Across the walls and ceiling of the room, Maria Innocentia had drawn figures in chalk. Across the lowest levels, men and women danced and frolicked in fields of wheat and sunflowers. The nun had surprising skill at drawing; although the chalk figures were comparatively simple, the anatomy was precise and detailed. The figures were sensuous. A male figure bent a nude female back over his own arm, preparing to place a kiss on her throat. Another male reached out for a woman’s long tresses as she ran from him, laughing. Above these scenes, at eye level, kings and dukes sat on their thrones. Around them soldiers made war, gouging out each other’s eyes and intestines with military forks and swords. Above these kings and soldiers flew a host of angels with their gossamer wings and beautiful features. Yet if one looked closely one saw that the angels were mockeries. Each had an unholy imperfection; a cloven hoof, crosses instead of circles for pupils, fanged teeth. Above them still, across much of the breadth of the ceiling was drawn a great gaping maw with a dozen rows of sharp, inward facing teeth. A host of dead souls were drawn being sucked into this maw, clawing and screaming for their very survival, but ultimately swallowed into the dark oblivion at the center.
“Oh, dearest God,” Siobhan whispered.
“Does it make you think of anything?” Diana asked, staring at the images.
“It makes me think the woman must certainly have been mad.”
Diana shook her head. “It’s the inverse of the inferno painted inside the duomo at Saint Zenobius. There, the wicked are tortured in Hell around the base of the dome, but higher up the righteous enjoy the company of the saints until at last there is Christ upon his throne. Here, the contrary. The living enjoy the pleasures of life, disturbed only by the wicked designs of their worldly masters. Up higher the angels promise salvation but, in truth, they are devils and what awaits us is not heaven but oblivion.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Siobhan said simply, “Well, I hope she’s wrong about that part at least.”
Diana glanced around the rest of the room, but there clearly was no more. She had hoped to find a hidden manifesto with a clear explanation for Maria Innocentia’s accusations about her mother’s death. There was nothing though—only, indeed, the pain of a disturbed woman who had ultimately known too much about the evils of men.
Diana stepped back out into the hall. She glanced at Sister Ophelia. “Thank you for letting me see how she lived. I would like to see that she is offered a proper burial stone. I will make arrangements for payment.”
Sister Ophelia dropped her eyes and bowed. “Of course. I am sure she would be touched by your generosity.”
With a look to Siobhan, Diana turned back to the stone stairs and found her own way out. Outside the first languid flakes of a late winter snowstorm were making their appearance, lazily drifting down from the sky above.
Diana made her way back over to the anchoress’ cell. Francesca opened the little shutters wide when she saw that Diana had returned.
“Diana,” she said, softly, “I didn’t mean to offend you with my prophesy. You didn’t ask for my intervention. I should not have forced it on you.” She looked down at her own hands, which quivered slightly.
Diana remained silent for a moment, regarding the other woman. Even through the veil, Diana could see that Francesca was beautiful, she was sweet in demeanor, she was sincere. She would have made an excellent wife and mother. At last Diana asked, “Are you happy here?”
Francesca’s eyes lit up. “Oh yes! I am free of the temptations of this world and through my little window—” She pointed back into her cell at the other transom that looked in on the chapel. “—I can see the image of the Virgin, and pray for her intercession on behalf of my immortal soul. There’s nothing else that I could want.”
Diana thought about that for a moment. She pulled her own dress tight around her, noticing the winter air that seemed to be sweeping in on them. “Don’t you feel the cold?” she asked at last, not knowing what else to say.
Francesca smiled broadly and shivered. “Oh yes, I’m freezing.”
Diana took Francesca’s hand and squeezed it briefly, then she turned back, and began the long walk down the arched path.
Siobhan walked beside her. “Are you all right, lady?”
