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May/Jun 1515
Chateaux Nemours
The letter from Piombino had come with as great an urgency as its rider could carry, across the sun drenched plains of Tuscany, across the passes of the Alps peaked with snow, and through the fertile lands of the French countryside. Italy would again be riven by war. The duke had long retired to his palace, having embraced domesticity rather than participate in affairs outside his lands. He had long feared that involving himself would only provide more entanglements than he could bear. His Italian wife, perhaps the only good thing to have come from his involvement in the damned place, had died in childbirth nearly five years prior. The duke had retreated from public life after that, overcome by grief.
Now he would answer, if only with gold. For now, that was all he was willing to do.
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