Medici ~ Ascendancy Read online

  ‘So what is the point, then?’ enquired Strozzi, filling the cups with wine, raising one to his lips and downing it in a few gulps.

  ‘What I want you to understand is that we have to provoke a battle. Only by starting another war can we throw the city into confusion and take the opportunity to seize it.’

  ‘Really?’ responded Palla incredulously. ‘You really think that would be the best strategy? Let’s see if I’ve got this right: you want to use Fortebraccio’s resentment against the Florentines by secretly bribing him and getting him to wage war against Florence. And while he does so you’ll take advantage of the blood and terror to appropriate the city?’

  ‘That’s the idea. It would be a sham war. We let them kill a few peasants, and maybe Cosimo and his family will end up getting dragged into it too, and then we step in to stop the massacre and we take power. Easy and clean, don’t you think?’

  Palla shook his head.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t we wait for a better moment? You know that Niccolò da Uzzano is a friend of the Medici, and with him at their side it will be no easy thing to get at Cosimo, or to take possession of the city.’

  ‘So what do you suggest?’ snapped Albizzi impatiently. ‘Giovanni de’ Medici is dead and the family and its assets will now be controlled by his children. Lorenzo is a fool, but Cosimo could be dangerous. He has shown more than once that he knows how to handle himself. He is behind the dome of the cathedral and we all know what his relations with the papacy are. He might make a great show of being a benefactor and pretend to keep to the sidelines, but he is as cunning and ruthless as his father – perhaps even more so. The truth is that he’s a briber and a moneylender, and if we let him be, it will be the ruin not only of our families, but of the whole Republic.’

  Palla snorted.

  ‘The dome of Santa Maria del Fiore isn’t exclusively a Medici initiative. It was the Opera del Duomo committee who sanctioned its implementation. And from what I hear, Filippo Brunelleschi’s work is coming along quickly—’

  ‘Too quickly,’ interrupted Rinaldo.

  ‘Yes, too quickly,’ agreed Palla, ‘and what’s worse, to the detriment of Lorenzo Ghiberti, who was in charge of supervising the work with Filippo!’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know that is your greatest worry, but you must put it to one side – we’re not going to solve our problems through culture!’ snapped Rinaldo. His friend’s constant digressions on to topics like art were completely baffling to him – and infuriating.

  ‘In any case,’ continued Strozzi, ‘I don’t see what objective advantage we would gain from destroying our own city for the sole purpose of killing the Medici. At that point, you might as well just hire some assassins. Wouldn’t it make more sense to set Fortebraccio not against Florence but against a different target? Perhaps one legitimized by the Council of the Ten of Balia?’

  While Palla Strozzi’s words floated seductively through the air, the innkeeper appeared again with a wooden tray bearing a huge leg of lamb. Two smaller bowls gave off an intense aroma of stewed lentils.

  ‘Magnificent,’ said Rinaldo when the food was laid out before him. ‘You were saying?’

  ‘I was saying that we might have better luck convincing Fortebraccio to devote his murderous attentions towards Lucca.’

  ‘To what end?’

  ‘To expand our territories, thus legitimizing a new war but without risking an assault on our own city. That would be complete madness. I repeat: the idea of filling Fortebraccio’s pockets to convince him to attack is a good one, only I would make him attack Lucca. He’s sick of rotting away in Fucecchio. As you said, he’s dangerous – out of control even – and that means we’d be justified in engaging him against Paolo Guinigi’s city. At this moment I am one of the Ten, and I have my own allies, as do you: it wouldn’t be difficult to convince the Chief Justice to vote in favour of an attack on Lucca to impose our hegemony once and for all, just as we did with Volterra. Fortebraccio will attack and besiege Lucca, and once he has taken the city, we, the emissaries of the city of Florence, can come in to calm tempers and make peace. That way we gain the support of the common people and of the people of Florence in general. And as saviours of the Republic we will have strengthened our positions in the city against the Medici.’

