by C. De Melo
Interestingly, it was common for wealthy Florentine families to commission religious paintings for their private chapels with their own likenesses included in the holy scenes. Family members stood alongside Jesus or their patron saints dressed like royals and dripping in jewels. Sabina wondered if these people were trying to be seen as godly, or if they were attempting to drag God down to their level. Although unsure of the answer, she was certain that Florentine art was magnificent.
Artists, architects, sculptors, writers, philosophers, and musicians thrived under the patronage of guilds and generous commissions from wealthy families. Tommaso mentioned the names of the city’s most prominent families and Sabina committed a few of them to memory: Strozzi, Pazzi, Rucellai, and Tornabuoni. Of these great families, none was more generous in their patronage than the powerful House of Medici.
The day before their wedding, Tommaso and Sabina attended Holy Mass in the church where they would be married.
“This is the Basilica of San Lorenzo, a revered church in the city,” Tommaso stated proudly. “Brunelleschi, who is considered the most talented architect in the city, designed the basilica’s interior.”
“Did the Medici pay for this church?” she inquired, her eyes darting to the Medici coat of arms displayed throughout the church.
“Yes.”
Sabina was again impressed by the wealth and power of Florence’s leading family. “Will I have the honor of meeting them soon?”
“Most certainly.”
After the service, Tommaso led Sabina to the front of the church. On the floor before the high altar was a big circle of porphyry, a rare and expensive Egyptian marble the color of mulberries—a stone normally reserved for emperors. “Lorenzo’s grandfather, Cosimo, was buried beneath the circle upon which we are standing. So beloved is he by the Florentines that they’ve bestowed upon him the Latin title of Pater Patriae, or—”
“Father of the Fatherland,” Sabina supplied.
“Correct,” he beamed. “Cosimo adopted the turtle as his personal emblem during his lifetime, thus alluding to his infinite patience. He was a man who waited for the right moment to strike. The great grandfather of Lorenzo, Giovanni di Bicci, was buried in the sacristy beneath that communion table.” Sabina followed his pointed finger. “His location is also marked by a circular slab of costly porphyry.”
“What about that beautiful porphyry sarcophagus over there?” she asked, indicating the iron grate in the sacristy’s wall.
“That’s the final resting place of Lorenzo’s father, Piero, commonly known as Piero il Gottoso. The Medici are plagued by gout, thus the nickname. Do you see how the sarcophagus rests on four turtles? It’s an homage to Cosimo.”
The precious materials and prestigious locations of the tombs hinted at the Medici family’s enormous pride, but Sabina wisely refrained from voicing such an unkind speculation.
***
The last day of August dawned clear and predictably hot. Tuscany was still in the midst of a drought with no relief in sight. True to her father’s words, Sabina would be married before the month was over. Tomorrow was the first of September and, by then, she would be the legal wife of Tommaso Caravelli. She was pleased that her future husband treated her and her family like royalty. She had even been allowed to bring Mendi, who was now calling out loudly from his wired brass cage near the windowsill. The bird took flight at whim throughout the day, yet always returned in the evening to roost.
Every fine lady in Florence possessed a talented lady’s maid, so Tommaso had procured one for his bride as a wedding gift. A girl by the name of Teresa plaited Sabina’s hair, expertly coiling the braids into two rolls at the top of each ear then tucking the rolls into templers adorned with pearls. She then pinned a length of silk as sheer as mist to the headdress, allowing a measure of the fabric to fall in front of her mistress’s face.
Sabina admired her reflection in the highly polished looking glass. The long-sleeved gown she wore was cut from gold brocade with an intricate pearl design sewn into the front panel of a snug-fitting bodice.
A page eventually knocked on the door, signaling that it was time to go. Tommaso had arranged for a litter to carry his bride the short distance to the church.
