to touch them. And I must eat, eat all the time-or else I become too ill to tolerate the smell of food. You must play the fool, and tell no one-I intend to surprise him with the news at supper tonight.’
‘He will be so excited. And your father, too.’ I smiled at the thought of playing aunt to my brother’s child.
Once we arrived at the vineyard, we found the perfect pastoral setting: a copse of tall pines perpendicular to a clearing of grass and wildflowers, then rows of grape arbours, their gnarled vines bare of leaf or fruit. The land sloped gradually downward, providing a pleasant vista. A table had been brought, and as the servant girls busied themselves with unloading the food and wine, Lucrezia looked the setting up and down, dropped her ermine cape casually on the grass, and said: ‘It’s a perfect day for a race.’
I laughed. It was an entirely girlish suggestion-yet, when I met Lucrezia’s mischievous gaze, I saw that she was serious. ‘Your condition, Madonna,’ I said, under my breath.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she countered. ‘I couldn’t be healthier! And I am so excited about telling Alfonso-if I don’t do something, I’ll go mad from the energy.’
Grinning, I studied her: she had put on a bit of weight since marrying my brother, and brimmed with vigour. She was used to a great deal of walking and riding; a short run would not tax her in the least, pregnant or not. ‘Race, then, Duchess,’ I said. I eyed the perfectly straight rows of grapevines, and said, ‘It
‘Then let’s run.’ Lucrezia pointed to the first break in the arbour. ‘That’s our end-point; first one to reach it wins.’
I slipped off my cape and tabard; both hems were long and would trip me. Lucrezia removed her own tabard as I asked, ‘And what are the stakes?’
She frowned, thinking, then one corner of her lip curled upward. ‘A diamond. Either you take one from me, or I take one from you.’
‘But whose choice?’ I persisted.
‘The loser’s,’ she said, suddenly timid.
I folded my arms and shook my head, and she laughed.
‘All right, all right, victor’s choice. I suppose I shall have to win, then.’
We held our skirts high, called for Donna Esmeralda to give the signal-and then were off.
It was scarcely a fair contest. I was taller and longer of limb and won handily, kicking up a great deal of dust. ‘So,’ I gloated, ‘I will have to pick out your finest diamond.’ Lucrezia rolled her eyes and made a fine show of being worried, when we both knew that I had no intention of claiming my prize.
Lucrezia demanded a rematch; when I refused (for I did not want her to tire herself), she insisted on racing the younger ladies-in-waiting. At one point, there were four ladies taking the runner’s stance, waiting for Donna Esmeralda to give the signal-two in each wide row.
I grew mildly concerned, for Lucrezia’s face was quite flushed, and she had begun to perspire, despite the coolness of the day. I decided to insist that lunch be served and all exertion end by the time Donna Esmeralda called for the runners to start.
As the last race began, I moved away from the arbours, toward Donna Esmeralda and the table, laden now with a tempting array of foods; Lucrezia would no doubt be hungry after all her activity.
I was looking away when I heard the subtle, troubling sound of flesh and bone colliding with earth. A shout followed. I turned to see Donna Esmeralda running as fast as her stout form would allow, towards two women in the arbour path. At the same instant, I spotted the second woman in mid-fall, her green brocade skirts ballooning above her in the air. I, too, ran until, like Esmeralda, I stood beside Lucrezia and the young lady-in-waiting who had fallen atop her, and now pushed herself slowly up and away from her mistress.
‘Lucrezia!’ I cried, kneeling down beside her. She was unconscious and frighteningly pale. I looked accusingly up at the poor lady-in-waiting, who stood trembling, knuckles to her mouth. ‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know, Madonna,’ she said, her voice tearful. ‘She was running and, I think, tripped on her slipper. She fell, and I could not stop in time…’ She gazed at us, her young face terrified of rebuke or punishment, but we had no interest in her, as she was unharmed. Lucrezia had taken the brunt of her fall.
I patted Lucrezia’s cheeks; they were cool, but she remained in a faint. I glanced up at Donna Esmeralda, all business.
‘The Duchess of Bisciglie is pregnant,’ I said. ‘We must get her back to the palazzo at once, and call for a doctor and midwife.’
Donna Esmeralda gasped at this news, then ran to fetch the young male drivers of our carriage, who had been off hunting. Within half-an-hour, we were back in the carriage. Esmeralda and I spread Lucrezia out across our laps, and I kept my hand pressed to her forehead, worrying about the potential for fever, and cursing myself for ever allowing the first race to be run.
By the time we arrived back at the palazzo, Lucrezia had come to herself-though she was somewhat shaken and had to be reminded of the fall.
‘That damned slipper!’ she cursed-trying to fend off the carriage driver-who insisted on carrying her into the palazzo-but in the end yielding. When he, for modesty’s sake, left her at the door of her bedchamber, we women surrounded her, propping her up as she staggered to her bed.
Each step caused her pain. ‘It is only my back,’ she said nonchalantly, ‘and a headache. I will be better by the morrow.’
The midwife awaited her, and Lucrezia submitted meekly to an examination. When the older woman at last emerged from the bedchamber, Donna Esmeralda and I leapt up from our seats to hear the news.
‘The duchess has taken serious blows to the head and back,’ the old woman reported. ‘She shows no fever, no bleeding or other signs of losing the child-but it is too early to know.’
Donna Esmeralda and I consulted with Lucrezia’s head lady-in-waiting, and I decided that we would tell the doctor not to come. His arrival might be noted by others, as his appearance always indicated a serious malady, whereas the midwife was often consulted for minor female complaints. There was no point in alarming the Pope and Alfonso. We would retain the midwife, and watch Lucrezia over the next several hours to see how she fared.
By that time, it was afternoon. Fortunately, no family supper was planned for that evening, since we women were expected to return late from our picnic.
At Lucrezia’s request, I went in and sat beside her. She was nauseated and refused offers of food or drink; her head pained her greatly, and she could barely open her eyes. Still, she insisted on remaining cheerful and conversing with me, her forehead covered with cool, damp cloths.
‘All this trouble over a stupid slipper,’ she told me. ‘The left one was too loose; I was of a mind to pull it off and run barefoot. I should have. We could have avoided all this foolishness.’
‘Donna Esmeralda would never have permitted it in cold weather,’ I retorted lightly, with the same good humour, though I was racked with guilt and concern. ‘She would have worried you would catch the grippe. So you would have had to wear the accursed slipper regardless.’
‘Alfonso will be so worried,’ she whispered. ‘Have you told him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Good.’ She closed her eyes. ‘The surprise will have to wait, then, until I am better,’ She sighed. ‘He is going to find out soon enough about my fall. He will come here sometime after nightfall.’
‘He is a strong young man,’ I said. ‘He will recover from the shock.’
She smiled weakly, then grew silent. After a time, she fell into a light sleep. I felt relief, thinking her discomfort had eased, and she would now improve. But the midwife insisted on remaining nearby.
Lucrezia woke a few hours after sunset, with a great, terrifying moan. I leaned forward and clasped her hand. Her teeth were chattering; she was suffering too greatly even to speak.
The midwife lifted the covers and examined her, then-with a sombre glance that broke my heart-shook her head.
‘She is bleeding,’ she reported. ‘We can expect the worst.’ She turned to Donna Esmeralda and ordered several towels, a sheet, and a basin of water, then looked at me again, with a grim expression born of years of sad experience. ‘It would be best, Madonna Sancha, if you left.’
‘No!’ Lucrezia cried, in the midst of her groaning. Her flesh was white, beaded with sweat. ‘Sancha, do not leave me!’
