Two Years Prior

Isabella wrapped her hands around Rinaldo's chest. Her cheek was pressed against his back and she could hear a comforting heartbeat through his cloak. Rinaldo was taking her farther and farther away from Florence, to Arezzo. Arezzo was situated to the south of Florence, so the pair had to retrace their steps. Rinaldo had ordered her to put her cowl up, for a passerby's recognition could mean Isabella's return to Florence.

Isabella never spoke, but instead fell in and out sleep. Every so often, Rinaldo would jostle her slightly to wake her. He had made it clear that men with such head injuries sometimes went to sleep and never woke. It was hard for Isabella to remain awake. Sleep would dull the pain, the steady pace of the horse was relaxing, and she was exhausted after being on the run for almost two days straight.

Every once in awhile, a horse for cart would pass and Isabella's grip on Rinaldo would become tighter. Her breathing would quicken and Rinaldo would quietly shush her in order to not raise suspicions. The passerby would say, "Morning, Messer Albizzi!" Rinaldo would nod silently. There would be a small pause that would cause Isabella's heart to race, but it would pass.

Three hours passed. Arezzo was within eyesight. Isabella could catch glimpses of it when her cowl would occasionally fall away.

Rinaldo broke the silence. "What will happen if you return?"

Isabella's grip around his chest tightened. "I'd probably be locked away for a month or two. Get a couple bruises. My grandfather will order everyone not to associate with me. My mother disobeyed that once and my grandfather locked her in her room for a week. Since then many of them haven't spoken against him."

"That's... terrible."

"I'd rather be locked away then be in a room with my grandfather," Isabella said bluntly.

Rinaldo was silent. Isabella could almost sense the rage coursing through the man's veins. She knew the past few hours had secured the Albizzis' hate for the Medici name. Isabella hoped so. Her grandfather had made her hate her name with a burning passion. If she could change her name without marrying, she would have done it long ago.

The city walls of Arezzo emerged. "Put your cowl back up," Rinaldo ordered. Isabella complied. She was acutely aware of the amount of people in Arezzo who still pledged their loyalty to the Medici as traders and merchants.

She pressed her head into Rinaldo's back and made sure her entire body was obscured by her monochrome cloak. Any cloth or belt that was seen could be recognized as wealth. Not suspicious when traveling with a noble, suspicious when one had her face covered.

The city gates opened to allow Rinaldo in. Isabella still remembered the way to the Albizzi estate from her engagement. They lived near the city center, same as the Medici.

The familiar creak of the Albizzi wooden doors calmed Isabella. The thud of them closing behind her meant she was finally safe.

Rinaldo dismounted and then held a hand out for Isabella. "Alessandra!" he called for his wife.

The familiar figure ran into the courtyard. "Rinaldo, what is- oh my God."

Alessandra gasped as the cowl fell to Isabella's shoulders. She was very different image than what Alessandra was used to. Isabella's pristine beauty from a year prior had been replaced with unkempt hair, a busted and slightly bleeding lip, a black eye, hollow cheeks, and a large bruise on her forehead. The other injuries remained hidden by her cloaks. Isabella didn't meet the mother's stare- she felt ashamed of being so undone in front of Alessandra.

"May her run her a bath and fetch her some clean clothes?" Rinaldo asked. Alessandra nodded quickly and ran in an opposite direction with a maid following closely behind.

Rinaldo gestured toward the kitchen, "Let's get you some food."

Isabella trailed after him into the kitchen. Many of the servants casts her looks of bewilderment. She avoided their gaze.

"Sit," Rinaldo ordered, pointing to a chair.

Isabella did so and gripped her shaking hands together- a mixture of anxiety and hunger. Every fiber in her body screamed that this was wrong. Should her grandfather discover that she spent even a second at the home of the Albizzi -she'll be ruined. The worse thought was how it would impact her father. He'd be disappointed, but understanding. She could not return to Florence. Isabella knew it was a fact. Give it a few months and her family will proclaim her dead. She shuddered at the thought.

A plate of bread, cheese, meat, and fruit was placed in front of her. Rinaldo poured a cup of wine. "You're welcome in my house for as long as you need asylum."

"Thank you," she said. "I don't know how to repay you."