  Rinaldo thought about it. The idea was not a bad one, but Palla’s scheming was somewhat elaborate. Saying nothing, he bit into the meat, tearing it from the white bone.

  They had just won the battle against Volterra but the war must continue, on that he and Palla agreed. Further strengthening their prestige and political power through military superiority and the enlargement of the Florentine hegemony was an intelligent way of increasingly marginalizing the role of Cosimo de’ Medici. And in war, a sword through the back or a fatal blow could happen at any moment. There was death everywhere, and he had every intention of being the one who decided how and when it would happen. He had no intention of standing watching from the sidelines.

  ‘We will fight then,’ he said, and raised his cup. Palla Strozzi did the same, sealing the toast.

  ‘And we will silence that descendant of the damned Medici family once and for all.’

  Rinaldo drained his cup and grinned, the wine on his lips looking like blood in the candlelight.

  ‘Cosimo’s days are numbered,’ he whispered hoarsely.

  6

  The Perfumer

  Lorenzo wasn’t new to poisons. He was no expert, but among the many interests he had inherited from his mother was an interest in herbs and powders, even if only enough to know which of Florence’s apothecaries could obtain poisonous powders or herbs with relative ease.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start, and if he was certain now of one thing it was that his father could not have died a natural death. Something told him that the sudden, incurable illness had been induced.

  But by whom and to what end, he still did not know.

  The possible answers to the questions crowding his mind multiplied dizzyingly, so he had decided to take a rational approach and address the problem by adopting the simplest, most reliable method: start with the end result of the plot and trace it back to its beginning. Therefore, in the days following Giovanni’s death he had questioned a few of the local apothecaries. He had pressed them hard, and in a couple of cases might even have gone too far, but everyone knew who he was so even those he had intimidated or physically hurt had said nothing for fear of upsetting the Medici. Unfortunately, though, he had achieved nothing.

  Meanwhile, he and Cosimo had been observing all the servants who worked at the Palazzo Medici. It was a complex business, but his suspicions had focused on a beautiful raven-haired maid they had taken on a while ago, who came in a couple of days a week to do some minor tasks around the house. After some investigation, Lorenzo had discovered that the woman had for some time owned a perfume workshop in Florence and that her name was Laura Ricci. If anybody knew something about concoctions and potions it would be her.

  Naturally, he had made sure not to display his suspicions. Lorenzo decided to follow her to find out where she lived and to ask her some questions. He had to move with caution, though – after all, there was no evidence that she was guilty, even though she was certainly the most likely suspect.

  For this reason, Lorenzo was at that moment following the perfume girl. He had been on her heels for a while now, trailing her through the city’s alleys: dark, muddy, encrusted with blood and offal.

  The butchers were a vexata quaestio in the city. The comings and goings of their carts and wagons left trails of blood and scraps of meat along the streets of the town, which filled the air with a stomach-turning stench. The Council of the Two Hundred had been debating the issue for some time, but none of the competent institutions had yet decided what to do. Some had suggested transferring all the Florentine butcher’s shops on to the Ponte Vecchio, but nothing had come of it.

  After passing the Mercato della Paglia, Lorenzo had then followe
d the woman to the Ponte Vecchio, reaching the Oltrarno where, after passing the Ospizio per Viandanti, the perfumer had continued on towards the bridge of Santa Trinità before turning into an alley on the left and finally stopping in front of what must be her workshop.

  She pulled out a key and slipped it into the lock.

  Unable to hide a shadow of concern, she peered around herself and then went inside. She seemed to sense that she was being followed.

  *

  The room was dimly lit by four candles in an iron chandelier hanging from the ceiling. In an attempt to make the place look less gloomy, she opened a drawer and pulled out a few more, putting them in a three-armed silver candelabrum which she placed on the counter amidst a profusion of glass pots containing herbs and coloured powders.

