“That’s a big mask,” chuckled Signore Soldo.
“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” said Zia.
The boy, about the same age as Renzo, shook his head, crunching honey almonds in his mouth. “Are you Viola Orofino?” he murmured through a mouthful of syrupy slivers.
“Yes.”
“This is from the Medici family. I am meant to tell you that your presence is required at sunset,” he recited.
“Grazie.”
“Would you like something to drink before you go?” asked Zia, but he gave her a polite “No, thank you,” before dashing off.
While Zia opened the door, I picked up the box. It really was too cumbersome and heavy to be just a mask. Zia and Signore Soldo gathered around the table as I opened the box. On top of folded fabric lay a copper mask. Delicate chiseled lines framed the pointy eyes and ears of a fox. While I tried to tie the side strings around my head, I could feel its scalloped edges rest along the bridge of my nose and cheekbones.
“Viola!” exclaimed Zia.
“Si?” I asked, twisting the strings into a bow.
“This is much too fine!”
“The mask is real—”
“No! The dress he has had made for you,” said Zia.
“Not a dress,” corrected Francesco. “A masterpiece.”
He unfolded the dark cherry fabric. My fox eyes saw that throughout the dark red velvet were strips of silk with painted violets. Trails of tiny pearls framed the bodice and sleeves. The dainty lace and open crevices foreshadowed just how difficult it would be to put on.
“What’s that for?” I asked, pointing at a long-sleeved dress made of a stiff, almost transparent material.
“That goes under the dress,” explained Zia.
“Zia, I think you’re right. This dress is too generous of a gift,” I said, running my fingertips over the tiny pearls and lush fabric. There was no doubt that it was the most expensive thing anyone had given me. “I can’t accept it … right?” Zia did not answer, her eyes transfixed by the gown.
“You don’t have a choice,” said Signore Soldo. “Besides the fact that it would be unthinkably rude, it was made for you. They had it tailored with you in mind. Gowns like these are not ordered on Silk Road. They are commissioned like works of art. They thought of your skin and eyes when they chose the material,” he explained seriously. Signore Soldo carefully pulled the regal gift out of its box and let it breathe in his arms. “I could go on, but you have very little time to get ready before a certain lad comes knocking.” He passed me the gown as he would an infant.
“Go wash up, Viola. Sandro will be here shortly,” instructed Zia.
With arms bursting with velvet, I ascended the stairs. Once I laid the dress on the bed, I slipped Idan under the pillow. While I scrubbed myself red with the lump of soap, I fantasized about the hot shower waiting for me at home. Despite the cold water, nervous excitement boiled inside me. Zia came in and ordered me to put on my regular first layer as she dumped the basin’s water onto the street. She then gathered the shimmering organza layer over my head. The sleeves fell past my wrists and its collar peeked around my neck. It took the two of us to get on the exquisite but heavy dress.
“This gown must weigh as much as Giuliano’s suit of armor.” Zia laughed a bit and overall her spirits seemed to have improved.
Her hands tightened the laces until I almost could not breathe. “We will keep your hair just the way it is,” she said, tying the sleeves’ crimson ribbons. “This reminds me of when my husband and I had finished Ginerva’s first grownup dress. When she tried it on, her beauty blossomed before our eyes and all the tender life within her filled the room,” she reflected.
“Thank you, Zia,” I said, holding her tightly in my lanky arms.
“What did I tell you about saying thank you?” She shook her head. “If you ever feel uncomfortable tonight, I want you to tell Sandro and come home directly, you understand?” I nodded earnestly. “I think Sandro is already here. Don’t be long,” Zia said before leaving the room. It wasn’t until I heard her footsteps reach the stairs that I reached for Idan beneath the pillow. A folded parchment tumbled from the same hiding place and onto the floor.
The red horse that fused the letter’s secrets together stared up at me. My hands shook as I opened it. After re-reading the first sentence over and over again without understanding it, I folded the paper and tried to steady my heart beat. After a deep breath, I opened it again.
23rd of December
Viola,
You have thrown yourself into the path of dangerous people. If you hope to make it to the door, avoid the man of justice named Pietro and the Medici family despite temptations. An unquenchable lust for control lies behind every powerful man. It would not do for a young girl full of secrets to dine with such characters. With a bit of luck and wit you will not be hearing from me again.
The playful excitement I had allowed to build fizzled. What a disaster, I thought to myself.
It was as if the fairy godmother had turned the pumpkin into a coach and then decided Cinderella could not go to the ball at all. My mind tried to find a happy medium between going and heeding the letter’s warning. Either way I looked at the situation, there was no way to do both. I was sick to my stomach of always doing the right thing.
“I never do anything I’m not supposed to,” I snapped at the letter. “There is no way I’m going to let anyone spoil my evening,” I said, hiding Idan’s chain beneath all my layers. But deep down I knew the letter already had. My mother’s locket hung outside the dress, just in case Lorenzo got handsy again. Picking up the train of the dress, I left the room and the letter before sense got the better of me.
