Archive of Our Own

There are places in Rome for people like Michelotto. It's one of the reasons he came to the city, and part of why he's remained here. That and the variety of work.

His current work has been taking him out of the city more often than he'd like, but his lord's demands are always strange. If information is needed about another friar to the north, Michelotto will gather it. He dislikes radical religious leaders less, if that is possible, than even his lord does.

But he's been away for a while, and he's made his report for the evening and been released to rest. And rest he will, God knows he needs it, but first he has something to get out of his system.

There are people he knows, married men and unmarried men and men married to God, and Michelotto could find one of them. If none are available, there are taverns and houses where he could meet one. He could find someone for a night and maybe for longer, if he were the type to allow attachments. But he isn't, and besides, what he wants most men won't give on the first meeting.

In Rome there are courtesans and there are whores. The whorehouses, some of them, are special, and more than willing to provide a different sort of whore for the right type of clientele. It's much more expensive, but if there is anything Michelotto doesn't lack anymore, it's money. His lord is very generous in that regard.

The Madame of the house raises her eyebrow when she sees him, unimpressed. "You're disgusting, you is," she says.

"My money's no cleaner," Michelotto warns her.

"Well, just so long as you've got it," she says, and turns and hollers unintelligibly at the hallway behind her.

There's an answering yell, and she nods at Michelotto. "Go on through," she says. "Mind you, out by dawn, remember."

Dawn is when the rest of the night's customers will begin to awake. These places only operate under secrecy, and the other paying customers are told that the back thrall ways or rooms or basements of these types of establishments are for the girls only. Men like Michelotto would prove that lie if they were seen exiting by another customer.

He pushes through the curtains, heavy with smoke and spilled spirits and the stink of debauchery. The rooms back here are for the girls, at least partially, so he passes a few leering women as he goes. None of them say anything; they know he's got nothing for them.

There are stairs leading down into the dark, lit poorly by two pathetic candles. Michelotto keeps alert, but his ears pick up only slight rustling and the noise from above and the running of water down the walls. There are catacombs down here, if you can find them, and they're older than the city. Michelotto is sure they've hidden worse secrets than his.

"I was wondering if I'd see you again," Niccolo says when Michelotto turns one of the corners to enter his chamber. "You've been gone a long time."

"Yes," Michelotto says. He steps fully into the room and pulls the heavy door shut behind him. There's no latch, but one's not necessary. The door is heavy, sometimes nearly impossible to move, like now when it's swollen wet and heavy with the moisture from the high spring river. It makes a godawful noise, too, loud enough to wake the dead.

"Business?" Niccolo asks.

Niccolo has dark hair and dark eyes and a mouth that makes it seem destined he'd be a whore. He's young, but not too young, and his eyes are much older than he is. Like most orphans of Rome, he'd survived much to get where he is. He asks too many questions, and one day it will get him killed. Michelotto is careful what he says around him, even more so than he always is, because he doesn't want that death to have to come at his hands.

"Is it one of those nights?" Niccolo asks lowly, standing up out of his chair when Michelotto forgoes an answer and instead begins to unlace his boots.

Recently, it always is.

---

He reports at first light to the villa where his lord currently keeps residence. Nobody is moving about yet except for the lowest of the servants, and Michelotto slips upstairs to his lord's rooms with no difficulty.

The news he has does not please his lord. "What do you mean, you could not follow him?"

"I would be recognized, my lord," Michelotto says, calm. He has worked for many men, all of whom frightened him more than his current lord, and he never surrendered to their fits of temper. It is more difficult to deal with his lord's genuine outbursts than his fleeting temper, because he never truly expresses himself. Frustration more often than not covers eagerness, impatience often clouds uncertainty, and anger always disguises fear.

"One of the brothers in the order knows you?"

"No, my lord."

"One of the servants, then? A townsman?"

"No, my lord."

His lord is frowning now, hovering between impatience and anger. Michelotto enjoys this occasionally, pushing by refusing to do more than answer direct questions. Maybe it's because he's stupid or easily bored, both things he's been accused of. Maybe it's because one day he hopes is lord will push back.

"What, then?"

It is probably past time to answer. "My nature will be recognized, even if I am not. They are used to war, my lord, and politics. There were not three people in the whole town as did not recognize me for what I am within a day of my arrival."

His lord closes his eyes, for all appearances holding back a sigh. "I will go tell my father you were incapable of doing your job. Meanwhile, can you find someone who will not be seen for a spy?"

"Yes, my lord," Michelotto answers, as he ever will, and steps back with his dismissal.

---

He follows his lord on his path to the Pope. He does not know if this part of his activity is known, or expected; he does not know if his lord would blame him of spying. He only knows that he is expected to be there when necessary, and to do that, he must always be nearby. When he is in the city, he is always at his lord's heels.

There is a stark contrast between the black leather and fine cloth of his lord's clothing and the red robes from which he was so recently acquitted and which they pass as they travel through the many doors of the Vatican. The Pope is at the heart of it all, as he always is, and as has become the custom these days, he only stares blindly at the wall while his son reports Michelotto's recent failure. Neither of them seem to notice Michelotto's presence.

"The friar, father," his lord says, and waits for permission to proceed.

"Yes," the Pope says. "Tell us. What have you done with him?"

"He has secluded himself in a monastery, father."

"Of course he has," the Pope says. "He's a friar. What else?"

"We are working on getting a spy inside," his lord says. "They are cautious."

"Well, why are you here then?" the Pope demands. "If you've nothing to tell me."

"I thought to keep you apprised," his lord says. His voice is even but cold.

"I would prefer to be apprised with proper information," the Pope says, angry now. It takes very little to anger him these days.

"Of course," his lord says, and he doesn't bow as they exit the chambers. Michelotto does not, either, but then, he never has.

"He is foolish," his lord says, once they are outside the chambers. "I had never thought I would say that about my father."

Michelotto likes this Pope, has since he first heard of him. Any man who took the pervasive corruption of the church into his own hands as a tool is one whom Michelotto can admire. He despises hypocrites. His appreciation, however, does not blind him to the man's faults – he is selfish and arrogant, stupidly led by his own desires. He fucks who he will and loves only when it pleases him. His blatant favoritism would not count as a crime in Michelotto's estimation, if only he weren't so erring in its application. He loves only stupid people – the dumb son, rather than the clever one; the daughter only when she is innocent and docile; his lovers only when their cunning is hidden. It is his greatest fault, and will likely be his downfall.

He cannot say any of this to his lord. He would not, even if he could speak freely; nothing would be improved by its being said. Instead, he inclines his head and says, "Yes, my lord." A slight pause, just long enough to allow his lord to speak further, should he wish to relent in his brooding silence. He does not, it seems, so Michelotto continues, "I will go now."

"Yes," his lord says, staring out at the streets of Rome, "go and find us our spy."

---

Michelotto will spend all day looking for a suitable spy, if necessary. He won't return to his lord with further disappointment. But fortune is on his side today, and his first query leads him to the doorstep of an old acquaintance. Michelotto doesn't have many of those, and it's a testament to the man's skill and trustworthiness – as well as his discernment in accepting employment – that he has earned the title.

Iacopo is old. Michelotto doesn't know how old, just that his hair has gone grey and his face has the wrinkles to rival a spinster's hands. He is living in a hovel by the river, tucked nearly out of sight under a bridge and the weight of its own filth. It's guarded by a dog only too happy to take the meat Michelotto offers. While the dog chews, Michelotto knocks on the door, which is so flimsy it shakes with the gentle force.

The door cracks open and Iacopo peers out. "I thought it'd be you," he says cryptically.

Michelotto isn't concerned. Iacopo has said the same thing every time Michelotto's come to him, even when gossip could not possibly told him who or where Michelotto was. Either Iacopo has genuine prescience or he says the same thing to everyone; and Michelotto does not believe in future-telling.

"Yes," Michelotto says. "Are you occupied?"

"At the moment?" Iacopo says. "No. Or do you mean to ask if I am currently seeking a job?"

"I have an offer for you," Michelotto says.

Iacopo accepts. Michelotto is relieved; there was no guarantee he would, although he is by far the best man for the job. Michelotto trusts him as much as he trusts anyone, and he'll blend into the monastery quite well. Whether he goes as a servant or a fellow man of God, Michelotto doesn't care. Either will work for their purposes, so he does not mind it much that Iacopo won't tell him how he plans to gain admission.

Michelotto will present him to his lord first, of course, before their deal is final. He doesn't expect his lord will object – he's never denied anyone of Michelotto's choosing.

His lord is at the villa for the remainder of the day, so Michelotto stays in the streets, eyes and ears alert for any new, possibly dangerous rumors. There are the outrageous ones, as expected – the mentions of witchcraft, the suspicions of murder (most of which are true, but some of which aren't). There are also the boring ones – that the newly-derobed Cardinal has already settled on a lady for marriage, or that the Pope's daughter has gone straying about town. There is only one which Michelotto has not heard before, and which gives him pause.

