He was not the only one to notice her. The magistrates, who were busy making deals and shaking hands, fell silent when they saw Giulietta’s radiant face. And below the podium, standing close enough to look as if he belonged there, even the grand Messer Salimbeni eventually turned to see what had made everyone so silent. When he caught sight of the young woman, an expression of pleasant surprise spread over his face, and at that exact moment he reminded the Maestro of a fresco that had once caught his attention-when he was young and foolish-in a house of ill repute. The scene had depicted the ancient god Dionysus descending on the island of Naxos to find the princess Ariadne there, abandoned by her perfidious lover Theseus. The myth was vague about the outcome of the encounter between woman and god; some liked to think they flew away together in loving harmony, but others knew that encounters between humans and amorous gods can never have a happy end.
To compare Salimbeni to a divinity might be considered too kind, given his reputation. But then, those ancient pagan gods had been anything but benign and aloof; even though Dionysus had been the god of wine and celebration, he was only too ready to transform himself into the god of raving madness-a terrible force of nature that could seduce women into running wild in the forest and tearing apart animals with their bare hands.
Now, as he stood there looking at Giulietta across the floor of the cathedral, to the untrained eye Salimbeni looked all benevolence and abundance, but the Maestro could see that, beneath the man’s plush brocade, the transformation was already taking place.
“I say,” mumbled one of the Nine, loud enough for Maestro Ambrogio to hear, “Tolomei is full of surprises. Where did he keep her locked up all this time?”
“Do not jest,” replied the most senior of the magistrates, Niccolino Patrizi. “I hear that she was orphaned by one of Salimbeni’s gangs. They raided her home while she was in confession. I remember her father well. He was a rare man. I never could shake his integrity.”
The other man snorted. “Are you sure she was there? It would be unlike Salimbeni to let such a pearl slip between his fingers.”
“She was saved by a priest, I believe. Tolomei has taken them both under his protection.” Niccolino Patrizi sighed and took a drink of wine from his silver goblet. “I only hope this does not make the feud flare up again, now that we finally have it under control.”
MESSER TOLOMEI HAD been dreading the moment for weeks. He had known all along that on the vigil of Madonna Assunta he would be face-to-face with his enemy, that most odious of men, Salimbeni, and that his dignity demanded revenge for the death of Giulietta’s family. And so after bowing before the altar, he made his way towards the podium, seeking out Salimbeni among the nobles gathered below.
“Good evening to you, my dear friend!” Salimbeni opened his arms in a gesture of affection when he saw his old enemy approaching. “Your family, I hope, are in good health?”
“More or less,” replied Tolomei, his jaw tightening. “Some were recently lost to violence, as I am sure you have heard?”
“I heard a rumor,” said Salimbeni, his gesture of friendship turning into a dismissive shrug, “but I never trust rumors.”
“Then I am more fortunate,” replied Tolomei, towering over the other both in stature and manner, yet unable to dominate him, “for I have eyewitnesses who are ready to swear with their hand on the Bible.”
“Indeed?” Salimbeni looked away, as if he was already bored with the subject. “What court would be foolish enough to hear them?”
A pregnant silence followed the question. Tolomei, and everyone around him, knew he was challenging a power that could squash him and destroy everything he had-life, liberty, and property-in a matter of hours. And the magistrates would do nothing to protect him. There was too much Salimbeni gold in their private coffers, and too much more to come, for any of them to desire the tyrant’s downfall.
“My dear friend,” Salimbeni went on, his benevolent smirk returning, “I hope you do not let these faraway events ruin your evening. You should rather congratulate yourself that our fighting days are over, and that we can enter the future in peace and understanding.”
“And this is what you call peace and understanding?”
“Perhaps we might consider”-Salimbeni looked across the room, and everyone but Tolomei could see what he was looking at-“sealing our peace with a marriage?”
“But certainly!” Tolomei had proposed the same measure several times before, but had always been refused. If the Salimbenis were to join in the Tolomei blood, he figured, surely they would be inclined to spill less of it.
Anxious to strike while the iron was hot, he summoned his wife impatiently from across the floor. It took a few waves before Monna Antonia finally dared to believe that the men desired her presence, and she joined them with uncharacteristic humility, sidling up nervously to Salimbeni like a slave before an unpredictable master.
“My dear friend Messer Salimbeni,” Tolomei explained to her, “has proposed a marriage between our families. What do you say, my dear? Would not that be a marvelous thing?”
Monna Antonia wrung her hands in flattered excitement. “Indeed it would. A marvelous thing.” She nearly curtsied to Salimbeni before addressing him directly. “Since you are kind enough to propose it, Messere, I have a daughter, recently thirteen, who would not be entirely inappropriate for your own very handsome son, Nino. She is a silent little thing, but healthy. She stands over there”-Monna Antonia pointed across the floor-“next to my firstborn, Tebaldo, who will ride in the Palio tomorrow, as perhaps you know. And if you lose her, there is always her younger sister, who is now eleven.”
“I thank you for the generous offer, dear lady,” said Salimbeni, indicating a bow of perfect courtesy, “but I was not thinking of my son. I was thinking of myself.”
Tolomei and Monna Antonia both gaped in speechless amazement. All around them, there was a spontaneous outburst of disbelief, soon curbed into a nervous murmur, and even on the podium everyone followed the developments below with intense apprehension.
“Who,” Salimbeni went on, oblivious to the commotion, “is that?” He nodded in the direction of Giulietta. “Was she married before?”
Some of Tolomei’s former anger returned to his voice as he said, “That is my niece. She alone survived the tragic events I just mentioned. I believe she lives only to seek vengeance on those responsible for the slaughter of her family.”
“I see.” Salimbeni looked anything but discouraged. In fact, he seemed to relish the challenge. “A spirited one, is she?”
Monna Antonia could remain silent no longer, and stepped eagerly forward. “Very much so, Messere. A thoroughly unpleasant girl. I am confident that you would be much better off taking one of my daughters. They will not object.”
Salimbeni smiled, mostly to himself. “As it is, I rather like a little objection.”
EVEN FROM A DISTANCE, Giulietta could feel the many eyes on her, and she hardly knew where to go to avoid the scrutiny. Her uncle and aunt had abandoned their kin to mingle with the other nobles, and she could see them talking to a man who exuded the comfort and magnanimity of an emperor, but who had the eyes of a lean and hungry animal. The unsettling thing was that those eyes were-with few interruptions-fixed on her.
Seeking refuge behind a column, she took a few deep breaths and told herself that all would be well. This morning, Friar Lorenzo had brought her a letter from Romeo saying that his father, Comandante Marescotti, would approach her uncle Tolomei with a proposal as soon as possible. Since receiving that letter, she had done little but pray to God that the proposal would be accepted, and that soon her dependency on the Tolomei family would be a thing of the past.