Outside the arched walkway, the indolent flakes of snow came down in greater numbers like ash from a volcanic burst. They were beautiful against the backdrop of the bare cypress trees. The earth seemed so naked of life, and still resplendent in its severity. Diana looked up at the arched roof. She felt tears in her eyes, stinging them. “I feel so sad” was all she could say. “I’m not even sure why.”
She felt Siobhan’s arm around her. “You’ve just lost your mother. It will take time before you’re right again. Come, we’ve had enough adventures for today. It will be dark soon and your father will be missing us. Let us get home and have some hot food. Things will seem better then.”
A wave of exhaustion seemed to overtake Diana. They had so long to walk still. Diana could only nod and let Siobhan lead her back into the city. She longed for hot food and sleep and for things to somehow be very, very different than they were.
Chapter Five
The Prince
By the time they made it back into the city proper, a dusting of snow covered the roads and the roofs. The flakes came down faster, steadier. The sky turned from gray to black, the city punctuating the dark only with the light of candles, lamps, and the glow of fireplaces through paned glass. Diana felt exhausted; her energy drained, her thoughts fuzzy. She wanted nothing more than to settle in back at home, perhaps have a bit of food before getting under the covers and letting sleep overtake her. Her father might inquire where she’d been all day, but he’d have to wait for answers. She didn’t want to talk to him. He wouldn’t approve. He might even forbid her from continuing down her path, and she’d ignore him of course. What remained between them would crack and what would she do then?
Diana stumbled back inside the Savrano family palazzo. Siobhan took her coat. Lamp light flickered. The smell of meat beckoned to her empty stomach.
Before she could relax, an old family slave, a Byzantine woman named Agathi, approached. “Lady Savrano,” she said softly, eyes averted, “a caller has come for you. He insisted on waiting until you returned.”
Bewildered, she followed Agathi into the study where a young man lingered. He hovered near the flickering fireplace, examining one of her father’s books. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, slender, wiry with thin black hair. His face was narrow, his nose like a bird’s beak, his eyes cool and intelligent. He might have been handsome in a way had his manner communicated a modicum of warmth.
“I present Lady Savrano,” Agathi intoned.
Diana blinked. “Agathi, will you see that we are brought some wine and dinner?”
“Of course, lady,” the old woman agreed before shuffling off.
The visitor put the book down and took a step toward her, regarding her with his narrow eyes. “Lady Savrano, I did not mean to inconvenience you with the need for food and wine.”
In the study, a little table sat to one side for reading and note taking. Diana’s legs wobbled and so she took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs. “I’m famished, so it’s no bother.”
The stranger sat across from her without waiting to be invited. “I am grateful for your hospitality. I should introduce myself. I am Niccolo Machiavelli. I work for the Republic of Firenze.”
Diana wrinkled her nose. “You should speak with my father then. If he were to see you dining with me in such an intimate setting as this, he would have his sword at your throat.”
Niccolo sat back in his chair, increasing the distance between them. “I meant no impropriety. It is you with whom I have come to speak, however. As for your father, I think that you will find him late coming home this evening. His business experienced an unexpected inspection.” His eyes seemed to twinkle in the light from the fireplace.
“Is that so?” Diana regarde
d the man with a critical eye. In the silence, Agathi returned with a bottle of wine, glasses, and plate of stew for each of them. It took Agathi two trips in quick succession and Diana remained silent until the slave woman left them for good. “Are you here about my mother then?”
“More or less. Specifically I am concerned with the death of the nun called Maria Innocentia outside of Saint Zenobius Basilica, although I have heard it said that there might be some relation to your mother’s death.”
“I understood the nun’s death is a church matter.”
“She might have fallen from church property, but she fell onto the streets of Firenze.”
Niccolo might be an unreadable wall, but she didn’t need terrible insight into his mind to remain skeptical the Republic of Firenze would be eager to grasp a single murder out of the jurisdiction of the church. She considered him silently.
