The pope didn’t reemerge until hours later, with Michelangelo by his side. “The first half of the Sistine ceiling is complete,” the pope announced, his voice tinged with a renewed edge of strength. “We’ll unveil it on the Feast of the Assumption. A day commemorating the Virgin Mary’s rise to heaven is an appropriate day to celebrate the rise of my ceiling in honor of ”—and my foot tapped faster than ever as the pope’s eyes landed on me when he said— “our fallen friend, Cardinal Alidosi.”

Chapter XXXIX

Chapter XXXIX

August 15, 1511

Feast of the Assumption

May our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you, and give you pardon and peace,” Pope Julius II’s voice echoed down the nave loud as a drum during a funeral march. “Thereupon, may the Lord absolve you from your sins”—he made the sign of the cross—“in nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti.”

And Francesco Maria della Rovere, Duke of Urbino, kneeling before His Holiness at the altar of the Archbasilica of St. John Lateran, responded, “Blessed be to God.”

“His mercy endures forever.”

It seemed as if all of Rome had packed into that ancient cathedral to watch the pope absolve his nephew for the sin of murdering a cardinal. I was seated in the fifth row, alongside the other courtiers. The Archbasilica of St. John Lateran had burned two hundred years before, and reconstruction was coming along in fits and starts, so the nave had the feel of ruin about it. It seemed appropriate considering the ceremony. “Brethren, please embrace our duke,” said the pope, taking his nephew’s hand and helping him to his feet. “Thank him for protecting us from harm, and hail every Urbinite as a hero.”

As the duke made his way down the aisle to calls of gratitude and blessings, I received my own share of thanks and handshakes. I smiled and nodded and laughed—what else could I do?—but kept my foot tapping. When the duke arrived in Rome, His Holiness welcomed him with open arms—servants threw laurels at his feet—but I’m a portraitist, so not easily fooled by masked features and false words. I could see the pope’s anger churning. Publicly, he may have been forced by rumors to forgive the duke for assassinating his friend, but privately? I tucked hair behind both ears and wiped imaginary dust off both my shoulders before following the procession out of the church.