It was the second day of traveling for the pair. The usual one day trip had been extended to three days- counting the night they rode through. They would often come across a road to only find that it was another casualty of the war. Lorenzo would curse, pull on his reins, and turn back around. If it wasn't for the war and the overwhelming state of chaos, the two would cut through woods and farmland. However, those once reliable alternatives now gave way for robbers and rapists. Isabella had not expected for the war to reach this far south, but when trade is disrupted the rest of society falls like a half burnt timber.

Isabella attempted to enjoy some the views she had missed for several years. The Largo di Bolsena reflected the mesmerizing colors of God's palette in its clear waters. Even though Isabella felt relatively safe in a place where God's touch was evident, she felt uneasy. The clatter of soldiers was not far and the coastal villages of Bolsena had a reputation of being looted.

Lorenzo and Isabella had moved to one side of the road to make way for the injured soldiers returning to Florence. Some remained prideful and refused to yell out with each step, some groaned, some had lost their voices miles back, and some still at the strength to whistle or holler at the first female they had seen in weeks.

"Lookin' good, Madonna!" ,"Oh, rich girl, you're lookin' lovely!", "Give a wounded solider some loving, Madonna," Isabella ignored them for the most part. Every once in awhile she simply glare at them with fire in her green eyes- they would become silent immediately. Having her uncle beside her created a pleasant buffer.

The soldiers passed and at the tail end was Ormanno on his dark horse. He had a bandage around his arm- clearly fresh with blood seeping through the fabric. Isabella and Ormanno glanced at each other, but didn't spare a second look for Lorenzo was watching. He quickly hunched down, either from pain or respect.

The sound of the men faded into the valley.

"You still fancy him, don't you?" Her uncle spoke.

Isabella didn't have to look at Lorenzo to know that he was smirking. "I don't," she said curtly.

"Ah, both you and I know if you did, you wouldn't- can't admit it," Lorenzo said. "I get that you're a child of God, but can't you ever loosen up? You're almost wound as tight as you father."

Isabella smiled. Ever since she was little, Lorenzo was one of the few people who didn't expect her to act civilly every waking hour. When she was 9 or so, Isabella got into a fight with her friend Joan and end up pushing her to the ground and breaking the girl's nose. She couldn't remember what the fight was over, but it escalated and her father and Marco Bello had to physically pull them apart. The two were covered in scratches and bruises to be banned from ever seeing each other again. After her father gave her a good talking to (along with a withholding of desert for a month), Lorenzo pulled her aside and complimented her on her strength.

"Well, I probably should be given that we are visiting the Pope."

"More of reason to relax." Lorenzo tossed Isabella a flask. She grinned and took a swig. The sweet wine flowed down her throat along with the strong, dry taste that Lorenzo favors.

She tossed it back. "Shall we find a inn? It's getting dark."

Lorenzo nodded. "We should make it to Rome by tomorrow morning if we stop soon. The inn up ahead should have lodging- unless its full of the wounded and dead." Isabella watched as his gloved hands tightened on his reins. She knew that her uncle wouldn't dare have her sleep outside. Trying to rest outside while traveling is a risk for those who don't mind never waking up. As a female, her chances of survival through the night would be little to none.

Isabella knew that lakeside villages were depressing. She knew that villages on the side of di Bolsena were especially depressing, but she was not expecting this. The village was desolate. War had taken a toll on the village. Women did their best to scrub fresh blood off of crumbling walls. Children did not run around nor play, instead they stood and stared at the girl on horseback. It was almost as if the experience of war had taken their childhoods away from them. Isabella's heart beat an empathetic tone for their vacant stares.

The inn sat near the center of the village. Surprisingly, it was not overrun with soldiers or the dead. Isabella took a moment to tie her horse to the side of the building and looked down the street. Her instincts were telling her it was too quiet. Something had happened, or was expecting to happen, to lay a blanket of silence over the coastal village.

The inside of the inn was relatively crowded. A few stray men sat around tables conversing in hushed voices over ale and wine. It wasn't the rowdy drunkards Isabella was used to Florence, but men who watched their drink in order to stay sober enough should something alarm them. Heads turned at the sight of Isabella and Lorenzo. The pair was obviously the wealthiest in the room with their imported fabrics and cleanliness. Isabella cast her eyes to the floor while her uncle spoke to the innkeeper. She was acutely aware of why the men were staring at her. In each of their minds they were figuring how to get her alone or imagining what was under her cloaks. Unlike the monks and nun, perpetual virgins do not earn a symbol of their status to wear to cast off the very men who were sizing Isabella up.

