Sabina Read online

  SABINA

  A Novel Set in the Italian Renaissance

  C. DE MELO

  Copyright 2009 C. De Melo

  www.cdemelo.com

  All rights reserved

  ISBN-13: 978-0999787809 (C. De Melo)

  ISBN-10: 0999787802

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  It has taken years of careful research in Florence, Italy, to write this novel. Many of the dates, major events, and characters are historically accurate. One must not forget, however, that this is a work of fiction. This entitles the author to take certain artistic liberties—the greatest being the independence I have bestowed upon my female characters. In reality, women of good breeding had little or no freedom in the patriarchal society of Renaissance Florence. While female chastity had to be protected at all costs, men behaved as they pleased. I have also taken the liberty to create personalities for historical figures, which are based on my research of Florentine society during the quattrocento, documented facts, and even a few spicy rumors.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

  Special thanks to Dr. Cinzia Giorgio, award-winning author, Vatican University professor, and literary critic, for her support and stellar review of SABINA (translated from Italian):

  “A literary scope that will not fail to conquer even the most refined public. Historical reconstructions are punctilious, a meticulous fresco of Renaissance society serves as the backdrop for a breathtaking novel full of twists and great characters. A story of passion, betrayal, and magic that transports us to the Florence of the Pazzi Conspiracy and the terrible Savonarola, right up to the restoration of the Medici power by the Grand Duke Cosimo I. A novel that you will not be able to put down.”

  “Let all Italy know, and all Christendom too, of the power, the strength, and the glory that the Florentines have at present in Tuscany.”

  –Historian Benedetto Dei describing “Florentie bella” in the book: La cronica dall’anno 1400 all’anno 1500.

  DEDICATION

  Thank you, D.

  Chapter 1

  Lucca, Tuscany

  August 1, 1477

  It was the first day of August and mercilessly hot. Not a single drop of rain had fallen for nearly a month, causing the crops, livestock, and Tuscans to suffer. Sabina Rossi sat on a stone bench outside her father’s villa quietly reading a book, its pages well-worn from frequent use. It was a special book, and she took great pains to keep it hidden from her father’s prying eyes.

  Placing her fingertip on the page, she looked up at the cloudless sky. The endless expanse above her head was lapis lazuli, the noble blue favored by artists when painting the Madonna’s cloak. She gazed into the distance, visually tracing the uneven line of Monte Pisano, the mountain separating Lucca from its rival city, Pisa. According to legend, God had deliberately placed it there to prevent the Lucchese from looking at the Pisani.

  The distant bells of San Michele broke her reverie, and she recalled to mind its colonnaded façade. At the church’s pinnacle, flanked by two angels, stood a large statue of St. Michael spearing the great dragon. Each metal feather of his sculpted wings quivered in the wind, making it seem as if the archangel could take flight at any given moment.

  The crow at Sabina’s feet hopped around to capture her attention. Throwing another crumb from the chunk of stale bread in her lap, she inquired sweetly, “Still hungry, Mendi?”

  The savvy bird visited her about the same time every day in order to receive a free meal, so she eventually nicknamed it Mendi—a shortened version of mendicante, or beggar.

  “Sono disgraziato!”

  Startled by the sound of her father’s voice, Sabina tossed the book into a nearby rosemary bush as Mendi flew away with an agitated cry.

  Don Antonio strode into the courtyard. “Where are you?”

  “Here, Papa,” Sabina replied.

  The old man stomped toward his daughter with a scowl on his face. “Why do you disgrace us? Have you no shame?”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, her face as innocent as an angel’s.

  “You continue to swim naked after I strictly forbade you to do so! People will think you’re a common slut!”

  “No one was around, so I decided to take a quick swim.”

  “No one was around, eh? Donna Francesca saw you on her way home from the market. She was so shocked that she dropped her basket. What were you thinking?”