While I maneuvered down the steps, Sandro was fidgeting with his own costume. He was dressed in olive and wearing a round mask with wide nose. Sandro almost looked surprised to see me.
“You look nice,” he stammered.
“Nice? A grown man like you should be able to make a woman fall madly in love with you in five syllables. Viola will give that famous Simonetta a run for her jewels.” Zia hushed him with her eyes as she helped fasten the fox mask.
“You’d better be the proper gentleman, Sandro … and don’t you dare let her out of your sight,” cautioned Zia, guiding us to the door.
“Of course, signora,” said Sandro with a nod before we stepped out into the brisk air.
The sky above us was streaked indigo and orange. My bare neck and ears were cold but everywhere else was toasty. It’s still so dirty, I thought, lifting up the dress’ thick fabric. The foul smell followed us as we turned onto Via dei Neri. “So what are you supposed to be?” I asked.
“A frog.”
“Oh,” I said, trying not to laugh.
“It’s all I had.”
“But it looks good on you.”
“Grazie.” He reddened as we passed the Signoria.
“So why did you want to be my chaperone?” He was quiet for a long moment before he answered my question.
“Since I just opened my workshop, I don’t have many patrons. My prosperity would be certain if the Medici supported me.”
“So this is for your business?”
“Yes.”
“So this has nothing to do with Simonetta?”
“I would be lying if I said no,” he admitted.
Sensing he did not want to talk about her, I dropped the subject. We reached a corner where a line of people wrapped around a tall, narrow building. Their hungry eyes lingered on the pearls of my dress.
“What is this?” I asked, pointing to the ornate windows and niches that cut into the sandy stone.
“It is many things … but mostly a church and the granary for the city. The people in front are most likely waiting for charity.”
“I see,” I said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in my clothes.
“It is called Orsanmichele. Those...” he pointed at the niches that harbored detailed statues “...are depictions of saints and the Virgin Mary. Different guilds commission them. In fact, it is my understanding that Verrocchio is working on one for the Merchants’ guild of Christ and St. Thomas.”
“If you keep explaining it like that you are sure to kill her of boredom,” said Leonardo. Sandro and I turned around. There he was, dressed in a flattering pink tunic with his mane pulled back.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, thrilled to see him.
“I am coming with you … You are walking into the lion’s den,” he said, tapping his lion mask. “You will need more than one chaperone.”
“I am perfectly capable of—” protested Sandro.
“Of staring into Simonetta’s eyes all night,” finished Leonardo.
“How will you sneak in?”
“I won’t have to, I’m wearing pink.”
“How will that help you?” I asked.
“No one will protest against a man who wears pink,” smiled Leonardo. “Cosimo Medici himself used to say that two bales of pink cloth made a gentleman,” he said before leading the way to the Palazzo Medici.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Garden
Flames wavered on the wicks that illuminated the grand walls of Palazzo de’ Medici. Unlike the houses on Via dei Benci, the square mansion wrapped around an entire block. Its first floor was built with heavily carved stones. In between the arches that framed the tall windows were iron stakes that held the sweating candles. As we passed their glow, I looked up at the two rows of arched windows. At the corner, we could see a set of guards looming over the entrance. I looked at Leonardo but he seemed calm.
“Signora Vespucci?” he called.
A young woman ten feet ahead of us turned around at the sound of her name. While Leonardo had quickened his stride, Sandro slowed to an awkward tiptoe. The lovely lady wore a gown of teal with flecks of gold that shimmered. Thick blonde waves unraveled artfully down her back. She looked curiously at the handsome Leonardo from behind her peacock mask.
“How stunning you are,” Leonardo said with such easy charm that I blushed, even though the compliment was not meant for me. The girl’s pink lips curled before she could stop them.
“I am sure every gentleman behind those walls will tell you the exact same thing for it is truth itself. But, I am so happy that I was the lucky one who told you first.”
“And who are you, sir?” she hesitated.
“Hopefully your escort into the palace and by doing so the envy of every breathing man in Tuscany?” My mouth fell open almost as wide as Sandro’s. He looked inconsolable as Simonetta Vespucci took Leonardo’s arm and glided past the guards who barely spared a glance at his pink tunic.
“Well, I guess you will just have to settle for me,” I said, pulling Sandro along towards the tall paneled doors.
The guards bid us good night as we stepped through the doorway into a sparkling courtyard. Lorenzo and Giuliano were greeting guests that lined up by one of the staircases. We took the open space right behind Leonardo and Simonetta.
“Hello again,” said Leonardo. “My lady, allow me to introduce my friends. This is Viola Orofino and this is the famous artist Sandro Botticelli.”
“Yes … of course,” she said, holding her hand out for Sandro. Whether she really knew who he was or not, it was clear that the famous artist did not care as he rushed to kiss the hand of his golden opportunity. “How fortunate we are in meeting each other!” she exclaimed. “I have been meaning to get my portrait painted.” Her sugary words could not have reached a more grateful ear. We switched partners and all was as it should be.
