The Poet Prince (57 page)

Angelo led the little monk into Lorenzo’s bedchamber and closed the door behind him. If Lorenzo had any concerns about being alone with Savonarola, he didn’t show it.

There would be no witnesses to exactly what happened in the room that night, precisely as Savonarola had demanded. At least, no witnesses that anyone was aware of. Students of history would argue these events into the next five hundred years, without benefit of one vital piece of information.

Thirteen-year-old Michelangelo, forever Lorenzo’s angel, had been sketching quietly in the adjacent antechamber, separated only by a curtain. Nobody knew he was there.

He heard everything.

Girolamo Savonarola stormed out of the Medici villa in Careggi, signaling for his brothers to follow him quickly. He snapped over his shoulder at Angelo, “You’d best send for his doctor. And anyone else who needs to say good-bye. I told you he was dying. You were a fool to disbelieve me.”

What no one saw as he rushed out the door to the waiting horses was the wine goblet he carried beneath his clothes, the one emblazoned with Lorenzo’s symbol of the three interlocking wedding rings.

Lorenzo was having a convulsion. He was groaning in pain, shaking uncontrollably and unable to speak.

Michelangelo was already ahead of them. The doctor had taken up residence in Careggi, in chambers just down the hall from Lorenzo. The boy had waited, shaking, until that horrible man was safely out of the room; he ran down the hall to fetch the doctor.

The doctor sedated his patient to stop the convulsing and Lorenzo slept. His breathing was heavy, but even enough. Still, the prognosis was upsetting and shocking: it appeared that Lorenzo really was dying.

Angelo sent a messenger into the city to collect Colombina and Sandro. The message said, “Do not wait until sunrise.” They did not want to make the same mistake they had with Simonetta, when nobody had the chance to say good-bye. Sadly, there was not enough time to summon the Master. He would not see Lorenzo alive again.

Lorenzo awoke, weak and exhausted, before the sunrise. He called his children in one at a time to speak to them, delivering messages to each about their future. He included Michelangelo in this, treating him always as one of his own flesh-and-blood children. Michelangelo would never speak about this day in public to anyone, except to say two things: Lorenzo de’ Medici was my father above all else, and I will be haunted until I die by the voice of Girolamo Savonarola.

The “twins,” Giovanni and Giulio, Lorenzo addressed together.
Their destinies were entwined, and it was fitting that they heard Lorenzo’s final instructions to them in unison. Together, the boys made a pledge to their father to carry out his wishes—without flinching and without fear—in the name of the Order. They weren’t born Medici for nothing.

The vows taken in that bedchamber would one day alter the course of the Western world.

Once the boys had said their good-byes, exiting the chamber in tears, Angelo, Sandro, and Colombina entered Lorenzo’s room to-
gether.

“You are the only three people in the world whom I trust. The only three who know everything. I need you all to take a vow, here and now, that our work will continue. I do not know if the mad monk poisoned me or not. I cannot prove it. But we did drink from those glasses there, so we can see . . .” Lorenzo pointed to the table, and when he saw that there was only one goblet, he sank back in his bed.

Sandro slammed his hand on the table and Angelo just looked sick. He would forever blame himself for allowing this to happen.

“I will oppose him to the death, Lorenzo,” Sandro hissed.

Lorenzo nodded. “Just be wise about it, my brother.” He smiled weakly. “Be the Medici that I have made you.”

Colombina had no more interest in talking of Savonarola or revenge. It was clear to her that Lorenzo was dying, and she wanted only to spend his last minutes with him in peace and confessing her eternal love. But before Sandro and Angelo left them, they all joined hands and said the prayer of the Order together.

We honor God while praying for a time
when these teachings will be welcomed
in peace by all people
and there will be no more martyrs.

“Promise me, my most beloveds. Promise me that we will all be together again when God chooses and the time returns. Meet me here, on
this beautiful earth, that we may finish what we started. It is a promise we all made in heaven, so long ago, and it is a promise we must keep on earth for the future. On earth as it is in heaven. Promise.”

“I promise,” each said in unison. Sandro and Angelo kissed Lorenzo on both cheeks, tears flowing from all three men, as they took their leave.