She stepped closer to Lorenzo.

"Thank you, Messer," Lorenzo finished his conversation, scratched the Medici name into the guestbook with a quill, and slid a few coins across the wooden table.

Lorenzo and Isabella gathered their few things from the saddlebags of their horses. Isabella carried a small bag with a few changes of dresses (not exactly in the same pristine folds that the maid had packed them in), a Bible, a bound notebook, and the few valuables that she carried. She didn't exactly know what Lorenzo had packed, but in one of his saddlebags was a large stack of parchment. Isabella reckoned it was as many papers that her father and Ugo could gather to persuade the pope to sue for peace.

Once the two had safely stowed their belongings away in a room, the best way to kill time was to sit in the tavern. Lorenzo had made himself at home in a corner with a glass of wine and Isabella sat next to him sipping on some wine herself while reading her Bible. At the moment, she had settled on the story of Esther. One of the more calming books of the Old Testament.

Isabella read the Latin carefully. She was one of the lucky few people who could read Latin. Most of the upper class and clergy could. Her mother had trained both her and Peiro from a young age to speak and read Latin, Italian, and French. Their parents had always been amused at the pair. Lorenzo struggled to read Latin, yet could speak it at the same level as the clergy while Isabella was the opposite.

"Ad quem illa respondit si inveni gratiam in oculis tuis o rex et si tibi placet dona mihi animam meam pro qua rogo et populum meum pro quo obsecro. Traditi enim sumus ego et populus meus ut conteramur iugulemur et pereamus atque utinam in servos et famulas venderemur esset tolerabile malum et gemens tacerem nunc autem hostis noster est cuius crudelitas redundat in regem," Isabella muttered the text under her breath, the text in which Esther pleads with the King to save the Jews from persecution. Her fingertip gently moved across the script, careful not to smudge it.

"Well, well, well."

Both Isabella and Lorenzo jerked their heads toward the speaker. The owner of the voice was none other than Francesco Carmagnola, the right hand man to Duke Sforza of Milan. His dark, graying hair was stuck to his scalp with a mixture of sweat and blood, two liquids that dripped down onto the guestbook he was bent over.

"I would never guess to find a Medici near the Largo di Bolsena, let alone two!" his beady eyes scanned the tavern before setting on Isabella. "And the virgin herself, nonetheless."

Isabella pushed her Bible into her cloak and close to her heart. Now that Carmagnola had announced her status to the tavern, she was far more desirable than before. Lorenzo set down his glass and grabbed Isabella's forearm almost instinctively.

Carmagnola's steps echoed in the silence of the tavern as he sauntered to the Medici, "Now, before the great Giovanni de Medici died most of my men were placing bets on when he'd send you to the slave market and how much you would cost," Carmagnola placed one foot on a stool next to the table, nearest to Isabella, and loomed over her. He looked up to the ceiling as if he was figuring the price of olive oil, not the girl in front of him. "Now let's see, the church has confirmed you as a virgin that's at least ten thousand florins right there. The Medici name has be worth at least 5,000 florins. However, most of my men," he turned back to Isabella, "forgot about those scars of yours. That's probably 2,000 florins off- but that can be made up for the fact that you're, um, how shall I say this, easily disposable?"

"Go to Hell, Carmagnola," Lorenzo hissed.

"To bad," he smirked. "I've already been."

Isabella remained quiet. She was surprised to find that she wasn't shaking, but instead falling back on what Marco had taught her. She looked him over to find the points of weaknesses, where he hid his weapons, wounds, and the same for the six of his men that had filed into the inn behind him. By the pitiful looks of a few of the patrons, she had some support if a fight was to break out. It would be hard however, with other men apparently ready to take any opportunity to separate her from her uncle. Along with the fact that she was placed in the back of the tavern, she would need to rely on a shock factor instead of actual brute force.

"Now," Carmagnola sat on his stool. Isabella could feel his putrid breath on her cheek. "Seeing as I just won a battle to maintain control of this area from Milan, I have the authority to ask you some questions."

