Chapter 44—The Mona Lisa
The next day
Leonardo da Vinci was sitting with Nicola and Pia on a stone bench in the convent grape arbor, whose orderly vines were just beginning to show new leaves. Da Vinci had set up an easel to display the painting Nicola had called 'Mona Lisa', as he had promised. Though he knew it was a fine painting, he was still nervous about their reactions.
“Maestro da Vinci, this is amazing!” exclaimed Nicola. “I have never seen anything like it. She is so real. Her eyes, her dress. . .even the fields and mountains in the background. The frescoes in our church and even the ones in the ancient ruin across the Via Appia are like children's drawings, compared to this. They are–flat. This is—you can see to the end of the world!”
“Gràzie,” da Vinci replied. “That is called 'perspective,' and it is new. Look here. In my paintings, I usually place a hint of the identity of the subject. You see it here, in the braid around the top of her dress: the emblem of the Visconti-Sforza family which she wears, as mother to its rightful Duke.”
“You have captured sadness in her smile. She is dressed in mourning, si? What has made her sad?”
“First she lost her mother, then her husband. Her marriage was not happy. Her son was her great hope. Until the French took him away, she truly believed that eventually, he would assume the position of the Duke of Milan.”
He smiled to hide his own sadness. “She was past the period of deep mourning for her husband when I painted this, but continued to wear dark colors and no jewels or finery. She had not yet lost her son, but she worried about him constantly. It was a difficult thing, to capture the hint of sadness in her eyes and in her smile. I think it gives depth to the portrait. I am glad you appreciate it,” replied da Vinci.
“I have seen many portraits,” said Pia. “The Orsini palazzo is full of them. But most of them are very flat and wooden. I agree, this one is more real.”
Pia moved closer, peering at the face. “She looks to me like she has a secret.”
“She does. I am glad you see it.”
“And do you know the secret?” she teased.
“If I did, would it be a secret?”
Pia and da Vinci smiled at each other. “Perhaps you shared the secret?” Pia continued, raising an eyebrow.
“Perhaps we did,” da Vinci responded, a hint of flirtation in his voice. “Then again, perhaps not.”
“But Maestro--why doesn't she have eyebrows?” asked Nicola.
He shrugged. “It was the fashion.”
“Thin eyebrows are the fashion,” said Pia “not no eyebrows at all! She made the mistake of shaving her eyebrows, obviously,” Pia continued in disapproval. “I pluck mine, to achieve the proper look.. But see, Nicola, she wears no cosmetics at all. Being in mourning, I am sure she did not think it appropriate to paint her eyebrows back on. You did very well to capture the natural color of her skin, Maestro.”
Here Caterina joined them. “Dio Mio,” she exclaimed, “It is Isabella d’Aragona, real as life! What a good likeness, Leonardo! In Milan everyone said your Last Supper was the greatest painting ever made. I told them, that I grew up seeing Botticelli and Fra Angelico in Florence—and you were better. Here, though, you have surpassed even yourself. This is not an imagined face but a real one, and the best likeness I have ever seen. You have great skill.”
She stooped to examine the painting from only a few inches away. “But what is this? Have you painted her wearing a new mother’s robe? But surely Francesco was no longer a baby when this was made. And why so faint? You can hardly see it.”
“It is an allusion to her status as mother of the rightful Duke,” da Vinci admitted, once again regretting Caterina’s sharp eye for detail. “This was something she insisted on. However, it was a dangerous statement to make. So. . .”
“So you were right to make it almost invisible,” Caterina agreed. “No wonder you brought this painting with you. If Il Moro had ever seen this. . . .”
“I would have been in peril of my life. Fortunately, Il Moro was not as minute an observer as you are,” he continued quietly. “He never saw this painting, but he wouldn’t have given it more than a moment’s glance, even if he had.” He began repacking it in the box he had built for it.
“Where is she now, Leonardo?” Caterina asked.
“She is Duchess of Bari, in the far south, on the Adriatic,” he replied. “Far enough away from Naples to be safe, fortunately.”
“Have you thought of visiting her?”
Leonardo looked at her carefully, trying to remain expressionless. “I would think of it if she invited me. But she never has.”