  Taking care to keep the shutters well closed, she had just finished illuminating the room when a voice made her jump.

  Sitting in a velvet armchair in a corner was a striking-looking man. He had long reddish-blond hair and deep-blue eyes and was dressed all in black, including the cloak which hung from one shoulder. His doublet, reinforced with iron plates, showed him to be a man-at-arms, and for further proof he held in his hands a short dagger with which he had sliced and cut into quarters the apple he was now eating with great relish.

  ‘So you’ve arrived, mein Kätzchen.’

  His voice was cruel and unpleasant, somehow contriving to waver in pitch from high to low as though he were unable to modulate it.

  ‘My God, Schwartz,’ said Laura, ‘you frightened me.’

  The Swiss mercenary looked at her for a long time without speaking, watching her tremble under his icy stare.

  ‘You are afraid of me?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Do they suspect anything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I imagined that they would. In any case, you did what you had to do. By the time they have realized, it will be too late.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come here.’

  She remained where she was.

  He would never have admitted it, but this pleased him even more. He loved women with character, and Laura had it in abundance.

  He stared at her a moment – she was a true beauty. Even in the flickering light of the candles he was dazzled by that olive skin and he gladly allowed himself to become lost for a moment in those eyes, as green as a summer forest. A cascade of black curls framed her perfect oval face, but perhaps it was her scent which captured his soul; intriguing and seductive, that splendid aroma of mint and nettle now seemed to fill the entire room.

  ‘Why did you close the shop?’ he asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Business wasn’t going well. And anyway, it’s none of your business.’

  ‘Very well, very well,’ he replied, raising his hands. The blade of the dagger shone in the candlelight.

  ‘Will you tell me why you’ve come?’

  ‘To save you.’

  ‘Ah, really?’

  ‘The Medici will have worked out what happened by now, as the fact that Lorenzo has followed you shows. And that’s not all – he’s out there waiting for you. I saw him.’

  ‘My God!’ Laura flinched. ‘I hadn’t realized! Are you afraid of him?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘You should be.’

  ‘And why?’

  ‘Have you any idea who the Medici are? Obviously not.’

  ‘Come here,’ he told her again.

  ‘And what if I don’t want to?’

  ‘Don’t make me repeat myself. I’m not in the mood to be refused a small favour by a woman who needs my help.’

  For a moment Laura seemed to consider Schwartz’s request.

  ‘A beautiful woman,’ she said with a smirk. ‘Too beautiful for someone like you, Schwartz.’

  ‘Ah, of course,’ he jested. ‘But don’t give yourself airs and graces, or by God Almighty I’ll make a few adjustments to your face with this dagger of mine and you’ll lose all your charm in a flash.’

  Laura felt something indescribable: something inextricably linked to a distant past that she had hoped had been washed from her memory forever. An intense anger whose source only she knew welled up inside her. But only for an instant, and she made sure not to let it show. She hoped she had been quick enough to hide it from Schwartz. Especially since, in some inexplicable way, she was attracted to him.

  Schwartz took her by the hair and pulled her down to her knees.

  ‘This time, I want you to show me how grateful you are.’

  ‘What will he say...?’

  ‘Our lord and master? Don’t worry about him – concentrate on the matter at hand,’ and so saying he put his knife to her throat.

  Laura understood and, without another word, knelt down and opened his breeches. She did it slowly so as to prolong the wait and Schwartz’s pleasure. And hers. She knew very well how to please a man. She took his penis between her hands. It was already swollen and large, the first dot of moisture beading his glans.

  ‘Suck it, now,’ he ordered, ‘or I’ll slit your throat.’

  Laura took it in her mouth, giving Schwartz such pleasure as he had never before experienced.

