PORTRAIT OF A CONSPIRACY, the first book in Donna Russo
Morin's Da Vinci's Disciples series, thrusts the reader
into a brutal time in 15th-Century Florence. Members of the
powerful Pazzi family draw blades and kill Giuliano,
brother to Lorenzo De' Medici, and he in turn, scours the
city to wreak vengeance on his brother's murderers. Caught
in the middle of this chaos are a group of six women
painters who work in a secret studio and must hide their
craft from the world at any cost.
But then one of the six goes missing along with a portrait
from Medici's palazzo called The Feat of Herod. It's
believed to be a painting of those who conspired with the
Pazzi family, and their friend, Lapaccia, is the suspected
thief. The women concoct their own scheme to save their
friend and hope it doesn't doom them all.
Morin has done her research and evokes the Florence of the
times complete with scents, sounds and visuals from the
grime on walls and blood in the streets to the begging of
the accused. She brings most of the women to life although
I would have loved more vision into the lives of some that
weren't fleshed out as much. If this book was mostly about
Viviana, perhaps we will get to know the others better in
future novels. I know little of the life of da Vinci, so I
trust Morin has done her research in this arena. He seems
eager to tutor the women even though some look down on him.
It's a book of relationships: friend and friend, husband
and wife, neighbor and neighbor, and how each woman
responds to her own circumstances. Fans of historical will
revel in her storytelling and crave more. Those who like
mystery in their historical fiction will enjoy it all the
more. I felt the ending was a bit flat, but I do look
forward to the next installment.
One murder ignites the powder keg that consumes a Florence
under the iron rule of the powerful Medici family. Amidst
the chaos, five women and one legendary artist weave
together a dangerous plot that could bring peace, or get
them all killed.
Seeking to wrest power, members of the Pazzi family drew
their blades in a church and slew the beloved Giuliano. But
Lorenzo de' Medici survives, and seeks revenge on everyone
involved, plunging the city into a murderous chaos. Bodies
are dragged through the streets, and no one is safe.
Five women steal away to a church to ply their craft in
secret. Viviana, Fiammetta, Isabetta, Natasia, and Mattea
are painters, not allowed to be public with their skill, but
freed from the restrictions in their lives by their art.
When a sixth member of their group, Lapaccia, goes missing,
and is rumored to have stolen a much sought after painting
before she vanished, the women must venture out into the
dangerous streets to find their friend. They will have help
from one of the most renowned painters of their era―the
peaceful and kind Leonardo Da Vinci.
It is under his tutelage that they will flourish as artists,
and with his access that they will infiltrate some of the
highest, most secretive places in Florence, unraveling one
conspiracy as they build another in its place.
Historical fiction at its finest, Donna Russo Morin begins a
series of Da Vinci's disciples with a novel both vibrant and
absorbing, perfect for the readers of Sarah Dunant.
Excerpt
Viviana stood near the front of the congregation beside the
Conte and Contessa, for once as enthralled with Fiammetta’s
rank as Fiammetta always had been. She forgot any and all
earlier concerns; her slippered feet—her best pair, though
worn—tapped upon patterned marble, her thumbs twirled around
in the clasp of her hands. It was the best attempt at quiet
reverence she could manage within the multitude of
distractions.
The Gothic vaults of the central nave towered above, guarded
by the columns and round arches of ancient Rome, so high
only birds could reach its apex, set aglow by the sweet
light streaming in through the mammoth clerestory windows.
It was a cave of wonders built by the hand of man, a hand
guided by God.
Viviana aimed her eyes forward, on the priest standing in
wait, small and encapsulated within the chancel and the
cupola over it.
“Where is our Lapaccia?” Fiammetta leaned close to whisper,
and Viviana could merely shrug in ignorance. They had
planned to be together on this special occasion but the
woman and her son were nowhere in sight.
Mass was often no more than an excuse to see and be seen,
but never before had Viviana witnessed so many watching so
many others. Yes, it was Ascension Day and with a cardinal
coming to celebrate it at that. Still, the congregation
appeared incongruently heavy with men…well-dressed,
well-outfitted, standing side by side, and yet apart.
A metal hinge creaked; Viviana blinked as sunlight and the
Medici brothers burst through the door. The chorus struck a
rousing chord as if to sing their praises and not those of
God. Both brothers accompanied the cardinal to his seat
beneath the cupola. Viviana lowered her head as the priests
began their parade of blessing, thuribles clacking,
releasing the spicy scent of the incense that did little to
mask the odor of so many bodies packed side by side.
The brothers separated, each taking the head of one side of
the congregation, as far apart and as far forward as they
could, Lorenzo to the left, Giuliano to just a few rows
before Viviana. She wondered if perhaps they separated to
discourage contrast of one so powerful and one so beautiful.
With them and their group, the church filled— dignitaries,
nobles, clergy, and dashing soldiers; Viviana tried not to
stare at the luminaries but failed. A few she recognized as
those she had seen approach with the Medici contingent,
malcontent slick upon their faces, shrouded in a disquiet
out of sorts with such a hallowed place.
Many congregants marveled at the sight of the Medici
brothers and their guests. Viviana felt it too, their
magnetism. But at the glimpse of one of the men among them,
at the tall, thin man most simply called da Vinci, her
breath became a shallow, elusive thing. Her emulation of the
artist bordered on obsession, regardless of the salacious
rumors that swirled around him like a storm.
Movement snatched her attention. Archbishop Salviati, the
hem of his rich purple cappa magna slapping at his ankles,
scampered down the far aisle on his short legs. Viviana
turned rudely from the altar—eyes wide, brows high—following
the clergyman hurrying past the ranks. Oh, over there now—an
equally disruptive sight.
Messer Jacopo de’ Pazzi, the presiding patriarch of the
powerful family, yanked her gaze to the right as he too
rushed from the cathedral, and out the opposite door.
Viviana looked round, forehead creased, wide blue eyes
beseeching; had none of the other congregants seen what she
had, did they not find it baffling? True, she was not so
familiar with Mass among esteemed patrons, but none
considered such displays of disrespect normal. Did they?
“Bene dictam, adscrí ptam, ra tam, rationábilem,
acceptabilém fácere dignéris.”
Viviana pinned her gaze forward, shaking her head softly to
set aside and away all confusing thoughts, for the priest
was making the sign of the cross, three times, over the
great chalice. The Consecration had begun, the blessing of
the body and blood of Christ. In this moment, she often
found the greatest connection to Jesus.
Today it was not to be.
The bell rang, the host was elevated, and…
“HERE, TRAITOR!”
The scream tore through the church, a shrieking, evil
explosion. Viviana’s breath faltered, her heart hammered.
Directly in front of her, directly beside Giuliano de’
Medici, a mad man came to life. He was not alone.
“Look out!” Viviana screeched and pointed at the daggers
raised high. Just as the priest upon the altar raised the
host, the shiny steel flashed in her gaze, the flaying
weapon intent upon spreading pure madness. Downward they
plunged.
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