There are generally very few ill-mannered things said on the streets about the ladies Borgia and Farnese. There are too many who are grateful for their recent improvements to the city. Even the mentions of "the Pope's whore," both the old and the new, have lessened. The rumor of Giulia Farnese's pregnancy, then, is unexpected. There's enough possibility of truth in it that Michelotto frowns and makes note of it.

---

Iacopo meets Michelotto by the villa's gate after dawn. He's cleaned himself up a bit, enough that he doesn't smell like goat shit, and he looks the kindly old man.

His lord is waiting for them on a bench in the courtyard, and he doesn't stand as they approach. They both bow before him, and Michelotto gestures to his side and says, "Iacopo, my lord."

"Iacopo," his lord repeats. "You are aware of the nature of our request, aren't you?"

"Yes," Iacopo says serenely. If he recognizes the Borgia house or son, he gives no indication. It is not entirely unlikely he already knew. There aren't many people who find it necessary to spy on a friar.

"You're rather old, aren't you?" his lord asks. He glances at Michelotto toward the end; Michelotto does not move. "Am I to take that to mean you are skilled at your occupation, or merely that you started late?"

"I don't consider myself old," Iacopo says, "so perhaps that question is unreasonable."

Michelotto hopes his lord is in a good mood, and receptive to humor; fortunately, his lord only smiles slightly and asks him, "He is fit for it?"

"I am," Iacopo says before Michelotto can answer. "Unless there is a plan for more squabbling and sparring than I was informed."

"No, none planned. But it is quite a distance from here."

"I have no family," Iacopo says, deliberately mistaking the point.

"Oh, fine," his lord says, and waves them away.

Michelotto stays.

"What is it?" his lord asks, still watching Iacopo's back. Old or no, Iacopo walks with a steady speed and assurance.

"I would speak to you, my lord," Michelotto says.

"Do you know, he looks familiar." Iacopo has reached the gate now, and passes out of sight.

"He has a common face, my lord," Michelotto says. Iacopo doesn't, not particularly, but Michelotto will take the slight untruth than risk bringing attention to the similarities between Iacopo and the Pope, which are likely what his lord is noticing. It was one of the things Michelotto had been surprised to see, back when he first laid eyes on the newly-elected Holiness; his lord's father projects himself less as a man of cloth than as a businessman, determined to do his business right.

"I suppose." His lord looks at him fully. "You have something more to tell me?"

"Yes," Michelotto says. He follows into the cool of the villa, into the work spaces where the servants glance at him, then to their employer, and hurriedly look away. All of the servants here were chosen for their discretion, and Michelotto has tested them several times; they're as loyal as servants will ever be.

They stop in the furthest corner, where the kitchen meets the long hall that leads to the house proper.

"Be quick," his lord says. "I don't want to be missed when everyone rises."

"You have asked that I keep an ear to the city," Michelotto says. "There is one rumor which I believe may be worth your attention. They begin to say that Giulia Farnese is with child."

Any relaxation that was in his lord's posture is now gone. "What?" he demands. "Who says this? How long has it been rumored?"

"I do not know how long, or how it first began, but half of the city has heard already."

His lord swears. "I need to know if it is true. It cannot be; my sister would have known already if it were, and she would tell me. A child would not be hidden."

"It is just a rumor, my lord."

His lord looks far from appeased. "The Pope cannot have a child born to him so publicly. There is a rumor already, but even if this is true, it must never be more than a rumor."

"I cannot control what is said on the streets," Michelotto reminds him, because sometimes noblemen overestimate their own power, even the cleverest of them.

"No, but we can make sure it is said very quietly." His lord's voice is grim. "Before anything else, however, we need to know if it is true. Pray it isn't. If there is going to be another child – I do not know what my father's mood would be to have another son."

Of course any child born might be a girl, but that is not a concern. A female could be married off, another much-needed commodity when the Lady Lucrezia is only one girl, and a daughter is not likely to remind the Pope so much of his much-beloved late spawn.

"What would you have of me, my lord?"

He gets dismissed with a wave of a hand. "Nothing, yet. I will ask Giulia Farnese myself. I will call for you soon."

---

Giulia Farnese tells his lord nothing. She speaks around the topic and says nothing concrete, and his lord is still fuming when he calls for Michelotto again.

"I must know," his lord says, and it is decided: Michelotto is going to spy within the Pope's own household.

Michelotto is always careful, but he is going to have to be particularly cautious with this assignment. Spying on Giulia Farnese means spying, however inadvertently, on Lucrezia Borgia, and that is something his lord would not like. It may be a necessary sacrifice for now, as his lord surely knows, but it will be easiest here to overstep one of his lord's boundaries, as he has many in regards to his sister. Michelotto is determined not to.

His job is both easier and harder for having permission to come and go in the household. He does not need to worry about being discovered, but his identity is well-known, so he cannot simply hide among the servants. He is left to skulking around the household, leaning in corners and attempting to eavesdrop even while his target knows he is there.

In the streets it is easier. The three women are out often, exploring the city's forgotten pits and imagining new uses for them. They often go unescorted, and Michelotto is honestly surprised they have never with trouble. After a few days, however, he realizes how they have escaped it: they are so brazen as they walk, dressed in fine clothes and talking clear and high, that it seems they have an undeniable right to go where they will, and possibly discreet protection as well, for how else could three ladies, apparently alone, be so bold? Their open identities protect them as well; no criminal wants the full force of Rome's wrath on them for attacking the women of the Holy Family.

It is not surprising, however, that Michelotto is discovered the third day since he began watching them.

He is leaning against the wall in a hallway outside the room Giulia Farnese has appropriated for use as an office. The ladies spend much of their time there, at least when they're home, as Giulia Farnese works on her books and the Lady Lucrezia chatters at her, often playing with her child at the same time, so her voice will be joined with the baby's noises.

Today it is just the two of them, and they are not talking much. They are preparing to leave, and Michelotto listens as the rustling of the books finishes, as their voices rise and footsteps move to the door of the room opposite the one he resides outside, leading to the back stairs of the house. When he can no longer hear them, he follows, careful to maintain his distance, barely within hearing of the lilt of Lady Lucrezia's voice, speaking nearly incessantly, as she is sometimes capable of doing.

They have made it nearly to the marketplace by way of back alleys when he hears the ladies scream. Since his lord would never forgive him if he allowed harm to befall them, and he does not want to besides, he resigns himself to discovery and darts after them.

When he turns the last corner to them, he has to stumble to abrupt halt as they are both turned and calmly facing him.

"You see," Giulia Farnese says, "I told you we had a shadow, my love."

"It is such an odd one," Lady Lucrezia says. "It isn't shaped like either of us."

"It has certain similarities to your brother, I think."

"Not little Gioffre, surely!" Lady Lucrezia laughs, amused by her own cleverness.

Michelotto grits his teeth and fights not to bare them. "Forgive me, ladies," he says, and bows. "I thought you were in trouble."

"Is that why you follow us?" Giulia Farnese asks. "For our protection?"

"Is my brother worried about me?" Lady Lucrezia asks. "He has never assigned me a bodyguard before, I do not think. If he were, why doesn't he accompany us himself?"

"Not a bodyguard, I think, and not for you," Giulia Farnese says. "Isn't that right?"

This last is addressed to Michelotto. He looks at her forehead and says nothing.

"What is your name?" Lady Lucrezia asks. "Was it Michele?"

"Michelotto, my lady." He bows again.

"Well, Michelotto," Lady Lucrezia says. "We have known of your presence for the last couple of days, and after some discussion we have decided we appreciate it. It lends some security to our actions, and we could use a man to assist us in some of our work. We should like to hire you."

Michelotto stares.

"I think it would be similar to contracting you from my brother," Lady Lucrezia adds helpfully.

"This could be to your advantage as well," Giulia Farnese says. "You may watch us from a much closer distance."

"So you may spy on us, and tell my nosy brother all that you learn, but you must spy from our side. Escort us throughout the city and you will have your information." The Lady Lucrezia is smiling at him, seeming pleased with her own cleverness; Michelotto wonders if she thinks she may prevent him from learning what he needs by keeping him close. "Does that suit you?"

"Yes, my lady," Michelotto says. There is nothing else he could say.

"More than that," Giulia Farnese intercedes, "I know what your master wants. If you swear honestly to accompany us, and assist us with our work until such time as your other duties call you away, I will tell you what he desires to know this instant."

"Yes, my lady," Michelotto repeats. This time he means it.

She looks at him evenly. "You swear to it?"

"Until other duties are required of me, yes, I swear," Michelotto says.

