Silky purple dusk gave way to black velvet night. I slipped the letter in Giulia’s writing back into my doublet. Now that it had served its purpose I’d destroy it, just as I promised her. I had not really thought she would write it for me—even with no signature and no name, any such note in the Bride of Christ’s hand would have enraged the Holy Father. But she’d written it anyway when I asked—evidently my giddy little mistress really did trust me. I smiled at that thought as Vannozza dei Cattanei’s elegant vineyard cena wound to a close, her guests departing with elaborate compliments to their hostess. The Borgia sons were last to leave, of course, lingering for motherly advice and motherly kisses. They departed together, side by side on a dark horse and a pale horse, a pair of stoutly armed squires behind them for guards.

“How will you get rid of the Duke’s squire?” Bartolomeo had asked me when we planned this. “And the guards?”

“I’m to have this evening free, as I do all Wednesdays. Normally I stroll down to the printer’s in the Borgo where I used to rent a room, to see what new books might have arrived, and I arrange an extra duty of guardsmen for La Bella’s safety when I am gone. But this week—” I shrugged. “It slipped my mind. And by the time I looked to rectify my error, the other guardsmen were all assigned, so I was forced to suborn the Duke of Gandia’s men instead, just this afternoon when he visited before departing to his mother’s cena.”

“And it worked?”

Of course it worked. I was a man of importance in the Palazzo Santa Maria, after all; I played primiera regularly with all the guards, who had come to regard me with a little amusement and more than a little trepidation. And since my authority when it came to La Bella’s protection was paramount, and La Bella was still the Holy Father’s most cherished possession outside his children, the Duke of Gandia’s guards obeyed me without even a grumble.

“And Maestro Santini?” Bartolomeo had pressed. “How did you get him to stand in for the squire?”

“Easily. He’s a big strapping fellow, more than adequate to act as a guardsman for a few short hours on a fine summer night. And he was already part of the Duke’s entourage that evening. He often is, these days—the guards like him; they all play cards together. To make doubly sure of Marco’s presence I’d discreetly tipped one of Juan’s regular men to bring him along, pretending I wanted to settle a debt. Then one more bribe to Marco himself, and the deed was done. When did Marco Santini ever turn down money?”