Isabella wanted nothing more than to break his nose. By the tight grip Lorenzo unconsciously acquired on her forearm, he wanted nothing more than to kill Carmagnola. "Which would be?" Isabella asked, careful to keep her voice steady.

Carmagnola leaned in close. "What business does the Medici have in this territory?"

"We are meeting with the Pope to discuss tithes, which," there was a clear edge in Lorenzo's voice. "You are responsible for stopping."

"Oh, I apologize for this war meddling in your private affairs," Carmagnola gripped Isabella's chin and turned her toward him. "Maybe if the Medici weren't so reliant on servitude, you would not be in this position. Do you ever realize that if the church falls, so will your business and your family will cast out on the street. You thrive so much on piety of others that you-"

Isabella had enough. Her blood was boiling. No matter how much she hated the Medici name that her grandfather founded, no man was going to simply saunter up to her and insult her entire family. The family that her father is the head of.

Her movement was quick and easier to achieve because of Carmagnola's close proximity to her. There was a small dagger hanging off of his belt- one of the many utilian items that men carried. Reaching toward her own dagger would create too much alarm but reaching for Carmagnola's would create mixed signals for the rest of the room.

Isabella gripped the bone handle and shoved the blade into the region closest to the belt swiftly and powerfully. Carmagnola halted mid sentence as he struggled to realized what had just happened. Then, just as all the blood rushed from his face the most unmanly scream escaped from his mouth, He fell to the ground and to cause more injury, Isabella pulled the dagger from his flesh.

With the warm blood flowing off of the blade and down her hand, Isabella stood on top of the table that she and Lorenzo occupied. She then held the said dagger aloft and announced, "If any man has a word against the Medici name he shall be expecting a castration in the name of charity!"

The only sound in the tavern was Carmagnola's whimpering as he laid on the floor. All of the men in stared at her with wide eyes. Well, except that of the innkeeper. He looked more annoyed that someone was stabbed in his tavern than anything else.

Isabella returned to the floor and bent down next to Carmagnola. Just as he did to her, she gripped his chin and turned him toward her. "Tell Sforza that Florence sends its regards," she said. "And I'm keeping the blade."

***

The doors to the Vatican were pushed open to reveal a glittering room. Isabella gasped. She had been surrounded by riches her entire life, but she had never seen rooms encrusted in gold and frescos as much as the Vatican.

"There's more," her uncle chuckled at her expression of awe.

Lorenzo hadn't said a word about the incident at the inn the night before. Isabella decided that it was because he simply didn't know how to react. Isabella didn't know what to think about it either. It had all happened so quick that she didn't even stop to think that she just castrated the right hand to the Duke of Milan. Lorenzo was most likely going to leave the reaction to her father when they return to Florence. Isabella wasn't sure how to prepare herself for returning to Florence, but for now she was going to enjoy the Vatican.

One of the cardinals, Cardinal Condulmerio, led them through the maze of halls to the gardens at which Pope Martin was relaxing. He stood and approached the pair. Isabella gracefully bowed her head and bent to kiss his hand as Lorenzo did the same.

"It has been a long time since the Medici have come to Rome," he said. "What is this urgent business of yours?"

Isabella remained quiet. Her part to play would come later.

"As you're aware, Your Holiness," Lorenzo spoke, "Florence is locked in a ruinous war with Milan."

"I am." An annoyed expression crossed the Pope's face. "That's why your bank has held back our tithes from the north."

"It wasn't safe to transport them."

"Was it?" The Pope nodded at Isabella. "Yet it was safe to transport young lady? One who holds a Vow?"

"She is here on separate business," Lorenzo spoke. Isabella could tell he was trying to keep his voice steady. "One that requires urgency."

The Pope held out his hand. "I am sure there is a letter from Cosimo accompanying her."

Lorenzo passed the same parchment from before to the Pope. The Pope opened it and began to read.

"Your Holiness," Lorenzo sighed. "The people of Florence are suffering."

Pope Martin quickly folded the letter and stored it in his robes. He paused a moment, as if he needed to pray to the Lord for strength. "What can I do?"

"Persuade Rinaldo delgi Albizzi to sue the Duke of Milan for peace."

"I can write a letter for you to carry back."

"Thank you, Your Holiness," Lorenzo cast his gaze across the gardens and took a breath. "But I am afraid I need more than a letter. There must be consequences if Albizzi fails to heed your suasion."

"Such as?" The Pope narrowed his eyes.

