Christmas Eve arrives, bringing with it the scent of wood burning in fireplaces and cakes baked in kitchen ovens. It’s bitterly cold. Valentino is still away and Niccolò has no idea where he is, but hardly even worries about it anymore.
He knows that he cannot return to the palace until the holiday has passed without raising suspicions. What commissioned writer would work on such an important holiday?
He imagines that Dianora will go to midnight mass at the Duomo. The duke tried to show her off in the theater in Imola, and if he knows him at all—which by now Niccolò thinks he does—he will try showing her off again.
When Baccino sees him getting dressed for church, he looks at him in surprise. Although the steward is not devout, he goes to church once a year, at Christmas, just in case God exists. But Baccino knows that Niccolò has always stayed far away from anything even remotely connected to the church.
“Have you become religious?” Baccino teases him.
“It’s a question of duty,” Niccolò replies mysteriously.
The central nave of the duomo is full. The women sit on the priest’s left and the men to his right, the side that is closer to God.
Niccolò pushes his way forward with Baccino close behind, until he sees her. She is seated in the first row under the careful watch of Sister Sebastiana, close to the central aisle. Her guards stand nearby, the only men in the women’s section, because even the Heavenly Father must obey Borgia.
Just like the first time he set eyes on her, he can’t actually see her face, only the nape of her neck and hair. But what is out of view, he remembers well: her gentle gaze, the way she often touches her neck, the delicate way she tips her head to one side, the way she walks—which he would recognize instantly, even in a crowd of people. The church is filled with her. And yet, he is also intensely aware of himself all of a sudden, his straight back, his tense muscles, the way he breathes in deeply, the air around him filling him with nourishment.
It feels like he is embracing the world in its entirety. When the gathering sings a hymn and he sees Dianora singing along with them, he feels certain that she knows he is there; she not only turns to her Lord but also to him. He lets himself be carried along by the sound and tries to follow the words, as a way of being with her.
To his amazement, he feels the strength of the people enter into him, both the younger folk and the generations that have yet to be born. The great force of it all makes him feel invincible.
The eventuality that Valentino will be stabbed to death by Tinardeschi becomes, in his mind, a certainty. He sees it as if it has already happened, with extraordinary clarity. He feels content with the role he has had. All it took were a few words to indicate the best route to take to reach him; he likes thinking that he had a part in it. It was an act of justice, which must exist somewhere. Dianora will forever be grateful to him, as will his own city. He will be able to tell her about his role right away; he will inform the Republic one day, perhaps, when the right occasion presents itself.
Singing along with everyone, he is filled with exultation and feels as though he is in a dream.
But, suddenly, when the hymn ends and the priest goes back to saying Mass, this state of elation vanishes, and he feels weak. He realizes that both he and Dianora are suspended over an abyss. They will be either the happiest or the unhappiest people in the world. Happiness is within reach and they will either encounter desperation and pain or great joy.
When the Mass is over, he stands outside and waits for her to walk by. And when she catches sight of him, her face lights up, and although the light fades immediately, he is filled with glee. Her face is both a confirmation and a promise.
But then she moves off, surrounded by the nun and the duke’s guards.
Niccolò pushes Baccino behind a column and orders him to exchange cloaks, taking advantage of the bustling crowd to do so.
“What’s going on?” the steward asks.
Niccolò doesn’t reply but gives him instructions to lead the guards who will surely follow him on a long, roundabout walk. In the meantime, he exits the church and mixes with the crowd, filled with an excitement and anxiety that makes him both incredibly lucid and swift.
He sees her up ahead, a street away, and follows her. He hears someone talk about her, what a great beauty she is. Her appearance in public did not pass unobserved. The woman so many people have mentioned finally has a face.
Soon the crowd diminishes. Dianora, the soldiers, and Sister Sebastiana are the only ones directed toward the palace.
He decides to follow them.
One of the soldiers turns around to look at him.
He stays behind them.
Then the nun turns around.
He twists away quickly, facing a wall. Did she see him? He realizes that he’s being foolish. Why risk everything just to see her face one more time? Reason returns to him and he quickly turns down a side street.
When he returns to the Falchi home, Baccino is waiting for him.
“It was that woman, wasn’t it? You followed her . . . ”
Niccolò waves vaguely as if to say that there’s a reason but he can’t explain it.
“Niccolò, I saw how you stared at her. I have to warn you against it.”
“Against what?” Don’t even think about interfering in this, he thinks to himself; no one has the right to do that.
“You know.”
“Baccino, she holds precious information.” If his steward refers anything back to the Republic, this will be the line of truth he will uphold. Niccolò looks at Baccino calmly. No one would ever suspect a thing from his words or tone. No one except for his trusted manservant, who knows him so very well.
“Don’t try that with me, Niccolò. Nothing good can come of this.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” he retorts swiftly.
“I beg you, keep your head,” Baccino says again. Niccolò has never seen him so concerned. “I won’t denounce you, of course. But, at the same time, I can’t just stand by and watch you fall to your ruin.”
Bothered, Niccolò denies everything and says it’s time for bed. He hands his steward his cloak and takes back his mantle, secretly hoping that Baccino will continue talking about her and yet, at the same time, fearing what he might say. If he keeps talking, Niccolò feels like he might even admit everything. He may even try and share some of the concerns he feels. But Baccino doesn’t say a word. He just sighs and walks off.