by D. V. Bishop
A long silence stopped him. There were no raised voices out in the courtyard. Had Strocchi finished? Aldo listened for a sound. Then Cerchi shouted a comment and everyone in the courtyard laughed, enjoying the joke. Strocchi must have the forbearance of a monk.
Aldo pulled the object from beneath the bench. It wasn’t the diary, but Strocchi’s humiliation had still served a purpose: it was the list of potential suspects he’d made from the descriptions and sketches in Corsini’s diary. Better than nothing, and it might help—
‘Looking for something?’ Cerchi asked from the doorway.
Aldo slid the list inside his tunic before facing Cerchi. He was standing in the door, hands tucked either side of his gleaming silver buckle, the Florentine lily standing proud in the metal. ‘My good knife,’ Aldo replied, getting to his feet. ‘Thought I left it here yesterday, but can’t find it anywhere.’ He approached the door, but Cerchi didn’t move aside.
‘My best boots were stolen from in here not long ago,’ Cerchi said. ‘Half the guards are worse thieves than the ones we throw in Le Stinche. We should get a lock on this door.’
‘Good idea,’ Aldo agreed. ‘Did you get an apology out of Strocchi?’
‘Eventually. Be careful of that one. Shit’s getting ideas above his rank.’
Aldo nodded. ‘Nothing worse than a constable who thinks he knows better than us.’ Cerchi stood aside, letting Aldo leave. Sweat was sticking the list to Aldo’s chest as he strolled across the courtyard, grateful to breathe in the cold air outside.
Strocchi was waiting outside the Podestà. Aldo handed him the list. ‘Cerchi must be keeping Corsini’s diary with him at all times, but you can destroy this, at least.’
‘How do we get the diary back?’
‘I’ll find a way. But if you’re nearby when it disappears, Cerchi will have you in Le Stinche. Last time a constable got imprisoned there, he was dead within a day.’ Strocchi paled, his hands crumpling the retrieved list. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get that diary,’ Aldo promised. ‘You keep looking for whoever killed Corsini.’
Strocchi revealed that he had found the dead youth’s last visitor. ‘But Biagio Seta was out of the city when the attack took place. From what I’ve heard, he doesn’t sound like a man capable of ordering a murder – although he might know who did.’
‘Be careful how you approach him,’ Aldo said. ‘Asking for help can be more effective than making accusations – it appeals to men’s vanity.’ The word chimed as soon as it was spoken. Vanity. Yes, that could be the solution. ‘What day is it?’
‘Thursday,’ Strocchi replied. ‘Why are you smiling?’
‘Because I know how I’ll have that diary away from Cerchi before night falls.’
‘Thank you for coming,’ Rebecca said, drying her eyes.
‘We didn’t want you to be alone,’ Ruth replied, her brothers talking with Joshua and his sisters across the room. ‘But it seems you’ve plenty of friends here.’
Rebecca leaned closer, lowering her voice. ‘They mean well, but . . .’
‘They’re not family.’
Ruth always understood. Being with her was picking up an unbroken thread, as if no time had passed since they last talked. This must be what having a sister was like, though the bickering of Joshua’s siblings suggested otherwise.
‘Have you slept?’ Rebecca shook her head. ‘You will, when you’re ready.’
She hesitated before whispering. ‘I-I’m almost glad that Father’s gone.’
Ruth nodded. ‘Your father was a difficult man.’
‘And angry,’ Rebecca said. ‘So angry, especially since Mother died.’
Ruth clasped Rebecca’s hands. ‘Did Samuele say why he came to see us last week?’
‘No.’
Ruth’s father Shimon and Samuele shared the risk whenever one of them was making a large loan. That much Rebecca knew. But her cousin revealed Samuele had sent word about needing a sum far beyond anything that had passed between the brothers before.
‘How can you be sure of this?’
‘My father’s eyesight is failing,’ Ruth replied. ‘He’ll never admit it, but he struggles to see much. I help: reading letters, counting coin. He still makes all the decisions. For now.’
