The Shepherdess of Siena: A Novel of Renaissance Tuscany by Linda Lafferty Page B

pici pasta, glistening with olive oil and chunks of potted hare. He suddenly felt ill.
    “Sì, signore,” he answered.
    The young man picked up the linen cloth and shrouded his painting. He turned and descended the stairs, following his father in silence.

    In Florence, the servants of Palazzo Buontalenti bit their lips, weathering one of their mistress’s worst tirades. They bowed their heads in respect as the granduca entered the grand sala to address his mistress.
    “Me? Not allowed at Court!” snapped Bianca. “I have been the granduchessa’s lady-in-waiting for years. Her favorite!”
    “Mia cara,” said the granduca. “She has only just learned of our relationship. It is a shock, you must realize. You may have been her confidante, her most favored, but not anymore. You cannot return to Court now that she knows we are lovers.”
    Francesco shook his head, marveling that his mistress could not understand his wife’s outrage.
    “Giovanna is a silly cow—an overbred Habsburg idiot!”
    “Bianca, mia amore —the servants!” whispered Francesco.
    “I am to be banished from Court because she has been blind for all these years? All Florence, all Venezia, knows I am your lover.”
    “Protocol demands—”
    “I come from a respectable, noble family myself. In Venezia! Never forget that!”
    Francesco bit his tongue. He looked at Bianca’s servants, blank-faced as statues.
    Bianca pulled at a strand of blond hair that had tumbled down on her neck. Her ample white bosom heaved above the confines of her corset.
    “Privacy, please,” said Francesco, sending a searing glance at the servants.
    “Servants—leave at once!” commanded Bianca. “You, Anna, stay and loosen my corset. I feel dizzy. I think I shall faint.”
    The other servants bowed, scurrying out of the room.
    Once Anna had loosened the stays on her mistress’s garment, she, too, left, latching the door behind her.
    “Was it not enough to murder my husband?” cried Bianca, her white face turning crimson. “I see his ghost each night as I sleep. His blood stains the walls of Santa Trinita for all eternity—”
    “Stop, Bianca! He was a traitor, blackmailing me. Treating me as if he were an equal, instead of merely a greedy cuckold. He cared nothing for you!”
    Bianca covered her face with her hands, sobbing.
    “But now, Granduchessa Giovanna! She will destroy everything. The Florentines already dare to call me puttana . While they call her ‘our queen,’ the withered old stick!”
    Francesco ground his teeth, thinking of his lover’s humiliation. He loved Bianca Cappello above anything on Earth, including his reputation and that of the de’ Medici family.
    “I shall go mad if I am not allowed at Court!” said Bianca. “I cannot be a caged bird. I must laugh and entertain. I must dance! Remember when we celebrated my twenty-fourth birthday? You pledged your undying love—”
    Francesco took his mistress in his arms, smelling the sweet powder and Venetian soap lingering on her white skin.
    His finger strayed, toying with her ivory bosom, freed from its restraints.
    “The granduchessa has approached Cosimo, asking that you be banned from Court. He has told her to let things run their course, that I will return to her—”
    “You bastard!” she said, striking at him with her fists.
    He caught her hands in his, kissing them. His lips lingered on an emerald the size of a sparrow’s egg.
    “No, my darling. My father understands our love and my needs. He has told my wife that he will not ban you permanently. He does send word that a hiatus would be beneficial to all concerned.”
    Bianca smiled, sniffing back her tears. She directed his hands toward her nipples.
    “Your father has always understood affairs of the heart. Dare I think he is fond of me?”
    Francesco snorted. He looked into her eyes, the color of the Adriatic Sea.
    “He understands women,” he said. “And he understands me.”

C HAPTER 20
    Siena, Pugna Hills
    A PRIL