Another long moment, and finally she seems to decide he is trustworthy enough. "I am with child," she says. "Not long yet, but it is true. The Pope does not know."

Michelotto bows his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you, my lady."

"Now you may accompany us on the rest of our walk. When we return, you may report to your lord. You also must tell him this: I would wish the Pope to remain unaware until I tell him. The pregnancy is still new, and I was told I would never have children at all. I may still miscarry. The Pope is already fragile as he mourns for one child; he does not need this new strain right now."

"We hope he will not mourn too long," Lady Lucrezia says, falsely bright. Her smile is nearly cruel. "Until then, this is Giulia's secret to keep, don't you agree?"

"Of course," Michelotto says, and they both nod at him one final time before turning and continuing on their way. He falls into step a few feet behind them.

Lady Lucrezia speaks as they walk, mentioning uses of this place and that to Giulia Farnese, telling stories, and asking Michelotto too many questions, most of them off-hand and none of which he answers.

---

He keeps his promise. He tells his lord everything they said, and of what he'd sworn in return. His lord is bemused, but he has no objections – he likes the idea of his sister being better protected, and there is some advantage to spying from a close position even if your activities are known. Michelotto's new job, at least until Iacopo returns with news of the friar, is as escort for the ladies and, by association and at their occasional order, aid to the city.

He does not mind it. He has always liked the ladies of his lord's household, and more so now the three of them have made work for themselves independent of all but the most scarce oversight. They do not require much of him, and they speak more freely around and to him than he ever expected. They also ask him many questions, not unaware of the substantial knowledge he has of the streets and the people who live on and sometimes under them.

Near the end of the first day, they are walking through one of the most populated slums of the city. It stinks, but neither lady has a cloth over their nose, and Lady Lucrezia is looking around just as interestedly as she ever stared at the finest relics of antiquity they uncovered.

"Do they know us?" Lady Lucrezia asks him curiously, watching the children scurry alongside them and the mothers whisper behind curled hands.

"They know of you," Michelotto answers.

"Everyone in the city does, I should hope." Lady Giulia's voice is not so bright as her companion's, but she is sternly satisfied nonetheless.

"Yes," Michelotto says. "Everyone does. They speak of you, and of your works."

"Do they appreciate us? Do they approve of what we do?" Lady Lucrezia waves to a small child ahead of them, ducked behind an arch; he widens his eyes and disappears. "They don't seem to want to meet us."

"One does not often want to meet the object of one's gossip," Lady Giulia says. "It seems to spoil the fun. Do you agree, Michelotto?"

"I believe that is true," Michelotto allows, inclining his head respectfully. "It is through here. Be careful; it is slippery."

There is silence for a few moments, as the ladies lift their skirts and navigate the uneven, wet stones that form the half-crumbled tunnels. Patches of the ground are exposed to sunlight through the broken walls, and there is moss and larger plants beginning to grow.

"We should restore these." The Lady Giulia is slightly out of breath. She has a hold on Lady Lucrezia's arm, and they are picking their way along together. Michelotto watches carefully, wary should one of them fall and break their neck; his lord or the Pope himself would surely sentence him to the same fate if he were to allow that harm to befall them. "Once we are done helping the people of the city. These would make wonderful roads. I believe that is what they were to begin with."

Michelotto doubts they should ever be done helping the people; doubts even that she understands fully what that would entail.

Lady Lucrezia hums in agreement, and then, reaching the other end of the tunnel, turns back to Michelotto and says, "They speak of us. What do they say? I would like you to tell me."

"A lot of things, my lady," Michelotto says. "I wouldn't know where to start."

"Start by telling me what they know for truth. Do they know who we are? Do they call us by name, or do they know our relation to the Pope?"

They blink quickly as they step into the afternoon sun again. The ladies shield their eyes with their free hands; Michelotto glances quickly around to be sure no one is lurking to take advantage of their momentary adjustment.

"I am not sure we want to know what they call us," Lady Giulia says.

"They do know who you are," Michelotto says. "Everyone does, my lady."

She smiles, pleased. Michelotto continues, "They know you are the Pope's daughter, and they will call you that. They know not what to call your mother; they are less certain who she is."

"And Giulia?" she asks. "What do they call her?"

"That, my love," Lady Lucrezia's mother says, with a low look at Michelotto, "I am certain we do not want to know."

"I do," Lady Lucrezia says. "Tell me, Michelotto."

She is a little like her brother there. She gives commands firmly because she does not ever expect to be disobeyed; Michelotto doubts she ever is. The ladies Giulia and Vanozza, however, are staring icily at Michelotto. He does not need the warnings. He is not so stupid as to repeat the names he's heard to the Lady Lucrezia.

"I do not like to repeat it," he says instead. "Forgive me. But I can say they call you the Ladies of the City. You and Giulia Farnese and your mother."

"Oh," Lucrezia says. She smiles. "I like that. It sounds like a proper title."

"And meant as a proper joke, no doubt," Lady Giulia says. "We are only one false step above Ladies of the Streets, with that title."

"Surely they don't mean it to be an insult," Lady Lucrezia says, and thankfully does not ask Michelotto, so he does not have to lie to spare her feelings. "And even if they do, we shall just win them over."

Michelotto wonders if he was ever so optimistic as her, and knows he was not.

---

"Tell me a secret, Michelotto."

Today the Ladies of the City had decided to tour their projects that are under construction. Michelotto had accompanied them, reporting to his lord before their departure. Lady Lucrezia had been awaiting him at the end of the hallway when he had finished. Michelotto is not surprised she knows he reports every time to her brother; he would bet a great deal that she knows every detail of their arrangement, and he is certain she must report to her brother about him as much as he does about her, even if they would not call it that. He would bet a great deal that she knows every detail of their arrangement. There is no relationship with fewer lies than the one between his lord and his lord's sister, except perhaps that between a dead man and God.

They are visiting a public bathhouse, another idea stolen from the ancient Empire, and Lady Farnese is speaking with the man she appointed to manage it. They are discussing funds, and Lady Lucrezia was quickly bored. She has a mind for people, not numbers. They had just finished with the orphanage, and she had spent nearly an hour playing with the children, uncaring of their dirty hands on her clean clothes and hair. Lady Farnese had let her, indulgent, and only spoken to Michelotto once the whole time, when she turned to him and said, "It is a family trait for these Borgias. They love children so very much."

Michelotto had said nothing, mindful of the way her hand pressed to her stomach, casual enough she might merely have been resting it on her skirts.

Now Lady Lucrezia is uninterested in their visit, for there are no people about, small or otherwise. She is bored, and had informed him as much, and then informed him it was his duty to entertain her. Her brother always entertained her, she said, and as his surrogate, Michelotto was required to fulfill all his duties.

"I could never be an adequate surrogate," Michelotto had said, and she had retorted, "Well, certainly not if you do not at least try."

He had asked how her brother entertained her, as if he had not seen it a dozen times: their games and jokes and smiles, giggling like children, whispering as if they were behind their mother's skirts.

"In many ways," Lady Lucrezia had said, "but my favorite is when he tells me secrets."

Michelotto had tensed.

"Tell me a secret, Michelotto."

He has many secrets. She knows this. He cannot lie and say he has nothing to tell, because she would never believe it. He does not know if she knows the full extent of his employment, but even a liar or thief or spy has secrets. He dares not tell her anything.

"Come," she says. "I will tell you one in return. That is the game. And you know I will never tell anyone else."

"I cannot give my secrets up for a game," he says. "Not even for you, my lady."

She leans close, conspiratorially. "No one will ever know."

"No one but the both of us," he says. "And the secrets I have are not my own. I cannot give them to you."

"Everyone has some secrets of their own," she says. "Here. I will ask a question about you. Answer it truthfully, and I think that will be a secret for me."

"As you wish," Michelotto says. Lady Vanozza has reclined against a wall, wrapping her cloak more firmly about her. It is becoming cooler as autumn progresses, though it is not near winter yet.

"Let me think," she says. "I want to ask something nobody has ever asked you before."

Michelotto smiles, and lets her believe he's amused. He is, but only because he has been tortured and asked many questions, and there is little she could think to ask that he has not lied about under worse circumstances.

"I've got it," she says. She tilts her head at him and asks, "Why are you loyal to my brother?"

Michelotto goes still. "He is my employer, my lady."

"Yes," Lady Lucrezia says, "but that does not answer my question."

"I respect him," Michelotto says, because that is true.

Lady Lucrezia narrows her eyes at him, pursing her lips in an exaggerated expression of thought. "Yes," she says at length, "I believe that is true."

Michelotto inclines his head and turns back to watch Lady Giulia, who has been joined by Lady Vanozza. They seem to still be discussing money, and slightly more emphatically now.

