by C. De Melo
“I fix it,” the little girl cried triumphantly.
Surprised to see the bracelet properly repaired, he embraced his daughter and kissed her forehead. “Yes, you did.”
Gianna appeared in the doorway, breathless with flushed cheeks. “There you are! This clever girl is getting too fast for me.”
Vittorio attempted to hand Allegra over to Gianna, but she clung to her father. “Papa, no!”
Gianna put her hands on her ample hips. “Come along, child, your father has work to do.”
Allegra’s lower lip quivered and tears gathered in her eyes. Seeing this, Vittorio sighed and waved Gianna away.
“You’ll spoil her, Signore Vittorio,” the wise servant muttered.
“Perhaps,” he conceded, setting his daughter down on a stool beside him.
***
In 1553, shortly after her fifth birthday, Allegra suffered a serious bout of fever. Stefania feared she would perish, but the fever broke by the end of the second day. After that harrowing experience, the child was immune to almost every ailment that befell the city, yet that did not stop Stefania from becoming an overprotective mother.
Eleonora gave birth to a girl around the same time, but little Anna did not survive long. Some people whispered that the duchess’s birth canal was ruined; worn away from too much usage. After all, she already walked with a slight limp from damaged hips. Maybe it was time for her body to take a much-needed rest. Eleonora stopped the wagging tongues when she delivered her eleventh child, Pietro, in June 1554. He was a healthy boy who thrived, and the last child she would ever bear in her lifetime.
Chapter 4
The last remaining rival left in Tuscany for Cosimo to conquer was the Republic of Siena. Their refusal to acknowledge Medici power in the region instigated a series of drawn-out battles that came to be known as the Italian wars. The Battle of Marciano in August 1554 marked the end of the fighting. Despite a valiant effort, Siena lost its independence to the Duchy of Florence. It was a humiliating defeat for the proud Sienese. Cosimo added insult to injury by affixing enormous Medici coats of arms throughout the city for all to see.
With all of Tuscany submissively under their rule, Cosimo and Eleonora could concentrate on forging and strengthening political alliances outside of the region. They hosted a party at the Palazzo Pitti in the spring of 1557 to celebrate the betrothal of their firstborn, Maria, to Alfonso II d’Este. The marriage was an attempt to seal a peace treaty between the Este family and Cosimo’s ally, King Phillip of Spain.
Banquet tables groaned beneath the weight of delectable treats as minstrels performed enchanting ballads.
“Do you think Allegra is all right?” Stefania asked for the third time.
Vittorio sighed. “Can’t we enjoy ourselves for one evening without your incessant worrying?”
“Forgive me, husband.”
“Gianna will put her to bed soon, and she’ll have sweet dreams.” He brought her knuckles to his lips. “Now, let’s eat. I’m famished.”
They supped on roasted venison and wild boar stew accompanied by fresh vegetables and cheeses, followed by an array of sugary cakes and pies.
After the lavish meal, Cosimo approached Stefania. At age thirty-seven she was still a striking woman and, despite his devotion to Eleonora, he could not help but admire his former lover’s beauty. “I’m happy to see you and Vittorio here tonight. I hope you’re both enjoying yourselves.”
“The party is wonderful.” Looking at Maria, she added, “Your daughter seems pleased. She’s such a lovely young woman.”
Following her gaze, he said, “How quickly they grow up. I can hardly believe she’s to be married.” He paused. “Tell me, how is my godchild?”
“Allegra is doing well. She’s a clever girl.”
“I can’t remember when I saw her last—or you, for that matter.”
“Vittorio is away on business so often…I rarely go out.”
“You must instruct him to remain in Florence.” She laughed without humor, prompting him to add, “There’s no reason why you can’t attend our gatherings without him. We grew up together, Stefania, you’re practically family. No one would dare speak ill of you for being present in my home without your husband.”
“Thank you, but my daughter takes up most of my time. As you probably know, I’m completely devoted to her.”
“She must get lonely.”