"Your Holiness... has many tools at his disposal. Spiritual tools."

Pope Martin turned his head to look Lorenzo up and down. He then looked at Isabella as if she held the answer to a question. "I will have to consider your proposal," he said. "In the meantime, make yourselves at home. You must be tired from such a long trip." He nodded to the page on the other side of the hall who opened the door to leave.

Both Isabella and Lorenzo bowed their heads politely and began to leave. As soon as they were out of earshot Isabella whispered, "That was a whole lot of nothing."

"Usually is," Lorenzo said. "Give it some time."

***

Isabella laid down on top of the covers in her guest room. She had always assumed that the Medici estate was the apex of luxury, but the Vatican was proving her wrong. The gold and silks were nice, but she failed to see how the expenditure of the church's tithes in this way benefited the Lord. If she actually held a position of power she would say something to the Pope but those who spoke against the establishment usually found themselves in unlikable situations.

She suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Isabella was not supposed to be surrounded with such riches- even as a Medici. A feather bed, silk blankets, fine wine, and gold walls do not reflect the Lord, but instead man.

Spurred by this thought, Isabella pulled the covers off her bed down to the sheet. She stripped the sheet off and placed it on the floor next to the bed. Isabella may have the opportunity to enjoy fine things, but she will not indulge. She remade the bed and sat on the floor with her back propped up against the side of the bed.

She then pulled her rosary out of her cloak and closed her eyes. Fingering each bead, she took a breath and thought a short prayer. Isabella needed a moment of meditation. A moment to gather her thoughts after meeting the Pope and stabbing someone.

Isabella was not aware of how much time had passed, but when there was a knock upon the door the sun was lower in the sky and sight was more useful with candles.

"Madonna Medici, His Holiness would like to speak with you."

She stood and answered the door. The same cardinal from before waited outside the door. She found it odd that the Pope would send for her using Cardinal Condulmerio, yet something drew her to this cardinal. A soft, silver light seemed to cascade off of his shoulders as if he was the only true holy man in the Vatican.

"Thank you, Cardinal."

He nodded. "My apologizes for disrupting your meditation. Not many continue that practice here."

Isabella raised her eyebrows as she followed the Cardinal down the hallway. "Really?"

"Surprising, isn't it? The holiest place in the world is thinly veiled self servitude," the Cardinal spoke candidly.

"Do you still continue the practices, Cardinal?"

"I still consider myself a monk, so yes," he said. "And your life can be compared to one of a monk, if you were not a Medici."

"Unfortunately," Isabella gazed at the frescos. "A portion of my life has been forced into the monastic routine."

"So the rumors of your past grandfather are true?" The Cardinal asked. Isabella felt he was not coming from a place of gossip but one of concern.

"I would hazard a yes."

"My apologizes."

"Oh, no need to apologize, Cardinal Condulmerio," Isabella said. "If anything that life has made me closer to the Lord and understand the true purpose of my vow."

"Do you realize you are only the fourth person in the church's history to take the vow, Madonna Medici? Saint Thecla was the first and took the vow at the same age that you did. Following her was Saint Catherine and then Saint Fabiola. You are the first person to take the vow in almost a thousand years. The blood and spirit of the women who came before you flow through your veins."

Isabella felt overwhelmed. She had assumed that taking the Vow was as common as women becoming nuns. Never would she have thought that she would only the fourth, next to such amazing women in church history a thousand years later.

She steadied herself against a wall for a moment. "Are you sure that I am only the fourth?"

"The Vow was considered an ancient practice until you requested it," Cardinal Condulmerio gently held her arm to keep her stable.

"I am sure," Isabella took a breath and continued walking. "That there are some who question the legitimacy of my vow."

"Many," the Cardinal said. "I suggest you find who does not believe, because I am sure they will become your enemies over time."

"I doubt you question the validity of my Vow."

"Of course not," he said. "I believe in order for such a vow to be brought from the dead," he stopped and gazed at Isabella. "One must have had divine intervention."

Isabella pulled her dress sleeves over her palms and said nothing.

"This is the papal study, Madonna Medici," the Cardinal lowered his voice, "I advise you to be careful with your words. Any sentence out of place can have a great effect on both your family and the city of Florence."

The girl nodded and respectfully bowed her head for the Cardinal. "May the Lord be with you."

"And also with you."