The Botticelli Secret - By Marina Fiorato Page 0,84

talent.”

I withered him with a look. I might have known that the monk would add his two florins to the case.

“Well, well.” Don Ferrente broke in, and I saw that he did not appreciate Brother Guido’s superior knowledge. “The gods may have cursed Naples, but they saved our noble skins at any rate.”

“Only I don’t believe in gods in the plural,” rejoined Brother Guido, who never could leave well enough alone. “It is our singular God, our Father, who did save us from disaster.”

“To be sure, to be sure,” said Don Ferrente airily. “And now, we may go to give thanks in his spiritual home on Earth—our next destination.” I heard Brother Guido catch at his breath, but all I could think of was how seemingly unaffected the king was by the near-ruin of his adopted kingdom, not to mention the loss of one of his own carriages. I hoped the doomed coach did not contain his trio of friendly mistresses. The loss of Santiago, however, I could bear without too much grief.

“We cannot risk taking the coast road in such an event,” the king went on smoothly, “in case some further shocks occur. We will go east and pick up the Appian Way.”

Now I caught Brother Guido actually smiling, the unaccountable man. “The Appian Way,” he repeated as if in a dream.

Don Ferrente nodded his noble head. “The road that will take us all the way to—”

“Rome,” finished Brother Guido, and his smile widened. Only I heard him add under his breath: “Just where we need to go.”

4

Rome

Rome, July 1482

23

Madonna.

You will not believe me when I tell you.

I, Luciana Vetra, Chi-chi the common Florentine harlot, am a guest of the pope himself.

I swear on Vero Madre that it’s the truth. Here I stand, on the battlements of Castel Sant’Angelo, the Vatican’s own riverside castle. I look down at the low summer waters of the Tiber, a sluggish silver ribbon snaking through the hills. I look across the river to the church of Saint Peter, pure gold in the last light, greater even than the Duomo in Florence. I am here as the guest of the prince of that great basilica, the most powerful man on this peninsula, His Holiness Pope Sixtus IV.

Now, I don’t have to tell you that, before this evening, I couldn’t even have told you what the pope’s name was, no, not even if you’d bet me a keg of Marsala. But nor do I need to tell you, for you have traveled with us long enough, that Brother Guido has furnished me with all the necessary details and many unnecessary ones too. He is in a ferment of excitement, chattering like a barbary monkey privily in my ear, for this is the pinnacle of his religious career, to be here in the citadel of the pontiff, the head of his order and all the others too. Jesu.

We entered Rome in the early evening, after a sennight on the road. We suffered none of the privations that we had encountered on the road to Pisa from Florence, and the trip could not have been more different from our floating prison aboard the flagship of the Muda. Our carriages were comfortable, food and drink plentiful, and the wayside places where we rested were luxurious. We broke our journey either in the hillside palaces of nobles friendly to the king of the south or at wayside inns, which Don Ferrente’s men commandeered completely, throwing the established guests out on their arses. ‘Twas a fine sight to see the hoity lodgers ejected, lugging all their traps with no servants to help them, grumbling at the inconvenience, struggling down the Appian Way to the next watering hole. I settled into their nests with the mischievous pleasure of a cuckoo, and wondered again what it would be like to be truly noble and to have real power, instead of being a humble whore who was merely playing the role.

As we drove through the city’s gates at last, I marveled at the scale of the place—massive square buildings shone gold in the sun, places which were on a scale I had never seen, not in Florence or even in the greatness of Pisa’s Field of Miracles. These were the dog days; the Dog Star rode high beside the sun, and the sun shone long and late, but even she was vanquished at last. Gold turned to silver as the light grew old over Rome and the night began. The palaces and civic