He helped himself to the stew. “Mmm, this is good.” He ate carefully, his manners impeccable. Sipping at the wine, he put down his spoon. “Cardinal Lajolo has officially declared the nun’s death to be an accident. A merciful gesture as her fall would, on first glance, appear more consistent with suicide.”
Diana felt the early tendrils of a headache approaching. She got them when she felt stressed, particularly when she was calming down from a bad moment. There were times when they drove her to darken her room, lest the sun itself drive blades of agony through her skull. She hoped this wouldn’t be one of those particularly bad ones. She breathed deeply, which sometimes helped, and continued eating. She decided not to speak yet. He’d asked her no questions, and protesting the nun’s murder hadn’t gotten her far the previous night.
Niccolo was quiet for a moment, spooning more of the stew into his mouth and chewing with deliberation. They sat in silence. At last he said, “There are some witnesses who say you claimed the nun was murdered.”
Diana felt a lurch in her chest as she recalled the memory. How long would it be before that image was pushed to the recesses of her mind? “I saw her pushed from the cupola. Most people seem to feel that I experienced a fanciful vision brought on by grief at my mother’s death.”
“Your reputation in the city is that of a young woman who sometimes violates the laws against vanity as well as the social norms regarding the conduct of a respectable lady.”
Diana felt her cheeks burn. “I permit myself to be seen and heard is what you mean.” Even as she spoke, she felt embarrassed she allowed herself to be goaded.
Niccolo nodded once. “Nonetheless, in most circles your name is spoken with respect. No one suggests that you are given to flights of fancy or visions.”
Diana regarded Niccolo warily. “You’re saying you believe me then.”
Niccolo waved his spoon slightly in the air as he spoke. “It’s not in my portfolio to examine suicides or accidents.”
Diana thought about that for a moment. “I didn’t get a good look at the person who pushed her. He was dressed in a dark robe that obscured his face.”
“Did you see anything in the nun’s manner that would suggest she knew her attacker?”
“She held a crucifix up to him as if he were a monster. Certainly in the robe he looked like a demon or a ghost. I don’t believe he was either.”
Niccolo raised an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?”
“I’ve never seen a ghost or a demon. I’ve seen plenty of men who have committed murder. I’ve been at balls with some, dined with others.”
Niccolo’s pupils widened at that and he gave her a smile. “Well spoken.” He tapped the edge of his spoon with one fingernail. “I assure you I’ve committed no murders, government sanctioned or otherwise.” He leaned in, closer to her. “Your mother though…the sister told you she was murdered, didn’t she?”
His mentioning it out loud brought moisture to her eyes. She averted her eyes so he wouldn’t see it. It pained her to show him weakness. “Yes, that is what she said.”
“Do you know any reason why anyone would want your mother dead?”
“No,” she said and met his gaze, “I can’t imagine why anyone would. She said a man named Giuseppe Mancini di Milano might have done it. She led me to believe he would have done it for hire. I don’t know why anyone would hire him to do so.”
Niccolo nodded, spooning more stew as if this were an ordinary dinner conversation. “So, it is reasonable to assume if she knew about this Mancini, he might have known about her and killed her to keep her quiet. Too late though.” He pointed at her with the spoon.
All this talk about her mother as a victim of assassination…it was just so unreal. She could bear it when she kept it in her mind as an investigation, as a puzzle to be solved. When she found herself thinking about her mother, the person who had comforted her when she’d been down, intervened on her behalf with her father, who’d given her unconditional love, it all just seemed so surreal.
“I am sorry about your mother,” Niccolo said softly. Diana felt like she snapped out of a trance. She blinked her eyes a few times to bring herself back around. “Especially if she were murdered,” Niccolo said. “It must be difficult.”
She nibbled at her bottom lip. “Yes, it is.”
“I’m going to try to help you.”
“Why?” She shook her head. “Why should I trust you? You work for Savonarola.”