Don Antonio began his familiar speech the moment he saw his daughter descend the stairs. “We have long since lost the family fortune—thanks to your grandfather’s gambling—but our name is still one of great fame, going as far back as—”
“—the first fathers of Tuscany,” Sabina interjected with a huff. “I know, Papa. The Rossi family were once the great Guelphs who possessed considerable wealth…I know…but we are not rich and we no longer hold any power, political or otherwise.”
“Show some respect, Sabina,” Cecilia snapped.
Sabina shot Cecilia a withering look before taking her father’s hands into her own. “Don’t worry, Papa. I won’t disrespect our good family name,” she assured in a gentler tone.
Hurt by Sabina’s initial harshness, Don Antonio nodded sadly.
“Forgive me,” Sabina offered before entering the litter.
Cecilia placed her arm around her father’s slumped shoulders. “Come, our carriage awaits.”
As a rule, Tommaso Caravelli avoided ostentatious behavior whenever possible. Unlike some noblemen who flaunted their wealth by strutting around like peacocks in the latest fashions, he preferred understated elegance. While he adhered to this personal code of conduct, he had no qualms bending the rules where Sabina was concerned. It was a popular custom in Florence for veiled brides to ride to the church on a white horse on their wedding day, but that was not good enough for Tommaso. He insisted that his future wife be transported to the basilica in a gilded litter with the Caravelli crest painted on the door.
Family, friends, and curious onlookers gathered to see Tommaso Caravelli get married—again. They stared at the golden litter as it was carried up the stairs of San Lorenzo by two liveried pages, then gaped as Sabina emerged from the velvet-lined interior with all the pomp of a queen arriving at her own coronation. She walked into the church, drawing the eyes of many lustful men and envious maidens. Tommaso stood by the altar looking handsome in a brocade tunic of deep amber, the golden beads sewn into the fabric gleaming in the candlelight.
The moment Sabina stood beside the groom, the priest began the long, monotonous marriage ceremony. Everyone appeared relieved when Tommaso lifted the sheer veil from the bride’s face and kissed her cheek. Invited guests made their way to the Palazzo Caravelli in the blazing heat of the midday sun to partake of the marriage feast.
The lavish meal was served in the spacious main hall, which was airy and cool. The cooks prepared roasted fowl, stag, hare, and swan, each served with various sauces. Fresh breads, aged cheeses, and stewed vegetables accompanied the meats. Honeyed treats of every size and shape mixed with nuts, fruits, or rare spices were available in abundance for those with a sweet tooth. Acrobats and troubadours performed to entertain the many guests as minstrels sang songs of love to honor the newlywed couple.
Sabina sat beside her husband at the high table with a look of sheer amazement on her face. Never in her life had she attended such an extravagant affair!
Tommaso leaned over and whispered, “Are you enjoying yourself, my Tempesta?” She nodded and he smiled in satisfaction. “I did this all for you. I hope you are pleased, Sabina.”
For a brief instant, Tommaso resembled a lovesick young man. Did this mean he could be easily swayed? She smiled at the possibility and said, “I’m very pleased. Thank you.”
Later, after eating and drinking more than she should have, Sabina wandered away from her husband’s side to a staircase located at the far corner of the main hall. Feeling excessively warm, she decided to get away from the revelry and cool off for a bit. Several of the florid-faced guests were already drunk and dancing merrily as she ascended the stairs. At the top was a spacious room with cream-painted walls and a red-tiled floor. There was a big window in the ro
om, its green shutters thrown back to reveal the tiny orange grove in the courtyard below. The wide wooden bench beneath the window was piled high with soft cushions, and it beckoned invitingly.
Sabina sat down and pulled the heavy brocade skirt up past her knees, revealing a set of shapely bare legs. Teresa had tried to convince her to wear stockings for propriety’s sake, but flaunting rules for the sake of comfort was nothing new for Sabina. She kicked off her shoes, relishing the deliciously cold tile beneath her toes. Resting her head against the windowsill, she closed her eyes and allowed the breeze to caress her clammy skin. The lazy hum of bumblebees in the courtyard almost lulled her to sleep. After several minutes, she felt a presence in the room and her eyes snapped open.