Rebecca envied that. Father had made sure she knew little of the business, though his debtors came to the house for loans and to make their payments. Father had always sent her out of the room. How was she meant to live now, without any way to provide for herself? ‘I know Father came back from Bologna with little in his satchels.’
Ruth nodded. ‘Samuele didn’t take the coin, I still don’t know why. Instead, he left a letter with us. He said we should burn it after a week, unless something happened to him.’ She opened a satchel, pulling out a tightly rolled document, sealed with red wax.
Father’s hand was easy to recognize in the single word written by the seal: Rebecca. She took the document. It coiled in her palm like a serpent. Inside were the last words Father had written. Did it hold parting words of love for her, or something more venomous?
Rebecca took a deep breath, broke the wax and started to read.
7th of Tevet, 5297
To my daughter,
I write this in the house of my brother, and have asked him to have it delivered should the worst happen. I entered into an agreement with a man of importance who flattered me, and that blinded me to his purpose. But when I learned the truth, I sought to withdraw from our pact – to no avail. If I have been killed, the man of whom I wrote will be the one behind it. I dare not name him here, but you will find him in my ledger, if you look long enough.
Rebecca shook her head. So that was why Father had been so anxious, so angry the last few weeks. He had been protecting her from the truth, carrying the weight of his mistake on those tired shoulders. The memory of her final words to him stung even more now.
But with the ledger gone, what hope was there of finding those responsible for his death? Rebecca pushed that away – it was somebody else’s concern. She continued reading.
I fear I have not been enough of a father to deserve your tears. Losing your mother hardened my heart more than it should, so I worked hard to ensure you would not know need. Every man has doubts, but my belief in our faith will never be shaken, even now.
I pray you will abide by my wishes in this letter, though they may break your heart. Nonetheless, I forbid you from ever being with Joshua Forzoni.
You know our teachings. I beg you, forget him.
Your father,
S. Levi.
Rebecca stared at the letter, its close Hebrew text filling the page. She couldn’t seem to breathe. Ruth was talking, but the words sounded distant, as if spoken by someone far away. The room was swirling, lurching. No, not the room, it was her. She was . . .
Chapter Fifteen
Knowing the opportunity to take Corsini’s diary from Cerchi would not arise until later, Aldo had a choice to make. He could visit Cibo now to discover why the Holy Roman Emperor’s representative in Florence was so interested in the murder of a Jewish moneylender. Or he could go to Zoppo’s tavern and confront the cripple. A man of faith or a man of filth – which was it to be? Trading words with the cardinal could wait. Vengeance was more urgent.
Aldo made his way west from the Podestà, cutting a jagged path across the major roads where cobbles lined the street. He preferred the narrower side roads of packed dirt, staying away from the channels where human waste and passing feet turned the earth to mud. A prickling at the back of his neck made Aldo stop, and glance over a shoulder – but there was nobody watching him. The rumble of a cart rolling along a nearby street echoed between the tall buildings, competing with shouts from hawkers busy selling their wares. In the cramped heart of Florence, there were always other people around.
Aldo stopped again in the narrow alleyway outside Zoppo’s tavern, but this time he was listening. Only when he heard the cripple muttering inside did Aldo kick open the door, storming into the f
ly-blown tavern. The guilt in Zoppo’s face confirmed Aldo’s suspicions.
‘Dante told you, didn’t he?’ Zoppo asked, retreating so fast he had to hop. ‘He said I introduced him to Carafa.’ Zoppo slipped and fell to the packed dirt floor but kept scrambling away, until his back was trapped against the bar. ‘That bastardo Carafa is in Florence, if you’re looking for him. Came here yesterday, demanding directions to Dante’s home.’
‘Carafa’s in Le Stinche now,’ Aldo sneered, grabbed Zoppo’s sweat-stained tunic to haul him up off the floor. ‘Give me one reason why you shouldn’t be sharing a cell.’
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Zoppo insisted, his voice pitiful. ‘I didn’t know why Dante wanted to meet someone like Carafa. Honest, I didn’t!’
‘Palle. I’d wager good coin it was you that suggested Dante should pay a bandit to kill Levi.’ Aldo pulled back a fist. ‘Your matchmaking nearly got me murdered.’
