AN: Thanks for the reviews! I'd appreciate more suggestions! And I also hope you will enjoy this chapter although it has little to do with England and Henry VIII. I apologise for the fact that it's rather short and the fact that you will probably have to wait until the next weekend for the new update... busy week ahead! But as a little tease: Chapter 9 will deal with Elizabeth finally having a lover again after so many years of widowhood... and not just anyone. Stay tuned!


EIGHT – Vittoria and me


As you might remember, the birth of my eldest daughter Vittoria was one of the happiest days of my life. It had been proof of my fertility, which was crucial to my position in the Medici family, and a personal victory for my marriage. When I had finally managed to bring my girl into this world after hours of arduous labour, I felt nothing but pure joy. Sadly, though, this would be the happiest moment Vittoria and I would ever share.

I can't determine the exact moment when we broke apart – perhaps it was more of a process – but one cannot deny the fact that of all my children, Vittoria and I had the worst relationship. In the beginning, of course, everything was good. She was a sweet baby and as my first child, everything about her was new and interesting. But even then, things were not working in our favour. When I became with child again (the one I so tragically lost), my mother-in-law began to take care of my daughter. Even though Alfonsina had once been disappointed with my daughter's sex, the prospect of a soon arriving grandson and the fact that Vittoria resembled her more and more each day had perfectly soothed her.

So Vittoria was always closer to her grandmother and her father. Somehow, that fitted her well, since she was a Medici through and through. Her eyes, the dark hair, and especially her nose left no doubt as to who her father was. There was never much of a Tudor in her, so it seems fitting that she would be my only child never to set foot on English soil.

Perhaps that fact was my defining mistake. I should not have accepted Lorenzo's deal and left my eldest daughter behind when I journeyed to England. But that was what I did. I left behind a little girl who would soon face the deaths of both her father and her grandmother, the two people who were most important to her, and I was far away dealing with matters that did not bother her at all. Do not take me for a fool: I can perfectly understand why Vittoria received me back reluctantly and would never become close to me again. But that does not mean I forgive her for it, since it is my firm believe that children should respect their parents and understand that they must sometimes do what is necessary. In this, Vittoria and I differed vastly.

In a way you can say that it was this matter that we fought about after I returned to Italy in early 1530. I hurried to Rome first, of course, since it had been Giulio who had recalled me from England, and he put before me the matter which had caused my daughter's misbehaviour: Her marriage. Since she was now of age, Giulio had finally decided on a good husband for her, but Vittoria had steadfastly refused her suitor. Of course, being the Pope, Giulio had means to force her, but being her kinsman and an uncle-like figure, he had hesitated to use these means. He seemed more worried and disappointed that his negotiations were so bluntly rebuffed.

At this point I must confess that I have forgotten who Vittoria's suitor was. He was a wealthy and noble man, maybe a Sforza, but I really cannot recall anything else. What I know is that he was suitable and that Vittoria should have been happy to marry him. That was what I told her when we finally met again in Florence.

"I will not marry him," Vittoria replied coldly.

"But why not? His Holiness has put much effort and consideration into choosing your husband. Will you deny that, daughter? Do you suppose the Pope cares not for your wellbeing?"

She bit her lip nervously, as she often did, and looked out the window. "He does not know what I want."

"What is there in the world that the Pope doesn't know?" I returned sarcastically. Yes, perhaps my tone was mean, but her stubbornness bewildered and angered me. "He knows that you need a good husband so that you can bear him children and are well taken care of."

"But I don't want to marry him."

"Vittoria, this is how things work, or do you oppose the idea of marriage?"

"No, I said I don't want to marry that man in particular."

I nodded. "Ah. You are in love with someone else, little fool? Marrying for love sure is foolish… but never mind. Is he suitable? If he is, maybe His Holiness can agree to the match, even though it would be troublesome for him to rebuke the arrangements which have already…"

Vittoria interrupted me: "He is not suitable."

"Oh no, not a stable lad, is it?" I returned. "Vittoria, please, tell me what we are talking about. If the man you love isn't suitable, surely you know yourself you can never marry him. What is all the fuss about then? If you can't marry who you love, why not marry the man His Holiness has chosen for you?"

"Well, you would say that, wouldn't you? You've never truly loved…" She mumbled.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me right, I said you never loved anyone. Not my father, your husband, though perhaps what they say is true and you did love that diplomat you were so eager to fornicate with."

I hit her. I don't know what took control of me, but the moment she blurted out these accusations I became extremely angry.

"Do not speak to me that way – I am your mother! I will not have you accuse me of unfaithfulness to your father!"

"But you did not love him," Vittoria replied spitefully. "You've never loved anyone."

Her words hurt me more than she could ever know or understand because they were wrong. They were as wrong as they could be, but I would never be able to tell her otherwise. My heart clenched in pain.

"And you do? You love that lad so much that you are willing to spite your family for him? Well, what will you do, run away and live like the gypsies?" It was more of an angry joke, but when she didn't reply, I knew I had hit a nerve. "You cannot be serious. Have you no shame? Don't you know what it would mean for us as a family if you ran away like a common harlot? Vittoria, please, surely we can find a way for you to marry him – everything would be better than you shaming the family in front of everyone. I don't know, Giulio would find a title for him or something and then you…"

"It's Alfonso," she interrupted me matter-of-factly.