* * *
“No wonder Duchess Isabella refused the painting!” whispered Pia to Nicola as they strolled to the opposite end of the garden. “What lady would want a picture of herself without eyebrows and without cosmetics? Do you see the shadows under her eyes and around her mouth? What woman would want to see herself, pictured like that?”
“I think it is a wonderful painting,” said Nicola, who, for the first time in years, felt comfortable disagreeing with her friend. “It shows her feelings.”
“Oh, Nicola, a lady is not supposed to show her feelings.”
“What? You show yours.”
“Only to you and Antonio. Otherwise, I have learned to hold them in. If I don't there is gossip and my mother-in-law hears of it. I swear, 'tis worse than being with the nuns. If I didn't love my husband, I'd wish I were a widow. They are the only ones with any freedom.”
Hearing Pia complain about her life outside the convent surprised Nicola. It was all Pia had ever wanted, but it hadn't made her happy. But then, Pia had always liked to complain. She herself was more like Caterina, she reflected. They both had learned to make the best of their situations. If the world outside the convent offered no more freedom to women than the world inside San Sisto's walls, perhaps she should take vows and remain in the only home she had ever known.
As Nicola and Pia continued their stroll in the garden, Carlo Biaggi appeared in front of them. Putting his hands on his hips, he blocked their path, a smile on his face.
“You have been buying new clothes,” Pia teased him.
He held out his arms to look at the ornate sleeves of his deep green tunic with an air of puzzlement, as if he didn't recognize them. He had new hosen, too; they fit his shapely young legs like a second skin.
“Do you like my tunic?” he smiled, looking at Nicola with such intensity that she blushed, and moved closer to Pia.
Pia elbowed Nicola. “Well?”
“Do I like it? No.”
Carlo laughed. “Too bad,” he responded. He looked them both up and down, then walked away.
“Nicola, how could you say that! Did you see how he looked at you? You have a suitor, finally, and you treat him like that? You will never get a husband that way.” Pia shook her head in disapproval.
“My zia says she will find me a better husband than Carlo. She says he is not a good person. I would rather be a nun, than married to him.” Nicola responded. She had not told Pia about Carlo's kiss, or about Catherine's suspicion that Carlo may have poisoned his father by mistake.
“Really? Well, she would know. Too bad he is so handsome, if he is not a good person. What about Maestro Zoroastro or Maestro da Vinci? They both admire you. Maestro da Vinci is fascinated with your ankles. You should see the way he looks at you when you walk away from him.”
Nicola tugged at her dress in consternation. “I told Caterina this camorra was too short.”
“Too bad you have to wear mourning, too. The last thing you need is more dark clothes.” Pia herself was in sky blue, with yellow veil and sleeves. “You are making conquests despite yourself, though. Go ahead and show off your ankles and feet--they are very pretty.”
“Pia, I don't want to. . . Maestro da Vinci could be my grandfather!” Nicola protested, once again pulling down on her dress to make it appear long as possible. The thought of da Vinci ogling her a
nkles was very upsetting.
“A young husband is certainly better,” Pia agreed. “I will ask your zia who she has in mind for you. I could help her, if she is going to give you a proper dowry.”
“I certainly won't marry anyone I don't like. Zia Caterina agrees: convent life is preferable to an unhappy marriage.”
Nicola stopped and looked at her friend. “Pia, I need to know something. Do you enjoy. . . how much do you enjoy. . .”
“Oh, Nicola, you have no idea! I miss it so much! Marriage can be difficult, but the marriage bed--well, there is no pleasure to rival it, that I know of, anyway. Promise me you will not die a virgin, even if you stay in this convent forever!”
Nicola stared at her friend. “Pia, what are you suggesting?”
Pia smiled impishly, then gestured with her head. Leonardo da Vinci was approaching them, one of his sketchbooks in hand.
“Where did your zia go, Nicola? “he asked. “I want to show you both another drawing. On the night we arrived, I was the first in the corridor that leads to Priora Picchi's dining room, and I saw a nun at the end of the hall. Her back was to me.There was something odd about her. I kept finding myself thinking about her, so finally, I drew her. Without a face, I’m not sure it’s any help. Still. . . .”
