The Poet Prince (47 page)

He felt the catch in his throat each time he thought of the little boy with the dark eyes who was now three, and by all accounts precociously intelligent. Lorenzo had little time to consider the great sadness of his personal life, on this day or any other, but it hung as a constant haze that covered his otherwise privileged existence.

He was in search of Angelo when he first heard the commotion in the stable yard. Yelling, lots of it, and the whinnying of horses.

Running out toward the commotion, Lorenzo’s heart skipped sev
eral beats as he saw Giuliano being carried on a litter, perfectly still, by two of the stable hands and another man he did not know.

“What has happened?” he yelled at anyone and everyone.

“He fell from his horse,” said the unknown man, who then introduced himself as the majordomo of a neighboring family. “I was out inspecting the lands and I found him. He is breathing, and nothing appears to be broken, but he must have hit his head quite hard, as he has been unconscious all the while. There is a doctor in the village who has already been summoned, but I suspect you will want to call in your own.”

Lorenzo began shouting orders to send for the best physician in Florence, to get a message to his mother, and to prepare the house for Giuliano’s comfort. Once his brother was settled into bed, Lorenzo sat beside him, wiping his head with a damp cloth and speaking to him gently. Giuliano began to stir, groaning with pain as his consciousness began to return.

“Giuliano, are you in there?” Lorenzo teased him gently as he saw his brother’s eyelids flicker. Even though Giuliano had been twenty-five years on earth, he would always be Lorenzo’s baby brother.

“Hmm . . . I fell. I was riding too fast and it was . . . not full light. Ow, my head!’

Giuliano clutched his head in pain and squirmed in the bed.

“What else hurts?”

“My leg. Left. I fell on it.” Giuliano, coming to full consciousness now, reached down to feel around his left thigh to his knee. “I can bend it, and I don’t think it’s broken, but it is well twisted.”

“Well, you won’t be riding anywhere for a few days, so you better get comfortable. And maybe now that you have nothing better to do, you can tell me why you are acting in such an odd way.”

“Fioretta,” Giuliano said simply.

Ah. A woman. Lorenzo had suspected as much but had been unsure. While Giuliano was the object of desire of all Florentine girls, he had never shown any real interest toward one in particular and had resisted all attempts to marry him off. Again, he was blessed with the privileges of the second-born: all the benefits and none of the respon
sibilities. Giuliano was free to play, and play he did. His was a carefree life compared to Lorenzo’s, and yet there was no envy on either side. Both brothers were living the lives they were created for, and they were content to do so.

“Fioretta Gorini. She lives just up the hill. Daughter of a shepherd, Lorenzo. Penniless. Little education. I could never be with her. But she is sweet beyond words. Innocent, lovely . . . like an angel. She has eyes the color of amber . . .” He drifted off for a moment, and Lorenzo wasn’t sure if it was the fall or if Giuliano was actually in the throes of real love.

“At first, I thought it was just passing fancy. But it is not. When I am not with her, I think of nothing else. After I have been with her, it is worse.” Giuliano tried to sit up as he described the feeling, but his brother’s strong hands returned him to a supine position. “Oh Lorenzo, I never understood entirely about Colombina, but I do now. And I am sorry for all that you have been kept from, my brother.”

Lorenzo nodded, surprised at the tears burning behind his eyes as his brother talked about experiencing real love for the first time.

“Do you know that feeling, Lorenzo, after you have been with the woman you love? You can still feel her on your body; she is present in every pore. You can smell her skin on yours and feel the silky creaminess of her still beneath you . . .” He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in the magic of love, before continuing.

“That’s Fioretta. And I came here . . . I brought you here . . . because she is with child. My child. And she went into her birthing pangs last night, and I was riding at first light to see if she was delivered safely. Lorenzo, you must send someone to her immediately. Please. I must know if she is safe, and I must know if my child is born.”

The doctor from Fiesole arrived as Giuliano completed his revelation. Lorenzo brought the physician to his brother, and as he left the room, he offered, “I am sending someone now to gather the news that you require, dear brother. Try to sleep and do not give the doctor any trouble.”

Lorenzo knew exactly whom he was going to send, but first he had an errand to run.

The Gorini home was small and certainly modest, but it was beautifully kept, showing touches of love. Carefully planted spring flowers absorbed what was left of the afternoon sun. Lorenzo’s errand had taken longer than anticipated, but he was satisfied that he had been able to attain what he was searching for.

A child played in the garden, a little girl about ten years of age. She smiled at Lorenzo as he dismounted.

“Is your horse nice?” She was just bold enough to speak to him.

“He is particularly nice if you rub his nose.” Lorenzo smiled at the girl. “Here, I will hold his reins and you can pet him very gently, right there. His name is Argo.”

The girl, who was fine-boned and delicate, like a tiny bird with long black hair, approached Argo carefully. She reached out to touch the stallion’s velvety nose as Lorenzo steadied him. After a moment she turned dark eyes to Lorenzo.

“Have you come to see the baby?”

Lorenzo nodded. “Has the baby arrived?”

The girl smiled, excited to discuss the new arrival. “He came this morning. I have only seen him for a moment. He was covered with blood and sticky, but he cried very loud and Mother said that is good. Fioretta was sleeping, so I came out here.”

The sound of the front door opening startled both of them.
An older woman called to the girl sharply, “Gemma! Who are you
talking to . . . ?” The woman’s voice trailed off when she saw the face of the visitor. The most famous man in Florence was standing in her garden.