Stefania lowered her eyes. “I wish I could have provided her with many brothers and sisters.”
“God has his reasons, my dear. Be grateful that you have Allegra.”
“We are, Cosimo. She’s a source of constant joy to Vittorio and I.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He paused. “There are several boys and girls from noble households who come to play in the gardens,” he said with a sweeping gesture toward a nearby window.
In the Pitti family’s attempt to outdo the Medici, the windows were designed to be as big as the front door of the Palazzo Medici on Via Larga. Well, at least that was the rumor. Regardless of whether or not this was true, they offered a pleasant view of the Boboli Gardens. Stefania’s gaze fell upon pathways and fountains amid the expanse of greenery.
He continued, “I believe Eleonora is organizing something for the children this week. Why not bring Allegra?”
She hesitated, unsure. “I don’t know…”
“It will be good for her to play with other children.”
Finally, she relented. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
***
The young Medici hosts were charmingly dressed in red and gold, the colors of their family crest. Sections of the Boboli Gardens were decorated with festoons of yellow and white flowers, and the servants had set up a Maypole with multicolored ribbons. An assortment of tiny cakes and sugared fruits were prettily displayed on a nearby table.
Eleonora and a spattering of noblewomen fanned themselves beneath the shade of trees while servants kept a close eye on the children. Allegra dutifully kissed her godmother before two Medici girls, Isabella and Lucrezia, took her by the hand and led her to the Maypole. Stefania politely greeted her impeccably dressed hostess, smiled at the other noble ladies present, then took a seat among them.
Maria de’ Medici, considered an adult after her betrothal, sat with the women. She appeared abnormally pale, coughing frequently into a lace handkerchief. Stefania couldn’t help but wonder if she was contagious. The women indulged in harmless gossip until a liveried boy arrived with a tray of chalices containing diluted white wine.
“It’s delightfully cold,” one of the ladies commented after taking a sip.
“We store the bottles in our grotto,” Eleonora explained as she waved her bejeweled hand toward the garden. Her gaze fell upon Stefania. “Signora Stefania, I’m glad you accepted our invitation. We have not seen our godchild in a long time.”
“My apologies, Your Grace. Thank you for the invitation. Allegra was overjoyed at the prospect of playing with your children.”
Eleonora glanced at the laughing children. “My husband should be here shortly. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you and your daughter.”
The eyes of the other ladies slid in Stefania’s direction as she replied, “It’s always an honor to see His Grace.”
“Signora Stefania and her husband, Signore Vittorio Castagno, grew up in the Mugello alongside the duke,” Eleonora explained for the benefit of the curious women, although the majority of them were already aware of this fact.
Maria leaned forward in her chair. “Was my father a precocious boy, Signora Stefania?”
“Oh yes.”
“Was he a troublesome lad?”
Eleonora frowned. “Maria.”
Stefania smiled. “No more troublesome than any other child, my lady. Your father was exceptionally clever and well-read. It was clear to everyone that he was destined for greatness.”
“You also knew my grandmother.”
Stefania nodded. “We all held Signora Maria Salviati
in the highest esteem. She was considered a moral pillar in the Mugello.”
“Your grandmother was her good friend, isn’t that so?”
“Yes, the two were rather close,” Stefania replied as the memories of her joyful youth flooded her mind.
Eleonora rose, ending the conversation. “I think the children must be thirsty by now. Shall we, ladies?”
The ladies followed the duchess toward servants bearing trays of watered wine mixed with honey. Standing off to the side watching the children was the Medici heir, Francesco, accompanied by his faithful friend and mentor, Bernardo Buontalenti.
Francesco was quiet, awkward, and somewhat reclusive. His interests were as odd as his manner—alchemy, chemistry, astrology, and the occult. Bernardo, who was ten years older than Francesco, was admired for his many talents, which included painting, sculpture, and architecture. Taken under Cosimo’s wing at the age of sixteen after losing his family in a terrible accident, Bernardo quickly became a favorite of the Medici court. He had received instruction from the very best Florentine masters—Bronzino, Michelangelo, and Vasari—and he loved to cook. Due to his passion for fine cuisine, one of Bernardo’s responsibilities at court was to plan sumptuous feasts, which were always highly praised events.
