As the bedding cooled, the heat of her lover dissipating into the night, she would lie awake, wondering how things might have ended differently. What if she had gone to the Monastero Maggiore, had proved her value there, had preserved her virtue? What if her silly brothers had not lost her dowry and she was a wife in the country, with land and a brood of children?
It was futile to dwell on the possibilities.
To be sure, Ludovico valued Cecilia, just not in the way she had envisioned for herself. He lavished her with every gift and luxury she could imagine, from dresses to gilded trinkets. A fine horse, the best of a breeder from the Dolomite mountain range, stood waiting for her in the stable. Violina, the docile white puppy that had brought her to tears of joy when Ludovico had presented it, now settled into a warm circle in her lap. Cecilia marveled at the beauty of it all. Her childhood home in Siena, with its chipped crockery and mended undergarments, seemed nothing more than a story heard long ago.
And now, a portrait. Ludovico had engaged an artist, Master da Vinci of Florence, to capture his mistress in paint.
Still, sitting for a painting, though an honor, sounded like the dullest possible way to spend an afternoon. But with Bernardo with her in the library, at the least she could continue her studies and their engaging conversations.
As it turned out, Master da Vinci was anything but dull. He strode into the room adorned in a green velvet cloak, fastened together at the neck with a jeweled clasp, and light green hose emerging from shoes with elaborate leather cutwork. His dark hair and copious beard flowed from underneath a sagging velvet hat. Behind him, a valet and chambermaid swayed under the heft of the painter’s leather bags.
Leonardo and Bernardo greeted each other with kisses on both cheeks and a strong clasp of the shoulders. Then, the artist fell to the floor on one knee, grasping Cecilia’s hand in both of his. “Your talents are already being praised across the land, signorina. But now I see that no one who has spoken so highly of you has done justice to your beauty.”
“You are kind.” Cecilia blushed.
“It will be my challenge—and my privilege—to preserve your beauty in paint for future generations. Besides,” he said, “we Tuscans must stay together in this gray city.”
Cecilia decided immediately that she liked Master Leonardo. She took a seat in one of the two armchairs, the one nearest the bright window, while Bernardo perched himself on the window’s ledge to look out upon the neat rows of trimmed junipers in the courtyard below. Her dog settled in her lap, wheezing almost imperceptibly. Cecilia ran her palm over his bony head. The painter fished out a few leaves of parchment and a long stylus from one of his bags.
“I thought you were going to paint me?” she asked.
“Indeed. But we will begin with preparatory sketches. It will take some time.”
Cecilia nodded and relaxed in the chair, where she could watch Master da Vinci work. She had never been painted before and had never even met a painter, but as far as she could tell, Master da Vinci did not look like one. His clothes were impeccable. If she met him on the street, she might take him for a nobleman. He did not even have stains on his fingernails.
“Do you paint every day?” she asked.
“No,” he said quickly. “Haven’t painted anything for months. That’s not why I’m here.”
Bernardo stepped in. “His Magnificence has engaged Master da Vinci as a military engineer.”
“An engineer?” Cecilia asked.
“Bridges,” the master said. “Catapults. Trebuchets. Siege vehicles. Machines that might even attack from the air. That has been my trade of late. It’s what brought me here to begin with.”
“There are so many threats to the duchy?” Cecilia asked, squirming in her chair.
“Men of Il Moro’s standing always find themselves threatened, cara,” he said, his eyes soft. “But to answer the question you originally posed, yes, I offer my services as a painter in times of peace. But more often than not, men like Ludovico il Moro find themselves at war.”
“And Master da Vinci, therefore, finds himself employed.” Bernardo smiled.
“Correct, signore.” Leonardo smiled, too, and pointed his silverpoint pen in Bernardo’s direction. Then he began to run it carefully over the page, shifting his brown eyes up occasionally to watch Cecilia as she caressed her dog’s soft ear. “And I am at His Lordship’s disposal for anything that needs design or visual display, like the upcoming nuptials.”
“A matrimonio?” Cecilia asked. “Who is getting married?” For a few long moments, the only sound was the soft purr and scraping of a pigeon under an eave near the window. From her peripheral vision, Cecilia saw Bernardo squirm uncomfortably at the windowsill, crossing his legs and rubbing his palm over his mouth.
Master da Vinci’s face blanched. “The daughter of the Duke of Ferrara,” he said haltingly. “Beatrice d’Este.” Her name came out as a whisper.
Heavy silence fell again over the room. Cecilia felt her heart begin to pound, and heat rose to her cheeks as the pieces began to coalesce in her mind.
“Cecilia,” Bernardo broke the silence. “Surely you knew? His Lordship has been betrothed for many years already, as you were yourself.”
“I am an idiot,” Master da Vinci said, rushing to kneel at Cecilia’s side. “My poor, innocent child. I should have taken more care. Forgive me for being a brute. There can be no doubt that you are the light in His Lordship’s eyes. That is plain to see. Why else would he have wanted to immortalize you with a picture by my own hand?”
Cecilia struggled for words. How could she have been so naïve? Of course a marriage would have been arranged long ago for a man like Ludovico Sforza. Why hadn’t she seen it, or thought to ask? What made her think that she had the slightest chance to be the lady of this castle? Beside her, Leonardo da Vinci stared at her with huge, sad brown eyes.
“You are not an idiot,” she said, placing her hand on his to reassure him. “I am. I’m just a stupid country girl. Not sure why I thought I might be the duchess of Milan.”
“Cara mia . . .” Bernardo stepped forward to console her. “Surely you have not allowed our master to take your heart as well as your virtue?”
Cecilia had to stop and think about this. Bernardo had a way of putting things in stark light. Did she love Ludovico? The question lingered heavy and unanswered in the air.
All she knew was that things had become quickly complicated. Her lover, her keeper, her master—he would marry another woman. It had been decided long before Cecilia darkened the doorway of the Castello Sforzesco. This Beatrice d’Este, daughter of the Duke of Ferrara, was the perfect match. Of course she was. Of course she would be the head of this castle. She would be the one to entertain their guests, to assemble painters, poets, musicians. She would be the one who might, if the stars aligned, win Ludovico’s heart.
For the first time since arriving in Milan, Cecilia wasn’t sure about anything. And her own feelings for Ludovico were complicated by a secret that she had not shared with anyone else. She was carrying his child.
22
Leonardo
Milan, Italy
November 1490
CECILIA GALLERANI’S DAYS IN THE DUCAL PALACE OF MILAN are numbered. Surely she knows it?