“You are so lucky,” I said, glancing at the triumphant smile below the lion’s whiskers.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.”
“So you just had that mask lying around the workshop?”
“Handsome, no? It is one I made for my father … I suppose Signore Soldo just threw a few scraps together when you got home,” said Leonardo, tugging at one of my sleeves.
“Very funny … You know it was a gift, and you have already figured out from whom.”
“Now that we can both agree we look dashing, let’s talk about your sweetheart’s palace.”
“He’s not my sweetheart.”
“What do you think then?”
“Of what?” I asked. Leonardo rolled his eyes and put his arms up.
“Of the palacio!”
“Oh, well it smells wonderful,” I observed, breathing in the perfumed air.
“That is it?”
“Of course not,” I replied, peering into the courtyard’s arcade. “It’s very nice … I mean elegant. Maybe it’s more discreet than I had expected.”
“That is true. It is very classical,” he agreed, staring at the empty pedestal in the middle of the courtyard. “What a shame.”
“What’s a shame?”
“I think that is where Donatello’s David usually is,” he explained. “It is actually one of the reasons I came.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“That was poorly phrased.” He grinned. “What I meant to say was that I have heard so much about its beauty that I was eager to see it with my own eyes.”
“Maybe I can ask Giuliano about it?” I offered just before our hosts greeted us.
“Buonasera, Viola,” said Giuliano, tilting his handsome head.
“Buonasera,” I managed with an awkward bow. “Your home is beautiful.”
“I am so glad it is to your liking.” He beamed. “You look …”
“Out of place?” I suggested.
“Wonderful,” he said, passing my hand to his brother. The tingly feeling fluttering around my heart instantly vanished.
“How purple is thy bloom, fresh Viola,” interjected Lorenzo. “And oh how white the hand that gathered thee.” He pecked my hand. When he looked back up, I noticed his face was rosier than usual and his eyes less alert.
“Did you like that?”
“Excuse me?”
“My couplet?”
“Oh, yes it was … very original.”
“Poetry is one of my many passions,” confessed Lorenzo. The corners of his mouth were welcoming despite the notes of wine in his breath. “With your permission, I would like to introduce you to someone during the course of the evening.” Bewitched by the incandescent atmosphere, I nodded. “Excellent. We will be up shortly. Straight up the staircase.”
After climbing the stone steps, we followed the trail of candles and laughter down a long hallway. The path was outlined by rich carpet and pedestals crowned with proud busts. As Leonardo and I walked past the shut doors that flanked the passage, I wondered what marvels they might hold. I broke off from the procession when I spied one door that was slightly ajar. It was hard to see much since the room was not lit. The round elegant lines of the architecture were outlined by the moonlight that entered through the windows.
“Viola! Andiamo,” implored Leonardo. “Supper hasn’t started and you are already sneaking around!”
“Hush!” I placed a finger to my lips while I waited for my eyes to adjust to the faint light. Magnificently carved furniture held countless books. The scrolls’ spiral parchment budded from the many shelves that bordered the room. Dark padded chairs spread across the marble floor. As I approached the large table at the center of the room, I could make out loose parchments, silver point pens, and two empty wine glasses that burdened it. Smoke from a smoldering fire added to the haze that consumed the study. “It’s amazing how you can be so scared of some things but—”
“I can’t believe it.”
“What?”
> “That is mine!” I pointed to a meticulous drawing of Idan that lay on the top of the paper. “How could he—”
“After he saw your small clock at the Duomo … he must have drawn it.”
“What does that say?” I asked, staring at script that flanked the drawing. Leonardo squinted in the dark.
“My Latin isn’t very good,” he admitted.
“Excuse my intrusion,” signaled a boy’s voice from behind us. We both spun around, guilty as thieves. It was the same page boy that had delivered my dress. “Were you looking for the chamber pot room?” There was an awkward pause until Leonardo spoke up.
“I tried to tell her that it wasn’t here. But she was in such a hurry. You know, when nature calls …”
“Yes, well, it is actually just past the dining room,” the page boy said, gesturing back towards the door.
“Thanks for throwing me under the bus,” I whispered, thoroughly embarrassed.
“What is a bus?”
“Nothing. What it means is that you blamed it all on me.”
“Well … if you recall, I was against going in there,” said Leonardo as we entered the blazing dining room.
“But if we hadn’t I wouldn’t have seen the drawing,” I retorted.
The detailed drawing of Idan brought the letter’s warnings back to my mind and with it a whole bouquet of emotions. Each one threatened to wake me from the dreamy fairy tale I was living. A symphony of string instruments tried to lull me back into the delightful banquet.
Flames danced off the painted ceiling and its golden frame. Tiny angels glided between fountains while birds flew against the rose sky of the overhanging beams. Many guests had already sat down and begun drinking the red wine that the servants were pouring into the glasses. The tables were arranged in a horseshoe shape with settings on only one side.
Lost in the City of Flowers (The Histories of Idan Book 1) Page 19