Surely if Marco was offended, he would not have gone along with Giuliano’s plan? Surely he would have stopped his friend from carrying it out?
Yet what could any of us do when a Medici had his mind set on something, truly?
I heard Clarice’s words from years ago echo in my mind. Dear Simonetta, your role in such games is to simply be adored, and to enjoy yourself.
It is all a game, I reminded myself, rising from my seat and pulling a ribbon from my sleeve. It is all a game, and I must continue to play it as I have ever since arriving in Florence. It is a game, nothing more.
“Take this, good signore, as a sign of my favor on your gallant deeds today,” I said, projecting my voice so that the audience could hear. I leaned down and handed Giuliano the ribbon. “And may God protect you in the lists, and guide your lance and give you victory.”
Giuliano smiled and bowed his head again, tucking my ribbon beneath his breastplate. Around us the crowd cheered, louder, it seemed, than they had when the company had made its entrance. With the show of chivalry over, the men rode off to the edges of the field to prepare for the jousting to begin.
“Well done, Simonetta,” Lorenzo said, leaning across his wife to speak to me. “My brother is right—Florentines love a good spectacle more than anything else.”
“Indeed,” I said, feeling suddenly light-headed and out of breath.
“Goodness, Simonetta,” Clarice said, and she could not entirely hide the note of jealousy in her voice. “Did you know what Giuliano was planning?”
“I did not,” I said. “I am as astonished as you are.”
Clarice gave an unladylike snort. “Well, I cannot say I am astonished, in truth. We all knew Giuliano would make some grand declaration of his love for you sooner or later.” She peered at me. “And what of Marco? Did he know of this, do you suppose?”
I remembered Marco’s downcast gaze, as though looking away was the only way that he could endure what was happening before him. But nothing in his posture, in his reaction, had suggested any surprise.
“I do not know,” I said, my voice coming out harder than I had intended. “You would need to ask Marco.”
31
Giuliano won the day on the jousting field, to no one’s surprise. I had to concede that—limited though my knowledge of jousting was—he was perhaps legitimately the best athlete on the field, as Clarice had alluded to. It made sense, after all—even among the other wealthy families of Florence, whose sons could have afforded to devote so much time to sport and leisure? It seemed likely that Giuliano would have won the day no matter what, though I did detect that some of his opponents did not tilt to the extent of their abilities. The one exception, I could see, was the young man representing the Pazzi clan—another Florentine banking family, and the bitterest rivals of the Medici, both in business and in government. Yet though Giuliano did not unseat him, he managed to win the match nonetheless, three lances to two.
I had not witnessed a joust since I was a girl in Genoa, and I had quite forgotten the suspense and excitement that accompanied watching two young men racing at each other from opposite ends of the field. I rooted for Giuliano, of course: even had I not given him my favor, he was the only participant whom I knew well. But as the day wore on and Giuliano continued to triumph over all who came against him, I began to grow weary of the spectacle—and of the cold, which had not abated as much as I had hoped.
Therefore I was glad when it all came to an end—though I was forced to again take the stage and crown Giuliano, as the victor, with a wreath woven of laurels. He beamed up at me, and then climbed up beside his brother to accept the adulation of the crowd. He motioned for me to stand beside him, which I did, and he reached down and squeezed my hand in his.
I was uncomfortable in this role I had been cast in, a role I had not asked for and in which I did not know what was required of me. I was glad when it came time to adjourn to the Medici palazzo for the banquet. I looked forward to seeing Marco, as well; for as strained as our marriage had been of late, at least when I stood by his side I knew what my place was. I knew what was expected of me, even if I did not always like it.
I went to the palazzo in the company of Lorenzo, Clarice, and Lucrezia; Marco would meet us there, with the rest of Giuliano’s entourage. Upon entering, one of the servants took my heavy cloak; I almost wished I could keep it on, as the chill that had settled into my bones at the jousting field had yet to leave me.
I was then shown into the now-familiar receiving room, where a veritable army of servants waited to tend to the needs of the exalted guests who would soon be arriving. I was handed a glass of mulled wine as soon as I entered, and Lorenzo and Clarice immediately drew me into their circle.
“Did you enjoy the day, Simonetta?” Lorenzo asked me.
The smile that stretched across my face felt false. “Very much,” I said, hoping the words did not sound as stiff as they felt.
“Good,” he said. “I know it will mean much to Giuliano that you should say so. I did not know what he had planned—he managed to keep it a secret even from me!” He chuckled and shook his head. “And I must commend Sandro Botticelli on his painting of you—what a perfect choice, to depict you as Pallas Athena! Beautiful and wise and fierce—just like our Simonetta.”
“You do flatter me, signore, as always,” I said.
“It is no flattery to speak the truth,” Lorenzo said. “But you must excuse us now, amica mia—we must begin to greet the rest of the guests.” With that, he and Clarice stepped away toward the door, where the rest of the guests had begun to enter. One of the first among them, I noted, was Lucrezia Donati Ardenghelli and her husband. I could see the stiffness in Clarice’s spine as she greeted the pair. Lorenzo’s affair with Lucrezia had continued unabated for the past few years—when his duties in the bank and government permitted him to spend time with her, in any case. Clarice had become more accustomed to it, even if she did not like it and never would.
Lucrezia dei Tornabuoni soon engaged me in conversation. “I always knew Giuliano was quite taken with you, but I had not expected such a grand, courtly gesture,” she said. “He is a true romantic, my son, and a truly chivalrous gentleman.”
I had to bite back a sardonic smile, remembering his crude words the night he had stumbled drunkenly into my house. “Indeed he is,” I said aloud. “I was not expecting so much to be made of me, this day or any other.”
Lucrezia smiled. “A woman as beautiful as you shall always have much made of her,” she said. “Indeed, I wonder that you do not expect it yet.”