A Borgia Daughter Dies

by Maryann Philip

  “Does your cook keep poison in her kitchen, perhaps to kill rats?” asked da Vinci.

  “No, Maestro,” said Nicola. “This is something we checked after Sister Gerolama died, and we checked again yesterday. We do not keep poisons for rats. We keep cats instead.”

  “Both Cook and Maria insist that there were six cups of wine, though--not five as we observed,” continued Nicola. “Each was placed in front of a chair. This means that someone moved a chair to the side, and removed one of the wine cups. It is logical to assume that this person also poisoned one of the cups.”

  “Who could have removed one of the cups?” asked da Vinci.

  “Unfortunately, almost anyone. That door,” she gestured, “is a service entrance to this room from the hallway that leads to the outer yard and the kitchen. At that hour of the day, both servants and nuns use this hallway. It was between the times of prayer, so all the nuns would have been about their daily tasks. Any one of them, and any servant of the household, could easily have gone into the storeroom, where the wine is kept, and then into this room, which is the only one used for private meetings. An hour or so had passed between the time that Lord Valentino arrived and the time that the meeting began here--during which time, word that he was here spread all around the convent.”

  “In so short a time?” da Vinci asked, as the priora handed him a bowl of soup.

  “Gossip moves like the wind here,” the priora responded.

  “The kitchen help can see the door to the hallway from their building, but they have no reason to watch it,” Nicola continued as she accepted a bowl herself. “In addition to the strangers from Lord Valentino’s party, there were many nuns in and out that day, they said. They remembered Sister Ignacia and Sister Joanna, but their appearance is distinctive. Sister Ignacia is one of our teachers—she is tall and very pale. Sister Joanna is very dark.”

  Leonardo rose, opened the service door, and peered up and down the hall.

  “And those other doors?” da Vinci asked.

  “The storerooms.”

  “Are any of them locked?”

  “In a convent? Certainly not.”

  “So many easy places to hide. We should search these rooms for the missing cup,” said da Vinci.

  “I will do so tomorrow,” promised Nicola.

  “Is the kitchen near the guesthouse?” Caterina asked.

  As Nicola explained, da Vinci watched the Biaggis, memorizing their expressions to sketch later. Caterina was so obviously sad—why not draw her as the Virgin Mary, after the death of Christ? And that son of hers wore his appetites on his face—gluttony, lust, boredom. You could read them all. He really must sketch Carlo.

  “Was that clear, Maestro?” Nicola asked.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “I have seen the grounds. The refectory is off the hallway, I assume? Did you observe anyone in your dining room before we arrived, Priora?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” she replied. “I keep the door closed. Had I heard someone, I would have thought nothing of it. I had ordered Cook to bring six cups of my best wine.” She counted on her fingers: “The three Biaggis, Maestro da Vinci, Lord Valentino, and Maestro Giamatti. That was the number expected, si??”

  “Si. Who did you tell that Lord Valentino was coming, before it happened?” asked Nicola.

  “No one. I was not eager for anyone to know that such a man would be in our convent,” the priora admitted.

  “Not even Sister Ignacia?”

  “No--though she did come to see me that day. So did your friend Pia, Nicola. I don’t remember seeing Sister Joanna, however.”

  “Can I have the bread, and more soup?” Carlo interrupted. The priora, who had not yet started her own meal, looked startled. After a moment’s hesitation, she rose to replenish Carlo’s bowl.

  “Now another question,” Nicola continued. “Madonna Biaggi has told us that the men rearranged all the cups when they spread Maestro da Vinci's drawings out on the table. She is unable to tell us where the cup with poison originated. Can anyone help?”

  “I believe she is right,” da Vinci responded. “Lord Valentino was drinking from his own cup, which he kept with his personal wineskin. I have no idea where the cups originated.”

  Carlo nodded his agreement. Nicola shook hers in seeming disbelief.

  “Are you sure you cannot remember?” she asked. “Think hard. If we don’t know where the cups were placed, we cannot be entirely sure for whom the poison was intended, though Lord Valentino seems most likely.”

