1497, Milan, Italy
The darkness of the night covered Milan. It was cold and the silence was tense.
From within each household, from the humblest to the most wealthy, one could hear murmurs of prayers. The people of Milan was praying for the health of their good Duchess. According to the ducal physicians, she would not live to see another day. Her health was very poor. She had lost so much blood during the birth of her third son, who unfortunately did not survive.
Beatrice's bedroom was full of people, most of them were strangers to her. Priests and nuns chanted monotonous litanies in Latin.
At some point her sons Massimiliano and Francesco were brought to her bedroom in order to see their mother. The little ones were frightened and cried. They did not understand what was happening.
Francesco, the younger, hugged her mother crying.
Beatrice tried to raise my hand to touche her younger child's black hair, but failed to do it. It was at that moment she knew she was dying.
- Take the kids somewhere else! - Ludovico shouted in anger - This is no place for them. And get out of here all of you, priests and nuns!
Let her rest in peace. You have bothered her enough for a lifetime!
Beatrice felt so grateful for her husband's words.
Ludovico could not be the most handsome man in Italy, but he had always been good to her. Although she had been married for political reasons and never have loved her husband, Beatrice thanked God every day for have had two beautiful children and for being respected by Ludovico.
The room was filled with a strange silence after the departure of all those people.
- Rest, Madonna. - Ludovico spoke quietly and also left the room.
In the dimness of the room lit only by moonlight and a few candles
Beatrice forced herself to open her eyes. At first he saw nothing but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she began to see the outlines of the furniture so well known to her.
She turned her eyes to the doors of the balcony of her bedroom. She wanted to see the stars, her companions of many sleepless nights, even if it was last time. She was extremely disappointed to find out that she would not be able to.
There was a strange figure standing at the door. Would that be one of the priests who returned to give her the Extreme Unction? Who was that madman to disobeyed Ludovico's orders? Nobody would be that crazy to disobey "il Moro".
The figure wrapped in a black cape and hood approached her bed. She could barely keep her eyes open, parted her once rose red lips. She wanted to speak, but no sound came through her lips ...
- Madonna Beatrice, do not be alarmed,I did not come to harm you - the figure spoke in a deep voice and masculine, but in a soft way.
Beatrice felt her weak heart race within her chest. She was terrified.
- Calm down Madonna. I can feel your pulse here where I am.
He sat on the bed and took her cold hand into his.
- Are you cold? - he asked her in a sensual whisper and took her hand to his lips.
Beatrice nodded almost imperceptibly with the head. He felt a hot tear run down the corner of her eye.
- Do not cry. I came here to help you. Madonna, you were very kind to me here in your court.
She tried to remember the many people for whom he had done something good in recent days, but in vain.
The stranger removed the hood from his the face she recognized him. Beatrice's eyes were wide oén as she recognized the man who was talking to her.
- I came to give you a gift, Madonna. A gift that will bring you back to life...
A gleam of hope lit the eyes of the dying woman.
- Well, - the man continued to speak - Maybe not exactly life as you knew until now...but it will be a way to see your children grow up and grow old and, somehow, be always near them.
Beatrice closed his eyes in silent assent. She didn't want to leave her children alone in this world, being raised by who-knows-who.
- Help me ... - she managed to stammer feebly.
- I'll help you, Madonna. - it was his reply.
Then he took her wrist to his lips and bit it with extreme care.
Beatrice tried to let go whe she felt he was sucking her blood softly. Shortly after, he bit his own wrist and made her drink from his blood.
Weak and already feeling the chill of death upon her the last thing she heard was the male voice saying:
- It is done. Do not fight it. Surrender. Sleep, sweet Duchess. I will come get you when it's time.
The world went off from Beatrice's beautiful green eyes and she saw no more....
Song: E.S. Posthumus "Pompeii"