Nicola looked down at the drawing. While the face was not visible, she recognized the torso. “Dio Mio! Caterina was right! Come with me, Maestro--we must find her!”
Chapter 45—The Trap
The next day
Rudolfo Giamatti knelt for one last time at the grave of Sister Annaluisa, pulling his cloak protectively around him against the morning chill. Now that Leonardo da Vinci 's hand-held cannon had failed, Rudolfo had little excuse to return to San Sisto. This might be the last time he would see the modest wood cross bearing Annaluisa's name. How long would it be before her bones joined those in the Death House behind him, making way for the next generation of dead? He hated the thought of returning in the distant future, to find another name on this grave.
Winter rains had greened the neatly-trimmed grass in this small, walled space, haphazardly dotted with plain wooden crosses. It was a good place to pray. Over the years, he had said countless prayers for Annaluisa. God listened, he knew, whether he was at her graveside or not. Still, there was some comfort in being close to her--or close to what was left of her, anyway. The pain had lessened as time passed. Now, he felt almost peaceful, though he still carried tremendous guilt. He had purchased an indulgence for both of them. He wished he had more faith in it.
Suddenly, he felt a ring of pain around his neck. Jumping to his feet, he threw himself backwards, on top of his assailant, who grunted in surprise, loosening the garrote enough for him to get his fingers underneath it. Catching a breath, he rolled back and forth-- but his attacker rolled under him, tightening the garrote with every movement. He was choking for breath. His vision was fading; his own fingers, caught in the garrote, were choking him.
“Roll over, Rudolfo, so we can get her!” a voice called. He did his best. Kicks—someone was kicking the body on his back, hard. The garrote loosened, then tightened it viciously.
“Move, Caterina!” said a voice. Crack! Not his bone, Dio Gràzie. The garrote loosened. Rudolfo lay panting, sweating and dizzy, while others hauled his attacker to her feet.
Sister Bernina, her face contorted with hatred and pain, struggled in the firm grip of Carlo and Leonardo da Vinci. She threw herself towards Rudolfo; spat at him.
Leonardo da Vinci now spoke. “Bernina Farnese, for what you have just done, you will die. However, if you make full confession of your sins, you may avoid torture and stand some chance of saving your soul. I accuse you of the deaths of Annaluisa Farnese, Gerolama Borgia, and Ugo Biaggi. What say you?”
Bernina still struggled. “It was her own fault! She disgraced the family and the convent, fornicating with that low-born. . .” she lurched again at Rudolfo.
“And what of poor Sister Gerolama? She was no fornicator! Whose fault was her death?” asked Sister Beatrice indignantly.
“Her father made a whore of my sister! I couldn’t send him to Hell, so I sent Gerolama to Heaven. He will get to Hell on his own!” shouted Bernina.
Caterina grabbed Bernina by her unhurt arm and shook her. “What about my husband? How stupid could you be, to think Lord Valentino would drink untasted wine!”
Again, Bernina launched herself towards Rudolfo. “I poisoned only the cup at the head of the table, and took yours away! Your husband's death was God's will, not mine.” Bernina’s voice was suddenly quieter as she visibly lost energy at the thought of the one death that she regretted. With two devils at the table, she had managed to poison an innocent. She stopped struggling and lapsed into gasping, choking sobs.
“She has admitted everything! You all heard! My task is finished!” exulted da Vinci, as he and Carlo finished tying the murderer. “I will write to Lord Valentino from . . .from where I am going,” he added over his shoulder. “Salai! Zoroastro!” he called, hurrying away.
“I am sorry I had to injure your arm, Bernina,” said Sister Beatrice, who had laid aside the stout walking stick she used for that purpose, and picked up her medical bag to attend to Rudolfo.
Rudolfo, in the meantime, had doffed his heavy gloves and was unwinding a makeshift leather collar from around his neck. He handed it to Sister Beatrice. “Look at the damage, Suora. Who would have thought a cheese cutter could harm this heavy leather?”
“I am sorry it did not fully protect you, Maestro.” said Sister Beatrice, who began putting salve on his neck.
“We planned well. It undoubtedly saved me.”
