Power

Bona voiced Lucia’s exact intentions. She held her children closer than most mothers would, scarcely trusting their nurses to be alone with them. But what if she and Piero were not around to make those choices for them? Whoever it befell to, it would surely serve their needs better to have the Medici children grow weaker they aged. “What if Piero and I died?” she voiced, quietly. “Whoever would raise them after that would weaken them. Would corrupt them. I do not know which of my husband’s kin would take up the responsibility, but none would see them become what they were born to be.” She loved Luca and Livia more than life, but she could not deny that her plans had to be shifted to accommodate their safety, including what may happen if she failed. “We are fortunate to be able to depend on one another, Bona. I will never again find a friend like you.”

Something under Lucia’s skin hummed. She had kept this within her for so long, and now the realisation that perhaps Bona may be more aligned to those urges she hid within her left her crackling with a frantic energy, obvious despite the practised composure on her face. “I’m going to bring it to its knees, Bona. I don’t know when. It may not be until I am old and grey. But I swear to you now, I will do it.” They were fools to expect the silent obedience of Lucia Della Rovere. She had been wronged by them too many times, and was not a woman without resolve. Bona’s confession had her nodding her head. She could understand that, she supposed. Even though her own view was skewed, there was something in neutrality. “I suppose you must consider whether France would retake Milan,” she pointed out. “Though I must admit that I have been thinking that we have placed our bets in the wrong corner, so to speak.”

What if Lucia and Piero died? Yes, she knew that fear all too well. Truthfully speaking, when it came to her younger siblings, she found it that she was the only one who could truly care for them. Alessandro was a bastard son of a powerful duke, but Ippolita was legitimate daughter - many would seek to corrupt them, to manipulate them and use them, if Bona was not there to protect them and shield them. “Not everyone, Lucia. I would not see them weak or manipulated, and neither would Ippolita, nor Alessandro. Should anything happen to both of you, you have to know that both Livia and Luca would be safe and well cared for in Milan. I would care for them as if they were my own.” She promised, but added with a reassuring smile. “It is the nerves talking. Nothing will happen to you or to Piero.” Her smile softened further as Lucia spoke; “Neither will I. I am most fortunate to have you in my life.” She meant it - she would never do anything to jeopardise her relationship with lady della Rovere.

The fire in her friend’s expression and her voice, set her own soul ablaze with determination. They goals had aligned to perfection, it seemed. Bona had not really thought about taking down the Church head on - she always did things more... subtly. She would simply do everything her own way, without asking for permission or guidance from the holy men. But, now, with Lucia’s words, nay her promise, came a flood of emotions - of resentment towards those who dictated others’ lives as they saw fit. Well... not on her watch. “I want in.” Bona whispered, her dark gaze fixing upon her friend. “You need not do it alone. I will stand by you. Together, we can bring it down to ruin.” There were very few things Lucia and Bona could not do, when paired together. Church was not one of those impossible things. At the mention of France, the lady Sforza snorted; “Oh, they can try. We have already beaten them so many times. It would be foolish of them, and quite frankly embarrassing, to ask for more of it. Our army might not be as enviable as France’s, but our generals are extremely capable and savvy. They would be marching straight into slaughter.” She replied, then arched her eyebrow in question. “You think the winning side might lay with the opposing front? Their armies are... formidable, but do they have the nous to use them properly?”

post count this week ( 17/05 - 23/05 ) : n. of replies ( 5 ) + n. of tasks ( 0 )

Location: the woods between the castles.

Castelgrande was too familiar now; it’s training grounds even more so. There was death in familiarity, a laziness of sorts that courses through the veins like poison. She already knew how the men in her father’s army fought and trained - the few unfamiliar people she sparred with were all far and wide in between ( the latest one was her sister - teaching Ippolita how to handle a sword had been the most entertaining and exciting thing she had done in a while ). She was looking for a change of scenery, at least, and the large patch of trees standing guard between the two opposing factions, seemed like the perfect spot for her to train; away from prying eyes and smirking men who thought she could not knock them on their asses with a single swing of her long-sword.

It could have been minutes, but it could have also been hours -- whenever she would train, the concept of time would simply evaporate from her mind. It was just Bona, steel and a thick patch of evergreen forest. Swing - twirl - jab; her movements were precise, decisive and well practiced ( after all, she had been serving in her father’s army ). The sword had grazed the trunk of the nearest tree as she swung at it, but it was not the collision of steel and wood that made her tense up, her muscles turning rigid, but the feeling of someone watching her. Sheathing the sword, Bona turned to face the dark man she noticed in her peripheral.

“It is a nice afternoon for a stroll, is it not?” Her voice was soft as she spoke, breaking the silence which seemed to have descended upon the woods. Still, despite the sudden... company, the lady Sforza did not find the man to be threatening - so far.

“I would yet…” her voice trailed away. Most would likely not object if their minor piece of music was a few days late and yet there were always those who were impatient and stubborn. Ippolita is half tempted to write nonsensical melodies if only to spite them, but alas, she cannot. “There are few musicians and many seeking music to listen to, it is a difficult job at times.”

