The Madonna of the Almonds Read Free

gone from her.
    She had not believed that marriage could have been so happy. She and Lorenzo had lived as one in the Villa Castello, feasting, hunting, travelling to courts and festivals, drinking from their vines and eating from their almond trees. They had observed mass once a week in Santa Maria dei Miracoli, the church of their marriage, but they lived more earthly lives in the pleasures of bed and board. No children came to them, but they felt no loss in the completeness oftheir affection for each other. They were young – they had all the time in the world. When the plague of 1523 took both their families they scarcely noticed, but lived and loved in their high castle, safe from the siege of pestilence. They laughed the seasons round – Lorenzo was a jocular boy, and he trained his lady in his humour for life and all things ridiculous in it, until she became as quick as he. In marriage Simonetta’s looks blossomed and she lost her girlish roundness. She became a renowned beauty with her angelic countenance, her abundance of red hair and her pearl-pale hands. They had no need for indigence – their combined fortunes brought them every happiness and indulgence. Their walls were covered in rich tapestries, they patronised the finest artists and musicians. Their board groaned with the greatest meats and pastries, and their handsome forms were clothed in costly furs and velvets. Simonetta’s yards of copper curls were bound up with ropes of pearls and precious coifs of jewels and silver thread.
    And then came the wars – years of turmoil and struggle between state and state, Guelfs and Ghibbellines. Milan, Venice, Genoa, the Papal lands, all became pieces in the game of bones between powers both foreign and domestic. Lorenzo, trained from birth in the arts of war, won glory and was soon given leadership. His commissions took him from home, and more than once his lady held Michealmas or Christmas feasts with his great carved chair standing empty at the head of the board. At these times Simonetta felt herspirits much depressed, but turned to her other pleasures of archery or the lute to pass the time. Sometimes in Lorenzo’s absence she had a fancy for his child to be with her when he was gone, to give her some occupation, but the wish passed as soon as he rode home up the road between the almond trees and she ran to meet him. He would crush her against his armour and kiss her hard on the mouth, and though they retired directly to the bedchamber she hoped no more for any fruits of their reunion.
    Now, such fruits would never be born. From this last campaign, when he had gone to fight under the command of Maréchal Jacques de Lapalisse, Lorenzo would never return. That great French General was dead, Lorenzo was dead, and now at last she felt keenly what comfort she might have had from his son or daughter. But now she was seventeen, and the best years for childbearing were over. She was utterly alone.
    And that is why Simonetta di Saronno wondered if there was a God. For would he have broken her in this way? Would he have wrested apart two such devoted creatures, whose union was blessed in his house as one of the sacraments?
    Then she began to be afraid. She had not prayed once since Gregorio had come. If she turned her back on God, she would surely sink into the void and take that other path – the darkest path of all. And once in the eternal damnation of hell, she would never see Lorenzo again. This would be a fate worse than the one she endured now, for only inthat hope of a far-off reunion in paradise could she draw her next breath. When she had been happy she had always prayed to the ear of the Virgin, for did not Santa Maria know the love of a man, and the joy of marriage to Saint Joseph? Simonetta was resolved: she would go to the Sanctuary of Santa Maria dei Miracoli tomorrow, the church of the Miracles, and pray to that Blessed Virgin for comfort. For that would be a miracle indeed, and she was in need of nothing