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then I felt an odd sort of protectiveness toward him, which I told myself came solely from my responsibilities for the welfare of la famiglia .
    Cesare shrugged. “Something like that. It doesn’t matter. What is important is that this go no further. Herrera is already screaming that he was insulted and wants the officer’s head. Can you imagine the reaction of the garrison to that?”
    The garrison of the town Il Papa was counting on to protect the route an enemy army would have to take into Rome.
    Stabbing thread through a needle, I said, “Has there been trouble before this?”
    Cesare glanced at what I had in my hand and looked away. “The charms of Viterbo have paled quickly. The Spaniards are bored. For that matter, so am I.”
    “Not to worry. The usual hangers-on came in your father’s wake. There’s a fresh supply of whores, touts, entertainers, and thieves to keep everyone occupied.”
    Likely an assortment of spies, intriguers, and troublemakers as well, but I said nothing of that.
    Cesare started to laugh, caught his breath as I took the first stitch, and remained resolutely silent as I finished the job. The hours I had spent in Sofia’s company had taught me more than I had realized.
    “You underrate yourself,” Cesare said when I was done. He examined my work closely before I bandaged the wound and appeared satisfied. “I’m going to tell Lucrezia how good you are with needlework. She can put you to work on that altar cloth she’s making.”
    “I know at least a hundred ways to poison you, each more agonizing than the last.”
    He did laugh then and, wrapping an arm around my waist, drew me down to him. “Stay with me,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”
    I was tempted, but I hesitated all the same. “You should not exert yourself.”
    Blue shadows were deepening beneath his eyes. He tried to stifle a yawn and failed. “I honestly don’t think I could.”
    A frank admission for one of his age and temperament. I laid my hand against his brow and was relieved to find no sign of fever. Even so, his condition could worsen during the night. It was best that he not be alone.
    So did I justify my natural yearnings. Intimacy—not of the sexual kind but borne of the true communion of minds—was exceedingly rare in my life. I told myself that was just as well, yet there were still times when I longed for it.
    “As you wish,” I said and settled into the bed beside him, drawing a light cover over us both.
    He turned on his side, fitting me into the curve of his body. Scant moments passed before his breathing grew deep and regular. I lay snug against him as my mind drifted back to the problems posed by the cantharidin and how they might be solved. I had gotten to the point of considering whether the time had come to test what I had accomplished so far when I became aware that Cesare was no longer asleep.
    Ah, the resiliency of youth! Still on my side, gazing away from him into the darkness of the bed hangings, I made no demure when he raised the hem of my gown to bare my thighs, nor when his hand slipped between them. I needed only to shift a little to accommodate him. We moved as one, urgency coupled with familiarity. I knew his rhythms; he knew mine. Yet still I was surprised by how quickly pleasure mounted. Whether from unmet need or the strange eroticism of the largely silent encounter, release overtook us both between one breath and the next.
    A normal woman, so well sated, would have slipped unfettered into sleep and dreamed only of her lover. Not I. Scarcely had slumber overtaken me than the nightmare came.
    The same dream had tormented me for as long as I can remember. I am in a very small space behind a wall. There is a tiny hole through which I can see into a room filled with shadows, some of them moving. The darkness is broken by shards of light that flashes again and again. Blood pours from it—a giant wave of blood lapping against the walls of the room and threatening to drown me. I can