I went on. “He married you in hopes that you—the good wife, the good daughter—could keep the peace if it came to that. Allora, it’s come to that. You have to go and find your husband, make him make peace with the other families. If you don’t calm them, and they breach these walls . . .” I pressed my hands together in prayer and wagged them four times for good luck.

She started to nod, but then her eyes narrowed. “Why are you in here telling me all of this? What good does it do you?”

“I want to help save your father, save the papacy, save the Church.”

She shook her head then grabbed my arm and dragged me out of that room, right past those cardinals holding vigil, who, as suspected, didn’t even look up. Once we were alone, she whirled on me. “What do you want?”

“I want to help save . . .”

She crossed her arms and gave me this I-have-you-pegged-you-foolish-fool look. She said, “You have another motive; everyone always has another motive. Tell me the truth and remember ‘People are more inclined to believe bad intentions than good ones.’” (I don’t know about you, but I never mind a woman willing to quote Boccaccio.)

However, I didn’t have time for courtier games, so I fought my instinct to bandy back a bawdy Boccaccio quote and instead admitted, “The Vatican is locked. I need the key to the secret corridor leading to Michelangelo’s studio, so I can go out there and save my girlfriend.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because I knew you’d be most amenable to helping me if you thought it was to protect your father.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“About how to end the riots or the best way to manipulate you?”

I couldn’t tell whether she smiled—her eyes and mouth are never in concert on this point—but she did say, “Meet me at that door in the time it takes to deliver a quick sermon on a busy Sunday,” she said, “If you’re not there, I’m going without you.”

Chapter XLIII

Chapter XLIII

If you’d let me stop to light a torch, then we’d be able to move faster,” I said, shuffling along behind Felice with my hand on her elbow. I hoped she’d take it as a gentlemanly attempt to keep her on her feet, but by the way she adjusted her arm whenever I slipped on the mossy floor of that dark corridor, I suspected she knew it was an attempt to keep me on mine.

“If a guard had seen us with a torch, they would’ve asked where we were going.”

“You could’ve said we were going to a chapel to pray for the soul of your father.” It was so dark, and I was so frightened, not even counting was helping.