down below the battlements and at my side.
“Let’s go. We still only have two more hours before someone relieves Luca’s watch.”
“Where?”
“The church of Sant’Ambrogio, of course.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“There is a way.”
Back we ran, across the battlements and down the spiral stairs in the tower, across the deserted parade ground hugging the shadows of the keep. In the curtain wall, a low door led to a short stair and a dark passage that smelled of new-cut stone.
“Come,” he said. “Let us hope they have finished it.”
“Where are we?” I breathed.
“In a passage that leads from the castle to the Dominican monastery of Santa Maria delle Grazie. Il Moro is constructing it so that he may freely reach his place of worship, and also freely escape if there should ever be the need.”
“Madonna.”
“Such things are commonplace.”
I knew that much—I well recalled our secret walk between Castel Sant’Angelo and the Vatican in Rome, but I thought it better not to remind Brother Guido of the day his faith died. As we ran I mused that it did seem quite gone. I had not known how much I had connected him with his faith, and it had been a shock to hear him addressed as Guido, to hear him talk of women, to mock his God even in jest. I gave myself a little shake. What was wrong with me? If he was entering the worldly world, might there not be a chance for me, for us?
We ran on, swift and silent, until a greenish hue told us of light above. We were up another stair and through an arras, and emerged into a vast cavern of the monastery church. Gothic vaults colored in powdery blues, reds, and ochers were still illuminated by the full-moon light flooding through the arched windows of a high dome. There were a company of monks near the high altar, intoning one of their midnight prayers, and we scuttled swiftly to the exit and into the dark night. Once outside, Brother Guido grabbed my hand with more urgency than tenderness and turned left and right through the silvered streets. I could see our destination the moment the clouds cleared the moon, a huge pile of a place with two high towers: the basilica of Saint Ambrogio.
“Put your mask on,” urged the brother, as we reached the great doors. “Slow your breaths. And follow my lead.”
We waited in the portico for a moment to compose ourselves then Brother Guido swung the heavy doors. “Unlocked?” I asked.
“The house of God is always open,” said Brother Guido, with a sneer I didn’t like. Inside, I could see that the brothers here kept time with their brethren at Santa Maria delle Grazie, for mass had just finished; the brothers had shuffled off for another pair of hours in bed before their next devotions. A single sacristan remained, as once before in a doomed church in Naples, extinguishing candles.
We proceeded noiselessly down the aisle, and Brother Guido cleared his throat. The old man turned and smiled sweetly, as if he’d been expecting us.
“Your pardon, Brother,” began Brother Guido. “I am a member of Lord Ludovico’s personal guard.” The old monk looked him up and down, taking in his brand-new armor, his height, his noble face. “I have the honor of escorting the Dogaressa of the Republic of Venice.” He indicated me, and the old fellow’s jaw dropped open.
I tried to look as haughty as I could.
“I am directed to ask you to allow the dogaressa a private visit to your famous relics, for she wishes to pray privily, at an hour when public eyes are not upon her.”
The sacristan seemed to have lost the power of speech. I wore only a mink cloak and my mother’s lioness mask, but it was chased in gold and gilt enamel, and I must have cut quite a figure with my golden hair in the bargain.
Brother Guido attempted to break the spell. “I carry the seal of Lord Ludovico, as you can see.” He held out the clay plaque with the snake design he showed me earlier.
“Yes, that’s quite, that is, that’s quite in order. Except . . .” the old monk bumbled.
“Well?”
“It’s just, well, which relics would the lady, the dogaressa I mean, wish to see? Our Blessed Saint Ambrose or”—he looked down at the seal—“Nehushtan?” He seemed to sneeze.
Brother Guido exchanged a look with me, and I could see that he didn’t know what the second word, if it was a word, meant.
“The saint, to be sure.”
The sacristan