her breast. “Ah. Sizable. Much better.”
She decided to let him feel her breast. It would be better if he whetted his appetite for her. She knew from her marital relations with Francesco that a plump, white breast with a full pink nipple held some kind of power. She wanted to have that power over the most powerful prince in Italy.
“I have no idea where my husband is. I had no idea he was going to make an appearance at your wedding. I tried to talk to him, but he signaled me not to approach him.”
“He is a strange man, indeed. But if he is not here, then what is our obstacle?” Ludovico moved on to the other breast before trying to grasp both of them in one hand, which he could not do, and so he settled for kneading one breast and then the other.
“I’m afraid of him,” she said. Then she put her arms around his neck and reached up and kissed him, kissed those full, red lips, opening her mouth so that he could slip his fat tongue inside. She sucked on his tongue while he felt her breasts. Then, she broke away.
“You have to leave.”
“You have a strange way of saying goodbye,” he said.
“Francesco could be anywhere. Do you have any idea what he would do if he caught me with another man? Do you have any idea how happy the doge would be if my husband had an excuse to kill you? It would be just like Francesco to look for a reason to have a lovers duel. He both loves and hates that other men pay attention to me. I tell you, he is a bit insane, and would not hesitate to murder you if he had the chance.”
Ludovico sighed. “Always one complication or another.”
“We will have time again,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips, taking his hand from inside her gown.
“I am a patient man,” he said. “And I do not wish to die. Not tonight, when there is so much to look forward to tomorrow. Besides, the wait can make it so much more delicious.”
FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF LEONARDO:
Moderation curbs all the vices.
The ermine would rather die than soil itself.
Days later, riding in the royal procession through the streets of Milan and crossing the drawbridge over the great, wide moat that surrounded the Castello Sforzesco, Isabella felt as if she were entering the kingdom of one of the fairy tales she and Beatrice had recited to each other as children. The façade, with its dramatic tower, faced an elegant city square. Archers stood sentry from what seemed like mountain-high ramparts. The bridges into the castle swarmed with activity. Indeed, as she discovered in coming days, messengers, pages, soldiers, merchants, ladies, ambassadors, and knights exited and entered at all hours. The frenetic movement never seemed to stop, not even at night, when riders and their torchbearers galloped across the bridge on some urgent mission.
Surrounding the other sides of the Castello were beautiful meadows and woods, thick and enchanted. There, Ludovico housed his stables and his fine collection of horses, where Isabella guessed that Beatrice would be spending most of her time. The rooms of the Castello were too numerous to count, and at this time were filled with Beatrice’s magnificent trousseau, to be gazed upon and admired by the visiting guests. Walking through the winding rooms where thousands of gifts for the bride and groom were on display was like being on a tour of the world’s great treasures. Plate of gold and silver, exquisite and delicate ceramics, mounds of spices in exotic bowls, weavings from many countries, lengths of shimmering brocades, and necklaces of gems and metals that Isabella could not even identify—lavish offerings to the great Italian prince and his bride on view for all to admire.
Isabella also knew that hidden somewhere in these magnificent apartments was Ludovico’s mistress, Cecilia Gallerani. Isabella was dying to get a glimpse of the rival to Beatrice and herself. She roamed the halls, pretending to get lost, but made no progress in discovering this lady’s whereabouts. She
She decided to let him feel her breast. It would be better if he whetted his appetite for her. She knew from her marital relations with Francesco that a plump, white breast with a full pink nipple held some kind of power. She wanted to have that power over the most powerful prince in Italy.
“I have no idea where my husband is. I had no idea he was going to make an appearance at your wedding. I tried to talk to him, but he signaled me not to approach him.”
“He is a strange man, indeed. But if he is not here, then what is our obstacle?” Ludovico moved on to the other breast before trying to grasp both of them in one hand, which he could not do, and so he settled for kneading one breast and then the other.
“I’m afraid of him,” she said. Then she put her arms around his neck and reached up and kissed him, kissed those full, red lips, opening her mouth so that he could slip his fat tongue inside. She sucked on his tongue while he felt her breasts. Then, she broke away.
“You have to leave.”
“You have a strange way of saying goodbye,” he said.
“Francesco could be anywhere. Do you have any idea what he would do if he caught me with another man? Do you have any idea how happy the doge would be if my husband had an excuse to kill you? It would be just like Francesco to look for a reason to have a lovers duel. He both loves and hates that other men pay attention to me. I tell you, he is a bit insane, and would not hesitate to murder you if he had the chance.”
Ludovico sighed. “Always one complication or another.”
“We will have time again,” she said, kissing him lightly on the lips, taking his hand from inside her gown.
“I am a patient man,” he said. “And I do not wish to die. Not tonight, when there is so much to look forward to tomorrow. Besides, the wait can make it so much more delicious.”
FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF LEONARDO:
Moderation curbs all the vices.
The ermine would rather die than soil itself.
Days later, riding in the royal procession through the streets of Milan and crossing the drawbridge over the great, wide moat that surrounded the Castello Sforzesco, Isabella felt as if she were entering the kingdom of one of the fairy tales she and Beatrice had recited to each other as children. The façade, with its dramatic tower, faced an elegant city square. Archers stood sentry from what seemed like mountain-high ramparts. The bridges into the castle swarmed with activity. Indeed, as she discovered in coming days, messengers, pages, soldiers, merchants, ladies, ambassadors, and knights exited and entered at all hours. The frenetic movement never seemed to stop, not even at night, when riders and their torchbearers galloped across the bridge on some urgent mission.
Surrounding the other sides of the Castello were beautiful meadows and woods, thick and enchanted. There, Ludovico housed his stables and his fine collection of horses, where Isabella guessed that Beatrice would be spending most of her time. The rooms of the Castello were too numerous to count, and at this time were filled with Beatrice’s magnificent trousseau, to be gazed upon and admired by the visiting guests. Walking through the winding rooms where thousands of gifts for the bride and groom were on display was like being on a tour of the world’s great treasures. Plate of gold and silver, exquisite and delicate ceramics, mounds of spices in exotic bowls, weavings from many countries, lengths of shimmering brocades, and necklaces of gems and metals that Isabella could not even identify—lavish offerings to the great Italian prince and his bride on view for all to admire.
Isabella also knew that hidden somewhere in these magnificent apartments was Ludovico’s mistress, Cecilia Gallerani. Isabella was dying to get a glimpse of the rival to Beatrice and herself. She roamed the halls, pretending to get lost, but made no progress in discovering this lady’s whereabouts. She
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