Leonardo's Swans (24 page)

Isabella returned in triumph to Mantua, until she heard that almost as soon as she left Venice, Beatrice had arrived in unprecedented splendor with a retinue of twelve hundred. She gave not one but two diplomatic speeches to the signory and was received as a princess and ambassador. To honor her, the doge commanded a boat race down the Canal Grande with female rowers for the first time in Venice’s history—all for the pleasure of Beatrice. Everyone was taken with her eloquence, her elegance, and her charm. From Beatrice’s letters and all the other letters she received on the matter, Isabella discerned that everything about Beatrice’s trip was slightly more wonderful than her own. Some sycophant even wrote that Beatrice’s jewels “reflected the very wonder of the Universe, but none was so precious as the duchess herself.”

The sun has already begun its descent to the west when that lauded duchess’s bucentaur finally appears from the east, followed by a flotilla, undoubtedly loaded with Beatrice’s attendants, gowns, jewels, loot from Venice, and whatever and whomever she travels with these days. Isabella decides that she will not leave her boat, but wait for Beatrice to come to her. It’s the least she can do for refusing Isabella’s hospitality, drawing her pregnant sister out of her comfortable chambers on a summer day.

It takes some time for Beatrice to understand that she must go to Isabella. After some confusion, she appears, flush, excited, and hurried. The sisters’ hot cheeks meet in double kisses.

“What pressing business keeps you from allowing us your company for a few days, Your Excellency?” Isabella asks, smiling. “Francesco is beside himself with grief. He has a new Barbary steed—huge, with a neck like a tree trunk. He wanted to see you tame the beast.”

“Oh, please tell him that I will make good on his challenge at another time. At the moment, there is no time to waste, and many things which I must discuss with you.”

“I have received so many reports of your triumphs in Venice that I require no further details,” Isabella says.

Beatrice spends not another moment on the niceties. “As you know, Ludovico has never had good relations with Venice.”

Yes, Isabella thinks. They neither like nor trust your husband because he tries to play all sides against one another, or that is the common wisdom in Venice.

“I was given two audiences with the signory. Ludovico sent me there to inform them of his growing alliances with both France and Germany. He is bringing these two factions together, Isabella. Imagine!”

“How is he maneuvering this?” Isabella asks. “They have long been enemies.” But the question she is asking herself is, who will be sacrificed in the negotiations?

“You will hear this soon enough, but at present, please keep the matter secret. Ludovico has betrothed his niece Bianca Maria to Emperor Maximilian, King of Germany and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.”

“Not the little beauty who is engaged to our Galeazz?”

“No, Ludovico would never do that to his own daughter. She adores Galeazz. You do not know this girl. She is Duke Gian Galeazzo’s sister—sweet, but rather feeble in the head, just like her brother.”

And she will come with an astounding dowry that will pad the Frankish coffers, Isabella speculates to herself. Why is Ludovico bribing the emperor? “Sounds like a very wise move,” she says. “And who is he marrying off to France?”

Beatrice takes no notice of the sarcasm, but pulls Isabella closer to her, lowering her voice. “He has given his blessing for France to invade Naples.”

“Interesting,” Isabella says slowly while she works out the political puzzle in her mind. With France, Milan, and Germany against Naples, who is left to stand for them? The Pope, of course, who won’t like the French so close to his borders. And possibly Venice, which would not align with Naples, but might be tempted to interfere with Ludovico’s grand plans. “And you are going to stand with Ludovico against our maternal grandfather Ferrante?”

“Grandfather is near death, and he more than anyone is an example of the necessity of making pitiless decisions. If he hadn’t done that himself, he would have died long ago, and not of old age. We are left with no choice, Isabella.” Beatrice sounds more like one of the seasoned, cold diplomats in their father’s service than the excitable girl she has always been. In fact, she sounds more and more like the Diamond himself.

“How is it that the invasion of Naples is the business of Milan?” Isabella asks.

Beatrice sits back a little, and Isabella is grateful to have the space from her sister, whose emotions are so heated at this moment that they are suffocating her, like some kind of turbulent, pressing wind.

“Ludovico has decided to take the title of Duke of Milan. France and Germany are supporting it in exchange for his alliance. Emperor Max has the power to invest Ludovico with the title. There is some ancient agreement that at the end of the Visconti line, the Holy Roman emperor may reinvest the duchy to whomever he pleases. The last male Visconti is long dead. It is that simple.”

“And what of Gian Galeazzo and Isabel of Aragon? How will they be deposed?”

Isabella watches carefully for Beatrice’s reaction to the name of their cousin, because she has neglected to mention her own rise in fortune, status, and title, should Ludovico’s scheme come to pass.

“Gian Galeazzo is puerile and has sickening sexual habits. He has no interest in fulfilling even the simplest of his duties, and frankly, God help us if he did. He is the worst dissolute in the kingdom. He beats his wife!” Beatrice’s indignation rises. “I feel sorry for Isabel of Aragon. I tried to be her friend, but she would have none of it if I didn’t join her in asking her father to take Ludovico down. Now she has roused Uncle Alfonso to the point where he is ready to attack us. What should we do, Isabella? The moment grandfather dies, Alfonso will be upon us. Should we wait for that day?”