  “Unless the poisoner knew that he would refuse the priora's wine,” da Vinci pointed out. “In which case, someone else was the intended victim.”

  “Unfortunately, there are already too many suspects, even if we assume Lord Valentino was the intended victim,” Sister Beatrice responded. “Even limiting our list to those in this convent whose families have been harmed by the Borgias does not help us very much.”

  “Do you have such a list?” asked da Vinci.

  “Si,” Nicola replied, handing him her handwritten list. “We made it when Sister Gerolama was poisoned three years ago.”

  “You will have to add new families to the list, based on what has happened more recently,” da Vinci replied as he scanned it. “Lord Valentino and the pope have put many good people to death, and imprisoned many others.”

  “You must add the Savelli family,” he continued, “since the papal armies are now seizing all their lands. I see you have the Orsinis here already. Things have gotten much worse for them. The pope imprisoned Cardinale Orsini, seized his estates, and threw his eighty year old mother out on the street. Also, Lord Valentino executed Paolo and Francesco Orsini for plotting against him, along with Vitellozzo Vitelli, who was a friend of mine.” Da Vinci shook his head, seized by sudden sadness. “All this happened between last Christmas and the beginning of Lent.”

  He continued to peruse the list, recognizing most of the family names it contained. “Who is La Greca, who is apparently also called Madonna Paleologus?” he asked.

  “She is a lay sister here, a Greek.”

  “Dark features, straight nose, dark dress and veil?” Da Vinci responded.

  “Si. How did you know?”

  “She was in the hallway outside your door when we arrived, Priora. With a cat in her arms.”

  “T’was she, then. Someone must have told her they saw a mouse or a rat.”

  “Why does she appear on your list of suspects?”

  “Because she had expressed a dislike of the Borgia family, and was in St. Peter’s Square on the day of Sister Gerolama’s death, without a good reason. She is of the Eastern faith; she does not recognize the pope as father of the Church,” explained Sister Beatrice.

  “She may have met a man there,” said Nicola. The priora and Sister Beatrice turned to stare at her. “Maria said so,” she insisted.

  “I will talk to her,” da Vinci promised. “Of those that the servants recognized, I see Sister Ignacia on your list. Not Sister Joanna, however.”

  “She is a Spaniard, like the Borgias, so there has been no reason to suspect her,” the priora explained. “I will ask her to speak to you, however. I do not know why she was in the hallway.”

  Caterina was looking at the list of names with interest. “Did you consider the maternal families when you made this list, or only surnames?”

  “Only their surnames, Zia,” Nicola responded.

  “A mistake, I think. I hate to admit it, but women can be as vindictive as men. Sometimes more so. Daughters are more likely to learn family vendettas from their mothers than their fathers. Such women will also teach their daughters how to take revenge through guile.”

  “She is right,” said da Vinci. “You will need to look at maternal families, as well.”

  “This simply makes our present problems worse!” protested Sister Beatrice. “We have had too many possible suspects since the beginning. Now you propose to double the number!”

  “I think we need this informa
tion, but I also think we need a completely different approach,” said da Vinci.

  “And that would be?” asked Nicola.

  He smiled. “When I am certain, I will tell you.”

  “I would like some of the figs now,” Carlo announced.

  “Of course,” the priora responded, rising to her feet. She looked uncertainly at da Vinci. “Should I taste each one?”

  “Are you worried about poison, Carlo?” da Vinci asked.

  “No.” Carlo rose, took several figs from platter on the sideboard, and popped one in his mouth.

  “Then I will not worry on your behalf. And now, Priora, I have a question for you: whatever are you hiding in that storage area on the west side of the barn?”

  The priora looked at him blankly. “Hiding?”

  “Surely you are aware: the interior of the barn is smaller than the exterior. There must be a hidden room. I am an engineer, Priora; I notice such things.”

  “Hidden room?” she repeated.

  “Don’t worry, Maestro,” Nicola interrupted. “It’s only food.”

  “Food? Why would we hide food?” the priora asked, her voice strained.

  “I don’t know, Priora. But I watched the room being built, and then I watched it being filled up, and it is definitely full of food—mostly grain,” Nicola responded. “I’m sorry—did I say something wrong?”