It was Marco, dressed in a black tunic and hose as if attending a funeral. “Signora, should you not be with your husband and your guests?” he inquired drily from the doorway.
She sat up straight, quickly slipping her feet into her shoes. “What are you doing here?”
“An old friend can’t offer his congratulations on your wedding day?”
“I know you too well to believe this is your true intention.”
His gaze swept over her bare legs, her cleavage, and finally rested on her full mouth. She let her skirt fall to the floor and adjusted her bodice as he sauntered into the room. “So, how does it feel to be the wife of such a wealthy man, Signora?”
“Stop calling me that!”
“You are now married, are you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m merely giving a married woman the respect she is due.”
He sat beside her on the bench and boldly traced the curve of her breast with his fingertip, compelling her to slap his hand away.
“Marco, I don’t know how you got here—or even why you came—but you must leave right now.” Ignoring her words, he leaned forward in an attempt to kiss her lips and she shoved him. “I’m serious. Go!”
“You know you’ll always be mine,” he whispered.
She stood and walked to the center of the room. “Leave now or I shall be forced to summon my husband’s guards.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he said menacingly.
Tommaso walked into the room and looked from Marco to Sabina. “Some of the guests have been wondering where you went off to, my dear.”
Her face paled. “Forgive me, Signore Tommaso. It was sweltering downstairs…I came up here to cool off.”
“First of all, you must stop calling me Signore Tommaso. I’m your husband now. Secondly, who is this man?”
“Signore—I mean, Tommaso, this is an old family friend,” she replied. “He is Marco, son of Signore Niccolò Alfani.”
The men nodded to each other without saying a word.
Tommaso offered his arm to Sabina. “If you will excuse us, Signore Marco, my wife and I must return to our guests.”
Marco did not move as he silently watched them leave.
“I never want you to be alone with that man again,” Tommaso whispered as they descended the stairs. To drive his point home, he gave her arm a painful squeeze. “Do you understand me?”
She winced. “Yes.”
He released his vice-like grip. “Good. We shall get along fine if you do as I say.”
Obviously, her husband was no lovesick fool, nor would he be easily influenced by feminine wiles.
“Sabina! Come and dance with me,” Cecilia called out when she caught sight of her sister.
Sabina allowed herself to be pulled away from Tommaso and into the throng of dancing guests. The smell of sweet perfume, wine, and perspiration permeated the air, making her feel nauseous.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Cecilia demanded.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw Marco follow you upstairs. Please tell me you haven’t done anything dishonorable on your wedding day.”
“I’m insulted that you would insinuate such a thing. I didn’t even know Marco was here.”
“Well, no one invited him. Two of Signore Tommaso’s guards just escorted him outside. What an embarrassment to our family.”
“An embarrassment not caused by me, I assure you.”
“Don’t be stupid and ruin the wonderful opportunity you’ve been given. You could have married someone poor, like I did.” Cecilia sighed. “If only I’d been blessed with your beauty, I would have fared better in life.”
Sabina was tired of her sister’s constant disparaging comments. “Enough, Cecilia!”
Some of the nearby guests tossed curious glances in their direction, causing Cecilia’s cheeks to redden with shame. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner?”
“How dare you insult me on my wedding day! I’ve endured enough of your reproaches. Papa’s too, for that matter.”
Cecilia raised an eyebrow. “Now that you’ve married a man with prestige and wealth, you think you’re better than me.”
“That’s not what I think at all—Cecilia, wait,” Sabina protested, but her sister was already walking away.
First her father, then Tommaso, and now her sister. How many more people would she offend today?
Tommaso came to stand beside his wife. “Is anything amiss?”
“Not at all.”
He knew harsh words were exchanged between the two sisters, and he was willing to bet they had to do with Marco Alfani. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
“Since when does a husband ask permission of his wife?”
