for Isabella, more pleasantly than any time she could remember since her death. She believed herself to be close to sixty years old, but she was not sure.
Isabella sometimes would go down to the alleyway beside the house where the two women lived. Once there, she would wait in the darkness for unwilling victims to pass by. The alley was getting quite a reputation among the residents of the city. People used to run through it, daring what lurked in the shadows to grab them as they ran by. Some got out alive; some didn’t. At first, when the killings began, the authorities would send men to investigate, but somehow they never seemed to return home. So Isabella was left alone to kill as the mood struck her.
Isabella when she was happier regained some of her human compassion and sometimes even considered who she was to strike before she did. On a night in midwinter she was waiting in the alley for sustenance to find her; it came in the guise of a woman. This woman was crying, begging quietly for her death. Isabella wondered why such a young girl should be so unhappy and want to give up her life quite so willingly. Isabella resolved to ask her.
“Why does someone so young ask for death?”
The girl was frightened by the voice but answered. “Are you a ghost or are you death itself?”
Isabella smiled but she made no obvious sign of her mirth.
“What would you prefer?” Isabella asked.
“Death itself,” said the woman.
Isabella replied, “I suppose I could be called a sort of ghost.”
The woman in desperation asked, “Then you can kill me?”
“What sort of a ghost can kill the living?” asked Isabella.
The woman again in desperation replied, “I want to die.” The girl begged Isabella to kill her.
Isabella, now very curious, replied, “If you tell me why maybe I will grant your request.”
“I want to die because this morning I had a child and it died in my arms,” the woman said through her tears.
“You can have another child,” Isabella said. She rarely had the patience or the inclination to comfort any one.
The woman responded with “I can’t—this was my only chance.”
This peaked Isabella’s curiosity and she asked, “What about the father?”
“He is too grief-stricken,” the woman sadly replied.
“Do you love him?” Isabella asked.
The woman without thought and very lovingly stated, “Yes with all my heart.”
“Does he love you?”
“He tells me he does,” the woman replied with some uncertainty.
“And you think the day after he loses his child he wants to lose his wife as well?” Isabella scolded.
“No, but I can’t face him, I feel responsible,” the sad woman said.
“You are not responsible,” Isabella stated firmly. “I had a family once and my father would rather have lost me than his wife. You have lost your child and that is a tragedy, but you have to keep living. You and your husband must comfort each other. Go back to your husband and be with him. Death will not find you here.”
The woman left; still sobbing. Isabella had an odd compulsion to follow her. She felt sorry for the woman. She wanted to make sure her husband was worthy of her and something in this girl’s story reminded her of her own loss.
The woman wandered slowly home ahead of Isabella. She paused before she went inside; there was a candle burning in the window. Isabella crept forward and stared in at the couple. When her husband saw her coming in through the front door he ran towards her and embraced her. He held her face in his hands and kissed her tears away. The pair sat down together in the darkness holding each other and comforting each other. The scene made Isabella pine for Nicolae and a single blood-red tear hit the dusty street below her feet.
Isabella returned back to her home and as she approached the stairs of her house she could hear screams coming from inside. It was Lia! She was having her child. Isabella ran upstairs to find Lia in agony. Blood had soaked through all the sheets. Isabella could immediately see something was wrong. Lia was bleeding far too much.
“Make the pain stop,” Lia cried out.
Isabella looked at the midwife. “What can be done for her?” Isabella asked.
“Nothing,” the midwife replied.
Lia grabbed Isabella’s arm. “Isabella, you know you are the only one who can take the pain away.”
“I can’t,” Isabella cried.
“You can…please.” At this point the baby’s head appeared and then the body. “Please, Isabella, make the pain stop.” The midwife picked up the wailing child and placed him down gently, away from his mother. Isabella looked at the child and then looked up at the midwife.
“Leave,” Isabella said looking at the midwife.
“But—”
“Leave now,” Isabella reaffirmed. The midwife ran out the door. Isabella had frightened her.
“The baby is born now, Lia, the pain will stop soon.” Isabella again tried to convince Lia to hold onto her life. Lia shook her head.
“The pain will never stop as long as my life persists….” Lia tightened her grip on Isabella’s arm and uttered one final time, “Please, Isabella.”
Isabella realised this had always been Lia’s plan, to wait until her child was born and then end her own life. Isabella kissed Lia on the forehead and then bit her neck and drained her of just enough blood so that she would fall peacefully asleep forever. Isabella made sure she did not feel another thing.
“Thank you,” Lia whispered
Isabella placed the child on his mother’s lap and Lia lived just long enough too see the baby open his eyes and look once upon his mother’s face.