‘But I didn’t know that Levi had hired a guard from the Otto. How could I?’ Zoppo squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the pain. ‘Helping men like Carafa, that’s what I do. It’s how I hear what you want to know. If I wasn’t so useful to men like him, I’d be no use to you.’
The duplicitous merda had a point, but Aldo wasn’t going to admit that. ‘You want to stay out of Le Stinche, you have to earn that privilege.’
Zoppo opened one eye, wary. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes. Just name it.’
Aldo unclenched his first. ‘A man was in Palazzo Medici close to curfew yesterday – heavyset, with a prominent hooked nose. He was carrying a ledger with Hebrew writing on it. I want to know who that man is, who he answers to, and anything else you can find out about him.’ Aldo could have returned to Palazzo Medici in search of the answers, but that would only draw attention. Using Zoppo and his contacts was safer. ‘And I want to know where that ledger is now.’
‘Don’t want much, do you?’ Zoppo said, the usual leer returning to his face.
‘And you have to get me the answers before curfew.’
That wiped the smile away. ‘Curfew today? But . . . How am I supposed to—?’
‘Use your imagination.’ Aldo let go of the clammy tunic and wiped both hands on his hose. ‘Otherwise I’ll have you thrown in Le Stinche before the bell in Palazzo della Signoria stops chiming tonight.’ He strolled towards the splintered door. ‘And I’ll spread word you’ve been my informant for years. Every thief in that prison will think you put them inside.’
‘But they’ll crucify me,’ Zoppo protested.
‘I know.’
The stone floor was cold beneath Rebecca’s face. Someone with kind hands lifted her cheek, slipped a soft cloth underneath. Ruth kneeled in front of her. ‘You had me worried.’ Rebecca pulled herself up with Ruth’s help, wincing as pain stabbed her head. There was a lump on one side, sore and tender to the touch. ‘You fainted.’ Rebecca looked round; they were alone. ‘I sent the others away. Thought you could do with the peace.’
‘Thank you.’ The letter was still clenched in her fist.
Ruth sighed. ‘I should have waited before giving that to you.’
‘No, I needed to see it.’ She offered Ruth the letter.
‘Samuele addressed that to you.’
‘You need to see for yourself.’
Ruth took the letter, eyes widening as she read it. ‘Where is your father’s ledger?’
‘Stolen. Taken by his murderer.’
Ruth read on, closing the letter before returning it. ‘Joshua Forzoni, is that . . .?’
Rebecca nodded.
‘But why would Samuele forbid you from seeing Joshua?’
‘His father was not born a Jew.’ Rebecca grimaced. ‘What should I do?’
‘Show the letter to whoever is pursuing Samuele’s killer.’
‘Yes, I will – but what about Joshua? He loves me. He’d do anything for me.’
‘But do you love him?’
Rebecca hesitated. The truth was she didn’t know her own heart any more. ‘I used to tease him, knowing that would anger Father. It was nothing serious. But now – now I’m not so sure.’ She peered at her cousin. ‘Could I have been in love with Joshua all along?’
‘It’s obvious Joshua has strong feelings for you,’ Ruth replied. ‘But only you can know what is in your heart. You are the one who must decide what happens next. Do you care enough for Joshua to break with your father’s wishes?’
Rebecca didn’t have an answer for that.
‘Have you thought about what you might do after sitting shiva?’ Ruth asked. ‘Did your father have coin put aside for you, or for a dowry?’
Rebecca shook her head, ashamed at how little attention she had paid to her own future. She had supposed she would marry one day, though Father did his best to dissuade any potential suitors. None of them was good enough for his only daughter, he’d said. Now he was gone and she was left behind, alone, with no way to support herself.
Ruth put an arm round Rebecca’s shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking you questions like that. Not while you’re still in shock. But you need to think about these things, while you still have the support of friends and neighbours. Once you finish sitting shiva, you will be alone. But it doesn’t have to be like that.’