"But it is not the entire truth," Lady Lucrezia says. "My brother is worthy of respect, but that only explains why you allow him to employ you. It does not answer my question about your loyalty."

"You don't think your brother is worthy of loyalty?" Michelotto asks, a deflection.

"Of course I do, but that is because I am his sister and I love him," Lady Lucrezia says easily, immediately. "What about you?"

Michelotto has lost, fallen prey to the same trap Lady Lucrezia uses on most men; he underestimated her and now he must tell her something he did not mean to share. To not answer would be to risk his job, and possibly his life, because if he cannot say why he is loyal, and she tells her brother, his lord may think it means he is not loyal after all. But he has no answer for her; he does not think he really knows himself.

She is still watching him patiently. He thinks, and says the simplest thing. "I like him, my lady."

"You like him," she repeats slowly, "so you do not wish to betray him."

Michelotto nods. It is unjustifiable, almost nonsensical, and stupid for someone in his line of work. Loyalty is stupid. Loyalty leads to fighting on a losing side, and turning down more profitable or safer positions. Loyalty means a longer employment and a greater likelihood of recognition and revenge enacted upon him.

"Yes," Lady Lucrezia says, and nods with finality. "I believe you. And that's a wonderful secret, don't you think? Something you have never told anyone. You like my brother."

And that is why he is loyal to him. Michelotto inclines his head to Lady Lucrezia again, and she steps forward briskly and demands they move along before she expires of hunger. Lady Giulia and her mother tease her, telling her that she is not the pregnant one and therefore has no right to be more impatient than Lady Giulia, and Lady Lucrezia laughs them off and leads them all back home.

He likes her brother, and that is why he is loyal to him. Michelotto wonders how she knew with such certainty that he was loyal; and then he thinks that perhaps she didn't know, and the question of why mattered less to her than the more subtle proof that he was at all.

---

A month passes. Autumn is ending and it is turning colder and colder. Lady Giulia does not miscarry; Iacopo has nothing definite to report. The friar remains in Ferrara, hosted by Ercole d'Este, preaching things he should not be and sending out letters he should not write.

Michelotto does not deal well with inactivity. He never has. He has a restless nature, as well as a suspicious one, and too long in one place, doing one thing, makes him nervous. He likes the ladies, and he appreciates the work they are doing; God knows this city hasn't seen genuine charity in centuries, perhaps since its first tower was built. As much as he appreciates it, however, charitable work isn't for him. He is good at filth and violence, and he does not want to be improved.

Lady Lucrezia was determined to improve him anyway. She asked him if he can read and write, and was delighted when he says he can; then she asked what languages he speaks, and was astounded when he told her three, though dismayed Latin was not among them. She then proceeded to attempt to teach him Latin.

Michelotto had gone to his lord and begged his freedom for the evenings. He will always be available if called, but he cannot be a spy without rest, particularly not when his daily occupation requires constant vigilance to avoid Lady Lucrezia's attacks of culture and education.

He had been forced to explain this, and his lord had laughed so hard and so long Michelotto had sincerely started considering just walking out. But finally his lord, still grinning, tells him he has permission to take his afternoons and evenings for himself, once he has returned the ladies safely from their daily surveys.

Faced with regular time of his own, flush with money, and nearly insane with inaction, Michelotto does what he should not do: he visits Niccolo.

Of course the occasional visit is nothing he hasn't done for the last several years, but regularity in one area of life leads to regularity in the others; when he catches himself visiting Niccolo several times a week, he vows he will stop.

The Pope is as impatient as Michelotto. He calls for his son every day, demanding updates, and his lord demands news of Iacopo from Michelotto just as often. There is nothing most of the time, no matter how much Michelotto wishes otherwise.

The first bite of winter is in the air, announced by a fall of snow that melted as soon as it touched the ground. Still, the Lady Lucrezia is excited as she stands with Lady Giulia, being wrapped in cloaks and furs by servants to keep them warm. She is excited further when Lady Giulia says, "Your father knows of our child."

Lady Lucrezia exclaims over this, and demands to know whether he was happy, and while Lady Giulia explains how he seemed pleased, Michelotto waits for his lord to call him.

Sure enough, his lord strides through in winter clothes and a heavy cloak, seemingly interrupted from riding. "My father wants to see me," he barks at Michelotto, "come." Michelotto follows; his lord stops briefly to give his sister a kiss, and then they go to meet the Pope.

It is about Lady Giulia's child, of course.

"Is it not your duty to keep us informed?" the Pope demands, standing as soon as they enter the room. His lord walks to the other side of the table, but Michelotto stays by the door. "How could this happen under our own roof and it goes unnoticed?"

"Forgive me, father. I had thought your lover would tell you what she needs you to know."

"Yes, but it seems our love thought we did not need to know this," the Pope hisses. "She thinks we are too upset by our recent loss, that we will not love another child."

His lord says, "I am sure she was glad to hear that is not true."

"As much as we mourn our son's death," the Pope says, still glaring, "we would know these things about our family. And it is your job to inform us of them! She has had doctors in to see her, while we were at work; we find our daughter and our daughter's mother both aware before we were to know; are we to find our son knew as well?"

"Is it so strange for her to tell them? They are both mothers; perhaps she required their advice or assistance."

The Pope deflates a little. "Perhaps," he admits grudgingly. "We would have known sooner, however."

"Of course," his lord says, soothing. "But I am sure she makes all her decisions to be best for you and your child. I hope the doctors have said the child is healthy?"

"Yes, yes, everything is in order so far. But four months!" The Pope slumps into his chair. "Are we that old, that we seem too weak to be told even the happiest news?"

"You are never weak, father."

"I feel weak," the Pope says. He waves a hand, once and then more forcefully when they do not immediately respond. "Leave us. We have work to do."

His lord bows. Michelotto does the same, stepping back through the doorway.

"And my son," the Pope calls. "Do not disappoint us again. You have done so a lot as of late, and we grow tired of it."

His lord bows again. Then he turns sharply on his heel and walks past Michelotto. Michelotto shuts the door behind them, quietly, and follows closely.

"Are all fathers so illogical when it comes to their offspring?" His lord is staring hard ahead, frowning. "First Juan, and now this, and it isn't even born yet."

"I don't know, my lord," Michelotto says.

"No, that's right. You killed yours." There no censure in the tone, only latent curiosity.

"Yes," Michelotto says, and lets the unspoken question remain unanswered.

---

The Pope's mood is not improved by the news of the child. On the contrary, over the next week he is more impatient, calling louder and louder for news of the friar.

Michelotto has nothing to report from Iacopo – only the usual, the same thing they've been told for months: the friar doesn't like the Papacy, and he's fairly young and fit and has the potential and desire to do something about it, so he's a threat.

Still no news as to whether he's plotting anything, and he's still safely ensconced in Ferrara. They cannot remove the pet priest from beneath d'Este's nose, his lord growls several times, frustrated, and he has done nothing so heretical they may call for him to be punished.

Very soon, Michelotto expects, he and his lord will be leaving Rome.

He is giving himself one last visit to Niccolo. He has kept his promise to himself, and has not visited Niccolo more than once a week; but that is still too much, and tonight it is going to end.

When he turns the corner to the street of the brothel, his lord is waiting for him.

Michelotto has a few moments to panic, then to wonder how his lord had found this place, and then he brushes off all of that, because none of it matters, and braces himself.

His lord says, "You're a sodomite."

Michelotto says nothing.

His lord continues, "I have called for you four times over the last few weeks and the boy has found you gone. That is unusual, don't you think? A cause for concern?

"My sister tells me you are loyal, but she will not tell me why," he says, "and when I say I cannot account for where you go, she says everyone deserves their secrets, and that I should not mistrust you. But it is impossible to be unconcerned when your presence seems to be unaccounted for every night. She supposed perhaps you had a lover, or a wife; I did not think so. It was easy to follow you, and when you came to the brothel I thought perhaps my sister was right about your lover. The mistress of the house was more than happy to talk to me. She was equally eager to refer me to the same boy you visit."

Michelotto doesn't twitch, but it is difficult.

His lord, watching him closely, seems to notice. "He is dead now. There isn't much point returning to this place."

Michelotto nods, silent still.

"Well?" his lord demands. "You have nothing to say? To explain yourself?"

"No, my lord," Michelotto says. He has nothing further to lose, at this point, so he adds, "Except perhaps to thank you for saving me the trouble of doing it."

His lord looks at him consideringly. "You were going to kill him?"

"Of course," Michelotto says. "He would've been too dangerous to me alive."

"Well, at least you acknowledge that," his lord mutters.

Michelotto bows his head.

"Let's go," his lord says sharply. "I don't want to stand here any longer."

They walk along the streets, avoiding as many people as possible. Michelotto wonders where his lord will take him, but does not ask. It doesn't really matter.