"You don't have to," Rinaldo said. "Even if you did not marry Ormanno I still consider a daughter."

Isabella nodded with wide eyes. She wanted to cry from joy, scream from pain and guilt, and pray to the Lord for her safety, but she was far too malnourished to do any of the following. All the energy she could muster went into drinking wine and the food in front of her.

A maid entered the kitchen. "Madonna Alessandra is ready for you."

Isabella stood, nodded to Rinaldo, and followed the maid. In a few rooms over, Alessandra poured a steaming pot of water into a large basin. Hot enough to warm the bones, but cool enough to not scald. On the table next to her was Castile soap, antiseptic, turmeric, and honey sat in their familiar places. Alessandra used each of the ingredients to care for Ormanno and Rinaldo when they returned from battle. "Undress," she ordered Isabella.

Isabella complied and dropped her cloak to the floor. She struggled with unlacing the back of her dress. Everytime she reached around to her back pain shot up her back and into her arms. The maid gently began to pull the lace out of its notches. Even though the movement was gentler, Isabella still bit her cheek to hold in a cry.

Her dress dropped to the floor and Isabella stepped forward to the bath, ignoring the gasps from both Alessandra and the maid. She was far too preoccupied with the thought of a warm bath to soothe her aching bones. "Who did this to you?"

"My grandfather," Isabella answered Alessandra candidly.

Isabella could feel the stares from both Alessandra and the maid. The mother sighed and began to rub some of the Castile soap into her hands. Her touch was gentle, like Isabella's own mother,and she knew how to navigate the wounds and bruises without causing the utmost pain to Isabella. Time passed with many cries and grunts from Isabella as she gripped the edges of the tub. She'd squeeze her eyes and grit her teeth until she saw dots. It was mainly the antiseptic that was causing her pain- along with the fact that Alessandra ensure that, no matter how deep, the wound needed to be clean. Then, Alessandra would take a thin needle and thread and stitch Isabella together like one of her childhood dolls.

"Mother, is it true that-" the door burst open and Ormanno stopped out of shock so fast that he nearly tumbled into the tub with Isabella. "....that Isabella is here..."

Isabella caught his eyes that were attempting to look at anything but her naked body. "Hello, Ormanno."

Her ex-fiance's face fell as he took in her wounds that his mother was cleaning. Ormanno bent down to his knees so that he was eye level with Isabella. "What happened?" he breathed.

"You know my grandfather's temper, Ormanno."

"How long?"

Isabella cried out for a moment and felt a familiar hand grasp her's. "Since the vow- ahhh!"

Ormanno held Isabella's weak hand up to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. "I'll kill him."

***

"Isabella," her father chided as she trailed behind him. "You shouldn't be here. This is no place for a lady."

Isabella's green eyes gazed across the mill which was full of injured soldiers. The hem of her skirt was dipped with blood and filthy water. She did not feel sick or unsteady unlike Ugo who paled against his dark banker uniform.

"I see more blood than you on a regular basis, Father." She remarked.

Isabella saw the corners of his mouth upturn, but he did not say anything.

Even though Isabella was used to blood, wounds, bruises, and more the sound of wailing men sent shivers down her spine. She was used to the wool mill being a place of peace and a symbol of prosperity for the Medici. Since the war all production in Florence had come to a grinding halt. The Pope was fearful to send his tithes to the bank. The war was killing Florence.

"How long have these men been here?"

"Since last week," Ugo answered.

"We can provide shelter but the mill must keep spinning."

"There's no wool to spin," Ugo said. Isabella saw the familiar stance of stress that her father held. "The English ships won't deliver, not as long as the war drags on."

"Our obligations cannot be met without revenue," Cosimo said.

"Father," Isabella started, "We can't even send the Pope's tithes to Rome. People are becoming desperate. The war must end, but if it ends now we will lose."

Cosimo took Isabella's hand while she stared into the water. "Albizzi is outmatched."

"Unfortunately."

Around the edge of the mill, Isabella spotted a familiar rider on a white and speckled horse. Her heart beat faster as a piece of parchment slipped down her sleeve and into her palm behind her back. Over the years, Isabella and the Albizzi had devised a way to convey messages without being caught. There were gaps of course, when she was locked away. While Ugo and Cosimo were distracted with the oncoming Rinaldo that a hand quickly, but quietly, took the parchment out of her palm. Neither of the men noticed.