Maria, who had not accompanied the ladies to the banquet tables, sat alone beneath the trees. Seeing this, Francesco and Bernardo went to keep her company. They had the young woman laughing in no time at all.
Cosimo quietly exited the palazzo and surprised his three-year-old son, Pietro, by swooping him up into the air. The little boy squealed in delight.
Allegra greeted her godfather before running off with the other children. The blonde highlights in her hair shone brightly in the sun, creating a golden halo around her head.
“She’s growing up to be a fine young lady. Pretty, too,” Cosimo said, his eyes following the graceful movements of his willowy godchild.
Stefania smiled proudly. “Thank you.”
“Does she ride?”
“No.”
Cosimo met her gaze. “An accomplished lady should know how to properly handle a horse. I employ highly-trained grooms to teach my children. Every morning they ride to San Miniato al Monte and the countryside beyond. Why not have Allegra join them? I have plenty of horses in my stables.”
Allegra could fall off of the horse, break her neck, and die. “I appreciate your generous offer, but...”
The fear that crept into Stefania’s eyes did not go unnoticed by Cosimo. “I know you worry about Allegra—as you should—but your daughter isn’t made of glass. Children are incredibly resilient. I should know, I have many. They fall and scrape their knees, but they get back up and run off as if nothing happened. You can’t hide your daughter from the world forever.”
“You’re right, of course. I only worry about her getting hurt.”
“Have you forgotten how much we enjoyed riding our horses? Why deprive Allegra of something that once brought you such pleasure?”
Stefania recalled the exhilaration of galloping through the lush green hills of the Mugello with Cosimo at her side. They were young and carefree back then, oblivious to danger. The invigorating feel of the wind in her hair as the horse beneath her pounded his hooves against the earth was forever engraved into her memory.
“I miss those days,” she admitted quietly.
They shared a brief, intimate look before he cleared his throat and turned away. “Speak with Vittorio and, if he agrees, Allegra can begin her riding lessons immediately.”
Later that day, Stefania and Allegra described the party to Vittorio in vivid detail.
“Lucrezia called me her god sister,” Allegra announced proudly.
Vittorio chuckled. “I hate to disappoint you, dearest, but there’s no such thing as a god sister.”
“Cosimo offered our daughter riding lessons,” Stefania said. “He told me to speak with you and, if you’re in agreement, she can begin at once.”
Allegra added, “Lucrezia has already picked out a pony for me. She’s gray and white, and her name is Dolcezza because she has a sweet temperament.”
“Isabella and Lucrezia went out of their way to make our daughter feel welcome today,” Stefania explained. “Since Lucrezia and Allegra are close in age, the two of them were inseparable this afternoon.”
“Please say yes, Papa.”
Vittorio nodded. “I think it’s a fine idea.” One is never too young to form valuable alliances.
The lessons commenced the following week. To her parents’ surprise, Allegra’s newfound interest in horses didn’t diminish her passion for goldsmithing. Every afternoon, she sat beside her father and fashioned discarded scraps of precious metals into whimsical shapes.
On a hot August morning, Lucrezia said to Allegra, “I want to tell you something, but you must swear not to repeat my words.”
“I swear.”
“I’m worried about my sister.”
Lucrezia wasn’t prone to hysteria; she faced life with practicality and levelheadedness. For her to be worried, the situation must be serious, indeed. “Maria isn’t getting better, is she?”
“I overheard my parents whispering last night. They said she may have contracted a serious illness. I fear she’s going to die.”
Allegra crossed herself. “Don’t say such a thing.”
Lucrezia crossed herself, too. “Forgive me, but her upcoming marriage is so important…Mother keeps telling us to pray to God for Maria’s swift recovery.” She paused, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “If she dies, I’ll be offered to Alfonso in order to salvage the peace treaty.”