"In the future," his lord says abruptly. "You must not do this. You cannot choose one whore. They are too easily found and too easily bought."

"In the future, my lord?" Michelotto asks carefully.

"Yes," his lord snaps, "unless you are going to cease visiting men altogether, which I doubt very much."

Michelotto says, "I assumed you would kill me now, or dismiss me."

"You think I will kill you?" his lord says, and sounds honestly puzzled. "And yet you follow me? Would you have let me kill you?"

"I do not know," Michelotto says truthfully.

Looking perturbed, his lord says, "I am not going to kill you. Why would I?"

"I lie with men," Michelotto says. "It is a sin."

"So is murder," says his lord, "and sleeping with another man's wife, both of which I and nearly every other man in Rome is guilty of. You murder and sleep with other men; you are not sinning more than most."

Michelotto blinks.

"What is it?" his lord asks, irate.

"Most people would not agree with you."

His lord waves that away. "I am not going to kill or dismiss you, but do not think I am not angry with you."

Michelotto would never make that mistake.

"What you have done is stupid. You endangered yourself, and me and my family through you. I would have you whipped if I thought there was a point to it. If any damage had truly been done, I would have you killed." His lord looks at him at the end, waiting.

"Yes, my lord," Michelotto says.

Still his lord waits.

"My deepest apologies," Michelotto says.

"Do not be late tomorrow to escort my sister around the city. Lady Giulia has the doctor coming to see her, and Lucrezia must not go out alone."

Michelotto swears he will, and they part ways, leaving Michelotto to return to his apartment and his lord to return to his palace. Michelotto waits until his lord is a good distance away before he follows to be sure he makes the return trip safely; he does not want his lord to know of his presence tonight.

Michelotto has never been as tense as he is the next two days. He watches every shadow, catalogues every movement of his lord's face, and the faces of the servants and the ladies. No one treats him any differently, though he notices his lord watching him closely once or twice, something Michelotto does not think he did before.

On the third morning, he is woken by a pounding on his door, and he opens it to Iacopo.

"Why are you here?" Michelotto demands.

Iacopo is pale, eyes baggy, and the news he has is worrying indeed.

His lord does not start upon seeing Michelotto standing by his bed. Iacopo is waiting in the hall outside the chamber.

"The Sforzas are in Ferrara," Michelotto tells him.

---

The Pope is cranky at being woken, and crankier at their news.

"Ercole d'Este was a supporter of Savonarola," the Pope says. "And he has been too easily swayed by this friar."

"I will send someone—" his lord begins, and the Pope waves his hand sharply, impatient.

"And return in another two weeks with worse information and further delay? No. The friar will convince d'Este to negotiate into a treaty with the Sforzas. They have always been friendly, and we cannot risk it. Ferrara must not turn against us as the Sforzas have. You will go yourself."

"I cannot," his lord says. "We will not accomplish anything if we are discovered and the friar is taken under the protection of the Sforzas."

"Then be sure you are not recognized," the Pope says, unforgiving. "You will leave as soon as possible."

"Yes, father." His lord's face is tight, and Michelotto follows him out closely.

They don't speak until they're on the streets. Then his lord says abruptly, "Make your preparations. Be ready to leave when I call for you."

"Are we not to leave tonight, my lord?" Michelotto asks.

"I have some things to take care of before we depart. Tomorrow morning."

Michelotto thinks this is all a very bad idea. But then, his opinion on these things is rarely asked.

---

Traveling requires a great deal of time, effort, and forced companionship. Michelotto is edgy the whole way, waiting to see what his lord will think of his sexuality when they are alone and must be together. The trip takes a week, even traveling as quickly as possible, and the first three days are uncomfortable. It is similar to when Michelotto first began working for his lord, but instead of short, periodic assignments, they must see each other for days on end.

The fourth morning, Michelotto awakes to his lord watching him.

"My lord?" he asks, sitting upright immediately. It's barely dawn, and the woods around them are stirring, but there isn't anything out of place.

"You don't like that I know," his lord says.

Michelotto doesn't have to ask what. "No," he answers, and swallows to clear his throat before continuing. "It is never safe for anyone to know."

"Savonarola knew," his lord says. "He called you a sodomite, and he was right. I had wondered why you reacted so strongly to his band of boys and their chanting."

"Yes," Michelotto says. "Though it is dangerous when a group of people turn against you for any reason. They just happened to be right about me. I doubt most of the men they killed were sodomites. There isn't a way to know."

"But you know," his lord says. "If you are one."

"Yes," Michelotto says.

"How do you know?"

"I do not like women," Michelotto says, and, resigning himself to his fate, rises and begins to pack up his bedding.

"That is all?" His lord watches him pack. His own things are already neatly bundled and set next to their horses, tied to a low-hanging tree branch. "You don't like women, so you sleep with men? Would any other alternative work as well? Sheep or horses?"

"No, my lord," Michelotto says. "I do not like women. I like men."

"Have you ever slept with a woman?" His lord rises as Michelotto turns the fire, convincing the ashes to spark into a full flame on the small logs he adds.

"Yes," Michelotto says, and steps back to let his lord set the pot full of water on the fire. "I did not like it much." He hadn't. He'd tried a couple of times, frightened at the idea that his father was right about the things he said, the names he called Michelotto. His mother said nothing, cheerfully unaware of all but the best parts of their lives. The last time he'd slept with a girl, it had been the tailor's daughter, and he'd been fond of her.

When his father caught them in the field together, rather than pleased, he went after them both with his belt. Michelotto made sure Laura got away, and then he and his father fought. His father didn't make it home that day, or any other; Laura, now married to her father's apprentice with three boys of her own, has kept Michelotto's secret.

"I can't imagine," his lord says, musing.

"No," Michelotto agrees. "It is difficult to come to terms with."

On the fire, the water begins to boil. They watch it for a moment, and when it has been long enough, they lift it free and set it aside to cool. Michelotto goes to feed the horses, and checks them over. They take their feed, and he takes some of the bread they have and toasts it over the fire for breakfast. He does not know if his lord has already eaten or if he will not, this morning, but he declines Michelotto's offer of food.

"It must be very different," his lord says.

"In some ways," Michelotto says. "Not so in others."

"I can't think of how it would ever be similar," his lord says, amused. He's smiling when Michelotto glances at him, carefully, but it's not mean. "Though I suppose men in general are more familiar. Women are strange."

"I agree, my lord," Michelotto says.

The water, cool now, gets poured through a cloth into their water bags. Michelotto goes to give the horses a little, and then begins to tack them.

"It's curious," his lord says, and tamps the fire.

Michelotto, when he is sure his lord can't see him, smiles a little. He hadn't hoped for it, because he never once considered letting his lord know anything about his personal life, but he might've predicted that, in the best possibility, his lord would be curious. He is only slightly better than the Lady Lucrezia, and she is willing to believe and learn about anything.

"It takes some adjusting to," Michelotto says. "I spent a while trying to understand."

"Did you meet others like you when you came to Rome? I know there are places to meet."

His lord mounts his horse, and Michelotto follows suit. They check that their packs are secured and then, as the sun begins to rise, let the horses pick their path back to the road proper.

"I do not know of any," Michelotto says. "It is dangerous to meet others, but you may meet them anywhere. And not just in Rome. There was another boy in my hometown."

"Another boy," his lord says. "A friend, I assume he must've been, for you to know."

"It is a little different in the country," Michelotto says. "Men and boys, and women to, I believe, have limited options when they become desperate."

"Sheep," his lord says. "As everyone's heard."

"Yes, sheep," Michelotto says. "But friends as well."

"Of course," his lord says. "That happens everyone. In Rome, in the army, even in university. There were rumors some boys explored their options, as you put it, when I was at Pisa. I was not one of them."

They reach the road, and their horses fall into a slow canter. They'll slow shortly, once they've worked off some excess energy from their night of rest and the cool morning, but for now they let them choose their speed.

"I wish I had been one of them."

There is very little Michelotto does not know about people, from sex to torture and killing. It has taken him many years to learn it all, years of constant and often creative study. He's not ashamed to admit that some of the things he's learned seemed unnatural at first. He can't imagine what it must be like as a clergyman, child of the high society, unused to getting one's hands dirty. Despite that, Cesare Borgia has never flinched from anything that needed to be done.

Michelotto thought he would, when he first entered the employment of the Holy Family. It wasn't even the son in the military, Michelotto thought, what would he know of blood? More than he ought have, it turned out, and Michelotto may have begun his employment out of necessity but he stayed because of curiosity. He could've disappeared that night, left the city if he'd had to, but he wanted to know more of this Cardinal who was unafraid of getting his hands dirty.

He never would've predicted this.

"My lord?" he asks.

"I want to know what it is like," his lord says.

