“At least in our carriage we shall be out of the sun,” Marco said, wiping his brow with a piece of cloth. He had come to the back of the group to offer me his arm, and Clarice had gone to walk with her own husband.
“Small mercies,” I said, feeling rather out of breath. I did not wish to complain, though, not when our hosts had been so generous to us. I could see the villa from our path; it would not be much longer now before we could step into the cool rooms.
Just then, I began to feel quite faint—a result of the heat or something else, I was not quite sure. I stumbled, and would have fallen to the grass had Marco not noticed and caught me.
“Simonetta!” he cried, and it sounded as though his voice was coming from very far away as everything momentarily faded to black.
It must have been only a minute that I was unconscious, for as I came to I heard Lorenzo speaking to his brother. “Giuliano, run back to the villa and have the servants bring a sedan chair for Madonna Simonetta. And some water. Hurry!”
I did not hear Giuliano’s reply, if he made one; only his footsteps quickly retreating back up to the villa.
I opened my eyes and found myself half lying on the ground, Marco’s arm beneath my shoulders to support me.
“Simonetta, darling,” Marco said. “Are you alright?”
I took several seconds more to regain my breath before answering him. “I think so,” I said. “I am not sure what happened, but I … I feel better now, I think.”
My mother nodded. “The excitement, no doubt,” she said.
“And this brutal heat cannot have helped,” Lucrezia dei Tornabuoni added. “My dear, you should have told us you were feeling unwell! We would not have dragged you outdoors into this scorching morning had we known.”
“I felt fine until just a few moments ago,” I said. Now that the spell had passed, I was merely embarrassed to have caused such a fuss, and to have drawn everyone’s attention. “Truly, you are all kind to worry, but it is nothing, I am sure. I am sorry to have ruined everyone’s morning.”
“None of that,” Lorenzo said. “Your well-being is our primary concern, and nothing else.”
“You are too kind,” I said. “I am fine, I am sure of it.”
Marco squeezed my hand. “We shall summon the doctor directly upon our return to Florence.”
“Perhaps you should not return today at all,” Clarice interjected. “You are both welcome to stay as long as you need, until Simonetta feels up to the journey.”
“Si,” Lorenzo said. “In fact, you can both stay here and I will send for our doctor to come from Florence to attend you, Madonna Simonetta.”
“You are all too kind,” I said again. “But please, let us make no more of a fuss than is warranted. I am feeling quite restored now, and I am sure the return journey will pose no problem at all.”
“If you are sure, moglie,” Marco said slowly. “But I shall still call for the physician once we arrive home.”
“I do not believe there is any need,” I said, getting to my feet despite the worried looks of the company. “But if it shall set your mind at ease, marito, then, by all means, send for him.”
Just then Giuliano returned, with a wineskin full of fresh, clean water from the countryside. “For you, my dearest,” he said, dramatically kneeling to offer it to me. “It is an honor and privilege to come to your aid, though it is abhorrent to me that any illness should dare inflict itself upon you.”
I smiled and took the wineskin from him, and in spite of his chivalrous, playful words I could see the worry in his eyes as well.
“Simonetta assures us that she is well, fratello,” Lorenzo said.
“Beauty overcomes all adversaries,” Giuliano declared. “But even so, some servants are following me with a sedan chair. We shall not permit you to walk the rest of the way, Madonna.”
As if summoned by his words, four male servants bearing the chair came down the path toward us.
“You are all making a ridiculous fuss over me,” I said, but I obliged and climbed into the chair. Once I was seated, the servants lifted the chair and bore me back up to the villa, and in spite of my self-consciousness at having brought such a dramatic end to the morning, I was grateful not to have to walk the rest of the way.
*
Marco helped me back up to our suite of rooms, and directed Chiara to pack my things immediately. Scarcely an hour later, we were once again ensconced in a carriage with Lorenzo and Clarice on our way back to Florence.
By the time we returned to the city, it was quite clear that I was not as well as I’d thought, and that my fainting spell had been the precursor of something much more serious. The Medici carriage brought us directly back to our rooms at the Vespucci palazzo, which would be our new home. Yet we had to dispense with the Florentine custom wherein the groom would show the bride every inch of her new home, from top to bottom—I was scarcely conscious—so Marco carried me up to our bed instead.
Lorenzo sent the Medici physician to attend me, who pronounced that I had a fever, and bled me. He left Chiara with instructions to place cool cloths on my forehead and change them as necessary.
I woke up the next night, sweating through my shift, in an unfamiliar room lit only by a single candle. I began to panic at first—where was I? How had I gotten here?—but as my eyes adjusted and I saw Marco asleep in a wooden chair in the corner, I began to remember.
I was married. I had fallen ill, and now I was in my new home with my husband.
I struggled to sit up against the pillows and licked my dry lips. I was so thirsty … and yet I hated to wake Marco, who looked as though he was sleeping deeply, despite his uncomfortable position.
Almost as though my thoughts had roused him, Marco woke with a start, his eyes fixing on me. “Simonetta,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You are awake.”
“I am.”
“And how do you feel?”
“Better,” I said. “I do believe that this—whatever it was—has passed.”
“Thanks be to God,” he said, and even in the dim light I could see how haggard and wearied he looked, as though he had just woken from his first slumber in days.
“But why do you sleep in that chair, marito?” I asked. “There is plenty of room in our bed for you.…”
“I did not want to disturb you,” he said. “Are you truly feeling well, Simonetta? I was so worried.…”
“As I said, better,” I said. “I hate to trouble you, marito, but my throat is so dry … if there is anything to drink…”
“Dio mio, of course,” he said, leaping to his feet. “I should have thought of that. I shall return directly.” He quickly left the room, and returned moments later with a goblet of watered-down wine.
I accepted it and gulped it down greedily.
“More?” he asked when I was finished, hovering over me.
I set the goblet on the small table beside my bed. “Perhaps in a bit,” I said. I patted the mattress beside me. “Sit here with me, and tell me what has happened.”