“You have much to learn, my dear,” he said as he slipped a hand around her slim waist.
Sabina was pleasantly surprised to learn that Tommaso was not only surefooted, but also physically fit for a man of his age.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Tommaso inquired.
“Why do you ask?”
“Your face is flushed.”
“Perhaps it was the wine,” she lied.
“Perhaps,” he repeated. “Tell me, is Marco your lover?”
“Marco?”
“Yes, Marco, the man whom you were alone with upstairs during our wedding celebration. Do not bother lying to me, Sabina, I’ll know when you do.”
“How will you know if I lie?”
“Your lips lie, but your eyes do not. I have dealt with enough people in my life to know when someone is being dishonest, especially women.”
She looked away before admitting, “Yes, he was my lover.”
“And now?” he demanded, taking hold of her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Now I’m married and have no lovers.”
“Did you invite him here today?”
“No. I didn’t know he was here, I swear.”
“Are you still in love with him?”
Sabina hesitated. It would be improper either way she responded. If she said “yes,” it would threaten her marriage, but if she said “no,” she would seem like a whore. She decided to be honest. “I was never in love with him.”
“You’re telling me the truth.”
She nodded. “I was a stupid girl.”
He found her honesty refreshing. Of all the women he had known, and he had known many, Sabina Rossi was the most peculiar. She was strong and rebellious but possessed a childlike quality that was almost endearing.
“Good,” he said, pulling her against him. “I prefer a stupid girl over a woman who is in love with another man.”
Don Antonio tapped Tommaso on his shoulder. “May I have a dance with my daughter on her wedding day?”
Tommaso handed his wife to his father-in-law. Don Antonio beamed with pride. “Signore Tommaso is a fine man, Sabina. I’m certain he will make your life very comfortable and offer you many niceties that I cannot.”
“You’ve given me everything I need, Papa.”
“Yes, but you deserve more and I know you want more. You are nothing like your sister, Cecilia, who was content to marry a simple man and now basks in motherhood. Such a dull existence would kill your spirit. Life would have bee
n easier had you been born male, but Fate can be cruel.” He paused. “I wouldn’t have married you to Tommaso if I didn’t think he could provide you with what you need in life.”
“What is it that I need?”
“Excitement.”
She could not deny it. “Thank you, Papa,” she said, kissing his cheek.
Don Antonio narrowed his eyes. “You may think me a simple old man but pay heed to the counsel I’m about to give you. Do not let your heart or your headstrong ways lead you astray.”
Sabina rolled her eyes in anticipation of another onslaught of admonitions when her father took both of her hands firmly in his own and pulled her forward. His face was serious, his eyes fearful.
She frowned. “Papa?”
“Listen carefully to what I’m about to say, my child. Be wary now that you are a member of Florentine society. You should know who your friends are but, more importantly, know your enemies. Watch that tongue of yours; be mindful of what you say and to whom you say it. Control your temper. Never reveal anything you do not want repeated—speak little and listen twofold.” Don Antonio cast a furtive glance over his shoulder and whispered, “And for God’s sake, do not concoct any of your silly potions! Being accused of witchcraft is no trivial matter here in Florence. Signore Tommaso deals with important and influential people, and you would not want to jeopardize your husband’s position in society.”
Don Antonio’s wise words hit Sabina with great impact. As she scanned the room, she noticed several sets of eyes watching her carefully. For the first time since her arrival in Florence, she felt insecure of her new role. She had been afforded a good education and learned basic court manners but never had the opportunity to actually mingle in high society until now.
“Papa, take me home. I don’t want to stay here in Florence,” she said, gripping her father’s hands tightly.
Don Antonio saw the panic in his daughter’s eyes and found her vulnerability disconcerting, especially since it was something she rarely, if ever, displayed. “Now, now, Sabina,” he said soothingly. “There’s no need for you to fear. You are a lovely young woman and you know how to behave properly. You’ll be fine as long as you heed my counsel.”