"What a happy day this would have been," he began in a sorrowful voice, "had our sister, daughter, friend"-he fixed Jacopo in his sight-"wife, Juliet, been here to celebrate with us. The joining of two families in commerce and matrimony is a wondrous thing."

I saw Lucrezia's expression, mournful to begin with, twist tight into fury.

"Some counseled against this occasion so soon after Juliet's loss . . ."

Simonetta's face revealed that she had been one of those counselors.

"... but Jacopo believed that his bride-to-be would have wished for the contract to be promptly signed and the partnership legally sealed. Therefore, with heavy heart I stand as witness, and Poggio Bracciolini-Notary of the Republic-will officiate the joining of Capello Capelletti and Jacopo Strozzi in their mercantile enterprise."

Cosimo stood aside as one and then the other man took up the quill and signed the doc.u.ment, followed by Poggio adding his signature below theirs.

Jacopo held out the great scissors to Don Cosimo, gesturing for him to cut the silk draping, but the Medici had come to his limit of celebration, and demurred. So, too, did Capello, who went back to stand with Simonetta and hold her hand.

But this important moment was not one that Jacopo was willing to sacrifice. With no hesitation he took up the shears himself, and with the long blades cut the twisted fabric in two.

The pieces fell fluttering away, revealing the office's revitalized facade and Maestro Donatello's grand new sign proclaiming CAPELLETTI AND STROZZI SILKS AND WOOLS. There was modest applause, befitting the somber occasion, but from where I stood, I-and only I-could see the expression on Jacopo's face.

It lacked any shred of sadness for Juliet's death, remorse for the cold-blooded murder of Marco or the butchery of my uncles' entire household. Indeed, it was triumphant, even joyful.

I could stand no more.

I flew from my hiding place into the center of the gathering like a well-aimed arrow, shot straight and true at Jacopo Strozzi.

We collided and fell to the ground together, rolling over and over on the cobbles, I pummeling him with my fists and he repelling my blows, landing several of his own. But my rage empowered me to such an extent that in moments my fingers had tightened around his throat, and his face had begun bulging a purplish blue.

A sharp knee to my groin sent shards of pain ripping through me, and I sprawled backward. Jacopo skittered away like a crab, calling hoa.r.s.ely to the dumbfounded onlookers, "Will you not help me?! This is Marco's murderer, Romeo! Exiled on pain of death! Will someone come to my aid?!"

All at once the brawniest of the weavers and dyers came rushing at me, grabbing me, several holding my arms outstretched, another gripping my head in an elbow vise. Blows began to rain upon my face and chest and back till taking a breath was hardly possible.

Jacopo regained his feet and some semblance of dignity, and now, brandishing his stiletto, he came forward to where I stood. If I did not speak and speak quickly, my life would soon end in the place, and by the same method and man that Marco's had.

Remembering the sights of my uncles' dining room, I found strength within me and shouted, "Good, kill me, Jacopo! That is what you wished to do from the first moment you saw me!"

Capello strode forward, confounded by my words. The knife was poised inches from my eye.

"The Devil speaks through him," Jacopo snarled. "Let me put an end to it."

"Like your henchmen put an end to my uncles in Verona? And their servants? And their dogs?"

Now Don Cosimo moved to my side and, with him, Lucrezia, her eyes flashing angrily.

"What does he mean, Jacopo?" Don Cosimo demanded.

"Tell them," I said. "Tell them whose blood it is I wear on my doublet."

"He lies," said Jacopo. "He'll say whatever he will to save himself."

"No."

The word was simply spoken, but everyone turned to attend Lucrezia.

"He does not lie," she said quietly, but with great authority. "He does not murder." She paused, to great effect, and said, "Jacopo Strozzi does. He set fire to your factory, Signor Capelletti. And he pushed Marco onto Romeo's blade."

Jacopo's laugh was high and shrill. "What is this?" He glared at Lucrezia. "How dare you speak to me so?"

She remained composed and held his eye with unnerving calm. "I speak it as the whole truth.You are a despicable creature, Jacopo Strozzi. My dearest friend, Juliet, risked a suicide's h.e.l.l rather than a marriage to you."

I saw Simonetta's knees buckle at these words. Nothing drew more shame to a family than suicide.

Jacopo faced Don Cosimo. "I say again, would you take the word of any woman over that of a man-and a pillar of Florentine society at that?"

"Perhaps not," said Don Cosimo mildly. He paused, as if to consider the choice.

Jacopo's lips bowed into a slow smile.