“You are still the most magnificent woman who ever lived, Colombina,” he whispered to her. “I have loved you from the very first day that my eyes rested on your beauty. And now as I die, I love you more than ever, and with God as my witness, I will love you through eternity, you and only you.
Dès le début du temps, jusqu’à la fin du temps.
”

She grasped his hands. Once so strong, there was little strength in them now, just enough to clasp hers gently. Colombina lowered her head, mouth beside his, so that their breath came together as one. She whispered the translation, “From the beginning of time, to the end of time.”

She raised his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers and began to weep. “Oh, Lorenzo, please do not leave me. Have we been wrong about God? For how can he be a God of love, when he has kept us apart for so long and now he would take you from me completely?”

“No, no, my Colombina.” He used the little strength he had left to stroke her hair. “This is not the time to lose our faith. Faith is all we have, and we must cling to it. I do not profess to understand the trials that God has put us through, but I have faith that there is a reason for them. Perhaps it was a test, to see how strong our love could be through all things. To see if our love had the endurance of our Lord and his own beloved.”

She stroked his sallow face and let the tears flow. “Then I believe we have passed his test, my Lorenzo.”

“It is better this way, my dove.”

Colombina was exhausted and agonized beyond understanding. “Don’t say so, Lorenzo. I will never see that losing you will be anything but torment for all of us.”

“But it is.” He seemed to find a surge of strength in these final words. “In our mortal lifetimes, God has seen fit—for whatever his reasons—
to keep us apart. But once I have passed from the restrictions of this world, I am quite sure that God will allow me to be with you always. You see, Colombina, we will never be apart again. Isn’t that so much better?”

She couldn’t speak through her tears, as he continued. “I would extract the greatest promise from you, Colombina. Promise me that when the time returns, no matter where or when, that you will find me and never give up on me. Just like this time . . . you never gave up, and I gave you so many reasons to do so.”

“No, my sweet prince. There is never a reason to give up on love. Not the kind of love that we share. It is deeper than any of the challenges that we will ever face, in any life or any time. It is eternal, it is
from God.”

“You are my soul. You must promise me, Colombina. I have to know that someday, somewhere, I will hold you again.”

“Oh, my Lorenzo, my beloved,” she whispered with soft determination, “I will love you again. I will.” Her tears blended with his.

He was now too weak to reply, but his eyes told her everything. Very tenderly, she kissed him for the last time. It was the final moment of merging their souls through their shared breath, that he might take a part of her with him, and that she might keep a piece of him
with her.

He would hold her in that way until they would be together once again in the spirit or in the flesh, however God would decree it.

Colombina walked quietly from Lorenzo’s chamber as the sun was rising in Florence. Angelo and Sandro were sitting outside the door, looking drawn and anxious. Opening her mouth to speak, she choked on the sob that shook her body and hurried from the house. She didn’t have a destination, she was just running blindly to get away from the place where Lorenzo had died. She found herself in the loggia, and there she attempted to steady herself on a great stone pillar, but there was no
stone strong enough to hold her grief. She sank to the ground and let the agony of her sorrow overtake her as the first sob broke through in an unearthly scream.

Her cries were heard throughout the valley. Pitiful and heart-wrenching wails, filled with decades of pain and lost love, they echoed through the forest of Careggi where she and Lorenzo had first met as children all those years ago.

It was Sandro who came to console her finally, after giving her some time alone.

“Sandro, what shall we do? How will any of us live without him? How will Florence?”

“We will live to fulfill his vision, Colombina. As we promised.”

“But how will any of us find the strength? Without our shepherd, we are lost sheep.”

Sandro looked at her, not without sympathy, and yet his reply to her was forceful as he got to his knees to hold her by both shoulders. “Listen to me. I have painted you many times, and each time for a reason. As Fortitude, because your strength of purpose is unlike that of any other woman I have ever met. I have painted you as the Goddess of Love, not only because Lorenzo desired it, but because your love for him embodies all that Venus should mean to us. I painted you as Judith, because you are fearless and will flinch at no task that is given to you in the name of what you believe. And I have painted you as our Madonna, many times, in celebration of your grace. You have been a brilliant muse, little dove, precisely because you bear all those qualities. And now you must call upon all of them—your strength, your love, your faith, and your fearlessness. You must do it for yourself, for Lorenzo, and for the work we have promised to complete.”

Colombina reached up to brush the omnipresent shock of golden hair out of Sandro’s eyes. “You are the best brother anyone could ask for, Allesandro.”

“
Le temps revient
, sister. Come on, Judith. There is a giant out there who needs decapitating, and you are just the girl to do it.”