The Borgia Betrayal: A Novel by Sara Poole Read Free Book Online Page B

As I stepped through the archway of the building into the loggia, a tiny woman appeared in the open top of the half door from which a view could be had of all comings and goings between the building and the street. She was no bigger than a child—and thus required to stand on a stool to see above the lower half of the door—but she had an air of authority that would have done a giantess proud.
    “What have you there, Donna Francesca?” she asked, gesturing at the kitten.
    Portia, the only name I knew her by, was our portatore, a position poised somewhere between servant and tyrant. She and she alone heard complaints, settled disputes, arranged for repairs, and—clear testament to Luigi d’Amico’s trust in her—collected the quarterly rent. She also directed guests, accepted packages, and kept a discreet eye on things in general. In her youth, rumor had it, she had been one of a troupe of acrobatic dwarfs who were very popular in Rome for a time. How she came to be in Luigi’s employ is unknown to me, but given his sagacity in all things practical, I assume he knew what he was about when he hired her.
    “Her name is Minerva,” I said, indicating the kitten, who appeared to have gone back to sleep.
    “Do you mean to keep her, donna ?”
    That Portia knew of my profession was beyond doubt, although she never alluded to it. For that, if nothing else, she had my gratitude. I moved quickly to disabuse her of any concern regarding the animal’s fate.
    “Apparently so. She seems to have taken a liking to me and I to her.”
    “Well enough.” From one of the many pockets in her immense apron that covered her almost from chin to toe, Portia withdrew a folded paper and handed it to me. “This came for you a short time ago.”
    I juggled Minerva in one arm while I broke the seal and quickly scanned the message. It was from Vittoro Romano, the captain of Borgia’s personal guard. He inquired as to my health and suggested that we speak at my earliest convenience. Given that il capitano was a man of consummate discretion, I concluded that he would not have taken the unusual step of sending a written message unless something of importance was afoot.
    “I must go,” I said, tucking the note away. With an apologetic smile, I indicated Minerva. “If you wouldn’t mind getting her settled for me?”
    The portatore took both kitten and cod with only a small sigh. “Of course, Donna. Am I not here merely to serve?”
    “I’ll look for more of those cherries you enjoy,” I offered. “His Holiness is fond of them as well. We just got a new shipment in from Vignola. Nothing but the best.”
    Placated, Portia bestowed a smile and rubbed Minerva behind her ears, eliciting a throbbing purr that followed me as I hastened back out onto the street.
    The day being mildly warm with a pleasant breeze from the sea, I decided to walk rather than be ferried along the river or avail myself of one of the sedan chairs that thronged the crowded streets. Rome is a great city for walking, assuming one does not mind hills. Beyond being virtually guaranteed of encountering something new and interesting, being on foot gave me the opportunity to gauge the mood in the streets, always of concern to one charged as I was with protecting a noble family.
    I admit to paying even more than usual attention to my surroundings, on the lookout for anything that might give a clue as to who was behind the attack on Lux. Were there truly more of the black-robed Dominicans present in Saint Peter’s Square or was that just my imagination? Did the golden-haired priest I thought I glimpsed at a distance bear more than a passing resemblance to Bernando Morozzi or were my eyes playing tricks? Was there more security evident in general or had a bad scare and a sleepless night so frayed my nerves that I was jumping at shadows?
    I breathed a small sigh of relief as I approached the Vatican barracks, housed in a long, low stone building constructed only a few decades