His pupils narrowed at that. She’d hit an unexpected nerve. Although his expression never changed, she had enough intuition to gauge he cared not at all for the Mad Friar who ruled Firenze. “You’re right,” he told her, never breaking his gaze. “You’ve got no good reason to trust me. It’s a good impulse to be suspicious of everyone.”
“I hope one day I won’t have to be.”
“There is wisdom and there is trust. You’ll find you’ll have to pick one.”
She stared at him for a moment. “I am not sure I would like to live in the world you seem to inhabit, Signore Machiavelli.”
“There is only one world. We may not love it, but we must endure it.” His eyes dropped. “Please, call me Niccolo.”
“Niccolo,” she repeated softly.
He gazed back up at her. “I’ve heard it said that you have an interest in studying medicine at Salerno.”
She felt heat rising in her cheeks once more. “Is there anything that you don’t know about me, Niccolo?”
He fell silent for a moment, looking away. His voice was soft as he answered, “I’m only beginning to learn about you.” His eyes met hers again. “Does your father approve of your goal?”
She didn’t look away, answering simply, “No.”
He broke eye contact, silent. She could tell his eyes were on her hair, on her neck. She was used to men looking at her, appraising her as an object of their lust. It gave her pleasure to know she had such power over men, while at the same time her respect for such men inevitably diminished. This was different somehow. His appraisal lacked the lust to which she was accustomed, replaced by something more refined, more respectful. He looked at her like he might a fine painting or classical sculpture. He regarded her with respect and she found she liked his eyes on her in this way.
Her mother though…it was inappropriate for her to have such thoughts at this time. “You should go,” she whispered.
His eyes locked on her for a moment, then he stood. “I’ll be in touch with you as soon as I learn anything.” He moved to let himself out, and then twisted to half face her. “It has been my honor to meet you, Lady Savrano.”
She nodded, remained silent.
He turned and left.
****
Blinding lights pulled Diana from sleep like a baby from the womb. She sat upright in bed startled and alarmed. Tendrils of rapidly fading dreams escaped her mental grasp. She blinked and looked around.
Siobhan tied back one of the heavy curtains. Sunlight poured into Diana’s bedroom. Diana fell back against her pillows, hands rubbing her eyes. How dare a servant awaken her when she was not prepared! Grumpily, she mumbled, “Your se
rvices in this household are no longer required.”
“Begging your pardon, Lady,” Siobhan chimed in a tone that suggested she didn’t take Diana’s comment the least bit seriously. “I thought it best to wake you if you were still intent on investigating the nature of your mother’s death. Your father has already left to check on his businesses.”
A long yawn stretched across Diana’s face. At least her headache had vanished. As Siobhan went along tying back the rest of the curtains, Diana managed to roll lazily out of bed. “What is the time?”
“Nearly midday, lady,” Siobhan answered without the slightest hint of reproach.
Diana stood and walked to the window. The city outside, most of which stretched below her window, was dusted with a fine layer of white. Diana’s pride in her city swelled a bit at the view. The world seemed so beautiful in a cold and lifeless way. In a different year, she might have been tempted to go outside and enjoy the snowfall. There would be little enjoyment today.
Siobhan helped her get out of her nightclothes and attend to her morning hygiene. For clothing, Diana did her best to learn the lessons of the last two days. She selected a reasonably sturdy woolen dress to wear as well as a good pair of hunting boots. This was the best she could procure as an athletics outfit. At least the dress would be less inclined to bunch up around her feet than her previous choices. Siobhan helped her don the clothes with great consideration.
Offhand, Diana commented, “It always amazes me how the house servants remain awake until the family is asleep and are awake again earlier when the family breakfasts. How do you survive on so little sleep?”
Siobhan, in the process of helping put on a boot, looked up and met her eyes. “The alternative is prostitution or starvation.” She went back to sliding the boot up Diana’s leg.
Diana mulled that over, rubbing her tongue over one incisor.
Without looking up this time, Siobhan noted, “I saw you had a rather handsome visitor last evening.”
Suicide Kings Page 6