  “It’s so hot, Papa. Who wouldn’t relish the feel of cool water on their skin on a day like this? I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”

  “Sabina!” Cecilia exited the villa carrying a potted plant with her three year old son, Paolo, in tow. “Did you pluck the leaves from my basil plant?”

  Sabina regarded her older sister with disdain. Since the death of her husband, Cecilia had ceased to care for her appearance and had gained weight. The twenty-three-year-old widow looked tired and matronly.

  “Well? Did you?” Cecilia pressed, frowning at the bare stems.

  Don Antonio peered at Sabina suspiciously. “You’re not still concocting silly love potions for those stupid village girls, are you?”

  Although she remained silent, he saw the familiar look of guilt on her face and proceeded to administer a sound beating. Sabina cringed from the assault as Cecilia attempted to placate their father.

  The old man eventually regained his composure and balled his hands into fists. “What am I going to do with you, Sabina?”

  Paolo spotted the book in the rosemary bush and picked it up.

  Cecilia moved toward her son. “What do you have there?”

  Sabina snatched the book from her nephew’s hands and placed it behind her back. “It’s only a silly book of poetry.”

  “Let me see it,” Don Antonio demanded.

  Sabina shook her head and his face darkened in anger. Knowing her father’s temper, she relented.

  He leafed through the pages. “A book of poetry, eh?”

  “Papa—”

  “Not only do you sit here reading books of witchcraft, but you lie to me—your own father!”

  “It’s not witchcraft, it’s botany.”

  “Botany, my elbow! You should be reading the Bible or reciting prayers or anything that may save that soul of yours, which I’m certain is bound for Hell!” Turning to Cecilia, he added, “Why didn’t you stop her from committing such mischief today?”

  “I was gone for most of the afternoon,” Cecilia explained. “Donna Filomena is sick, so I helped her look after the baby.”

  Don Antonio sighed tiredly, then narrowed his eyes at Sabina. “When you’re not writing silly poems, you’re reading silly books.”

  “You simply lack appreciation for literature, Papa.”

  “I do appreciate literature,” the old man corrected. “What I don’t appreciate is a rebellious daughter. Why can’t you be like Cecilia? She goes to church willingly, while you have to be forced. She engages in Christian works, while you mix potions. Cecilia has never given me reason to worry, but you give me nothing but grief!” He paused, his face a mask of anger. “As God is my witness, I will see you married before the month’s end. I’ve already begun discussing the arrangements.”

  “Arrangements?”

  “I’m planning your future,” he said, calmly adjusting his sleeve.

  Sabina smiled, unfazed. “Very well.”

  “You’re going to marry Signore Tommaso Caravelli.”

  The exceptionally wealthy widower lived in Florence. Twice married and still without an heir to inherit his sizeable fortune, he was one of the most sought-after men in Tuscany.

  Sabina stood, the smile vanishing from her face. “That’s quite funny, Papa…I almost believe you.”

  “You should believe me.”

  “I would rather you marry me off to a Pisano than to tha
t old Florentine! He’s almost old enough to be your father!”

  “Bite your tongue, girl! Signore Tommaso is several years younger than I am, and strong enough to keep you in line.”

  Despite the harm done to her precious basil plant, Cecilia interceded on her sister’s behalf. “Father, you cannot be serious. Signore Tommaso is in his fifties—he’s far too old for Sabina.”

  “He’s exactly forty-nine.”

  Cecilia winced. “That’s a thirty-year age difference.”

  The old man snorted. “I’m getting too old for your sister’s constant mischief. She needs a husband—not a foolish young man with his head in the clouds—but a strong man with worldly experience who won’t tolerate her impudence.” When Sabina shook her head defiantly, he added, “If you refuse to marry him, I will personally escort you to the convent of your choice.”

  “I’ll be good, I promise,” Sabina said. “I’ll never swim naked or do anything that upsets you.”

  He crossed his arms. “You’ll be obedient and do as I say.”

  Sabina crossed her arms, too. “I will not marry him.”