Isabella knows that much of what Beatrice says is true. She received a languid letter last month from the Duchess of Montferrat, who wrote,
There is nothing fresh to report from Milan but that Duke Gian Galeazzo has taken to beating his wife
. She knows that Aragon’s humiliation is unbearable, and that she complains to everyone how Ludovico and Beatrice have all the money, power, and glory, and she and her husband are treated like beggars. Yet Ludovico
did
already have all the power. Did he have to go to these lengths—intrigue, betrothals, invasions on Italian soil—to grab the title? As far as Isabella could see, Gian Galeazzo was pathetic, but in the scheme of politics, harmless. And she doubted that Alfonso would make such a drastic move just to appease his unhappy daughter.

“Beatrice, is it wise to
invite
the French into Italy?” This is precisely what Francesco has been asking since rumors of Ludovico’s intrigue with France has been spreading about.

“We have the protection of Emperor Max, who is very dear to us, and will keep the French contained to Naples, and the word of King Charles that he will go no farther north once Naples is his.”

Isabella sees that Beatrice and Ludovico have worked this scenario out in their minds and are committed to its fruition. Beatrice is not here to ask for advice. Her eyes shine and flicker with life as she speaks about the plan. Her cheeks are flushed with color and her hands wave about like some beautiful Fury. Isabella cannot tell whether the nausea in her own stomach is acting as some kind of warning about the folly of all this, or if the little creature growing inside her is raging again. She sits back in the wooden chair, leaning her head against its high back. “I don’t feel well,” she finally says.

Beatrice calls for something cool for Isabella to drink. She takes a cold cloth from the hands of Isabella’s servant and wipes her sister’s brow. Isabella thinks that Beatrice’s hand might be shaking, or is that an illusion caused by the motion in her stomach or the rocking of the boat?

“You must go home and rest,” Beatrice says. “But I must trouble you with one thing before I leave you. It is a message from Ludovico, a request.”

Here is precisely what Isabella has not wanted to hear: what is to be her part in this plan that Ludovico and Beatrice and half the world, it seems, have been devising. Here is what she had hoped to escape because of her condition. But unless she feigns passing out, there is no escape.

“Ludovico has heard all about your conquest of the doge and everyone else in Venice. Oh, it’s the talk of Italy, don’t you worry. Everyone is aware of the powers of your charm and your intellect, Isabella. My husband merely hopes that, if given the chance, you will use those powers in his favor.”

“I would do anything for my sister and my brother-in-law.” She prays that Beatrice will leave the matter thus.

“Will you use your influence with Francesco to convince him to fight with the French in Naples? He is a great soldier and commander, and we would feel secure if he were leading the invasion.”

Isabella wonders if her sister has gone mad. Does she really think that Francesco can just go command any army he pleases? Does she think he can convince the Venetians to support the hated French? “I cannot make commitments for my husband, as you cannot make commitments for yours. But I do not see how he can fight for the French when he is captain general of the Venetian army. Venice will not allow their army to be pulled into this conflict.”

“It would not be as captain general of the Venetian army, Isabella. It would be a separate contract, as a mercenary soldier, a condottiere. It would be for money, and I can assure you that the price we are talking about would be worth it, indeed.”

“Beatrice, I do not know what Francesco would say to such an offer, but I am afraid for you. These actions that you and Ludovico are taking are dangerous and come with great risk. Ludovico already has everything. Will adding the title increase his power so very much?”

“Isabella, I am surprised at you. If you were in my position, what would you not do to ensure that someday your son would have the title of Duke of Milan?”

So that is it: Beatrice is on fire with the dragonlike flames of a mother’s ambition for her son. The kind girl who wanted nothing more than a long day on a good pony has transformed into Olympias intriguing for the rise of Alexander, or poisonous Livia promoting Tiberius. It does not even seem real. Yet is it not a pattern between mother and son that has played out over the centuries? Is history not littered with the corpses of those who crossed a mother’s ambitions for her firstborn male child?

Isabella uses the excuse of nausea and dizziness to end this meeting as abruptly as possible. She has to get away from Beatrice’s pressing ambitions. She wants to go back to this morning, when these plans for turning the world upside down were not yet known to her. When did everything change? When did the wild and distracted girl who had to be dragged by the ear by their mother to marry Il Moro turn into this frightening political force?

Isabella waves and blows kisses to Beatrice’s entourage as they sail past her toward Milan. When the last bucentaur passes, she drops her smile, feeling as if the corners of her mouth are filled with lead. She sinks to her chair, head spiraling with unhappy thoughts. An attendant rushes to her side, but she shoos the woman away. She cannot wait to get home, to the safety of austere and strong Mantua, whose ancient fortressed walls will protect her from the turmoil that she fears is coming. She is so very tired; she feels as if the boat must sail through thick molasses to get back to the quiet comfort of her dark bedchamber. Her body is heavy and her slim arms and fingers feel swollen and droopy, hanging off the arms of the chair.

As she floats back up the river to her home—to Francesco, who will have some perspective on all this madness—the thoughts that she has wanted to avoid finally come barreling into her mind. How long has Ludovico been planning all of this? For surely one does not get the idea to make such drastic moves overnight. She cannot help but wonder how much of Ludovico’s flirtation with and attention to her has been in anticipation of the day he would ask her to use her influence to convince her husband to lead an army to fight for his ambitions.

Is it possible that they are all, Beatrice included, pawns in Ludovico’s elaborate game?

FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF LEONARDO:

In Ethiopia, the black races are not the product of the sun. For if black gets black with child, the offspring is black. If black gets white with child, the offspring is gray.

And thus is Aristotle proved wrong. The womb is far from passive, a mere feeding ground for the sperm of the male. The seed of the mother has equal power in the embryo as the seed of the father.