As he stood by the wayside in the drizzling November rain, looking at the woman whose path had been crossed by every star in Heaven, Maestro Ambrogio found himself praying that someone would step forward and save Giulietta from her fate. In the eyes of the crowd she was no less beautiful now than she had been before, but it was evident to the painter-who had not seen her since the night before the fatal Palio-that hers had become the stony beauty of Athena, rather than the smiling charms of Aphrodite.
How he wished that Romeo would return to Siena this very instant and come charging into town with a band of foreign soldiers to steal away his lady before it was too late. But Romeo, said people, shaking their heads, was far away in distant lands, seeking comfort in women and drink where Salimbeni would never find him.
All of a sudden, standing there with his hood up against the rain, Maestro Ambrogio knew how he must conclude the large fresco in Palazzo Pubblico. There must be a bride, a sad girl lost in bitter memories, and a man on a horse leaving town, but leaning back in the saddle to hear a painter’s plea. Only by confiding in the silent wall, thought the Maestro, would he be able to ease the pain in his heart on this hateful day.
GIULIETTA KNEW IT as soon as she had finished the breakfast that was to be her last meal in Palazzo Tolomei: Monna Antonia had put something in her food to calm her down. Little did her aunt know that Giulietta had no intention of obstructing the wedding by refusing to go. How else would she get close enough to Salimbeni to make him suffer?
She saw it all in a haze-the wedding procession, the gaping street hordes, the stern assembly in the dark cathedral-and only when Salimbeni lifted her veil to reveal her bridal crown to the bishop and the awestruck wedding guests did she snap out of her trance and recoil at their gasps and his closeness.
The crown was a sinful vision of gold and sparkling stones, which rivaled anything that had ever been seen before, in Siena or elsewhere. It was a treasure more suited for royalty than for a sullen country girl, but then, it was not really for her. It was for him.
“How do you like my gift?” he asked, studying her face as he spoke. “It has two Ethiopian sapphires that reminded me of your eyes. Priceless. But then… they seemed so forlorn that I gave them the company of two Egyptian emeralds that reminded me of the way that fellow-Romeo-used to look at you.” He smiled at the shock in her face. “Tell me, my dear, do you not find me generous?”
Giulietta had to steel herself before addressing him. “You, Messere, are so much more than generous.”
He laughed delightedly at her reply. “I am glad to hear it. You and I will get along very well, I think.”
But the bishop had heard the evil remark and was not amused. Nor were the priests who attended the wedding feast later, and who entered the bridal chamber to bless it with holy water and incense, only to discover that Romeo’s cencio was spread out on top of the bed. “Messer Salimbeni!” they exclaimed, “you cannot make up your bed with this cencio!”
“Why not?” Salimbeni asked, wine goblet in hand, musicians in tow.
“Because,” they replied, “it belongs to another man. It was given to Romeo Marescotti by the Virgin Mary herself, and it was meant for his bed alone. Why would you challenge the will of Heaven?”
But Giulietta knew very well why Salimbeni had put the cencio on the bed, for he had put the green emeralds in her bridal crown for the very same reason: to remind her that Romeo was dead, and that there was nothing she could do to bring him back.
In the end, Salimbeni threw out the priests without getting their blessing for the night, and when he had heard enough sycophantic drivel from the drunken wedding guests, he threw them out as well, together with the musicians. If some people were surprised by their patron’s sudden lack of generosity, they all understood his reason for ending the party-she sat in the corner, more asleep than awake, but even in her state of disarray was far too lovely to be left alone much longer.
While Salimbeni was busy taking leave of them all and receiving their good wishes, Giulietta saw her chance to grab a knife from the banquet table and conceal it beneath her clothes. She had been eyeing that particular weapon all night, and had seen it capture the light from the candles as the servants had used it to cut meat for the guests. Even before she held it in her hand, she had already begun to plan how she would use it to carve her loathsome groom. She knew from Giannozza’s letters that-this being her wedding night-there would be a point where Salimbeni would come to her, undressed and with thoughts for everything but fighting, and she knew that this would have to be the moment when she struck.
She could hardly wait to do him such mortal harm that the bed would be covered in his blood rather than hers. But most important, she longed to drink in his reaction to his own mutilation before she plunged the blade right into his demonic heart.
After that, her plans were less defined. Because she had had no communication with Friar Lorenzo since the night after the Palio-and had found no other sympathetic ear in his absence-she knew that, in all likelihood, Romeo’s body was still lying unburied at the Tolomei sepulchre. It was conceivable that her aunt, Monna Antonia, had returned to Tebaldo’s grave the next day to pray and light a candle, but Giulietta rather suspected that, if her aunt had actually stumbled upon Romeo’s body, she-and the rest of Siena-would have heard about it, or, even more likely, witnessed the grieving mother dragging the body of her son’s presumed murderer through the streets by the heels, strapped to her carriage.
WHEN SALIMBENI JOINED Giulietta in the candlelit wedding chamber, she had barely finished her prayers, and had not yet found a suitable place to hide the knife. Turning to face the intruder, she was shocked to see him wearing little more than a tunic; the sight of him holding a weapon would have been less unsettling than that of his naked arms and legs.
“I believe it is custom,” she said, her voice shaking, “to allow your wife time to prepare herself-”
“Oh, I think you are quite ready!” Salimbeni closed the door and walked right up to her, taking her by the chin. He smiled. “No matter how long you make me wait, I will never be the man you want.”
Giulietta swallowed hard, nauseated by his touch and smell. “But you are my husband-” she began meekly.
“Am I now?” He looked amused, head to one side. “Then why do you not greet me more heartily, my love? Why these cold eyes?”
“I-” She struggled to get the words out. “I am not yet used to your presence.”
“You disappoint me,” he said, smiling obscurely. “They told me you would have more spirit than this.” He shook his head, feigning exasperation. “I am beginning to think you could grow to like me.”
When she did not respond, he ran a hand down to challenge the neckline of her wedding gown, seeking access to her bosom. Giulietta gasped when she felt his greedy fingers, and for a moment quite forgot her cunning plan of letting him believe he had conquered her.
“How dare you touch me, you stinking goat!” she hissed, working to pry his hands off her body. “God will not let you touch me!”
Salimbeni laughed delightedly at her sudden resistance and stuck a claw in her hair to hold her still while he kissed her. Only when she gagged with revulsion did he let go of her mouth and say, his sour breath warm against her face, “I will tell you a secret. Old God likes to watch.” With that he picked her up only to throw her down again on top of the bed. “Why else would he create such a body as yours, but leave it for me to enjoy?”
As soon as he let go of her to undo the belt around his tunic, Giulietta tried to crawl away. Unfortunately, when he pulled her back by the ankles, the knife became perfectly visible underneath her skirts, strapped to her thigh. The mere sight of it made its intended victim burst out laughing.