Isabella arranged a quiet funeral for Lia and as she stood by her graveside she held Lia’s baby in her arms. She stared at the child. She knew she could not possibly look after him, but she had an obligation to see that the child was properly taken care of. She wasn’t too concerned that the child be brought up by a rich family; she just wanted the child to be loved. She wondered who she could give him to. Then she remembered the cou
ple who had just lost their own child. Lia’s child would be safe and happy with them. Isabella took the baby boy to the only two people on this earth that she knew would look after him. She laid the baby down on their doorstep and knocked on the door. She waited and watched from a distance as the mother came to the door and saw the baby. The mother could not believe her eyes. She picked up the child and went inside to show her husband. Isabella was relieved she had paid her last debt to Lia.
Isabella returned to her now empty house only to see Medici soldiers banging on her front door. She shouted up to them from the ground below.
“Can I help you?” Isabella asked knowing it would take more than two soldiers to make her give up her home.
“Do you live here?” one of the soldiers asked her.
“I do,” Isabella answered.
“Not anymore,” said the other soldier. The two soldiers descended the steps and each one grabbed Isabella by the arm. “You are coming with us to see Cosimo Di Medici you can explain how you came to live in this house that belongs to him.”
Isabella was a little curious as to what the Medici would be like. She wanted to meet this man, who was known as the King of Florence in everything but name. Isabella decided to let the soldiers march her to the Palazzo Pitti.
Isabella entered the grand hall of the palace with a smile on her face. She looked up at Cosimo; he was still a young man. Isabella was quite disappointed on first seeing him. She had expected to see an elderly, imposing man whose every command would quickly be obeyed. She had wanted to see a man worthy of Lia’s fear, but this man seemed to be quiet and unassuming. He was tall enough, but thin; he had chestnut hair and a good face, but the sight of him would not intimidate anyone. Not at all worthy of the Medici’s reputation.
“Who is this?” Cosimo asked. When he began to speak, even though his voice was little more than a whisper, the people in the room were immediately silenced.
“She is the woman who occupies Giulio’s house,” the soldier answered.
“Oh, yes, but where is Giulio? Do you know?” Cosimo asked Isabella.
“I have no idea,” Isabella answered.
“I think you do. What is your name?”
Isabella decided not to lie and answered. “Isabella.”
Cosimo now clicked his fingers and a woman entered the room from a side door. It was Giulio’s servant.
“Do you recognise this woman?” Cosimo asked the servant.
For the second time, thoughts that were not her own entered this woman’s head. “Be careful what you say, these soldiers cannot hold me for long.”
“I am not sure, sir, I cannot remember,” the woman said, trembling as she spoke.
“You have frightened this woman with just a look,” Cosimo said, and he walked over to the window of his palace. “Do you know what we found yesterday morning floating in the Arno?”
Isabella smiled. “I have no real interest in what you found in the Arno.”
Cosimo turned back to face Isabella. This woman was not afraid of him. He had never met anyone who was not the slightest bit scared; she was not even slightly intimidated. There she stood, her head held high, keeping her smile fixed on her face.
“Why are you not frightened?” Cosimo asked.
“I have no reason to be frightened,” Isabella answered. Cosimo was impressed by Isabella’s refusal to be intimidated. He realised there must be a reason for her complete lack of fear.
“You are a woman with secrets,” Cosimo stated. Isabella’s slight disappointment on first seeing Cosimo was now overshadowed by the command and presence that she now felt he possessed. This man had gained Isabella’s respect; he was worthy of the Medici name. She liked him.
Their conversation was interrupted by shouts from outside in the courtyard. Cosimo was still standing by the window. The soldiers’ grip on Isabella tightened and by this time Isabella had had enough of them. She shook herself free. The two soldiers fell back on to the floor. The people occupying the room heard more shouts, but only Isabella could discern the sound of an arrow ripping through the air and heading towards Cosimo’s back. She swiftly ran in front of him and the arrow penetrated her heart instead of Cosimo’s back. Isabella fell back against Cosimo. He fell to the floor under her weight and Isabella’s body fell partly on to his lap. Cosimo held her head in hands, pushing back stray strands of hair that had fallen out of place by the violence of her fall.
“Call for the physician,” he shouted. “This woman has saved my life.”
The Doctor arrived promptly but had no good news to tell Cosimo. “The arrow has pierced her heart and even if it had not, it’s laced with poison. No one could survive such an attack.”
