Escorted by three of the duke’s guards and the woman in black, Dianora approaches the church door. Two of the soldiers wait outside, while the third enters with the two women.
Embedded in the paving stone of the central nave is a sundial which Dianora crosses with the woman in black on one side and the guard on the other. The day has hardly begun and morning sunlight illuminates Dianora’s dark red velvet skirt.
There is no one else in the church. The guard looks around and then nods at Lucina. The woman gestures to Dianora that she can enter the sacristy for her confession. They watch her carefully as she strides off.
Confession is the only time she’s free. Borgia concedes it to her to alleviate her dark moods.
Dianora opens the door and walks into a large room. Light enters from windows positioned high up, but the walls are lined with dark wooden cabinets. Sitting in an oak chair that looks as though it’s about to give out under his weight, is Brother Timoteo. Next to him is a prie-dieu.
The prior gets to his feet and walks toward her and greets her warmly. While he is a man of experience, the horrors she has relayed to him have affected him deeply, and he feels something akin to compassion for her.
While Dianora kneels down on the prie-dieu, the friar walks to the door, greets the guard and the woman in black, and closes the door almost all the way, so that only the young lady is visible from the nave. Even though Timoteo’s proclivities are well-known, it’s never a good idea to be alone in a closed room with a damsel.
Then, instead of going and sitting down in the oak chair as he usually does to hear her confession, the prior walks to a far end of the sacristy.
Dianora watches him uneasily. She does not realize that one of the cabinet doors on her side of the room is slightly open. It’s not actually a cabinet, she quickly learns, but a secret passageway that leads to the monastery garden.
Standing in its shadows is Niccolò. Through the semi-shut door he can see Dianora from the back, kneeling on her prie-dieu. If he cracks opens the door a little further, he can also see a portion of the nave: Lucina is sitting in a pew with a bored look on her face. The guard is nearby, leaning against a column. From where Lucina sits, she can easily see her ward, but she currently only appears interested in the guard, with whom she’s engaged in conversation.
Niccolò looks at Dianora. Now that the moment has come to talk to her, he hesitates. Maybe he is exaggerating. Yes, he could remain silent, but the future of his city is at stake. He tells himself that he will never have another opportunity like this, so he begins to whisper to her in a soothing manner.
“Do not be startled, but it is I, the envoy from Florence. Do you recognize my voice? I assure you that you are not in danger; the woman who watches over you is not looking at us.”
Dianora winces and goes pale. She’s on the verge of turning around but refrains from doing so. Instead, she stays calm and glances at Lucina instead.
“See? From where I am, I can observe her without her noticing me,” Niccolò says reassuringly. “I had no other way of seeing you and didn’t know how to warn you. If you speak to me as if you were in confession, no one will suspect a thing. But, if you’d prefer, I’ll leave immediately.”
Dianora glances uneasily at Brother Timoteo. He is sitting in the far corner, his back to her. He opens a cabinet and casually takes out some wine and a chalice for Mass.
“I have an agreement with the prior. He has been well paid. He can’t hear us from where he is,” Niccolò adds.
She glances into the nave, then twists around and catches sight of Niccolò in the doorway. She quickly turns back and looks straight ahead again, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear. “This is dangerous,” she says softly.
“No more dangerous than how we spoke before. I thought about it for a long time . . . ”
“And yet you did it all the same.”
“We don’t ever have to meet again, if you don’t want.”
Dianora doesn’t speak, she is deeply uncertain. Niccolò realizes that this meeting creates yet an additional burden on her. Maybe he has done wrong. But there’s no going back now, no way to make it right again.
“I put my life in your hands, like you put yours in mine, when we first spoke. We have to trust each other,” he says to her.
“Did you warn Florence?” she asks.
“Yes, the messenger arrived yesterday at the latest. I’m sure they’ve taken all the right steps.”
“Thank the Lord. Now that beast of a man will be trapped,” she says. Niccolò notices that the thought of Valentino’s death visibly eases her tension. “He’ll never guess that your armies will be waiting for him.”