"But," Don Cosimo continued, choosing his words carefully, "Lucrezia is not 'any' woman." Now his face hardened and he glared at Strozzi. "She is a Medici, and her word is her honor." Don Cosimo gestured to the factory workers. "Disarm him and take him away-the Signoria Prison. They will deal with him presently."

To me Don Cosimo said, "I will send my men to Verona to your uncles' house for proof of your claims."

I looked to Lucrezia. "Your messenger will bear witness to everything I've said."

"No! No!!" Jacopo shrieked as four weavers surrounded him and began marching him away.

But fury, flashing from his eyes and straining every sinew of his body, turned suddenly to inhuman strength. He wrenched free from his captors' grip and dived unaccountably onto the table on which the contract lay signed, half-covered by a length of the black silk that had fallen there.

When he arose, we all saw Jacopo's purpose for falling on the table. In his two hands he held the giant scissors, their blades outstretched to their fullest in a wide V, and he was running at me, full speed, with the razor-sharp blades at the level of my neck.

I was still surrounded by the men who had held and beaten me, and they, in confusion of what they were now seeing, were slow to move. Jacopo and his shears were nearly upon me before the men scattered, giving me breadth to move.

I swiveled and ducked.

Jacopo missed his target and overshot his mark, and by the time my enemy had turned to find me again, I had unsheathed the only weapon I had-my dagger.

The scissors, blades unwieldy in their V, were now closed, yet with their heavy length of steel and blunt-pointed tip they were still a formidable weapon. I could see that Jacopo was that most dangerous of all opponents-a man humiliated with nothing to lose.

Seeing me suddenly armed-although with an instrument but half the size of his-inflamed him even further. With a grip on both handles he slashed at me from low to high, aiming to land a blow on my chin.

With each slice I backed away another step, but I saw that each attempted cut came slower and slower as the weight and odd shape of the weapon weakened him.

For a single moment Jacopo's chest was exposed and I lunged hard with the point of my blade.

He was yet agile, and to my dismay jumped back and avoided the stab. And then in a move I had scarce expected, Jacopo spun in a full circle, smashing the closed scissors to the back of my neck.

I fell flat to the ground, facedown, stunned by the force of the blow. But this was not how I wished to die. I felt the hasty welling of my wits and my strength and rolled on my back in time to see my opponent had once more opened the scissors. Their two sharp points were even now descending to doubly impale me.

The moment had come.

Punching my arm in a high, triumphant salute to revenge, I plunged my dagger hard into Jacopo Strozzi's chest. He gasped with shock and fury as the strength drained from his hands, causing the shears to slip harmlessly to the cobbles. As he fell to his knees I rose to mine, kneeling face to face, connected only by the sharp bridge of steel. I saw with pleasure that the mad gleam in his eyes had faded to unspeakable agony.

"For my uncles," I said, and wrenched the dagger upward. Jacopo's mouth widened in a silent scream. "For Marco." When I pulled higher, I could hear the ripping of sinew and bone. My face was wet with tears as I pulled him into a closer embrace and whispered the words that only he could hear. "For Juliet." With that fiinal thrust, the blade pierced his heart. Blood erupted from his lips and death took him. He toppled to the street in a graceless heap.

I scrambled quickly to my feet, unsure of the crowd's disposition to an exiled man-perhaps once exonerated for a murder on this street-who had now, with violent cert.i.tude, taken the life of another.

I spent but a moment committing to memory the faces of those whose lives had intertangled with my own-Simonetta and Capello Capelletti, who had given Juliet life. Don Cosimo, who had been my partner in peacemaking. And Lucrezia-now and forever a Medici-who had courageously spoken to my honor.Then I turned and walked from the crowded street, my head held high.

Chapter Thirty-two.

Blind and dumb. The wrapping of my skin numb. Limbs, digits, eyelids, lips, altogether paralyzed. A steady white hissing in my ears, this retrieving me from the depths of dreamless dark. Then a faint thumping of my heart deep within my chest.

The hissing became a rumble that coalesced into beats of solid inflection. Speech. A voice I knew well, as if from a distance. The Poet's familiar words.

" 'I seem to see the sun darken in a way that gave the stars a color that would have made me swear that they were weeping.' "

It was Romeo! He was speaking of Dante's Beatrice. Of her death.

" 'The tender soul, perfectly filled with grace, now lives with glory in a worthy place. She has ascended to high heaven into a realm where angels live in peace.' "

Why does he speak of unhappy death when we will soon go from here to our life together? I thought, weariness still subduing me.

