Prompt #24: Snow There was snow on the ground when we escaped from Velletri. Quite a lot of snow.
I probably shouldn't even remember this; I wasn't... how did Michelotto put it? I wasn't quite myself. In fact he had to haul me up on his horse like a sack of turnips. Maybe I liked it, this making myself heavy, letting go of responsibility, consciousness, coherent thought? It wasn't helplessness. It was a double escape, if only for a few hours.
Fleeing from Velletri, slipping from Charles's clutches and giving Giuliano the finger... no doubt that episode has become synonymous with my bravado. I suppose it was, in a way. Some people say I poisoned Cem before we left - poor lost Jaime, superfluous now, dangerous to my plan, a cumbersome liability best off dead. Well, I... didn't. He died of an infection, or so I've heard, no doubt made graver by his years of soft living. Maybe he ingested something that didn't suit his disposition? Of course, the rumour of a slow-acting, insidious Borgia poison makes for a better story. I never intended to follow Charles all the way to Naples as hostage; that much is true. But Cem's sad death, in the days that followed, was... incidental.
Fleeing from Velletri, then. It was snowing hard that night. The skies were bright and cold, and all recognizable features - hills, trees, valleys - had disappeared under a blanket of white. I have no idea how Michelotto was able to find our way; I merely clung to his back and drooled into his cloak. My fever was rising, and like a little boy I tugged at Michelotto's sleeves, whining that I wanted to get off now. I was hot, I was tired, I wanted us to stop; I just wanted to curl up under the next tree and sleep. Michelotto must have been cursing the moment he agreed to flee with what was presently devolving into a two-year-old. When we came down a ravine, we had to go slow, skirting a treacherous patch of ice near a lake, and then I couldn't wait any longer.
I let myself roll off the horse, landing hard on the frozen ground. Heedless of Michelotto's cries, I scrambled over the ice and into the water, hoping to cure the boiling of my blood. Imagine. I stood in the freezing lake up to my ribs, scrubbing myself, burning, burning despite my chattering teeth.
Like an idiot, I was catching snowflakes with my mouth until Michelotto waded in to pull me out of the water.
Next thing I knew, I was being bundled into bed. There was a roaring fire going, and I lay in a cold sweat, shivering underneath a dozen blankets. It felt as if I'd never be warm again. I haven't grown fonder of snow over the years, I must admit.