Rome, December 1494
Palazzo Santa Maria in Portico was in an uproar. The French were approaching the Holy City, and we had just received word from the pope that Adriana and Giulia were to pack up their valuables and move into the Castel Sant’ Angelo with their household for their protection. Servants were scrambling about, making sure the ladies’ trunks were packed and all their fine clothing and jewelry accounted for. The stewards were seeing to the transport of the more expensive furnishings and artwork, so we maids did not need to worry about that; yet it still contributed to the chaotic scene as furniture was moved about while we were trying to locate personal effects and take trunks downstairs for transport.
It took us three days to pack and send everything off. All that was left were the beds we were sleeping in and clothes to put on the next day. First thing in the morning, we would move into the Castel, the massive, squat, round fortress that loomed over the Tiber.
That day, before we were to depart, I prepared to slip out. “I am going out for a bit,” I whispered to Isabella as we passed in the kitchen. “Everything is about done here, but if I am missed, make some excuse for me, I pray you.”
She nodded quickly. “Off to see your man?” she asked, a slight smile curling her lips.
“Yes,” I said. “I must tell him where I will be.”
“Surely he knows. Surely all of Rome has heard by now, what with all the racket in here.”
“No doubt, but I must tell him myself.” And convince him to come if I could. My entire body rebelled at the thought of entering the mighty stone walls of the Castel Sant’ Angelo without Federico, him alone and vulnerable as the French army bore down.
I left and moved quickly through the streets, filled with people going about their business, as usual. The anxiety in the streets was nearly palpable. The people of Rome knew what was coming for us. And yet families still had to be fed, clothes mended, work done, wages earned. Adriana and Giulia and the pope himself could hide away from it behind fortress walls, but the people out here could not.
God watch over them, I prayed as I pushed through the throngs toward the Vatican, still full of guilt that I could hide away in the safest place in the city. Not that my own fate in this was certain. Anything could happen. And when powerful men took it into their heads to claim what was not theirs, anything did.
God watch over us all.
I slipped into the courtyard of the Vatican Palace and made directly for the stables. If Federico was not there already, someone would know where to find him. The low wooden building was a hive of activity, not unlike Santa Maria in Portico in the last few days. Horses were being fed, brushed, outfitted in their tack, and led outside. I peered into each stall in search of Federico, trying to remain unobtrusive, though a few stable hands whistled at me as I passed. I did my best to ignore them, but their regard made me nervous. If I did not find Federico very soon, I would need to leave.
Then I spotted him, heading into a stall. “Federico!” I called, just as he ducked out of sight.
He stepped back at the sound of my voice, a surprised expression on his face. “Maddalena?” he asked. He came toward me, wiping dirty hands on his breeches. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come by yourself—”
“I had to see you,” I said. “I had to talk to you. I—”
“Come outside,” he interrupted, taking my arm and steering me outdoors and to the back of the building, where it was quiet. When we were alone, he asked. “What is it? Not that I am not glad to see you, but it will be dark soon, and—”
“I came as soon as I could get away,” I cut him off. “You must have heard—Adriana and Giulia’s household is moving into the Castel Sant’ Angelo.”
“I heard,” he said. “They are taking all their servants, yes?”
“Yes. I—”
“Then you will be safe.”
“Yes,” I said. “As safe as anyone can be with an invading army bearing down.”
He smiled, placing his hands on my shoulders. “I shall thank God for that tonight. One small blessing, at least.”
He looked as though he was about to kiss me, but I leaned back slightly. “Federico,” I said urgently. “You must come with me.”
He laughed. “What? How?”
“Come to the Castel Sant’ Angelo with me. Slip inside when the rest of us are entering. Everyone will think you are another groom or steward or guard or what have you. There will be so much commotion, no one will think twice.”
“With you and all the women of the household?”
“There will be men there as well,” I said. “For goodness’ sake, there are soldiers stationed at the Castel. No one will even notice you are there.”
He drew back. “I cannot, Maddalena. I am needed here.”
“Surely you will not be missed—”
“We are taking some of the horses to one of the papal houses in the countryside, to hopefully hide them from the French,” he said. “I am needed here.”
I grasped his arms in desperation. “Federico, I cannot wait safe inside a fortress and wonder what has become of you outside!”
“The French aren’t going to raze the Holy City. Even I know that the French king needs to remain in the good graces of the pope.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know that they won’t.”
“If we had left Rome when I wanted to leave, we would be away in the countryside right now! Together!” he exploded suddenly.
It was as if he had driven a knife right through the chink in my armor. The only reason we were still in Rome was because I had insisted we stay; he was right. “I … I didn’t…”
He sighed, immediately contrite, and pulled me into his arms. “Forgive me, Maddalena. I did not mean that.”
“Didn’t you?” I asked, my voice muffled against his chest.
“Not really, no. In truth we may well be safer here in Rome, close to the Holy Father, than out in the countryside where there is no one to stop the French soldiers from taking whatever they want.” He drew away slightly to look upon my face. “And you will be safe in an impregnable fortress. That is what is important.”
“I do not want to be safe without you,” I said, nearly sobbing.
“All shall be well,” he said, drawing me against him once more.
“When this is over, and the French are gone,” I said, “when we are reunited, we will leave Rome. At once. We shall go to your house in the countryside and marry immediately. I am sorry, Federico. So terribly sorry I delayed us this long.”
He bent his head and kissed me soundly, passionately. I still could not sink into his kisses as I longed to; could not melt into his arms with abandon as I had in that damned dream of so long ago. But it would come. With love and tenderness and marriage, the passion would come.
“When we are reunited,” he repeated as he drew away. “I shall hold you to that, Maddalena. I shall dream of it throughout the coming days. You shall be my strength, as though you are the Madonna herself.”
I tried to laugh around the tears that had begun to choke me. “Such blasphemy,” I chided.
“Then God shall have to punish me for it, because it is true,” he said. He kissed me again, and for an instant I felt a tingle of desire, something so largely unknown to me, and I pressed closer to him hungrily, eager. But all too soon, he drew away. “I must go,” he said. “I am sorry, my love. But I will be missed, and you soon will be, too. Hurry back before it gets dark.”
“I will see you soon,” I called to him as he turned toward the stables.
He spun to face me one more time. “And soon I will make you my bride, but not soon enough!” he said. He waved to me once, a smile on his face, as if we were saying but a brief goodbye and he would be taking me for a stroll the next night.
As though we had any idea of when we might see each other again.
I shivered, suddenly mindful of the cold, and turned to make my way back to Santa Maria in Portico in the falling dusk.