" 'The ladies had covered her face with a white veil, and it seemed that her face was so filled with joyous acceptance that it said to me: "I am contemplating the fountainhead of peace."' "

Yes, I silently cried, I, too, am at peace knowing that you are here, come to take me out of this dark place and into the light. I was longing to speak, to offer some verse of my own. Romeo, O Romeo . . .

" 'So much grief has become the destroyer of my soul,' " he went on reciting. " 'My sighs can hardly relieve the anguish of my heart. Indeed, I grieve so, that whoever were to see me now could die of pity.' " Romeo's voice was dull and piteous. " 'He sins who witnesses my desperate state and does not try to comfort my torn heart.' "

"His" torn heart?

" 'I went to see the body in which that most trustworthy and blessed soul had dwelt,' " he quoted, altogether morose. " 'Oh, my lady lies dead!' "

What? He seemed to speak for himself and me!

" 'I called upon Death and said, "Sweet Death, come to me and do not be unkind. Come take me now, for I earnestly desire you. You can see that I do, for already I wear your color."' "

Perhaps it was alarm at Dante's words too heartily claimed by my husband, or the slow receding of the potion from my veins, for now I felt Romeo's lips on my face, and warm tears. Moved by his suffering and determined to fully wake, I threw all my intention downward to my right hand and moved my pointing finger once, a single small jerk.

He cried out sharply and pulled away. When he spoke again, it was with trembling voice.

"What is this?" he said in a low tone of horror. "Just a miserable man's wishful thinking?"

Wait, I silently said, my strewn and addled thoughts rea.s.sembling themselves. Why is Romeo mournful and distrusting of my reanimation? Should this not prove a joyful moment-my awakening? And where in heaven's name is Friar Bartolomo?

Romeo sounded close again. He was angry and disbelieving. "Juliet's finger moving on my thigh? Self-pitying fool!"

That was enough. I must make myself known.

With all my resolve and all my strength I pushed open the stone-heavy lids of my eyes.

Now he shrieked, and though my sight was yet blurred in the dim, flickering torchlight, I saw the shape of him propelled back and away from me.

"Unnatural apparition! Unholy ghost! What foul creature has inhabited my poor wife's body?"

"Romeo ..." That hushed word escaped me like a long sigh.

" 'Romeo'? The wide-eyed monster speaks my name?"

"My love, please . . . ," I managed, a supreme effort.

He came closer, looming above me. With all my might I held his terrified gaze. I saw him desperately searching for the human soul behind my eyes.

"Juliet?" he whispered.

The ugly rasping sound that came from my throat I regretted. It would have thrown the fear of G.o.d into a priest. But Romeo recalled his courage and steadied himself.

"Are you alive?" he asked.

"Alive. Your Juliet."

He ventured nearer and kissed me on the mouth.

"Your lips are warm warm." There was wonder in his voice. "Not so when I arrived here. You are alive. Oh, Juliet, blessed Jesus!"

Then he was all a flurry of hands, unsure how to touch me, move me, lift me. Where I had been stiff as a corpse, now I was melting and helplessly limp. When I groaned, he hugged me to him so tightly, with such sweet possession, I would have wept if I had had tears.

He gently arranged me to sitting, albeit leaning heavily on him, one arm around the back of me, the other bracing me not to fall.

I drank in the sight of him. His hair, still short and badly shorn by me, was tousled, as if from a long ride. He wore a modest doublet badly stained, and st.u.r.dy boots.

"Where is the friar?" I said, the faculties of my tongue thankfully returning.

"The friar?"

I tried to clear my mind, but his question had thrown me into confusion. Certainly our scheme had succeeded, for Romeo was here and in good time for my waking. Now I looked about and saw with too much clarity all the dead around us. Poor Marco under his sheer veil lay on a marble bier within a man's length from mine.

"Can we leave this place soon?" I asked. "Where will you take me? The south of Italy?" The words were tumbling out happily now. "Your mother has a brother there. A farm?"

"Yes, a farm."

"It will be sad to leave my family, but we'll start again. Our 'many strong children' will bring us joy." I smiled at my own small jest, then lifted my face and kissed him, my hunger reigniting, the promise of our life together feeding the flame.

But how strange. Romeo's return kiss was mild. Almost meek. In all our joinings-fumbling embraces in the shadow of his villa wall, our wedding kiss at San Marco Chapel, our full thrust in the marriage bed-he had never held back. I knew him. He was a man of untamed pa.s.sions.

I swallowed hard, suddenly afraid to utter the words.