Michelotto considers what to say. He settles on, "This is not a good matter to indulge idle curiosity in."

"I hardly mean it to be idle. I mean it to be quite active curiosity." Nearly as an after though, his lord adds with a tilt of his head, "If you agree, of course."

"If I agree," Michelotto repeats faintly. Of course he could agree – should, even, lest his lord satisfy his curiosity with someone else, and anyone else would be less safe or trustworthy than Michelotto. And he wants to. He would do anything his lord wanted, even if it weren't something he wanted as well, and he wants this. Which is precisely why he says, "I do not think it would be a good idea, my lord."

"Why not?"

"My lord," Michelotto says, and then has nothing else to say. There is nothing he could say with conviction enough to convince a Borgia that he means it, unless it were the truth, and that he cannot speak.

"Ah." There is a long pause, and then, "I hope you know that I would never want to ask anything of you that you cannot do. I have overstepped your boundaries. I do that, my mother and sister frequently tell me."

Michelotto cannot even grasp the idea of having boundaries, particularly not in regards to his lord. "Curiosity is a family trait, I have noticed," he says. "You have not overstepped."

"You have my apologies either way," his lord says. "I do not ever mean to use your employment as a means to coerce you."

"Yes, my lord," Michelotto says. "I know."

---

They arrive in Ferrara three days later. It's well after sunset, but the last town they passed through told them it was only a few hours further, and his lord had not wanted to stop for the night. Michelotto had agreed, preferring to arrive as quickly as possible, though he wouldn't have attempted to protest if his lord had decided they should stop.

D'Este's palace is in the north of the city, so they take a room by the south road. They are both covered with the grime of a week's travel, and his lord washes himself from the pitcher of water as soon as they get their room. He is wearing peasant clothing, though still cleaner and more finely made than most servants' clothes.

"You will call me Chiaro," he says as he washes. "You must get employment at the house, but I must not be recognized, which is more dangerous if the Lady Sforza is here, and I would expect her to be. If I cannot get a job in the stables or kitchen, I will occupy myself around the city."

"Yes, my lord," Michelotto says, and then they sleep in preparation for the next day's infiltration.

It is relatively easy, as these things always are when a household is suddenly required to care for twice the number of nobles, and festivities are further increased by the host's desire to appear wealthy and welcoming. Everyone is scrambling around, trying to organize themselves for breakfast, and when Michelotto applies at the front door and says he has experience as a valet, they allow him entrance immediately. He is assigned to one of the ambassadors Ludovico Sforza brought in his entourage, so he is not as close as he would like, but it is enough to work with.

He is settled into a small bedroom in the back wing. The rooms aren't often used, and there is no furniture beyond a mattress, but the wing has enough room for the house servants and the regular staff. He promptly meets his Sforza ambassador and spends the rest of the day as bored as could possibly be, as he spends the day waiting in the hall for the negotiation meetings to break. His ambassador, Bartoli, is fortunately very talkative, and he tells Michelotto all he could want to know. Today's negotiations are about money, in the event of another marriage between the families, which is the final goal.

It isn't until late that night, after a dinner with too many people, all of whom Michelotto tries to avoid speaking to, that he is able to find what happened to his lord.

Chiaro has been hired as a stablehand. It will be hard work, and the pay is miserable, which his lord takes great pleasure in pointing out – he seems to believe Rome treats its servants better. He is also supposed to be sleeping in the stable.

"You should take my bed," Michelotto says.

"And have you be missed? No," his lord says.

"It would be more protected, should someone discover you. Sleeping in the loft with the other servants makes you an easy target."

"And how would we explain it when our swap is discovered? Why would a valet give up his bedroom for a stablehand?"

And so it goes. Michelotto cannot convince his lord of anything – that he should take some of the finer food that the house servants were given instead of the near-slop the stable and groundsmen were provided; that he should take Michelotto's extra blankets from his bedding, because the barn is drafty and the palace is not; that he should give up his work in the palace and keep an ear to the city instead, working perhaps in a bar and living in a rented room that isn't a stable, rickety and drafty and exposed. His lord will have none of it, and Michelotto tries not to imagine how he will have to explain another son's death to the Pope.

"I will not die of the wind," his lord says scornfully, as if the idea is preposterous and not something that happens all the time, every winter.

And so it goes.

---

One evening, nearly two weeks in, Michelotto returns to his room later than normal. He had sought out his lord, but Chiaro had been nowhere to be found. The other stablehands, all of whom liked him and missed his company in the evenings, said he had been gone the last couple nights.

Michelotto thinks it is not entirely unlikely that boredom has been driving him into the town; he only wishes his lord had told him, and allowed him to come with. He is not going to search for his lord tonight, trusting instead on his usual return to work tomorrow as he has every morning.

Instead of town, however, his lord is in his room when Michelotto arrives.

"Chiaro," Michelotto says, warily.

"It's alright, Michelotto," his lord says, smiling. "I am alone, and we are as safe as we ever are here."

"Is there something you need of me?" Michelotto asks. He bites his tongue on the question of where his lord has been going.

"You lied to me," his lord says."

Michelotto blinks. "I'm sorry?"

His lord smiles wider, settling himself more comfortably into the hard, rickety chair that is the only furniture in the room besides the mattress. "In the forest, during our travels. You told me there were sodomites to be found in every city. Ferrara is a large city, Michelotto. A center of culture, some say. I have gone looking, and I have found none."

Michelotto frowns. "I suppose they are hard to find," he says. "It is necessary."

"All but one," his lord says. "There is one where I already know where he is. He is rarely far from me, in fact. He is very loyal, and I consider him a good friend."

"I am honored, my lord," Michelotto says.

"Do men kiss as men and women do?" his lord asks. "If I were to try to kiss you, would you allow me? Or would that earn you my tongue?"

Michelotto says, "I think we should not find out."

"Are you frightened of me?" his lord asks, which is so ridiculous Michelotto makes a noise before he can stop himself. "No, I didn't think so," his lord says, smiling slightly back at him. "But it is the only reason I can think for how you act both as if you love and cannot stand me."

"It isn't fright," Michelotto says. "Merely reluctance. I am reluctant to risk the best employment I've found on my employer's curiousity."

"You accuse me of much curiosity. I am not sure I have earned the blame." His voice is mild, and similar to the one he would use at the beginning of arguments with his brother.

"I do not mean to accuse you of anything, my lord," Michelotto says. "I only mean to say that, to satisfy curiosity, there are simpler ways."

"You are suggesting I find a whore, perhaps?" his lord says. He stands from the chair. "Choose someone to bed and kill them after?"

Michelotto shrugs.

"I find the idea of choosing someone to die for bedding me distasteful." He steps forward. "Furthermore, I do not understand why you think my curiosity would be so easily satisfied."

"What would you have of me, my lord?" Michelotto asks. He stands very still.

"Many things," his lord says, "but to begin I would have you call me by name."

"What name is that?" Michelotto is careful by nature, and never more so than with things of this nature. He feels nervous for the first time in years, so long it takes him a moment to even recognize the feeling.

"You know my given name."

"Yes, my lord," Michelotto answers, the title slipping out in a habit formed to respond to the low, nearly dangerous tone.

Raising his eyebrows, his lord watches him, waiting.

"Cesare," Michelotto says, a little clumsily. "Cesare Borgia." The syllables are clumsy on his tongue, unused to speaking them to their owner. He often only says it to people who ask after his employer, and many of them die shortly after he answers. He is unused to saying them and awaiting an answer.

"Try again. Just my given name." It's less an answer than a judgement, and one that says he's been deemed lacking, at that.

He straightens. "Cesare."

"There, that's a good start," Cesare says, and steps forward. His hand grips tight on the back of Michelotto's neck, calloused from work and fingernails sharp.

"And next?" Michelotto asks.

"I suggest you show me how similar and how different is bedding men and bedding women," Cesare says.

Michelotto says, "At first it is the most similar."

"So men do kiss as well?" Cesare asks, and doesn't wait for Michelotto's answer.

---

Michelotto has never learned to deny his lord anything, and this stands little chance of being an exception. It stands no chance at all when it is something he wants so strongly.

---

The months pass. It feels as if winter progresses more quickly in Ferrara, as if they've moved far enough north for the seasons to change. The negotiations are slow, and frequently seem to go three steps back and one sideways for every stumble forward. This would be a good thing – the longer the delays, the less likely a formal treaty will be signed between Ferrara and Milan – were the talks not orchestrated largely by the friar, who will never withdraw himself from the company of at least one family. Not only would his death be sharply noticed, but it might leave Ferrara and Milan with a common enemy in their suspicion of the Pope's involvement in the murder, should either of them regret the friar's death.

Cesare is persistent. Michelotto had expected, once he agreed, for Cesare's curiosity to be sated – perhaps even before they finished, but certainly once they were done – but it is not. In fact, by most definitions, it seems to get worse.

