Read Online What Remains of the Fair Simonetta by Laura T. Emery - Free Book Online

smiled at Sandro and they exchanged a strange greeting which I equated to “knuckles” in my day, then Sandro and I proceeded on through the massive wooden doors, followed by Antonella and the nameless retinue. We passed through an archway into the open courtyard littered with glorious statues, fountains, and laughing partygoers. Ashlar stones formed the borders of the courtyard, curving gracefully over the archways and columns separated by a ribbon of decorative reliefs garnished by the Medici coat of arms. I hesitated before joining the throng of people.
    “I assume you know some of the guests?” Sandro asked.
    “Of course, but will you tell me their names once again? I’ve met so many people since arriving in Florence.” This was the first time in my existence I could claim “blondeness” as a disability.
    “You know Lorenzo, of course,” he said, as he motioned towards an angry-looking man with a prominent, pointed nose and chin, and eyes as dark as his black page-boy hair. I felt in that moment that Lorenzo de’ Medici had to be so charming to make up for his less than beautiful face.
    “Standing next to him, his wife Clarice Orsini de’ Medici.” 
    Clarice bore a face as flat as an iron with eyes the size of a raccoon’s. She stared daggers at a hooked-nosed man standing a few feet from them.
    “The other man is Angelo Ambrogini, but he is called Poliziano by his friends.”
    “Why is that?”
    “It is derived from his place of birth, Montepulciano, which in Latin is pronounced Mons Politianus. Very few in Florence are called by their given name.”
    “Yes I’ve noticed…Botticelli.”
    “Sandro!” he corrected, playfully.
    “Of course,” I reassured him, with a sly smile. “Why does Clarice look so angry at Poliziano?”
    “He is in charge of the education for her and Lorenzo’s son Piero. They have frequent disagreements about Piero’s schooling. Her strict, religious way is in direct contrast with Poliziano’s humanist thought.”
    “Ahh. I see.”
    “Poliziano is also the court poet. Lorenzo has commissioned him to compose a poem about the joust.”
    “Joust?” I asked, as I looked at him sideways.
    “The joust that Lorenzo has organized, of course.” He scrunched his face in confusion at my ignorance. “They are very popular with the French and Burgundy Courts. That is why Lorenzo has brought them to Florence, to bring alliance with these foreign lands. This will be the second he has held here.”
    I nodded silently, as if I’d known the whole time.
    Sandro pointed out a male trio standing on the far side of the courtyard. “That is Andrea Verrocchio, with Antonio and Piero Pollaiolo. I have been an apprentice for both the workshops of Andrea and the brothers Polliaoli. However, Piero is quite displeased with me at the moment.”
    “Why?” I asked, instinctively wanting to kick Piero’s ass for the audacity.
    “The Court of the Mercanzia commissioned him to paint the Seven Virtues on the backs of their chairs in the Tribunal Hall. The Court felt Piero was painting too slowly and were not pleased with the appearance of the first six, so they gave the last virtue, Fortitude , to me. And unfortunately for Piero, they preferred my work to his. That is when I decided to strike out on my own. And I cannot say that I am sorry. I have received many commissions because of that work.” His almost arrogant words came out in the gentlest, most humble voice. “Also, Antonio and Piero dissect humans in order to study muscle movement. The stench in their bottega is atrocious!”
    “I’m pretty sure you made the right choice by leaving.” I smiled.
    It has always been said that Sandro had much more concern with the beauty of line than with anatomical correctness. Fortitude was the first documented painting by him, though no longer part of a chair. It hangs near Piero Pollaiolo’s six other virtues in the Uffizi gallery.
    I continued to scan the courtyard while remaining in our dark