  “Do you realize how wealthy he is? Or the kind of life he can provide for you? There are countless women who would jump at the chance of marrying such a man.”

  “Then let him choose one of those women for his bride.”

  “You stupid, foolish girl! I should beat you until some good sense enters that hard head of yours.”

  Sabina’s chin began to quiver. “Please, Papa…”

  Don Antonio almost felt pity, then he remembered how she had recently cost him a considerable sum by letting out the neighbor’s goat as a prank. The animal never returned, forcing him to offer monetary compensation. “You will either marry Tommaso or dedicate your life to God. The choice is yours to make.”

  “That’s what I should have done at your age,” Cecilia mused aloud.

  Sabina frowned at her sister. “What?”

  “I should have become a nun instead of getting married. They must enjoy a peaceful existence.”

  “Well, that kind of dull life may be appealing to you, but not to me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with dedicating your life to God,” Don Antonio snapped. “It’s a selfless and noble endeavor. Perhaps a convent would be a better choice for you, after all.”

  “Forgive me, Papa,” Sabina said contritely. “I meant no disrespect.”

  His expression softened. “I can’t continue to support you forever. Tommaso is willing to wed you without a dowry because he’s desperate for an heir, and needs a strong young bride to provide him with one.”

  Sabina pursed her lips. “You expect me to be grateful?”

  “You have no dowry.”

  “No, but I’m a Rossi. Does our noble name not account for anything? I’m sure our blood is purer than the common sludge coursing through Tommaso’s veins.”

  “Our noble name is all we have now—a chance like this will not present itself again.” Don Antonio was aware of his daughter’s stunning beauty and how it drew the attention of the local men. Her chastity was in constant danger, so the sooner the girl was married, the better. “Tommaso is dining with us tomorrow evening.”

  “Tomorrow? When were you planning to tell me?”

  The old man’s patience was exceeding its limit. “I was on my way to tell you now, only Donna Francesca intercepted me at the gate. Tommaso wants to meet you before the official betrothal.”

  “Of course. All men wish to inspect a broodmare before making a purchase. I’m assuming it won’t matter if I like him or not, will it?”

  “Sabina is going to marry Signore Tommaso! Sabina is going to marry Signore Tommaso!”

  Hearing her nephew’s childish taunt, Sabina ran into the house and went straight to her small bedchamber, bolting the door. Going to the window, she gazed at the neat rows of olive trees growing beyond the stone walls of the courtyard. Her late grandfather, Bernardo, had planted those trees before her father was born. They were tall and thriving now, but barely producing enough crop to make a profit.

  Sabina was in this miserable predicament because of her grandfather and his bad gambling habit. She couldn’t be angry with him, however. In life, Bernardo had been a charming man whom she had loved dearly.

  “Open up,” Cecilia cried from the other side of the door.

  Ignoring her sister, she looked past the olive trees to the distant hills of the sun-scorched landscape. The grass was the color of straw thanks to the unusually dry summer. Oh, how she desperately longed for rain.

  The Republic of Venice was never scorched or dry. In fact, there was plenty of water in La Serenissima; the very streets there made of it! She could run away to Venice and…

  And what, you silly girl?

  Shortly after her mother’s death, her father became ill. He eventually recovered, but his health was never the same. Money was tight and the lack of decent suitors put a strain on the Rossi finances. To make matters worse, Cecilia was forced to return home with an extra mouth to feed after her husband died. Her father was right; he could not support the four of them forever. She would have to marry Tommaso.

  “Sabina, please open the door,” Cecilia implored.

  “Go away. Leave me alone.”

  “Papa is right. You won’t get another opportunity like this one. Stop behaving like a spoiled brat and be grateful.”

  “If you feel so strongly about it, sister, then you should marry him!”

  She expected an angry reply, but instead she heard Cecilia’s frustrated sigh and retreating footsteps.

