“I have looked everywhere...your letters are missing.”
“What letters, Francesco?”
“I have your list...letters from King Francis...from Duke Lorenzo...from Christopher Columbus...Machiavelli...Father Pacioli...Beatrice d’Este...Cesare Borgia...Salai...”
“Did you open the trunk in the storeroom? They may be in there. Look carefully. I want to destroy some of them...let’s go over everything together.”
“We had them in Milan...”
“Look again... I’m sure you’ll find them.”
(Yesterday, in the château’s hall of mirrors I saw Caterina: she was talking with a young man, a man her age: she had on a summer gown, with one breast almost bare: she smiled at her companion who was dressed in grey.)
Cloux
June 1, 1517