Cosimo looked at Isabella and took her hand in his. “Do you know, no one has ever saved my life. I have avoided assassinations before, but never because someone actually risked their safety to ensure mine.” The doctor had called for a mortician to remove the body. When Cosimo saw the mortician, he said. “Take her and bury her well—I owe her a debt that I can never repay.”
The mortician carried Isabella’s cold and still body out of the palace. He left her alone to run an errand. When he returned to his place of work to prepare her for burial, the body was gone. The mortician was too afraid to tell Cosimo he had lost the body so he buried another woman in her place. Cosimo attended the funeral.
A few years went by. Isabella remained in Florence but she had not returned to her house since the day she had met Cosimo. She was walking through the streets on a day the city was having one of its many festivals. Isabella stood at the edge of the crowd that had gathered and watched to see what was attracting so many people. It was the same as all the rest of these occasions; someone was marrying someone else or, someone had had a great honour bestowed upon them. There were jesters and dancers running about the streets in bright costumes. Musicians playing various instruments accompanied them, playing tunes that excited their audience, filling them with merriment. The onlookers clapped their hands in time with the music, children giggled and adults grinned. These sights never held Isabella’s attention for very long. She turned her back and walked away from the lavish celebrations.
“You are not impressed, then?” Isabella turned to see who was talking to her; she was sure she recognised the voice. She was shocked to see it was Cosimo. She tried to hide her face but it was too late. “I know you,” he said.
Isabella sighed. She wondered whether after saving his life she would now have to kill him.
“No, you don’t,” Isabella answered, using her influence, but this man had a strong will and resisted her.
“I do. You are the woman who died…saving my life,”
“You are mistaken; I have never seen you before,” Isabella lied.
“Yes, you have, I knew you had secrets,” Cosimo said.
Isabella turned around to face him. “Cosimo,” she said, “believe me, you don’t want to know my secret.” Isabella ran from him; she didn’t want to kill him.
That night Isabella decided to visit her old house. She had stayed away for many months, trying to keep up the pretence that she had died that day in Cosimo’s court. She had missed it. It felt like home to her.
Isabella entered the house. It was unchanged, slightly dustier than she remembered but it was filled with happy echoes from her past. She went up the stairs to her bedroom and was shocked to see Cosimo sitting waiting for her.
“I knew you would come here.”
Isabella laughed. “You did?” There was an uneasy silence between the pair and then Cosimo restarted the conversation.
“I named my daughter after you.”
Isabella laughed. “Why ever did you do that?”
“The woman who gave up her own life to save mine. Why ever would I not?”
“But I didn’t.”
“Well, I realise that now.” Cosimo smiled and Isabella returned his smile. Cosimo looked around him. “You like this house,”
“I did.”
&nb
sp; “Well, the least I can do is give it to you; after all, you did save my life,”
“Thank you,” Isabella said. “I have missed this place.”
“Tell me one more thing…did you kill Guilio?”
Isabella smiled. “I did. He was not a good man,”
“I know, he had too much of his father in him.”
“Let me finish…I didn’t know what sort of a man he was before I killed him. I only came upon that knowledge afterwards. I killed him because I wanted this house and that is the only reason I had to take his life.”
“If you are that sort of a person, then why did you save me?”
“It was a sudden impulse, nothing more than that, just a whim.” At this point the festival started to proceed down the street beside Isabella’s house. Isabella went over to the window and looked out. Cosimo came over to look with her; Isabella turned away.
“Still not impressed?” Cosimo asked Isabella.
“Still not impressed,” Isabella said.
“Have you ever been impressed by anything?”
Isabella thought for a moment. “I have, when I was just a child.”
“What was it?”
“My grandfather had taught me to read, but I had very few books. There was a castle near our village and in that castle there was a library. The library had hundreds of books in it. I used to steal up to the castle from the village and take a few every couple of weeks. I loved that place, before….” Isabella stopped herself. She had told this man enough.
“Did you get through them all?” Cosimo asked, sensing Isabella was remembering something that she would have sooner forgotten.
“Almost,” Isabella answered.
“I want to show you something that will impress you.” Cosimo led Isabella back through the streets of Florence and to the old Medici palace. He led her down several corridors into the heart of the building. They approached a pair of huge doors. Cosimo pushed them open and motioned for Isabella to enter. She entered, not prepared to be impressed. Her eyes were immediately drawn up to the highest point of the room. A resplendent fresco spanned the length of the curved ceiling. Cherubs carved from gold were trumpeting in every corner and beneath it, laid before her, was Cosimo De Medici’s famous library. There were thousands of books, two floors filled with a myriad of manuscripts. Isabella was impressed.
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