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that.”
“There’s a good possibility that it will, and there’s nothing to be done. Isabella was betrothed to the Duke of Bracciano against her wishes, but what can she do? What can any noblewoman do? My sisters and I have been groomed since birth to be the wives of men chosen by my father. In truth, I don’t want to get married to anyone.”
It was common knowledge that noble daughters were little more than political pawns to be used by ambitious fathers for the gain of money, lands, and military support. The stakes were even higher for the Medici.
Allegra thought for a moment. “You could claim sanctuary in a convent.”
Lucrezia laughed bitterly. “One prison in exchange for another?”
“I’ll continue to pray for your sister’s recovery. Don’t worry, God will answer our prayers.”
“I hope you’re right, dear friend.”
By mid-September, Maria was bedridden. The best physicians were summoned, several cures were prescribed, but her condition worsened daily. The poor young woman was bled, forced to drink crushed pearls, and bathed in hot milk. Despite these measures, she died at the tender age of seventeen on the nineteenth of November.
Maria’s funeral took place in the Basilica of San Lorenzo, where she was laid to rest in a gown the color of lilacs. Cosimo walked down the nave after the service and knelt on the circle of porphyry marble located directly before the high altar. Buried beneath the royal stone was his great ancestor, Cosimo Pater Patriae, whom the Florentines began referring to as Cosimo il Vecchio in order to distinguish between the man who currently ruled the city and his long-dead ancestor.
Crossing himself after uttering a brief prayer, he stood and walked toward his daughter’s coffin. Eleonora and her black-clad ladies followed him at a slight distance like an undulating murder of crows. Heavily armed guards quietly accompanied the Medici retinue.
The church overflowed with mourners who had come to pay their respects, including the Castagno family. Allegra noticed that Lucrezia seemed particularly distraught, and she did her best to comfort her friend. Their attention was diverted by Bernardo, who came to stand beside Lucrezia. She looked up to him as one would an older brother.
“Do you see that man over there?” he asked.
Both young women followed his gaze. A richly-dressed nobleman stood on the far s
ide of the church staring at them.
Lucrezia inquired, “Who is he?”
“Alfonso’s uncle,” Bernardo replied. “He’s here to represent the Este family, as a gesture of respect for Maria.”
“He’s also studying me closely in order to offer an accurate report.”
Allegra commented, “I’m sure your beauty and good manners will be highly praised.” Bernardo snorted derisively and Lucrezia made a face, prompting her to add, “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“You lack deception,” Bernardo observed. “Your naiveté is endearing, Signorina Allegra. You are living proof that there is hope in this world.”
“Forgive me, Signore Bernardo. I don’t understand…”
Lucrezia intervened, “The Este family isn’t concerned with my beauty or my charms.”
Allegra’s brow creased in confusion. “I thought he’s here to make a report on you.”
Lucrezia narrowed her eyes at the man across the room, then said, “He’s been sent here to make certain that I’m not sickly and frail like my sister, Maria. The only report Alfonso wants to hear from his uncle is that I look healthy enough to bear him sons. That man over there is the farmer, you see, and I, the broodmare.”
Chapter 5
In July 1558, Lucrezia wed Alfonso II d’Este. To her relief, she remained in Florence because her husband was off fighting a war in France.
“How does it feel to be a wife?” Allegra inquired a few days after the wedding. They were out riding their horses in the countryside.
Lucrezia shrugged. “My husband departed so soon after the ceremony, I’ve barely had time to adjust to my new role.”
“At least the duke is young and handsome.”
“I can’t deny that,” Lucrezia conceded. “Alfonso is quite good looking.”
“He seemed pleasant toward you during the wedding celebration.”
“Formal would be a better description.”
“Maybe, in time, you two will fall in love.”
Lucrezia studied her friend. “I believe you are a romantic.”
Allegra blushed. It was true; she enjoyed reading stories of courtly love and poetry written by the great troubadours. “Is that a bad thing?”