  7

  Faith and Iron

  Cosimo needed to be alone, and it was so peaceful here in the cathedral. Many things troubled him in those painful days. The death of Giovanni had left a huge empty space, and the thought that he might have been poisoned had opened a still deeper wound and made Cosimo aware of his own vulnerability. Someone in their own house had conspired against them. It might just be Lorenzo’s imagination – but Cosimo doubted it. Giovanni had fallen ill and died so suddenly, when until a few days previously he had seemed so healthy.

  That wasn’t enough to be certain, of course. They had practically no evidence, apart from the belladonna berries and the suspicions regarding the servant, and yet...

  And yet even his mother had said it: they had many enemies, so why continue being ingenuous?

  Lorenzo had been keeping a close eye on all the servants and new food tasters had been selected. Moreover, a whole new group of offiziali della bocca – table servants – had been taken on. When Piccarda had asked for an explanation, Cosimo had tried not to alarm her, simply saying that there’d been some minor issues so he’d decided to change most of the staff.

  Piccarda had given him an incredulous look but had pressed him no further. She would trust him as she had promised.

  He looked up at the beautiful dome above him. The rays of winter light filtered through the roof lantern and the windows at the base of the ribs, falling upon the interior like gentle rain.

  The sight of it revived him and his thoughts turned to Filippo Brunelleschi. What a combination of genius and determination the man was: obsessed by buildings, architectural flourishes, calculations and solutions into which he plunged himself day after day with seemingly inexhaustible energy, transforming his vision into wonderful shapes like the arches in the Chapel of San Lorenzo, which alternated with the form of the building to create perfect lines and circles.

  That was the pattern he should follow, Cosimo thought: the simplicity of the straight line and the circle’s ability to take a risk. Which, in so many words, was what his father had told him.

  He wasn’t worried about managing the bank – he knew how to do business and Lorenzo was there to help him – but the difficult art of politics and compromises frightened him, and he was afraid of disappointing his father. He had every intention of doing his best for his family and helping those who needed it, but he also felt upon his neck the breath of the Ten of Balia, who seemed to devote all their energies to annoying him. And, perhaps, even to pushing him out of the way altogether.

  And then there were Giovanni and Piero, his own children.

  Piero in particular worried him. At almost fourteen, he was becoming a man and had even expressed a desire to learn swordsmanship and to have a master of weapons. Not that there was anything w
rong with that – Cosimo himself had learned the rudiments of fighting and was well able to defend himself if attacked, even though he was certainly no professional soldier. But since the trouble Albizzi had fomented in Volterra and the resulting conspiracy which had put an end to its principal conspirator, Piero had started carrying on about wanting to be a man-at-arms.

  Cosimo sighed, put his hands together in prayer, closed his eyes and listened to the silence.

  There was something mystical about the absolute stillness. He didn’t need to speak nor take a position against anyone. It had been a while since he’d been there to meditate.

  It occurred to him that Lorenzo hadn’t returned yet. He hoped the beautiful perfumer hadn’t been more problematic than they’d anticipated.

  His brother knew how to look after himself. And yet, his lateness unnerved him.

  *

  Lorenzo had been waiting for a long time. He had lost track of just how long, but he knew deep down that he couldn’t leave. Only by waiting for the woman to come out could he get to the bottom of the mystery. It might take the whole day, but if it did, then so be it. He had no intention of giving up and going back to his brother empty-handed. That wasn’t his way. As his father always used to say of him, when he put his mind to something, he had to finish it.

  The sun had set when the door finally opened. That was certainly Laura he saw emerging – he recognized her figure and the long black curls under the hood which served to hide her from prying eyes.

  Frustrated by the endless waiting, he had no intention of letting her go a second time. He went over to her and impulsively grabbed her by the wrist. If solving the mystery meant making threats and twisting arms, he had no qualms about doing it.

  ‘Laura,’ he said, ‘you and I need to talk, don’t you think?’

  He saw her turn towards him but as soon as he looked into her deep-green, feline eyes he felt a vice-like grip on his shoulder and then was thrown against a wall; his shoulder smashed against the stone and pain shot through his entire body.