Beyond the antechamber, she could hear Bernardo’s voice, and she felt buoyed enough to proceed toward the sala grande. She knew that Leonardo’s drawings were displayed around the room for the guests to examine, but that the portrait of her stood in the center of the room, draped with a long swath of velvet that the master himself would remove when it was time to unveil his masterpiece. Master da Vinci squeezed her hand tightly against his side, and she felt that everything would be all right.
But as soon as they turned into the vestibule of the great hall, a shriek rang out. The crowd fell silent. The clipped sound of heeled shoes echoed on the marble as a woman came storming down the hallway.
Leonardo’s arm dropped from Cecilia’s but quickly found its way around her waist to support her.
“Beatrice,” she heard him whisper behind her ear. “Dio.”
“La dogaressa,” she heard the collective whisper of the crowd. Up until that moment she had not laid eyes on Ludovico’s bride, but there she was, unbelievably, standing before them.
“She was supposed to be on her way to Ferrara?” Leonardo whispered.
Cecilia was dumbstruck, and her words vanished from her as the woman stormed toward them. It was as if the world stopped the moment Beatrice caught sight of Cecilia. The two women stood face-to-face, mouths agape, as they looked upon what could have been their very own twin.
They were both dressed in deep velvet green dresses, almost identical to each other; their hair, brown and braided down their backs; their eyes dark, both burning with fire. Leonardo stood between the two women, shielding Cecilia. But Cecilia put her hand on his arm and gently pushed him aside. She had never wanted to see Ludovico’s wife, but now she could not tear her eyes away.
There wasn’t a sound from the crowd of guests, which had gotten larger thanks to Beatrice’s shrieks of fury. Cecilia wasn’t sure what she could say coming face-to-face with the woman she had wished to be all these months. Not only had Beatrice taken the position she believed she had earned, but how could Ludovico have married a woman who looked just like her?
Beatrice’s eyes ripped away from Cecilia’s as she scanned the crowd of guests that had assembled in her castle.
“Where is he?!” she demanded of them. “Ludovico!”
Farther down the hallway, Cecilia heard the familiar jangling of metal that accompanied the Regent of Milan when he attended an official event. The short, dark man cut through the crowd of people. It was the first time she had seen him in weeks, and she felt a lurch like a searing pike through her heart.
“What in the name of God? My bride . . .”
At the word bride, Cecilia leaned deeply into Leonardo’s arms.
“That whore!” Beatrice stretched out an accusing finger toward Cecilia. “What is she doing here?” Beatrice’s sharp voice echoed through the corridors. The crowd of guests pressed forward, enthralled with the unfolding scandal.
Ludovico’s black eyes fell onto Cecilia’s, then the duke took in the wide berth of her form. His eyes flickered to the crowd of esteemed guests who had made a circle around them, and he emitted a nervous laugh as if to defuse the thundercloud that threatened to explode, raining down on all of them. He grasped Beatrice’s shoulders, just as Leonardo did the same to Cecilia. The two women stood facing each other.
“Well, everyone is here to see Master da Vinci’s beautiful portrait. Isn’t that right, friends? Shall we go in?” Another nervous laugh. Ludovico attempted to steer his wife toward the door of the great hall, but Beatrice did not budge from where she stood before Cecilia, the two mirror images in their green dresses. Cecilia could see that a storm brewed behind the woman’s brown eyes. Her hatred was almost physically painful. Cecilia winced and pressed her palm to her belly as another strong wave clenched her midsection into a tight ball. She faltered, and Master da Vinci put his weight behind her to hold her up.
“That dress!” Beatrice yelled. “A gift, I presume?” She looked accusingly at Cecilia as her voice echoed. “How charitable. Unfortunately it does little to hide your condition.”
Ludovico took his wife’s hand and pulled her to him, whispering in her ear. The crowd pressed forward, yearning to hear.
“Absolutely not!” Beatrice responded loudly to his whispered request, whatever it was. “She is carrying your child!”
At that moment, a strong wave overtook Cecilia, and she cried out.
“Signorina Cecilia!” Leonardo attempted to catch her, but he, too, stumbled forward as she slumped to the floor.
“Please. Let me through! She is my sister!” Cecilia recognized her brother’s voice as Fazio pushed his way through the crowd of onlookers. “Cecilia!”
Cecilia felt a gush of liquid burst between her legs, and a hot stream began to run down the insides of her thighs. Blood. She felt as though she might pass out at any moment.
“Help me get her to her chambers!” Fazio cried. Two men standing nearby crouched over to help lift Cecilia from the floor. As they pulled her up from the marble, Cecilia caught sight of Ludovico’s broad back as he attempted to herd the crowd of enthralled onlookers into the great hall. Beatrice d’Este continued to stare at Cecilia, daggers in her eyes, as they carried her down the hallway. This is it, Cecilia thought. My final day on this earth. The last thing I will see is Ludovico’s back, retreating down a corridor.
“Make way!” her brother yelled as the crowd parted. “There is a baby coming.”
56
Dominic
Siegen, Germany
April 1945
DOMINIC PROPPED HIS BACK AGAINST A WALL AND spooned thin, watery rations into his mouth. Every bone in his body ached; exhaustion set in every time he took a minute to sit. The servicemen had been working shifts around the clock to keep bringing the art to safety; Dominic watched lines of them march through the tunnels, carrying paintings and sculptures, boxes and cases.
A shuffling beside him caught his attention; he looked up to see Stephany plant himself contentedly beside Dominic, holding a steaming bowl of his own. “You have enough?” he asked, offering the bowl.
“Oh, yeah. I’m fine, thanks.” Dominic scraped together a smile for the vicar.
Stephany tucked in happily. He gulped a few bites, then sat chewing a dry, stale cracker, watching the art go by.
Dominic watched the beautiful things being carried past, the subjects of the art depicting so many feelings. Joy. Fear. Triumph. Tranquility. He was fighting to stay alive, but he was fighting for a world where these things mattered. He wanted Cecilia and his new baby to grow up with art, friendship, and most importantly, hope. Weaver, Stout, Hancock, and Stephany were not insane after all. They had understood it from the beginning.
Dominic placed his tin on the ground and reached into the pocket of his field jacket for a small stash of paper he had collected. With a small nub of his pencil, he began to sketch Vicar Stephany’s round cheeks, his line of receding hair. Just a few lines, almost a cartoon.
“You make me look young and handsome,” Stephany said, continuing to stare ahead and shovel rations into his mouth.
Dominic laughed away a bit of the ache in his bones and continued to draw. “I’ll do my best, Vicar.”