The only real positive is how he no longer has to feel guilty about his lord sleeping on a pile of straw, as Cesare frequently invades his room and bed, and will not leave. It is not an adequate balance to the many negatives, among which are his lord's further spiritual corruption and the possibility that they may be discovered and his lord hanged. Michelotto has always known he will be killed for one sin or another, and it matters little to him; but he owes Rome its extant ex-Cardinal.

The worst part, however, is how Cesare has become insufferable. He was an arrogant, changeable, dangerous bastard before, but since Michelotto gave in to him, any promises he made about not coercing anyone have long since been forgotten. He uses everything he has to convince Michelotto of what he wants, whether that be that they should go join a servant's party rather than sleep or whether they should sleep rather than spy a little further, and he already had plenty before – now Michelotto has absolutely no means by which to refuse him any command.

They remain completely isolated from Rome. It is impossible to send or receive messages, and indeed, the last message they had sent back had been before they arrived in Ferrara, instructing the Pope not to contact Cesare in Ferrara until he sends that it is safe for them, and that the message will not risk being intercepted. It was never safe, and so Cesare never sent the pigeon; it has long since died, crippled by the cold and hunger.

Midwinter and all its celebrations come and go. It makes Cesare nostalgic – he talks about what he would be doing now, if he were a Cardinal still and still consigned to Rome. Michelotto knows everything he says, as Michelotto has spent more than one Christmas already with Cesare, but he listens anyway, and in return tells him about his own childhood and its celebrations.

It is a slight relief for the boredom, and Michelotto would be lying if he said he did not, in some way, appreciate this, which is as close to a normal life as he might ever have lived, had he stayed in a smaller city and taken a moral occupation for his work.

But the talks are stalling, and while Michelotto was long since impatient and Cesare not far behind him, even the most patient, docile of the servant and townspeople are tired. The two families are faring no better; each meeting lasts for perhaps half an hour before they break, and the breaks go longer and longer each day.

"They will not come to an agreement," Cesare says, at the end of a work day that ended very early, when every person with noble blood retired to their rooms for a private dinner and some sulking. "It is a good thing, I suppose, so the Papal States will not have such a combined enemy, but we are no closer to killing the friar without placing the blame securely on a Papal spy. They will know that it was easy because of the time, and they need only a suspicion to blame it on us. Even if we do it and escape, the damage may be done. But we cannot risk leaving and losing access to him again."

"It is a difficult decision," Michelotto says.

"I have to decide soon," Cesare says, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "We are getting nowhere, and when there is no way to get news to my father safely, I shall have to choose and hope he supports my decision." The sharp twist of his mouth is vicious, and shows clearly his doubt of ever getting his father's support.

"Stay here tonight," Michelotto says. "You cannot make good decisions surrounded by drunken children throwing straw at one another."

"I suppose you are right," Cesare says, and follows Michelotto up the stairs.

When they arrive at his room, the door is cracked. Michelotto stops instantly, holding a hand out to still Cesare. Then he edges forward, hand on his knife. He will not draw it, because it is likely just another of the servants, come to look for him or tidy up his room.

It isn't; it is the Lady Sforza.

Michelotto draws his knife and advances towards her, and Cesare follows him in, shuts the door, and barks, "Michelotto, stop."

On her breast is a white handkerchief, pinned open, and while he watches, she reaches up and waves it at him, smiling sardonically. "I come as a friend," she says.

"I doubt that," Cesare says, and steps to Michelotto's side. He tries to push him back, but Michelotto remains by his side. He is still, despite everything, partly responsible for Cesare's safety, and there is hardly a greater threat than a Sforza.

"I have come to help you," she amends, "even if not strictly as a friend."

"Speak," Cesare says.

She raises her eyebrows at him, unimpressed. "The talks have failed," she says. "As you probably already know. But we are to head home the morning after tomorrow. Tomorrow night is a feast, so we may part on amicable turns. If you wish to kill your friar without inciting violence, I would suggest that accidents, as well as suicides, rarely invoke anger on the part of the grief, only grief or embarrassment."

"And I should trust this is not a trap?" Cesare asks.

"No," she says, and smiles cruelly. "Only if you were terribly stupid. But it is the truth. You saved my son, and I do not like having that debt over my head, however subtle it may be. I will tell you this, and you will kill your friar, and we may go back to being enemies in peace. Besides," she reaches back and, in a quick movement, twists her hair up into a knot. The motion shows two knives strapped to her wrists. "I do not like the weaselly little bastard. I have no use for allies like that, or allies who take the counsel of men like that."

"My lady," Cesare says, and bows to her.

She curtseys ironically back, expression ugly and twisting, and then she leaves them as quickly as she'd come.

"Well," Cesare says. "It is unexpected, but I suppose we should get to work."

---

"There are two guards on the hallway," Michelotto tells him. "One from each family. We must be careful to get past them without alerting anyone if we want to survive much longer than the friar. Killing them won't allow us to make it seem an accident."

"Could we bribe them?"

"Individually, perhaps," Michelotto says. "Yes. But together, I doubt it. They do not like one another, so they will not cooperate to take a bribe. They would not trust the other not to have arranged it as a trick, I think."

"They won't be frightened into it, I suppose," Cesare says. He sounds thoughtful.

Michelotto thinks it might be a thoughtfulness that hides real anger, and he's careful as he says, "Not by us, I think."

"Why is that?" Cesare asks.

"You aren't frightening, my lord," Michelotto says, and waits to be shouted at.

To his surprise, Cesare turns to look at him and asks, sounding curious, "Why not? I'm dangerous, aren't I?"

"Yes, my lord," Michelotto says. "But you don't look it, and that's what matters."

"Well," Cesare says, after a mild pause, "we'll have to find someone who does."

But it turns out they do not. The next day, as every prepares for the final dinner, a few of the servants begin planning a celebration of their own, glad to be rid of the burden of the extra guests. There is going to be a party, and the servants of both families are putting aside their differences to eat their lords' food and drink large quantities of alcohol.

It is simple enough to put a little sleeping draught in the wine. By the time the evening draws to an end, most of the servants cannot keep themselves from yawning long enough to get their masters and mistresses to bed. Another two hours, and the guards are so much asleep that when Michelotto shakes them under the pretense of attempting to wake them, they nearly fall off their stools. Michelotto gestures, and Cesare follows him down the hall. The friar resides at the end, in one of the smaller, less lavish chambers, and his door is unlocked. Michelotto does not know whether it is foolishness or faith that leads him to such carelessness, but despises the stupidity either way.

They stand on opposite sides of the bed, and then Cesare nods at Michelotto.

The friar only struggles a little until Michelotto has dragged him out of bed; he wakes slowly from sleep. Michelotto has a hand over his mouth, and he's making strained noises as Cesare helps pull him to the window. Cesare ties a long noose to a wall bracket, and at seeing it, the friar struggles harder, until Michelotto has to pin him to the wall to hold him still.

Then with a quick motion, Cesare has the rope secured around the friar's neck, and with another quick motion, Michelotto has him out the window.

And it's done.

---

The journey back is hurried the first two days, as they travel south as quickly as possible. They nearly run their horses into the ground, but on the third day, with no signs of pursuit, they slow. The deed is already done, after all, so even if foul play was suspected, they need most right now to get safely and anonymously back to Rome.

The third night, Cesare grabs Michelotto when he returns from grabbing water and pushes him to their bedding. Michelotto had not expected they would do this after leaving Ferrara, but he does not hesitate to respond.

They eat dinner, caught hare boiled in the water, and then sleep until well past dawn the next day.

The rest of their travel is slower. The horses are still tired, and they are spending too much time in their bedding, and none of it sleeping. It takes them longer to arrive in Rome, then, but again, the last night they push through. Cesare is anxious to be home, and Michelotto does not object.

Inside the city gates, he escorts Cesare as always to the gates of his family's home. There, he makes to part ways, murmuring a promise to return shortly after dawn; Cesare says, "Wait."

Michelotto does.

"Stay here tonight," Cesare says. "It is too late to find a room to rent."

Michelotto closes his eyes, says, "I should not," and then urges his horse forward when Cesare snorts and says, "Hurry up."

They drop the horses in the stable, waking the stablehand. Amusingly, Cesare seems to look at him sympathetically while they hand the reins to him. Michelotto things a few months of hard labor might improve every nobleman.

The door to the house opens soundlessly, and the inside smells familiar as always. Michelotto can see Cesare's shoulders relax, tension bleeding out of them. There are candles still lit in the hall, however, which is unusual for the late hour, and there are quick footsteps upstairs.

Lady Lucrezia appears at the balcony. "Oh, Cesare, you're home!"

She runs down to greet him, flinging her arms about his neck, and he picks her up from the floor as he holds her just as tightly back.