  Chapter 2

  Sabina’s contrary mood the following day prompted Don Antonio to threaten his daughter once again with a cloistered life in a remote convent. She was ordered to bathe and prepare for the evening’s festivities while Cecilia and two kindly neighbors cooked an elaborate meal to impress their guest of honor.

  Sabina spent a considerable amount of time fuming and pacing the floor of her bedchamber. Rather than wear something pretty for the special occasion, she chose a somber black frock with high neckline and long sleeves. Unmarried girls usually wore their hair loose—and Sabina was no exception, often allowing her thick, dark locks to cascade down her back. Despite this, she fashioned her hair into a severe style by coiling her tresses into a knot at the nape of her neck. When she was done, she smiled smugly at her reflection in the looking glass.

  Cecilia pounded on the bedchamber door. “Make haste, Sabina! Signore Tommaso will be here at any moment.”

  “I’m almost done,” Sabina replied in a cheerful voice.

  Don Antonio and Cecilia exchanged a look of hopeful surprise, but when Sabina finally emerged from the room, their faces fell.

  “You look like Mother,” Cecilia commented.

  Don Antonio was about to tell his stubborn daughter to change into something more suitable when he heard a carriage outside the door. “Santo Cristo, he’s here.” He gave Sabina a stern look and warned, “Behave.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. That wretched girl, he thought while opening the door for his guest.

  “Buona sera! Your presence honors my humble home, Signore Tommaso. Please, come in.”

  Tommaso mumbled a polite reply, practically pushing past the old man in order to get a better view of Cecilia and Sabina. The young women gaped in admiration of the Florentine’s clothing, correctly assuming that his lavish outfit was worth more than both of their entire wardrobes put together.

  Tommaso cut a fine figure in his knee-length black velvet robe trimmed with fox fur. Beneath the robe he wore a tunic fashioned from green silk with silver embroidery around the collar. He offered the sisters a gallant bow while studying each of them in turn. One was plump and rather plain, but she wore a decent gown of good quality linen. The other, although dressed like an austere matron in black, had an exquisite face with eyes the color of emeralds.

  Tommaso turned to Don Antonio. “Which one is to be my bride?”

  Before her father h
ad a chance to answer, Sabina replied, “I am.”

  Ah, the beauty is to be mine. Tommaso masked his relief with a grimace. “She doesn’t look hearty enough to bear children.”

  Sabina was about to take a step forward and give a sassy retort, but her sister restrained her with a painful pinch to her upper arm.

  “I assure you, she’s as healthy as an ox, Signore,” Don Antonio gently contradicted. “Sabina will bear you many sons.”

  Feigning interest in Cecilia, Tommaso asked, “What about her?”

  “Oh, my daughter Cecilia is a widow and has a small son.”

  The Florentine waved his hand dismissively and heaved a theatrical sigh of resignation. “I suppose Sabina will have to do.”

  “How dare you come in here and—”

  Cecilia’s hand clamped down over Sabina’s mouth.

  Tommaso raised an eyebrow. “I see she possesses a fiery spirit, Don Antonio. No wonder you wish to be rid of her.”

  The old man’s face resembled the color of ripe pomegranates as he glared at Sabina, who stared back at him with fearless defiance.

  Tommaso continued to study the untamed beauty with amusement. “Please remove your hand from your sister’s mouth,” he said calmly to Cecilia. “I would hear what she has to say.”

  Cecilia looked to her father, who nodded with obvious reluctance. Her hand had been so tightly cupped around her sister’s mouth that rosy imprints of fingers were splayed across Sabina’s cheek.

  “Well?” Tommaso prompted. “Go on and speak your mind.”

  “How dare you come in here and inspect us as though we were farm animals that you wish to breed. How dare you comment on my appearance when you’re practically old enough to be my father and—” Sabina was about to make a rude comment about his lack of good looks, but it would be untrue. Tommaso’s face was lined, yes, but also strong and distinguished—almost handsome.

  Tommaso eyed her expectantly. “And?”