The Shepherdess of Siena: A Novel of Renaissance Tuscany (39 page)

“In short, most of Europe,” said Giorgio, throwing up his hands. “I cannot search every convent!”

“Let me think upon it. I will use every contact I have in Rome. I will search for Virginia Tacci.”

“Unless the bastardo
di Torreforte gave her a false name,” said Giorgio.

The granduca looked at his visitor and sighed. He said nothing, but looked around the room at the portraits of his family in the Senese palazzo.

I will restore the Bronzino of Isabella to the Pitti Palace. I need her comfort. And the one of her in the green velvet dress. The little dog in my sister’s lap, a garland in her hair. How that portrait gave my father joy.

“My brother was very good at erasing women when they did not suit his purposes,” the granduca said, closing his hand. “Give me time to think. In the meantime, I must concentrate on my wedding celebrations.”

Giorgio cocked his head.

“Ah,” said the granduca. “I suppose the news does not travel as quickly as I thought from Florence to Siena. I am marrying the princess Christina of Lorraine.”

“A Frenchwoman?”

“She is the granddaughter of Catherine de’ Medici—so she has our blood in her veins. Her grandmother was our sworn enemy, but no matter. I am weary of unrest. It is time to make peace.”

Giorgio said nothing more. He could not understand why anyone—especially a de’ Medici—would settle for peace over revenge.

C
HAPTER
81

Siena, Brunelli Stables, Vignano

A
UGUST
1587

Giorgio rarely saw Riccardo anymore. Shared memories of Virginia made it too painful for the two men to meet. But upon Giorgio’s return from Florence, he wrote for his old friend to meet him in the country stables.

“Have you found her?” Riccardo said even as he dismounted, swinging off the horse so quickly, his mount shied away.

“Not yet. But I am certain di Torreforte kidnapped her. Now beyond a doubt—”

“I will kill the bastard!” said Riccardo, his entire body stiffening in rage.

“No, no!” said Giorgio, putting a hand on his friend’s arm. “Let us find Virginia first!”

A tremor shook Riccardo’s body.

“How can you stand there so coolly, Giorgio? We must have revenge!”

Oh, my friend, I have had revenge.
If you only knew.

“I am trying to find her, Riccardo. We can settle di Torreforte’s fate later.”

“Where is she?”

Giorgio shook his head.

“No one knows for sure. A convent. Outside of Tuscany.”

“So only di Torreforte knows for sure—” said Riccardo.

“Perhaps. Only—”

Riccardo gritted his teeth together, baring them like a wolf. “I shall find out!”

Shaking Giorgio’s hand from his arm, he gathered the reins in his left hand and swung back into the saddle.

“Where are you going?” said Giorgio

“To confront the bastardo!”

He wheeled his horse around and took off at a gallop for Siena.

Riccardo found di Torreforte on the perimeter of Il Campo, drinking outside a tavern. He was sampling a Montepulciano wine from a keg the proprietor had just tapped.

The sun was bright, making the Florentine squint as he brought the cup to his lips. A group of Florentine bankers and nobili sat on plank benches around an overturned cask, serving as a table.

“Delizioso!”
di Torreforte pronounced. His entourage murmured similar sentiments, draining their cups.

A rider trotted across the bricks of the piazza. His eyes searched the crowd. When he spied di Torreforte, his face contorted.

“You, signore!” said Riccardo, pointing his gloved hand. “You!”

“Are you addressing me, Signor De’ Luca?” said di Torreforte.

Riccardo gave the reins to the tavern boy.

“You scoundrel! You kidnapped Virginia Tacci.”

“What?” said di Torreforte, looking about the crowd that gathered instantly.

The name Virginia Tacci spread across the piazza. The pigeons shot up from the brick pavement, their wings beating madly.

“You are quite mad, sir!” said di Torreforte.

“You know where she is!”

Di Torreforte set down his glass. He wiped his lips against the back of his hand.

“Everyone knows that you were madly in love with the villanella. You made a fool of yourself spouting poetry, besotted by a poor shepherdess. Now you have some insane notion that I am to blame for—”

Riccardo seized di Torreforte by his shirt. “You know where she is! You liar!”

Di Torreforte leaned into his attacker, his breath sour with wine. “If I did, I would never tell you, you piece of shit!”

He tore away from De’ Luca, giving him a shove. He straightened his cloak and scarf.

“You would do best to forget about that little whore of a shepherdess. She is probably in a field somewhere rutting with someone from her own despicable class.”

Riccardo’s face paled with rage. He took a step forward and slapped di Torreforte hard.

“I challenge you to a duel, Signor di Torreforte,” he said. “To defend the honor of Virginia Tacci!”

The crowd gasped. Duels were outlawed in the province of Siena on penalty of death. As one the crowd turned, looking for the de’ Medici guards. Surely they would have heard the commotion, seen the crowd gather.

One of di Torreforte’s Florentine companions shouted, “Your challenge is illegal, Signor De’ Luca. Retract it at once!”

“My proposition is between two gentlemen,” said Riccardo. “Let Signor di Torreforte decline to meet my challenge, not one of his henchmen.”

Giacomo di Torreforte licked his lips. The skin of his face looked puckered like an old man’s.

“What do you say, di Torreforte?” Riccardo insisted.

“Make way! Disperse!” shouted a voice of authority.

A guard broke through the crowd.

“What is this disturbance? Who are the perpetrators?”

Riccardo looked past the guard, pointing his finger. “Do you accept my challenge, you coward?”

Di Torreforte slid his eyes toward the guard. Two more appeared.

