“Because,” Chigi said, “Bramante and Raphael are subjects of the duke. So . . .”

“So?” said Margherita sitting up straight.

“So, they’ll be held responsible for his crimes.”

“But that’s not fair,” said Margherita. “Raphael wasn’t even in Bologna.”

Imperia put her hand on Margherita’s arm. “When your country’s leaders do something good, you get to celebrate the victory as your own, so why shouldn’t you share in the blame when they do something bad?”

“It’s every patriot’s duty to bear,” said Chigi grimly.

My fingers missed a beat, and I dropped my father’s paintbrush. I picked it back up as I thought about what it might mean to be an Urbinite at this moment—the whispers, the loss of work, loss of friends. Would we be asked to leave the pope’s service? Asked to leave Rome altogether? And then, my fingers started twirling again with a new worry: my portrait of Cardinal Alidosi—ordered in secret by the duke, given to the pope as a gift, hung over the pope’s own bed—hadn’t somehow been a part of this plot, had it? No, no. I started pacing again. Uno, due, tre, quattro, uno, due, tre . . . That portrait was nothing—nothing. Uno, due . . . Right? Tre, quattro . . . I had no blame in this. Uno, due, tre . . . Did I?

Chapter XXXVIII

Chapter XXXVIII

June 26, 1511

Pope Julius’s beard was long, scraggly, the color of salt. His eyes cast downward. His mouth drooped. When he’d marched out of Rome a year before, he’d ridden atop a stallion with pride, but now, he was tucked into a slow-moving carriage surrounded by a tattered army. Lances dragged, cannons stuck in mud, carts carried piles of wounded. This time, we courtiers didn’t stand on grand platforms draped in flag and song but stood solemnly in our mourning browns, as the crowd wailed. Packed in with the others, I was unable to move so couldn’t count my steps; I tapped my foot instead—uno, due, tre, quattro—any-thing to calm my mounting disquiet. During the campaign, the papacy had lost territory in Ferrara and Bologna, the lives of countless men including Cardinal Alidosi, and even the faith of the faithful: a group of cardinals were now calling for a schismatic council to declare His Holiness unfit for rule and depose him.

My perfect world had collapsed under the weight of reality.