“Il Magnifico . . .” She wiped her hands on her apron—which appeared to be covered in birthing blood—but didn’t move from the doorway. She appeared to be stunned as she tried to continue. “I . . . Oh! Have you come to take the baby?”

Lorenzo wasn’t sure what she meant. His reply was simple. “I have come to see Fioretta and to send her my brother’s love. He rode out here this morning to be with her but fell from his horse.”

The woman raised her hands to her face and gasped. “Is he—”

“He will be fine, Madonna Gorini. He is bruised and hit his head badly but appears to be coming around nicely. No bones broken. But he is most distressed that he has no news of Fioretta and his child.”

The woman began to speak but then burst into tears. She ran out to where Lorenzo was standing with Argo. “Oh Magnifico, please forgive me. I . . . I told Fioretta that your brother would not come. That he would never care about a poor shepherd girl and her bastard child. I did not want her to have expectations that any Medici would care about the likes of us . . .”

Lorenzo wrapped Argo’s reins around the fence post and moved to put his hand on Fioretta’s mother’s shoulder, soothing her. “He cares very much. As do we all.”

The woman was sobbing harder now. “Then, I saw you here and I thought . . . dear God, he has come to take the baby away from Fioretta. It will kill her. And the birthing was already so hard on her . . . She is so weak.”

Lorenzo was now the one feeling shock. It hadn’t occurred to him that Fioretta might be in any danger from the birth. “What? Is she all right?”

“She lost much blood, and the baby is large. You Medici men are tall, and my Fioretta has fine bones . . .” Lorenzo flashed for a moment on the news of Colombina’s delivery of his own child three years earlier. That baby had been hard on his mother’s tiny frame as well. He had been worried to death for weeks that Colombina would not re-
cover.

“There are two doctors at our home in Fiesole now. I shall send both to Fioretta immediately. Is she well enough that I may speak to her? And may I see the baby?”

Madonna Gorini nodded, wiping her hands on her apron nervously, and ushered Lorenzo the Magnificent into the tiny shepherd’s cottage where she lived with her beloved daughters.

Lorenzo reached out for the tiny bundle and laughed out loud as the infant was placed in his arms. “He is the image of Giuliano! Lucky boy. He got the best of the Medici blood without the worst of it.” Lorenzo was forever referring to himself as the ugly Medici, while Giuliano was the beautiful one. But this baby was definitely a Medici—strong features, long nose, piercing dark eyes, lots of glossy black
hair.

A tiny voice from the next room interrupted him.

“Giuliano?”

The voice was weak and tired. And so hopeful.

Lorenzo looked at Madonna Gorini, who took the baby from him and indicated he should go into the bedchamber to speak with Fio-
retta.

“I am sorry to disappoint you.” Lorenzo smiled as he entered the room. This was probably the only woman in Florence who would be disappointed to see Lorenzo de’ Medici enter her bedchamber.

“Oh!” Fioretta was struggling to sit up. “Lorenzo! I . . .” She gave up, too weak to do so. Lorenzo came to the edge of the bed and knelt be-
side it.

“Rest yourself, sister.” He smiled at her, and she looked at him strangely. Even though she was extremely pale and weak from the delivery, Lorenzo could see what his brother was so taken with here. The girl was beautiful in a way that was absolutely pure. Her skin was like milk, and he could tell that her mass of dark hair, tied behind her though it was, was glossy and very long. But it was her eyes that totally arrested him. Giuliano was right, they were the color of the amber that came from the Baltic Sea. Huge and clear, she stared at him with those
eyes now.

“Sister . . . ,” she whispered. “How I wish I could be.”

“You already are,” Lorenzo offered gently, stroking her hand. “You are the mother of Giuliano’s son, Fioretta. That makes you family. But more than that, my brother loves you.”

“But he did not come.”

“Yes, he did.” Lorenzo explained the events of the morning, assuring
Fioretta that Giuliano would recover. Her distress at the idea of his being injured was profound.

Amber eyes filled with tears as she looked at Lorenzo. “He is my life. My heart, my soul, everything I am. It is all Giuliano. I love him so. I wish that he were not a Medici. Do not hate me for saying so, Magnifico. But if he were simple, like me, we could be together. We would marry and raise our child . . . our children, perhaps.” She stopped as the tears flowed harder. “It can never be, I know.”

Lorenzo’s own eyes were stinging. How he knew this feeling of wanting to die more than to be separated from the one person in his life who represented the sun, the moon, and the stars. There was no light without her. No life.

“Fioretta, Giuliano sent me something to give to you. Here.”

Lorenzo removed a heavy velvet pouch from the deep pocket within his doublet and handed it to the exhausted girl. He helped her as she raised herself up on one arm to release the drawstring. A cascade of amber spilled out onto the woolen bed sheet.

Fioretta gasped as she held up the gift between her fingers. It was a chain crafted entirely of amber beads and flawless pearls, the necklace of a queen. It was worth a fortune.

“Giuliano said that the amber beads are the color of your eyes, and the pearls represent your eternal beauty, like that of Aphrodite, and that his love for you is deeper than the sea itself.”

Fioretta cried as though her heart would break and clutched the beads to her breast.

Lorenzo continued. “It is his promise to you, Fioretta, his promise of love, which will not be forsaken. And with it I give you my own pledge. You are my sister, and your child is as beloved to me as my own son. Come what may, sweet one, you will be a part of the Medici family forever.”