They heard horses, then Leonardo da Vinci’s voice from the other side of the graveyard wall. “Tell Lord Valentino that I am returning to life as a painter,” da Vinci shouted. “Not where I am going--you do not know where I am going, because I will not tell you! But, please do not hurry to tell Lord Valentino anything. I want to put as much distance between myself and Rome as possible, before he finds something else for me to do. Addiò!”
“Addiò!” called Nicola, who ran out the Via Appia gate to wave good-bye.
Salai remained behind a moment, waving regretfully at Nicola, then galloped away.
* * *
Later, after Sister Bernina was locked in a storeroom, Carlo asked Caterina to explain once again how she knew that Sister Bernina was the killer.
“I didn't, at first. But I knew that we had to start asking different questions. The first I explored with Nicola was whether all three deaths could be linked: Sister Annaluisa's, Sister Gerolama's, and my husband's. Our best chance of catching the killer, it seemed to me, was if the three were linked. Nicola and I both thought they were likely to be linked,” Caterina replied.
Here she paused. “Two nuns murdered, as soon as they left the convent? Surely not a coincidence. I did not believe Sister Annaluisa was killed for her purse. No one expects nuns to carry money. I was not surprised her purse was gone, of course. The pope’s soldiers would have stolen it, if she still had one when they found her. But she was not murdered by a robber—of that, I felt certain.”
Caterina smiled. “I discussed this with Nicola, who had already seen a pattern. The first killings were planned in a way that would avoid bringing disrepute to San Sisto. Both happened when the victims left the convent--something that happened rarely, but proved fatal when it did. To Nicola, this suggested that the killer had to be an insider who cared for San Sisto's reputation--meaning, it was likely one of the nuns. One of the loyal nuns, who planned and waited until she had an opportunity that would not cast suspicion on anyone in San Sisto.”
“The third killing had to take place in the convent, though,” Nicola interrupted, “because it was the only place the killer had access to her victim. Nuns have free access to other nuns, but not to merchants and lords.”
Here, Caterina paused, and looked at her daughter. “Nicola and I spent hours in discussion over this. Nicola felt guilty that
she suspected the nuns, but of course she was right. By assuming the three murders were connected, we were able to greatly narrow the number of suspects. Nicola maintained--and I finally agreed--that none of the obvious suspects in the Borgia killings had any reason to kill Sister Annaluisa. Some of them had the means--access to poison and to the world outside the convent--but not the motive.”
Now Nicola took up the story. “So we set aside the question of motive, and spent more time focusing on who had the means to kill all three. Caterina asked me who within the convent had access to poison, and in fact, to sophisticated poison, containing arsenico. It turned out there was poison in the convent—the cache in the guesthouse, Pia’s cosmetics and Sister Elisabetta's paint--but who knew about it? Very few could have. But Bernina could easily have purchased poison, because of her position as procuratrice. Most of the other nuns would have had to employ servants or family members to obtain poison, or leave the convent unaccompanied to make a questionable purchase. Such behavior was possible, but risky. And Bernina was also one of the few nuns with easy access to the cache of poison in the guesthouse.”
Caterina nodded. “I then asked Nicola which nuns left the convent frequently enough that it was unremarkable, and which of those were physically strong. I did this because Annaluisa's body was discovered miles away, and because her killer had to be strong to overcome and strangle a young woman. Several names came up here, with Sister Bernina's among them. She had access to the convent wagon and was strong as a man from years of loading and unloading supplies.”
“We went over and over the lists of suspects that Sister Beatrice and Nicola had put together. Sister Bernina's name was on their first list, but not on the later ones Nicola showed me. Nicola explained that Lucrezia Borgia herself took the Farnese family off the initial list of those who hated the Borgia family.”
Caterina turned to Nicola. “You were too young to disagree with Madonna Lucrezia, Nicola, but I am not. I disagreed with her reasoning. Nuns value respectability. Madonna Lucrezia obviously does not, or she would not believe that Giulia Farnese's adultery with the pope was acceptable to the Farnese family simply because it earned them favors. Annaluisa was a Farnese and Bernina was a Farnese. Annaluisa had disgraced the Farnese family and the Borgias also disgraced them. And Bernina was a Gaetani, on her mother’s side. Pope Alexander supposedly assassinated the head of the family, so there is ample ground for a blood feud there.
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