"Baby sister," he says, and his face is tucked against her shoulder.

She looks across at Michelotto. "I am so glad you are back, both of you. You are both alright? You must be so tired, I do not even know what hour it is."

"Late, sister," Cesare says. He does not lift his head. "Very late. Indeed, why are you up and about?"

"Oh!" she says. "Because Giulia is having her baby! She began to feel the pains earlier today but the doctor told her it would cease. It has not, and now the midwife says the baby is coming. The doctor was unavailable until an hour ago."

"The baby comes already?" Cesare asks, staring into her face.

"Yes," she says, "and more than a month too early, unless she is wrong about the date she became pregnant, and I very much doubt she is."

"How is she?"

"Well enough," Lucrezia says. "Childbirth is frightening, you know, and she is worried for the baby. We all are. But the doctor says she is doing fine, and the midwife says she is very calm."

"I do not doubt that," Cesare says, and smiles a little.

"Come, come upstairs with me. I need to get a few extra towels and cool water, poor Giulia's face is very hot, but then you should come see her."

"Of course," Cesare says. "We will wait for the child to be born."

She holds tight to Cesare's hand and leads him around the house as she gathers what she needs. Michelotto takes them from her as she grabs them, and she protests he does not need to help her. Michelotto ignores her, and Cesare nudges her gently upstairs.

Michelotto does not go in. Cesare does, only for a moment to kiss Lady Giulia, and then he returns to the hall to join Michelotto and his father in their wait.

"You have returned safely, I see," the Pope says.

"Yes," Cesare says. "Father, the friar is—"

"No," the Pope interrupts firmly. "Not now. Not tonight. Business, no matter how crucial, is not important. For now I wish to pray."

And he does. Michelotto is not religious, and neither Cesare or the Pope has ever chided him for it, so he remains standing, arms folded, as the Pope says prayers in Latin. After a while, Cesare joins him, and they lean their heads forward and pray, sometimes silent, sometimes spoken. They have never looked so similar as they do in that moment, murderers and liars and thieves and the holiest of men, kneeling on the floor to pray for an unborn child.

Michelotto is not religious, but he sees how others could be.

The second daughter of the Pope, named – by her mother, whom the Pope insisted should decide – Laura, is born shortly before dawn in the middle of one of Rome's coldest winters. She is very small, and she does not breath for the first minute. The doctor rubs her, and Lady Lucrezia looks as if she's preparing to cry, eyes wet and leaning into her older brother, while Lady Giulia lays exhausted and pale on the sweat-soaked sheets.

Then the Pope demands, "Give her here," and under his hands, one of which delivers a solid thump to the baby's chest and back, she begins to cry.

As if on cue, so does Lucrezia, and she turns to Giulia and squeezes her tightly. Lady Vanozza pets Lady Giulia's hair, and Cesare leaves the women to the bed and each other and their crying. The Pope is laughing, near tears as well, and Michelotto thinks he has never seen a family so ridiculous.

"Come," Cesare says quietly to him, once some of the exclamations have died down and the baby Laura has begun to nurse at its mother's breast. "To sleep."

Michelotto nods and steps into the hallway.

He hears Cesare say, "I am to bed. I must go now or I will be unable to find my own room."

"I think that is true for us all," the Pope says, and a round of goodnights and goodbyes begins in the room.

Cesare appears, and Michelotto falls into step beside him. "You do not like children?" Cesare asks.

"I do like children," Michelotto says. "But I rarely like people, and all children grow into those."

"I suppose that's fair," Cesare says, with a tired smile.

Michelotto does not even remain awake long enough to win the argument about whether he'll sleep on the floor as is proper, or on the bed, which, as Cesare accurately says, is more than large enough for two.

---

In the morning, not too early – for they neither of them woke until mid-morning, and then there was still breakfast and bathing to be done – Cesare goes to give his father the final report. He leaves Michelotto outside, and Michelotto does not know what is said. It is brief, because the pope, as much as he loves politics, love his children more, and he is reluctant to leave the side of his mistress and new daughter. Lady Lucrezia will not move at all, for anything; she slept in the bed by Lady Giulia the night before. Lady Vanozza has taken up residence in a spare bedroom as well. The new daughter is asleep, but that does not stop the household from cooing around her.

So there are some things Michelotto will never understand.

When Cesare comes out, the Pope has an arm around him, and he pulls him into a hug before releasing him.

"I am glad you are home, my son," he says, and Cesare sounds entirely sincere when he says, "And I am glad to be back, father."

They smile at one another, and Michelotto looks away.

Then there is a hand on his shoulder, and Cesare says, "Oh, by the way. Father."

"Yes?" the Pope asks, turning back from his progression down the hall to the Lady Giulia's convalescence room.

"I have added another spy to the payroll," Cesare says.

Michelotto frowns, tensing. The Pope says, "Oh, yes, that old man, the one who's been following our wives and daughter around their charitable ventures in the city."

"With your leave, then, "Cesare says, and his hand tightens on Michelotto's shoulder, shaking him slightly, "I would have Michelotto move in to our residence. For greater protection."

The Pope frowns. "Is there room for him?"

"If we put him in the unused room off my chambers. I do not need two offices."

"Well, if you can put him somewhere," the Pope says, and waves his hand, already turning back to the hall. "More security never hurts, and it can be valuable to have one's servants close. Do what you like."

Cesare leads Michelotto the opposite direction, across the house. Michelotto hopes one day to stop being so frequently surprised by the Borgia family, but he doesn't have much faith in it.

"Oh, spit it out," Cesare says, turning on his heel and glaring, a little petulantly.

"What, my lord?" Michelotto asks mildly.

"You've got something to say," Cesare says. "You are not that inscrutable, I can tell. Don't hold back now. Rome won't mind your honesty any more than Ferrara."

Michelotto would be a terrible servant if he didn't oblige his lord's orders. He answers, "I was simply unaware of my impending move. I may not be equipped to relocate so quickly."

"I don't believe you ever live anywhere for more than a month's time," Cesare says, which is, of course, accurate. "Though now you will, of course. You must acknowledge it's more convenient."

Convenient for what, Michelotto isn't sure. He's careful not to smile as he says, "Of course."

Cesare narrows his eyes knowingly. "Efficiency is important, and new business often comes at the most untimely hours."

"Much like babies!"

The lady Lucrezia has approached them from a side hall. She is smiling, her eyes laughing, and she has her own child on her hip. "If Lady Giulia's and my own experience are any indication, and my mother assures me they are, babies are the most inopportune creatures in the world."

"Not quite, I don't think," Michelotto says, brave enough to risk speaking out of turn in this company.

She laughs outright. "Well, I do suppose you would know. Now, will you two come with me? I am to Giulia's room, to keep her company. Recovering from childbirth is tedious, especially when the doctor has ordered bed rest. She was never to have children at all, you know. They said she wouldn't."

"God works in his own ways," Cesare says dryly.

"Indeed." Lady Lucrezia steps up to Michelotto's side, the arm unoccupied with her child coming to take his. He allows it automatically, but glances at Cesare. Of the two of them, he is more suited to escorting her.

But Cesare only looks amused. "Ambushing us already, sister?"

"Already?" She begins tugging Michelotto down the hall, and Cesare falls into step on her other side. One of his hands rests in the small of her back. She pulls Michelotto in tight against her side, and there is hardly any space between the three of them, and the baby in front. "I've given you a whole twelve hours to rest and recover! Now, it's only fair that you tell me everything. I want to know what the north is like. Is the court of Ferrara as nice as the rumors say? Their music and art is supposed to be very fine."

Cesare says, "Well—" preparing to tell one of the elaborate stories he delights in giving her, most probably, but Lady Lucrezia interrupts.

"Oh, but before that. Michelotto, I've heard we have two new members of our family, is that right? Not just little Laura."

Michelotto says nothing, and looks to Cesare to answer, who says nothing. He only raises his eyebrows, seeming to wait just as patiently as the lady Lucrezia.

Finally, because he has to answer, Michelotto says, "I can best protect my lady and her family the closer I am at hand."

"Protect, yes," Lucrezia says musingly. "That, too, I suppose. I'm sure we will all sleep very soundly at night, knowing how protected we are."

"Sister," Cesare says, "your teasing goes too far."

"There's no need to be so sensitive, brother," the lady says. "There's nothing to worry about in a few harmless words."

"A few harmless innuendoes, you mean," Cesare retorts.

"And not so harmless, at that," Michelotto says lowly.

They both look at him. Then, "Harmless in these walls, at least," Lucrezia says firmly, and then removes her arm from his to push her way into Giulia Farnese's chambers.

Michelotto steps to the side as Cesare follows her through, and then he falls into step after his lord, and shuts the door firmly behind them.