I stopped talking instantly, a rush of hot blood pulsing through my veins. Her words echoed in my head over and over again. Alfonso. She loved Alfonso. Memories came flashing into my mind, memories of Simonetta joking how well my new-born daughter would suit her son, and others… But ultimately, it was unbelievable that this should happen.

"You see, mother?" Vittoria asked in an ironic voice. "No matter how many sweet words you use to charm the Pope, he cannot find a way for me to marry the one I love. Going away is my only option, for I refuse to live a life of loneliness and bitterness."

"You cannot do that," I stuttered.

"Why? Tell me, mother, why can't I? Because the Pope would be miffed? Because it would make you seem like a bad mother? Or because it is morally wrong? Is this what you're telling me, that I'm an abomination? That I should be burned at the stake for being so detestably sinful? That loving your own brother is disgusting and unnatural? If that is what you will tell me, you can spare your breath, for I can think of all these accusations myself, but they won't change my mind. I know Alfonso is my brother, but I cannot help the fact that I love him."

I could have shouted at her and I would have been right to do so. Her tone, her behaviour, everything about her was disrespectful. But instead, I said something else, and I still can't remember why I told her: "He's not your brother."

Now, Vittoria's confident eyes twitched in genuine surprise. "What?"

I could have stopped then, could have told her that she had misheard me, but I went on. Perhaps it felt liberating to finally confess the truth, but perhaps I only wanted to shock her the way she had shocked me.

"Alfonso is not your father's son. It's all a ruse, a scheme, a story that we made up. None of it was true."

"Mother, what…"

"Simonetta was with child. We needed a solution. If the truth had come out… it would have been very troublesome for us all, as a family. The Pope understood. He made your father swear to accept Alfonso as his bastard and never to speak a word about it. I swore the same oath. But they're dead now… and Alfonso is not your brother."

Her voice trembling, Vittoria rose from her chair. "Who is he then? Mother? Tell me, mother, I must know! Whose son is Alfonso?"

My skin was prickling when I looked her in the eye. "Alfonso de' Medici was born of the love between Simonetta and a very handsome young soldier in the employ of the Pope, a man named Giulio… but today you had better address him as "Your Holiness"."

Silence. Vittoria's cheeks flashed red. She sat down again, trying to pick up her thoughts again. I, too, was deeply stirred by my own words. For so many years, I had neglected the truth, but now that it had passed my lips, I realised once again how explosive the matter was.

A smile appeared on my daughter's face. "But then… then he's not my brother, just a distant cousin! It's not sinful at all! We can be married!"

"No, silly," I conjured her to be silent. "Everyone thinks he's your brother, everyone but you, me, Simonetta, and the Pope. They must not believe otherwise."

"But His Holiness could tell the world. He is the Pope! He can issue a bull and then we can…"

"No." I shook my head firmly. "Daughter, can't you see what it would do to our family if everyone knew we had been living a lie for so long? Do you have any idea what it would do to Alfonso's reputation, let alone the Pope's? We Medici have prided ourselves with being unlike others – no sodomites, no simonists… no Borgias! What if the world knew the Pope had an illegitimate child? A son that he chose to inherit Florence above the lawful heir, your brother? Everyone would cry out 'nepotism'. Our reputation… everything we built up over decades… gone in a flash."

"But I…"

I grabbed her by the shoulders. "Nothing but. Vittoria, you must understand that this is bigger than you, or your love for Alfonso. This is about family."

"But I love him, mother," she said almost crying.

Do not mistake me for a heartless woman. I could feel Vittoria's pain when she looked at me like that and I wished there was a chance I could change anything about her situation. But I couldn't. You might think me cruel for denying her to marry for love, but in our time, we did not marry for love. This was a time when constant wars and plagues could claim your life at any moment, if you were lucky enough to survive your childhood at all. It was a time of perils and uncertainty in which only your family bonds kept you away from starving in the streets. Our lives were a constant struggle for survival. Love was optional.

"Sadly though, your love does not matter."

"But I will not renounce it. I will not marry the man His Holiness has chosen. I would rather be a nun!"

I nodded. "Fine. I know a cloister in Rome where you can stay and I will make sure you stay there until you have changed your mind."

"No, you can't!"

"I can and I will. I am your mother and this folly has continued for far too long. Either you marry the man or you take the veil. But I will not allow you to ruin your entire family. I will say no more about the matter."

Of course I did not want to send her away or to keep her from her lover, but it was the only way to keep her from committing a great mistake. She never forgave me for it. In my weak mother's heart, I often regret what I did to her then, especially since it would later turn out to be in vain, but my pragmatic mind always reminds me that I was right. I did what I considered best for my daughter, for Alfonso, and for all of us. It wasn't kind or fair, but then again, life is never fair. I saved the Medici reputation for a while, but my success came at much too high a cost:

The love of my daughter left me forever.