“He challenged me to a duel. Arrest him!” said di Torreforte. “What are you waiting for?”

C
HAPTER
82

Siena

S
EPTEMBER
1587

Signora De’ Luca held her beloved Riccardo in her arms next to her bosom, crying the burning tears of a mother who has lost her son.

His trial had been simple. He had broken the laws of Siena by challenging Signor di Torreforte to a duel. The Florentine witnesses testified on di Torreforte’s behalf. The Senese would say nothing.

Granduca Ferdinando intervened to spare his life, but Riccardo was banished forever from the city and province of Siena.

And now soldiers had come to enforce that order.

Riccardo De’ Luca chose Ferrara as his home of exile. His father had contacts in the d’Este Court through trade and marriage, as well as friendships forged before and during the siege of Siena.

“I would give you Caramella as a gift,” his father said, barely able to look into his son’s eyes. “But I fear she could not make the journey. I have picked out three good mares for you. I will send more when you are established.”

“Thank you, Babbo.”

“Our alliance with Duca Alfonso will serve you well. He has always supported Siena. They love their horses, their Palio.”

At the last word, Riccardo wiped a tear from his eye. Then another.

Three soldiers escorted Riccardo De’ Luca to the border of Emilia-Romagna.

The lieutenant took out the decree signed by Granduca Ferdinando. He read aloud, the wind snatching his words.

“Thou, Signor Riccardo De’ Luca, shall not enter the Duchy of Tuscany for the rest of your living days. Your crime: challenging Giacomo di Torreforte to a duel and disrupting the peace of Siena. The death sentence has been converted to banishment by the mercy of Serenissimo Granduca Ferdinando de’ Medici. Your banishment is inconvertible—you will enter Tuscany only under penalty of death. Do you understand?”

“Sì
,
” said Riccardo, looking over the hills in the direction of his beloved Siena.

Then he turned his back on Tuscany and took a firm grip on the lead ropes of three shiny-coated chestnut mares, who bobbed and pranced behind the gelding as Riccardo headed down the dusty road toward Ferrara, never looking back.

C
HAPTER
83

Ferrara, Castello
d’
Este

S
EPTEMBER
1587

Ercole Cortile, Ferrara’s ambassador to the de’ Medici Court, rested at home for three days before he made an official visit to the Palazzo d’Este. Ferrara had not the same grandeur as Florence, but the green waters surrounding the crenellated palace walls, the wisps of morning fog, and the refined Court cultivated by Alfonso were a balm to his soul.

He had spent too many years listening to—and paying for—the many ears pressed to the doors of de’ Medici intrigue. The murders and scandals sickened him as he grew older. It was no longer the celebrated Court of Granduca Cosimo, and Cortile was no longer the dashing ambassador who enjoyed the sordid bits of gossip he procured for the Duca di Ferrara.

Both Ercole Cortile and Duca Alfonso had grown old.

Cortile had missed his homeland. Under Alfonso, Ferrara was a haven for artists, musicians, and scientists, free from the rancor and reprisal that haunted the de’ Medici Court. Alfonso welcomed visitors from other lands whose diverse experiences and opinions would enrich the culture of Ferrara.

Most of all, Duca Alfonso enjoyed thumbing his nose at Rome and at the de’ Medici, his mortal enemies.

The De’ Luca family had appealed to Alfonso to grant Riccardo asylum in Ferrara, and he was inclined to grant their request.

“They say Riccardo is a superb horseman,” Cortile said, reading the letter from the elder De’ Luca. “I do know that his father breeds magnificent Palio horses.”

“A breeder of Palio horses, a foe of Florence—what better qualities to recommend him to the House of Este!” said Alfonso, taking a sip of wine. “But what is this about a duel?”

“Apparently Signor De’ Luca believes a de’ Medici henchman kidnapped Siena’s shining star—Virginia Tacci.”

“And she is?”

“The girl who almost won the Palio some years ago.”

“Ah, sì! The Senese shepherdess! Such a tale!”

“Indeed. Her horse shied in the last stretch. Some
bastardi
threw boards out into the road. Still, she finished third. But after the Palio, she disappeared. There has been no record of her existence.”

“Kidnapped?” asked Alfonso, raising an eyebrow.

“Riccardo De’ Luca is convinced of it. And so he challenged a Florentine—the man whom he thought responsible—to a duel.”

“You think Granduca Francesco had a hand in this?”

Ercole Cortile shrugged and laid the De’ Luca letter on the desk. His stomach roiled at the name Francesco de’ Medici.

“All that is certain is that she is gone—and that Siena worshipped the girl. Virginia Tacci represented the independence and passion of their old republic,” he said. “The rest is speculation.”

Alfonso nodded. He suddenly felt a cold shadow floating over him. He thought of the murder of the beautiful Leonora de’ Medici, cousin of his first wife.

“Perhaps they feared this Virginia Tacci could have sparked a rebellion. Siena’s soul is restless. A de’ Medici who is capable of murdering his own sister and his sweet cousin—yes, I could see how such a girl might disappear mysteriously.”

Ercole Cortile nodded. He knew well of what Francesco had been capable.

“Did this scoundrel accept the challenge of”—Alfonso glanced at the letter lying on his desk—“Riccardo De’ Luca?”

“No. He waited like a coward for the guards to arrest the man. And now Signor De’ Luca is within our borders. He brought three gorgeous chestnut brood mares, already in foal.”

Alfonso savored his wine, his tongue swishing it around his palate. He swallowed, taking a deep, contented breath.

“I must pay our guest a visit. And we will learn even more when those mares give foal. I am always looking for good prospects for our Palio.”