“They claim to be chosen by the Lord and to serve Him,” her expression is vaguely reprimanding, “Who are we to go against their word?” Ippolita shrugged, a loose motion of the shoulders more a tick of habit than anything else. “The world is mostly theirs already: if the Pope told us that God demanded us all to walk backwards in the streets, many would obey.”

“He has better things to do than constantly worry about me,” Ippolita retorted, “And you do as well.” Bona’s answer makes her laugh a little: what state had they all disintegrated into that speaking with enemies at weddings was the best source of amusement to be found? “Oh, I imagine he’d be displeased, he did take back Milan from the French after all.” Still, perhaps there was something to be made of old enemies at least being able to converse.

Oh, she did not doubt that composing was a difficult job - creating music from nothing, from the mere thought and idea; something so... intangible as a symphony, a melody ( painting and sculpting was laughably easy in comparison to it ). “I know it is difficult, but you are also a lady of Milan, not just a composer. You must look after yourself and your health, Ippy. If they waited this long for you, they can wait a few more days.”

Snorting in amusement, Bona’s gaze softened at the sight of her sister. “We are people of sense, carissima. They are people claiming to be chosen by a higher power - and, correct me if I am mistaken - no one can actually talk to the primary source to neither contradict it nor to  vouch for it. Ergo, I find them all to be as human and faulty as we all are - thus, not at all as deserving of our worship in any way that endangers our health and basic nature.” She replied, shifting her posture into something more comfortable, crossing her legs. “Many would, but does that mean that we should, as well, carissima?” She retorted.

When it came to Ludovico, it was probably the best not to think about him. Yet, the question intrigued her and it brought about a flood of feelings she was desperate to repress. But, reflecting upon them, upon herself, made her more aware of how different they were ( and also made her face the fact that her father was not a complete monster ). “Well... I see some of his traits in myself - but, I can also see them in Alessandro and Ippolita as well. He was the constant in our lives and, whether we like it or not, he did... shape us. Though, I am proud to say that I do not see too much of him in either of the three of us.” She shared his stubbornness and shared his love for Milan, horses and weaponry.

Lucia shook her head. To even speak of it was strange. Even with Bona, it felt like bearing a little too much of herself. “And your siblings are both grown and capable,” she pointed out. “My children are only babes in the cradle still. I fear for their future, if I am not there to see them safe. I fear for them growing up weak, and being corrupted by the influence of others. There is nobody I would trust to raise them as I would.” She had begun to babble and she knew it. She forced herself to stop talking, taking a moment to steady her breathing. She must seem like a madwoman. Losing control was never an option for her, and she wasn’t sure why she was unravelling so now. “Thank you,” she said, quietly, though privately, she thought that even Milan would not be safe. Not while Bona could be influenced by any De Medici. “I hope that is not a day we will ever see.” 

“I used to pray,” Lucia confessed. “My mother and father were pious folk. I was brought up to love God, and to respect the church.” There was a stab of sorrow, as she always felt when thinking of her father, a stab of hatred towards her mother, and a wave of resentment towards the religion that dictated their lives. “But then I opened my eyes. The church does not wish to save our souls. They seek control, nothing more, and they will not have it over me. Over us.” This, and this precisely, was why she trusted Bona. “I do not want Tuscany to fight the battles of Rome and Austria any longer. Piero is of like mind.” She did not mention that they planned to offer their allegiance to a different cause entirely. She wasn’t certain that would be taken half as well. 

Bona understood her friend - she knew exactly what she had meant. Yes, Ippolita and Alessandro are both grown and capable to take care of themselves, but that did not diminish her worry - in fact, it only furthered it. “They are your children, Lucia. They will never be weak or corrupted. But, you will worry even more about them once they are grown.” She knew from experience with her siblings. “Then do not trust anyone but yourself, not with them. They are most important to you - why should you trust others with what you hold most dear?” She retorted, nodding to her own words. She trusts no one around Sandro and Ippy - especially not after Ludovico’s death. Her nod deepened and she hummed in agreement. “I know. I wish for that day to never come, as well, but if it does, you know you can count on me. I will shield you from God himself if I have to, you know I will.”

Bona listened to her, attentively and with a knowing nod. “No, you are right. They want to keep us obedient and afraid, they want to hold power over our souls - but, the souls are our own; no one else has any power over it, but ourselves. Church and their men the least of all.” Lucia’s following words sparked a curiosity in Bona, a curiosity and agreement. To be fair, when it came to autonomy and this idiotic war between powerful empires, the eldest Sforza found herself not quite... caring about their conflict. The only thing she cared about, truly cared about, was Milan - Milan and her siblings. She would do just about anything to keep them all safe. “Since we are speaking honestly and plainly about this, there is something I must admit.” Bona started, briefly stretching over to refill their wine goblets, before setting back on her chair. “I am not awfully... invested in the conflict between the two empires. To be even more frank, I do not care about it. All I care about is Milan being safe and intact - and my siblings, as well.”

post count this week ( 10/05 - 16/05 ) : n. of replies ( 4 ) + n. of tasks ( 0 )

“You are not interrupting,” Ippolita shook her head lightly, tip of her quill resting at the bottom of the page. “There is simply… Too much to do, it seems, and I am not quick enough my with my work.” Things have grown increasingly difficult to balance for her — there is a small mountain of commissions to go through and although she can finish most of them in a week or so, constantly having multiple separate melodies flowing in her mind, it is still a lot.

