pseudo-dionysius of areopagite once said that there is an understanding beyond the level of rationality, certain truths that have to just be accepted as they are, and that is where you find God. of course, giulio is paraphrasing—he cannot remember the exact line that says this thought nor even which of the writer’s works he most clearly expresses it in—but the essence is the same however you look at it: there comes a point where there must be a reckoning, a way of looking at the truth and accepting it for all that it is.
all that to say, this is the greatest truth that giulio has ever known: he is a de medici, born and raised. he was named after a medici pope, that esteemed pope clement viii, christened giulio di’ giuliano, and he will be a medici pope. he will not let anyone, much less a raving lunatic, take that splendid truth away from his grasp—not when he had built up his life around this sole ambition and when any slight against him, any way of questioning his legitimacy, might harm his chances.
he perhaps comes across too forceful, too aggressive—yet how can he not ? just as all his best plans have started moving forward, he comes across this great hurdle—but who is he if not some great determined being ? if God is with him, then nobody can stand against him. this point of fact he knows with in the core of his being, in the essence of his bones.
❛ of course it’s not true, ❜ he says harshly, the tone biting and the words almost cutting, as if he resents his brother for even bringing it up. ❛ who is he, anyway ? i’ve seen him in the vatican sometimes, just some old and forgotten soldier that nobody cares to think about twice. i almost pity the poor thing; he’s half-mad with delusion brought about by too many years of bloodshed and violence. ❜ the words spill forth from his mouth quickly, so that he almost loses his breath by the end. it’s clear that it’s stoked some sort of anger that is almost uncharacteristic of him, and so he closes his eyes and lets out a shaky exhale. ❛ he’s a madman and nothing more, ❜ he finishes with some small degree of finality, almost daring the two to question him, ❛ but he’s an opportunistic madman, i’d give him that. ❜ // @giovannamedici
giovanna had never given a rise to gossip and the foul head of envy. and even when their names slipped from some foreign’s mouth giovanna did not spare a glance. but minutes passed, and the wind howled. one strike of lightening was enough to turn her. the tears that fell from her eyes were both loud enough or the heavens to hear and quiet enough to not be noticed by any onlookers. for they were tears for her family, for her deceased mother and the father she had loved. was she not a medici? a tuscan and firenze woman who had built her entire life around the stage set mere moments before her birth into the world, the birth she had so witnessed with her twin brother francesco? so she cried for not herself, but for her brothers - as she always had done.
in some ways the opinions of a madman give her ways to breathe, as she clutches the arm of either brother - forcing herself between them like a needy child as she looked from side to side. giulio was right, they must not entertain the needy and the mentally unstable - for the man who had whispered such illigetimacy was surely someone to put pity on, was he not? giovanna had always helped others, it was something she had held as a medal or a lifeline, yet was she not falling back on old promises by ignoring the man’s pleas for help? cast aside with a newfound mourning for their long-gone parents, giovanna squeezed her brothers’ arms and cried for their attention with tones fit for a woman on the edge.
“i miei fratelli più dolci, we must stand strong for we are medici and simply put, medici alone. they strike whilst we are apart, whilst piero is not with us… but what scares me most is the ghosts he speaks off. how dare he speak of our madre benedetta like that, or cast doubt over caro padre!” giovanna dropped either hand only to rub away the tears on her face, her skin tainted with salt as she tried to wash away such residue. “where do we go? what do we do now? do we stand tall and listen to such slander or do we hide like mice?” // @ilserafino
Once Giovanna had brushed away her tears, Francesco reached for her hand once more, their fingers embracing in a tight squeeze. There was solace in his twin’s touch unlike any other, and he needed it now more than ever. He was met with accusations against the man’s character and a plea to be led — Francesco, meanwhile, knew nothing of the man and even littler of strategy. “There is nowhere to go, sorellina,” he said. “We must face the slander in its entirety, we must know what is being said against us and our family in order to respond properly. I call into question our response, and I will merely subsume to what the both of you demand. Do we deny it, do we confront Orsini for his slander upon our blood, demand reparations, or are his lies so beneath us that they merit no response?” Francesco, truly, was beyond his know-how. “I am certain that Piero will stand strong with us when he arrives. For now...” He looked to Giulio now for guidance. The eldest of the three. Helpless as they were, Giulio always knew what to do. “What must we do?”