“He’ll get what he deserves,” Niccolò says decisively although he knows he can’t promise her anything. What will the gonfalonier decide to do? Will they actually wait for Borgia’s attack and set a trap for him? Will they kill Borgia, as Dianora hopes? He doubts it. If anything, they will try and capture him in order to negotiate better. Nothing is ever certain in war.
“I don’t want to stay here long. It’s too risky,” Dianora says.
“Stay only as long as your usual confession would last. It would be odd if you left too soon.”
She looks over at the prior, who is beatifically gulping down wine, his lips and mouth red with the stuff, and ostentatiously looking away.
“Do you know if the duke is moving his troops toward Florence?” Niccolò asks.
“Yes. He gave clear orders: three hundred men each night, so as not to draw attention. Despite the loss, he presses on.”
“What loss?”
“You don’t know? The armies of Vitelli and the Orsini brothers overcame don Miguel and Ramiro de Lorqua near Urbino. Corella was wounded but not seriously.”
“Did they lose many soldiers?”
“Not more than five hundred.”
Too few.
“When did this happen?”
“At the beginning of last week. Two days later, Borgia lost Urbino.”
“Are you sure? Did you hear him say as much?”
“Yes.”
This information is well worth the risk they are running and all the florins he gave the friar. So this is why Valentino came back to Imola; how skilled he was at dissimulating.
“Did Valentino seem worried?”
“No. He’s convinced he’ll defeat them next time. He’s trying to split up the alliance between his enemies. He even sent a message to Paolo Orsini.”
So he reached out to the most malleable of them . . .
“Does he suspect you at all? Are you in any danger?”
“He doesn’t fear me at all. He thinks I belong to him, like some kind of object. He’s felt that way ever since he raped me.”
“Raped you . . . ?”
“But you knew that already, didn’t you? He has told everyone, he’s proud of it. We . . . ” Dianora’s voice cracks, tears spring to her eyes.
“Hush, don’t talk about it,” Niccolò interrupts her. “Not if it’s too difficult for you.”
“ . . . We thought we could stop him,” she says, trying to go on, but she begins to weep. Who knows what tragic memories are buried deep inside. It is hard for her to find the words to express her suffering. She changes the subject. “They fired their cannons at the walls of the fortress for weeks on end, without stopping, day and night . . . And finally they broke through.” Dianora wipes away her tears.
“Don’t, please.”
“I’m always thinking about it. Talking helps.”
She sobs. Brother Timoteo glances over and then away again. He’s both worried and embarrassed. Niccolò leans in.
“I wish I could help you.”
“Then kill him when he attacks Florence. That way I can die in peace.”
“Die, Milady? But why?”
“I live for that moment only. I haven’t taken my own life because it would be a sin against God, unforgiveable. If I can be avenged, my survival will have meaning.”
If Niccolò could see her face, he would see it filled with hope for a future without Valentino.
“I must go now. I can’t stay any longer,” she says quickly. “But I would like to see you again. Perhaps here? Is that possible?”
“Yes. I will make it happen.”
Dianora wipes her eyes and gets to her feet. She feels considerably lighter. Brother Timoteo, despite his large belly, nimbly rushes over and takes his place in the oak chair.
When Dianora opens the door to the sacristy with her usual elegant composure and dignity, the prior is comfortably seated in his chair.
Lucina gets to her feet.
The two women together walk toward the soldier.
The three of them cross back over the sundial and exit the church door.
Niccolò watches her as she leaves. He lets out a heavy sigh, disturbed by what she told him and what he imagines she has experienced. He would like to assist her but realizes that he is completely powerless. The fact that she told him that talking helps her assuages him somewhat, as does the thought that he will see her again. Suddenly, he realizes why the gonfalonier sent him and not someone else, and why he didn’t tell him about the danger that Marietta and Primerana were in. Soderini knew that Dianora was here with Valentino, he supposed she knew some of the duke’s secrets, and he calculated that Niccolò would be keen on talking to her. No one else would dare do what Niccolò has just done and what he will continue to do. It would appear that I-have-faith is no idiot after all.