  The priora had closed her eyes. Her lips were moving, as if she were praying.

  Sister Beatrice interrupted, her face full of concern. “The pope seized our crops for his army, two harvests ago. We have peasants and their families to feed, Maestro—not just ourselves.”

  Da Vinci considered for a moment. “Ah. I see. This has no bearing on our present mystery, then?”

  “None,” Sister Beatrice said firmly. “You can see for yourself, if you like.”

  “I will. And then, if I may, I will suggest some modifications to make your storage area less visible. Because you certainly should be able to store enough food to feed yourselves and your peasants, without interference from those who are well able to feed themselves. But, Priora, my help and my secrecy come at a price.”

  The priora opened her eyes, nodding at him to continue.

  “I may require you to keep some some secrets for me—nothing dishonorable,” he hastened to add. “But between the two of us, there should be no secrets. I have to find Sister Gerolama’s killer, and you have to help me. That means I have to know everything about her, and her sister Lucrezia. What were they doing here? How well protected were they? Et cetera.”

  The priora’s eyes opened, and she smiled. “Blessings on you, Maestro. Stay after dinner, and I will tell you everything.” She looked at Nicola. “Were we really that obvious?”

  “No, Priora. You were not obvious. That’s why I paid particular attention. People rarely try to hide things in the convent. I doubt anyone else noticed—but I did.”

  Chapter 33—More Poison

  Convent of San Sisto,

  February, 1503

  When da Vinci arose the next morning, a simple repast of bread, olive oil, dried figs and watered wine had already been brought from the kitchens to the commons area between the two dormitories in the guest house. There were two long plank tables there: one for the men, and one for the women. Da Vinci and his assistants seated themselves at the men’s table.

  Carlo walked past them, and tried the door to the women’s dormitory. It was barred, its occupants still sleeping. “Carlo, what are you doing?” said da Vinci sharply. “Leave the women alone.” Carlo smiled, shrugged, and sat down next to Salai.

  “Join me outside when you have finished,” da Vinci directed, when his own breakfast was complete. He then took the key the priora had given him, and went outside to look over the room she had set aside for his use as a laboratory.

  At each end of the long guesthouse there was a private room with a separate entrance, reserved for the use of the convent’s more exalted guests. He had a key to one of them, but he did not need it. The door, when he tried it, was unlocked.

  Once inside, Leonardo smelled the unmistakable tang of sweat, sex, and stale perfume. A bordello smell. It was obvious that the large bed—so big it almost filled the room—had been recently used. Did nuns use perfume? It seemed unlikely, and in any event, even more unlikely that a nun was involved. Servants probably did this, Leonardo decided. They would have had access to the key.

  The morning light revealed other problems. There were rodent droppings, as well as the remains of the crusts and crumbs that had attracted them. And there was trash in the fireplace, waiting for someone to burn it.

  Salai and Carlo now joined him. “We need to get the bed out of here. It takes up the whole room. Salai, go fetch our painting supplies. Carlo, sweep this room,” Leonardo said, attempting to hand Carlo the broom he had brought with him from the guesthouse.

  Salai left. Carlo backed away from the broom, saying, “I do not sweep floors.” He turned and left with exaggerated dignity.

  Resignedly, da Vinci picked up the broom. He himself swept floors, curried horses—indeed, did whatever was needful, though he was old, and known as the greatest painter in Italy. How ironic it was, that a young man with such a small brain should have such a swelled head.

  As da Vinci swept the crumbs and droppings into the morning sunlight, a strange tableau met his eyes. Here were Carlo and Salai, leaning against the convent wall in poses of exaggerated relaxation. Next to them stood a group of teenage girls in sober black attire, who punctuated their whisperings with giggles and random shrieks of laughter. Their muted hysteria clearly focused on the two young men, though they pretended not to look at them.

  Carlo, however, was exchanging glances with a big-breasted girl with straw-colored hair that thrust itself stiffly out from under her veil. Her glance and smile were smoldering; her body language unmistakable.

