“Tomorrow morning at the third hour I will be waiting for you in my office for details about Mantua, but first send a quick confirmation to the Riario. You may also decline the invitation from the pope's nephew but not that of his son!”
Soon after he climbed into the carriage and disappeared into the crowded streets of the city.
The young diplomat was exhausted and that last indiscretion, besides his extreme strength, had also caused him to lose his ability to speak; he entered the first inn that was open and, after having a bite to eat, sent Pietro and the two horses to a temporary shelter; he walked home as the sun went down.
Having reached home, however, the emotions of that day seemed not to be over yet…
From the street he glimpsed a dim candlelight that for a brief instant illuminated the upper floor of his residence.
He put his hand to his sword and climbed cautiously to the upper level where he saw that glimmer rekindle in the bedroom… Then another more intense glow and a third candle…
“Who’s there?!” He asked, removing a sword from a shield on the wall. “Come on out!” He kicked open the door to the room that was already ajar.
An impertinent laugh then broke the tension and taking shape before his eyes were the soft curves of a female body he knew well. It was his Veronica.
“Tell me, oh my hero. My ears are yearning to hear your voice,” whispered the irreplaceable confidant and priceless lover.
“Not as much as my hands are yearning to encircle your body, my dear,” retorted Tristano, placing his weapons on a chair where the young prostitute had thrown her crinoline and bloomers and, letting his ultramarine blue coat fall to the floor, manfully he went to meet her.
She smiled bringing an index finger to her mouth and shaking her head untied her curly hair. He took off his shirt and pushing her onto the bed, adding:
“You will have to earn your hero's tale.”
And between laughter and the usual erotic games to which the two were accustomed, his fatigue suddenly disappeared.
In the aftermath, having recovered his strength and the elegant black wool overcoat that he had commissioned from the good Ludovico before leaving for Mantua, the young diplomat went, ob torto collo, to the Riario feast.
The brand new building, which stood on the ruins of an ancient temple of Apollo, was gorgeous. It was designed by the master from Forlì, Melozzo di Giuliano degli Ambrosi, to please Girolamo's lust for greatness and the refined taste of his young and beautiful lady: Caterina Sforza, the natural daughter of the late Duke of Milan, Galeazzo, and his lover, Lucrezia Landriani.
The amiable, nonchalant hostess welcomed him with her consort, twenty years older, the most prized invited into the admirable courtyard, despite the particularly harsh air of that evening. She wore a long, tightly fitting gamurra, sensually edged with black lace that created a contrast with the paleness of her skin. The robe was closed with back ties and completed with separate sleeves embroidered with gold threads, formed by variegated fabrics and artfully cut and held together with laces, and from whose cuts the white blouse puffed out. Her hair was gathered in a very sensual veil embellished with pearls and golden coronet.
As soon as his turn came, the Riario obsequiously presented the welcome guest to his wife:
“His Excellency Tristano de' Ginni, the one whom His Holiness places his total trust and blessing,” as if stressing that he was precisely the man on whom the success of the next venture depended and the fortunes of his family.
“An extraordinary fame precedes you, sir,” stressed Caterina, addressing the handsome guest.
“The workmanship of your magnificent pendant is extraordinary, engraved using the superlative technique of the French masters of lost-wax casting, madam,” the young diplomat replied promptly, staring at her long neck and looking up into her eyes, deep, proud to belong to a line of glorious but at the same time melancholy warriors, resigned portals of a dissatisfied soul, faithful indicators of the typical unhappiness of ostentatious joy.
Tristano found them captivating, could not look away for a moment throughout the evening and, taking advantage of the temporary absence of her husband, who had been retained by cardinals and politicians outside the room, he dared to invite the lady to a “bassa danza”.
She, since the Milanese period, used to practice various activities, also considered inconvenient for her sex and rank: she was a skilled hunter, she had a real passion for weaponry and a strong propensity for command inherited from her mother, loved to conduct experiments in botany and alchemy. She was reckless and loved risk-takers.
Despite everyone's eyes being on her, she couldn't refuse.
“I love the Greek sculpture of Polykleitos and Phidias. And you, ma’am?” asked Tristano as the dance moves allowed his mouth to near her ear.
“Yes, sublime. I love it too,” answered Caterina smiling.
“Have you ever seen the art collection at Palazzo Orsini? There are priceless marble Herculean bodies,” added the bold knight.
“Oh,” the noblewoman pretended to be surprised and disturbed, “I imagine… You too, sir, should see the paintings of my Melozzo, which I jealously guard at my palace,” she said voluptuously before the music separated them.
For the rest of the evening, the refined hostess ignored the attentions of the young seducer who, on the contrary, saw and felt nothing but the light and smell of that barely touched skin.
The dinner ended and one after another the diners left the successful banquet.
Tristano was already in the courtyard when a page came to him with a folded leaflet…
“The works of my Melozzo are in the loggia on the noble floor.”
And just as he had not been able to decline the invitation of the pope's son, in the same way he absolutely could not decline the invitation of his esteemed daughter-in-law. He went back inside and followed the servant upstairs, where he waited impatiently for the moment when he could finally untie that long blond hair, under which he discovered the intensity of her lips, scarlet like the wounds of the countless sufferings experienced.
Caterina had a complex psyche… and a good seducer manages to observe the complexity of a woman's psyche best during two very particular situations: in the game and between the sheets.
Until the dawn of the new day, he did not spare himself, not even when she confided to Tristano in tears of the violence she had suffered since she was a child.
“Sometimes secrets can only be confided to a stranger,” he said. Immediately afterwards her moving story began:
“I was not the bride promised to Girolamo Riario but everything had been planned so that it would be my cousin Costanza, at the age of eleven, who would unite with that angry animal before God and men. On the eve of the wedding, however, my aunt, Gabriella Gonzaga, demanded that the consummation of the legitimate union take place only after three years, when Costanza reached the legal age. With this condition, Girolamo, in all his fury, canceled the marriage and threatened terrible repercussions on the whole family for the serious shame he had suffered. So it was that, as is done with a chipped ring, my relatives replaced me with the refused cousin, agreeing to all the claims of the despotic bridegroom. I was only ten years old.”
Tristano, stunned, only sensed that he should hold her tightly and wipe away the tears that streamed down her face.
VI
The siege of Otranto
After a few days, having finalized the last details, as planned, the tireless papal trustee left for Naples.
To accompany