"I see you have returned for the meeting of the Signoria," Cosimo said curtly.

"I have indeed," Rinaldo ran his hand through his hair that was covered with blood, dirt and sweat. "In order to win we require greater resources."

Her father gestured to their surroundings. "As you can see we are providing as much as we can."

"Not quite," Rinaldo said.

"Messer, a message from the front," a man held Isabella's parchment up to Rinaldo. He snatched the parchment out of the messenger's hand, obviously recognizing the rose Isabella had drawn on the front- as she does with all her letters to the Albizzi.

"I must be going," Rinaldo tucked the letter into his cloak. "Isabella," he nodded

The three watched the Albizzi disappear into the crowd. "He wants more funds," Cosimo muttered under his breath.

"Money is how you win a war," Isabella said. She didn't wait for a reply and mounted her horse. "I'm going to the church. I owe a visit."

Cosimo opened his mouth to say something, but it was lost as Isabella galloped away.

She placed a cowl over her brown curls. Isabella was not in the mood for being recognized by citizen- if they could.

The church was on the outside of Florence. It was hidden away in a small valley shrouded by large trees. It was her favorite church. She did not like the large churches that she attended with her family for mass. The church was connected to a monastery, so the monks were always too preoccupied with the Lord or studies to pay attention to the Medici. The only time they would regard her would be for faith related conversations. It was quite literally a sanctuary away from her family, the city, and the legacy of the Medici.

She tied her horse to a tree in the garden. The smell of roses wafted through the air- very different from the grunge of Florence.

"Father," she approached a monk. "Are you nursing the injured here?"

The monk seemed taken aback by her forwardness. "Uh, yes, Madonna Medici. They are in the monastery. I can show you if you want." Isabella nodded.

She followed the monk through a labyrinth of corridors illuminated by candles were the sun could not reach. The hallways were cramped. "Here," the monk gestured to the Great Hall. "The majority of them are in this room."

"Thank you, Father."

"God be with you."

Isabella knew the monk was sincere in his words. The great hall was heavy with the scent of decaying flesh and death- so much that Isabella had to pull a portion of her cowl in front of her mouth and nose. Laid side to side was men- reduced to their most childlike states. Some cried and others screamed. Even with the sunlight casting in through stained glass, the Great Hall was a scene out of Hell.

"Madonna..."

Isabella felt a tug on her cloak. At her feet was a man, no older than Ormanno or herself. Possibly younger. His muddied blond hair was clumped with dirt and blood. A dark red liquid stemmed from the corner of his mouth. Through the pain in his face, Isabella saw two dark blue eyes that had seen images worse than the Devil himself. She bent down and took his weak hand in her bandaged one.

"Yes?"

"Are you an angel?"

Isabella felt a blush rise in her cheeks.

"No, I am not."

He furrowed his brows. "You have the anger of Saint Michael in your eyes."

Isabella felt her body go cold. "What is your name?"

"Simone," he said. "Please stay with me. I don't want to die alone."

Isabella hesitated. Staying with Simone and praying with him until he dies would be the right thing to do, but if someone recognized Isabella next to a dying man her father would not be exactly excited about it- given her history.

"I will."

"Oh God bless you, Madonna...?"

"Isabella."

"God bless you, Madonna Isabella. Not that he cares much about us humans, anyways."

She knelt and held the Simone's hand tighter. He seemed to regret the statement almost instantly. Simone bit his already bloodied lip and cast his gaze to the side- down the Great Hall to the stained glass depicting the Messiah himself.

"Why do say that, Simone?" Isabella's voice was no more than a whisper.

His eyes seemed to glaze over. "There is no God on the battlefield. I saw too many of the men- no- boys I rode and played with in my childhood be slaughtered over disputes between rich and powerful men we did not choose. There is no God in the act of wading through thousands of bodies and reducing souls to numbers. There is no God in the echoing clash of swords. There is no God in taking a boy's life from his mother. There is no God in setting ablaze the only source of food for an entire village. There is no God, Madonna Isabella. We only have God to comfort us while we die, like now."