  Da Vinci wondered: could it possibly be? He walked over to place himself near Carlo and the girl with the bordello eyes. Her perfume was unmistakable. It was one of the odors he had smelled on the guest room bed. It was not only possible, he decided: it was probable.

  Now da Vinci noticed another figure watching the girls as they watched the boys. It was the cat lady— the lay sister called “La Greca,” whose name, he recalled, was Madonna Paleologus. Da Vinci hastened to her side.

  “Buona mattina, Madonna. I would like to talk to you. But first, I would like to beg you for some of your cats. I am taking over that guestroom as a laboratory, and it is full of mouse droppings.” Leonardo smiled. He had always loved animals, and was looking forward to having a cat once again.

  “Mouse droppings! I will bring you cats as soon as I can, then. And I would be happy to talk to you. But right now, I have to watch these girls.” Madonna Paleologus nodded towards the nervous gaggle of girls, without taking her eyes off them.

  “Based on what I found in the guestroom—which was unlocked—I agree wholeheartedly, you need to watch these girls.” Da Vinci paused, struggling to find a way to speak frankly without being offensive. “Especially that yellow-haired one. The room was unlocked when I entered it, Madonna, and it had been used recently. The smell of that one’s perfume was there—and other smells as well.”

  Madonna Paleologus’ eyebrows rose. “Excuse me,” she said, moving with dignity towards the guesthouse to make her own inspection. It was a short one, peppered loudly with Greek expletives, some of which Da Vinci recognized: “Jesus,” “Maria,” and “never.”

  Madonna Paleologus emerged, pointing an accusatory finger at Carlo and Salai. “You and you! Remove this bed and mattress!”

  Though they had ignored da Vinci when he made the same request, the two young men were completely cowed by the lay sister’s glare. They dragged the mattress from the guestroom, and then the bed frame. The girls tittered nervously.

  “The mattress is infested,” Madonna Paleologus pronounced. “Burn it.”

  Carlo glanced at Salai, and guffawed. The girl
s’ nervous laughter now became uncontrollable. Da Vinci cleared his throat to suppress an involuntary laugh that bubbled up from somewhere, surprising him. He had not been around so many young people at once in many years. They emanated some kind of energy that was contagious, he decided.

  The lay sister returned to his side. “Madonna, I am concerned about this situation,” he told her. “These young men, amongst all these young women. Should I speak to the priora?”

  “There is no need. I will do so myself. If you will just keep an eye on those young men, we will do the rest.”

  “I will do my best, but it is not always possible. . .” da Vinci began.

  “I realize you have heavy responsibilities, Maestro. It is the talk of the convent. Just do your best.” Dismissing him, Madonna Paleologus returned to where the girls were standing.

  “Come, girls. Your lessons begin shortly. You do not belong here.”

  The girls lowered their heads and trotted away in a herd, like giggling sheep—all except the blonde one, who looked Carlo in the eye without moving, obviously intending to linger.

  “Rosetta!” said Madonna Paleologus, in a commanding tone. Sulkily, the girl followed the others. Arms in her sleeves, Madonna Paleologus pursued them at a stately pace, watching for stragglers with the intensity of a shepherd in wolf country.

  “Come, Carlo and Salai. We have much to do,” said da Vinci.

  “In a moment,” said Salai. Both he and Carlo had their eyes locked on the disappearing girls, watching their swaying hips with appreciation.

  Just then, another nun hurried up to da Vinci. She was slender, with large, liquid brown eyes, heavy brows, a prominent nose, and dark olive skin. She seemed fearful.

  “I am Sister Joanna,” she said, with a Spanish accent. “The priora asked me to speak to you.”

  “I understand you were in the hallway behind the priora’s dining room on the day Maestro Biaggi died, Suora,” da Vinci explained. “I am wondering if you saw anything unusual.”

  “Oh, si!” she replied. Her eyes widened, and she gestured dramatically at something invisible. “I saw the Devil, all dressed in black, his face covered with terrible sores!” She plucked at her own cheeks. “Behind him was God himself, with His great white beard!” Her hands formed the beard. Then her eyes focused on da Vinci, and she frowned. “Or possibly it was you, Signor.”