“My composition for the Easter mass pleased His Holiness,” her smile is thin and wan, “So I must now work rapidly to create more music. I am pleased to be recognized so, and yet the Church grows more insatiable by the day.” The rest of the words go unsaid — that she is tired of writing music for the mass and although there are a large variety of things she could do to make it more interesting, no one would likely accept these novel thoughts.

“I suppose I am merely tired,” eyes are bleary, faint slips of red at the corners, “And yet the physicians say I am straining myself even with how little work I do. Pray tell, do you have better news or stories of more interesting endeavours than mine?”

She was pleased to hear that her presence was welcome, rather than a nuisance. She had longed to spend time with her siblings, especially with her sister, since she had not caught sight of her since the wedding. “Take a break, Ippolita. A good respite every now and then will refresh you. You should not burn yourself out on your work like this. The commissioners can wait; if they cannot, then they should compose their own music themselves.” She gently spoke, her dark gaze soft as she regarded her sister.

Oh, of course. Only the Church and His Holiness could be this demanding. Her expression soured for a moment, her thoughts taking her back to the conversation she has had after Ludovico’s poisoning. Insatiable - now that was the most correct description of the clerics she had ever heard in her life. “They are like dogs. Unless you put a leash on them and rein them in, they will gobble up the world if they can.” Her words have been quiet, but darkness laced through the tone.

Lucia took a moment to study the cloth of her skirt. Her favourite colour, a  lavish violet, embroidered with a silvery thread. The finest money could buy, a symbol of her status in the world as a grand duchess. Would Giulio, with the entire might of the church behind him, see her lose that role? See she and Piero removed, as they plotted to do with the Pope, together, to place a more biddable sibling in his place? No. She would not allow that to happen. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he will use his new power to strike at me and my husband. That is not a risk I am certain I want to take.” The deal had been struck, but now Lucia wavered on her part of the bargain. “Can you promise me his loyalty now? To me, to Piero? All three of his siblings would see me in my grave, Bona. I just know it.” Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment, the mask of Lucia Della Rovere slipped. Her paranoia, her suspicion, her utter weariness at carrying around so much for so long, showed in her expression. But here was Bona. There were only two people on this earth she would trust with her entire heart, and Bona was one of them. She could allow her to see without worry. Bona would not hold her weakness against her.

“On that we can agree. It is love that binds us now.” She knew well enough that not all marriage bonds were strong ones. Her early years with Piero were a testament to that. It was her love for him that had, eventually, bound her to him fully, as she and Bona had been bound for years. She surveyed Bona carefully, but at her encouragement broke into a grin. “I know. But tell me, my friend, when was the last time God listened to your prayers? Has he ever? There is nothing waiting for us after this life. And yet we kill or die for men who claim to act as the mouthpiece for a diety that does not exist. Why should they be allowed to control us, to control our lands and families?”

She noticed the paranoia in her friend’s eyes and it sparked up the worry inside her again. She frowned, listening attentively to Lucia as she spoke, the expression turning grim - she did not expect for the de Medici family to be such a pack of blood hounds ( at least not towards family - and Lucia was their family, even if via marriage; and by providing them with a nephew and a niece ). “I understand that. I would be the same if I was in your place. I am the same - I will not be willing to take such risks if it can bring harm to my siblings.” She replied, her expression remained dark as she minutely pondered about her possibility of either Alessandro or Ippolita being harmed. Her hand reached across the table to grip her friend’s once more, tightly squeezing in both comfort and reassurance. “No. No, I cannot guarantee it. But, what I can guarantee is that Milan will stand by your side. I will stand by your side. If you ever find yourself in a need of a sanctuary, or anything, really, Milan’s door will be open to you. And if anyone wants to get to you, they will have to go through me, first.” She vowed - and she had meant every word of it. Lucia had always stood by her, from the moment they have met, and it was the least Bon could do to repay it.

Indeed, love bound them together - their friendship, their mutual respect bound them together, tighter than any flimsy marriage ever could. The grin on her friend’s face coaxed a matching expression on Bona’s own face. “I cannot say I have ever truly prayed to Him to begin with. Ippolita had always been the most religious one out of the three of us.” She replied, but her friend’s words resonated deep with her soul. Oh, how true her words are! “Indeed, why should men have all the power and all the glory? Why should men be the ones to make and write all the rules? Why should we conform to them? They fear powerful women and they would rather see us powerless and meek. Well, not on my watch. Not in Milan and not if I can help it.”

post count this week ( 03/05 - 09/05 ) : n. of replies ( 4 ) + n. of tasks ( 0 )