"I am sorry," Isabella could not help but feel guilty. Her family was one of the upper class reasons this war was stretching on for so long. Why so many lives were being taken. "But believe me, war is for men, but your courage on the battlefield is for God. No man nor sight can take your courage or your faith."

Isabella leaned forward. "Simone, if you even have the smallest bit of faith, you need to give into it. I do not trust for you to be alive tomorrow. If you stay like this, I cannot say Minos will treat you fair."

He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. Simone then, with a quivering hand, held up a crude wooden rosary. "May you say my Last Rites, Madonna?"

She took a deep breath and nodded.

***

Isabella entered the sanctuary and found that the smell of the dead was replaced with incense.

She steadied herself on a pew to shake off the Great Hall and noticed Rinaldo sitting near the front of the sanctuary. Isabella walked to the front, careful not to disturb him if he was praying. Instead he was looking down at her letter.

"Rinaldo," she said.

He stood. The two looked each other over. Rinaldo still wore his uniform from the front, but he seemed to have gained enough sense to wash off his face and hands before entering the church.

Isabella wrapped her arms around him before he could say a word, ignoring the dirt and blood. The embrace was comforting. The most comfort she had in a long time. Rinaldo kissed her hairline. "You're stronger," he noted.

Isabella's laugh was muffled by his cloak. She looked up (not as much as she used to, she was almost his height now) "I've been working on it."

Rinaldo's expression turned serious. "You wrote that your grandfather is murdered?"

"Yes, Marco found that the grapevine was poisoned," Isabella lowered her voice. "My father ordered an autopsy to confirm. Di Cecco died a few days ago. I worry the two are related."

Rinaldo sat down on the pew. "One would have to be naïve to not consider that."

"He suspects you," she sat next to him. "My father does not believe it could be anyone else. He is searching for ways to destroy the Albizzi."

"If he did order Di Cecco to be killed, he needs to be brought before the Signoria."

"And testify with what? The Signoria will not take my words to heart- even if I am allowed in the room. Not to mention how your family and I may be dragged under the weight," Isabella held her rosary tighter. "And besides, it will take focus off of the war."

"Then why do you tell me?"

"Because at some point my father will have all of the members of Signoria against you. It won't be pretty, especially if he believes you killed my grandfather. You will need this against him," Isabella passed him a sheet of parchment. "That is the letter from Di Cecco confirming the autopsy."

Rinaldo reviewed it. "You are fine with me condemning your father?"

"Indifferent is better word," Isabella said. She changed subjects. Marco would be searching for her if she spent too long away from the Medici estate. Cosimo may have granted her freedom- as long as it was within his sight. "How is the front?"

"Diseased, bloody, and dying."

Isabella nodded and shivered with the memory of Gabriel then turned to Rinaldo. "The war has been situated in valleys, correct?"

His eyebrows furrowed. "Yes. What have you planned?"

"Roman aqueducts run parallel to valleys in the hills. They're underground and many of them still carry water. If you are able to lure the Milanese to Mugello valley and place them on a slope between the aqueduct and the Sieve River, you will have an exceptional advantage," On Isabella's lap she had created a small map with her rosary. "By opening the aqueduct at the correct time the Milanese will be washed into the river, waiting for you to open volley. And if you strike soon, the mud will pull them down. Your loss of soldiers will be at a minimum."

"Incredible," Rinaldo grinned. "I forgot those aqueducts even existed."

"If you are coordinated enough you might be able to take out a good por-"

A familiar voice echoed through the monetary. "Is Isabella de Medici here?"

"Marco," Isabella muttered. She heard the murmur of a reply from a monk. "I have to go."

Her heart began to race.

"Be safe," Rinaldo kissed her cheek. "My messenger is in Florence every other day."

Isabella nodded and stood. Marco was close- she could hear his footsteps. She slipped out the oak door. "Marco!"

"Isabella," he grabbed her hand and led her to her horse. "What have you been doing?"

"Praying."

"Where is your rosary?"

A wave of anxiety washed over the girl. She must have forgotten it with Rinaldo! "I forgot it at home." She prayed that Marco would believe the lie. The two knew that Isabella always kept her rosary within reach. It had become a comfort item for her. He appeared to accept it. "What's happened?"

A pause.

"Your sister's been poisoned."