Painting Mona Lisa aka I, Mona Lisa

piagnoni… and me.

When I looked up, I saw Uccello’s Battle of San Romano, with its bright banners flying in an imaginary wind. Captain Tolentino still appeared brave and determined, but this time he seemed very alone, soon to be overwhelmed by the enemy.

Giuliano did not return until late afternoon-so close to the hour he was scheduled to leave that I summoned Laura and sent her after him to be sure he came to see me before he left.

He no longer wore his false cheerfulness; his eyes were serious, his brow faintly lined. He brought with him a valet who dressed him in a severe tunic of dark gray, untrimmed.

When the valet was gone, I said lightly, “You look like a piagnone.”

He did not smile. “I have to leave soon. Did Laura show you where Giovanni’s suite is?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He paused; I knew he was choosing his words carefully. “If for any reason Piero and I are detained… if we’re late, or if anything happens to worry you, go to Giovanni at once. He’ll know what to do.”

I scowled, using displeasure and disapproval to mask my unease. “What could possibly worry me? Why would I want to go to Giovanni?”

My husband’s lips twitched slightly as he made the decision to be candid. “Our things are packed. Giovanni knows where they are, and he knows where to take you. We’ve agreed on a place where we can meet. So if we’re detained…”

“I want to go with you. I can’t stay here.”

He gave a short, soft laugh devoid of humor. My suggestion was outrageous, of course: I was a woman, and women would not be welcome at the Palazzo della Signoria. And I already knew Giuliano well enough to know he would never let me accompany him on such a dangerous outing.

“Lisa.” He took my shoulders tenderly. “We’ve come to an agreement with King Charles; the Signoria may not like it. I was a fool to let Piero continue to listen to Dovizi-everything he’s encouraged my brother to do has made our family look bad. I should never have let things get to this stage; I was too busy looking after our banking interests, left too much of the politics in Piero’s hands. Piero won’t like it, but from this day forth, I’ll insist on being more involved. Dovizi will not be sleeping under our roof tonight. Piero will listen only to my counsel from now on.”

He paused then, and looked toward the window. I knew he was listening for the bells.

“You have to go now, don’t you?”

In reply, he took my face in his hands. “I love you.” He gave me a small, sweet kiss. “And I’ll be back soon, I promise you. Don’t worry.”

“All right,” I said. Somehow, I managed to speak and behave very calmly. “I’ll let you go without me on one condition.”

“What?” He tried to sound playful.

The connection between Leonardo’s letter and Lorenzo’s dying words still gnawed at me, and I feared that my opportunity to learn the truth was fast escaping. “Answer this question. Who is the third man? The penitent?”

His hands dropped to his sides. His lips parted, and he frowned at me, dumbstruck. “After all this time… you remember my father saying that?” And then he collected himself. “He was dying. He didn’t know what he was saying.”

“You’re a terrible liar. Who did he mean?”

Giuliano’s shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. “He was the one man who escaped,” he said, and at that instant the bells began to ring.

We both started, but I persisted. Time was slipping away, and I had a sudden keen desire to know, as if both our fates depended on it. “Escaped what?”

“They caught everyone involved in the conspiracy to kill my uncle. But one man escaped.”

“Your father saw him?”

He shook his head, visibly anxious now, his body turning toward the door. “Leonardo,” he said. “Leonardo saw him; my uncle died in his arms. Lisa, I have to go. Kiss me again.”

I wanted to cry from sheer worry, but instead I kissed him.

“The guards are just outside,” he said quickly, “and they will tell you if you need to go to Giovanni. Stay here. Laura will bring you something to eat.” He opened the door, then turned his head to look at me one last time. His face was young, painted with fireglow; his eyes were shining and anxious. “I love you.”

“I love you,” I said.

He closed the door. I went over to the window and opened it, unmindful of the chill. There was finally a break in the clouds, and I caught a glimpse of the low sun, coral orange. I leaned out for a while, listening to the bells; then I watched as finally Piero and Giuliano set out on horseback, accompanied by some thirty men.

“Leonardo,” I said, with no one there to hear me. Somehow we were connected to each other and the trouble that was surely coming now.

XLVI

I listened to the cascading harmony of the church bells until the very last note faded into the vibrating air. I felt I ought to go downstairs to the chapel, where Giovanni and Michelangelo were no doubt at vespers; I felt I should pray to my mother’s benevolent God to protect my husband. But I was too agitated at that point to converse with God or anyone else. I was too agitated, in fact, to obey Giuliano and sit patiently in the bedchamber.

I was dressed in my wedding gown, since Zalumma had never arrived with my other clothes; because it was chilly, I put on the lovely brocade overdress with its fur lining. Something made me pause and retrieve my two gold medallions from the desk, where Laura had put them when she had undressed me the night before. I slipped them into the inside pocket of the overdress, and stepped out into the antechamber.

My giant rose to his feet. “Is there anything you need, Madonna Lisa?”

“No. I’m just going to the kitchen to get something to eat,” I lied cheerily, and graced him with my best smile.

His expression grew troubled. “But Ser Giuliano gave orders-”

My smile broadened. “That I was to stay in my room. I know. But he said if I got hungry, there was no harm in going to the kitchen. Besides, I’m bored of Petrarch. I wanted to borrow another book from the library.”

“We can fetch you food-whatever you like. And if you tell us the book-”

“Ah, but I’m not familiar with the library, so I wouldn’t know what book to ask for.” My tone grew pleading. “Please. I’ll only be a minute.”

“Very well,” he said, reluctant. “But I must respectfully ask that you don’t dawdle. Ser Giuliano would never forgive me if he returned and I could not account for your whereabouts.” He led the way to the antechamber door and paused to instruct the two guards there in a low voice. As I made my way down the corridor, I could hear one of them following me at a discreet distance.

I went downstairs, passing more armed guards. I had no desire to go to the kitchen, of course; I only wanted to distract myself. And so I wandered out into the courtyard.

It was almost as I remembered: There, in the center, was Donatello’s sleek, girlish bronze David, and nearby a stone bust of Plato. But many of the ancient pieces were gone, and, most notably, so was the terra-cotta sculpture of the elder Giuliano.

I had heard of the famed Medici gardens and knew that they lay beyond the courtyard. I passed between a pair of columns connected by an arch of pietra serena, crossing through a loggia until the building opened up again.

Here I found the formal garden, a third the size of the vast palazzo. At the center of a bright green lawn, two flagstone paths, lined by potted fruit trees, intersected. Between the trees stood thickets of rosebushes, thorny and starkly pruned for the coming winter. Behind the bushes, at carefully placed intervals, stood life-sized statues on high pedestals. The one that most caught my eye portrayed the Hebrew, Judith, her fist clutching the hair of her