Rebecca didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We have a home for you, in Bologna, if you want it. There is no haste needed for this, you can decide in your own time. But should you choose, you could come and live with us. Soon I will be running the business. My brothers are strong and honest, but they haven’t the wit or will to become moneylenders. I will need help with that. You could be that help.’
Rebecca wasn’t sure what to say; it was a lot to take in. ‘Can I think about it?’
Ruth smiled at her. ‘Of course. I will always love you, cousin, whatever you decide – whether that is staying here in Florence or joining us in Bologna. I simply wanted to give you a choice, another path to consider. It is difficult enough for the likes of us, when nobody will listen to what we think or say. But there is another life waiting for you, if you wish it.’
After giving Zoppo reason to fear for his life, Aldo took a ragged path back to the eastern quarter of the city. Approaching the Podestà, he turned north, and moments later reached Palazzo Pazzi. No Pazzi had lived in this grand building for decades, not after all of them were driven out following a failed plot against the Medici. But the family name remained, as did the Pazzi crest of twin dolphins on the stone shield by the main entrance.
Aldo went inside to seek an audience with Cibo, who resided at the palazzo. It was also home to the cardinal’s sister-in-law Ricciarda Malaspina, and her sister Taddea. The Duke had two illegitimate children by Taddea, with the boy Giulio a potential heir until the Duke’s own young wife Margaret gave birth to a son. Little wonder Cibo welcomed Alessandro’s visits to the palazzo. It was the Emperor who had installed Alessandro as hereditary ruler of Florence despite the Duke having been born out of wedlock. It made sense to have his heir and mistress under the same roof as the Emperor’s representative in the city.
A servant escorted Aldo to the cardinal’s officio. Cibo was hunched in a grand chair, sifting papers by a blazing fire. He dismissed the servant before beckoning Aldo closer. ‘You have news about the murder of that moneylender?’ Aldo reported his findings, mentioning the stolen ledger but not where he’d seen it. The cardinal pursed his lips. ‘Fascinating, I’m sure, but nothing you couldn’t have told me by letter. Why are you really here?’
When dealing with men of power and influence, it was frequently safer to answer one question with another. ‘Why are you so interested in the murder of Samuele Levi?’
Cibo got up, moving nearer the fire as if to warm his hands. Aldo followed him. ‘The Holy Roman Emperor had no financial transactions, nor any direct involvement with Levi,’ the cardinal said. ‘My interest in this incident is prompted by other matters.’
Aldo gave no reply
. Silence often extracted answers from the most reluctant of men.
‘Whispers have reached me of a plot,’ the cardinal continued after a moment. ‘A plot to create unrest among the people of Florence so that they demand a different leadership.’
‘Such rumours are always being whispered,’ Aldo said. ‘By exiles outside the city, intent on usurping the Medici, or by those within Florence who hope to see it become a republic again. Nothing ever comes of such drunken boasts and wistful dreams.’
‘Not in most cases,’ Cibo agreed. ‘Drunks and the wistful overthrow few tyrants, that needs men at arms. But this particular plot may have found a way to fund its insurrection.’
The implication was clear: the plotters planned to borrow coin to pay for mercenaries. No wonder Levi was heard arguing with his visitors. To have become involved with such a scheme was asking for trouble, not to mention offering little chance of a return.
‘I understand,’ Aldo said.
Cibo smiled. ‘Good. Then you can share with me what you’ve kept from the Duke, and that self-important fool Bindi. I’ve said more than I had to. Now it’s your turn.’
Refusing would end the grudging trust Aldo shared with Cibo, whereas revealing a little knowledge now might help to unlock another secret from the cardinal. It was worth the risk. ‘I believe Levi’s ledger was stolen by his killer. Last night I saw a man carrying that ledger.’
Cibo stared into the flames. ‘Where?’
‘Inside Palazzo Medici.’
The cardinal stayed where he was a moment before returning to his chair. ‘That does explain why the Duke wasn’t surprised by what I told him.’
Aldo recalled meeting Cibo as the cardinal left Palazzo Medici not long before curfew on Tuesday. ‘You went to warn him about the conspiracy, but he already knew.’
Cibo nodded.
That suggested a new motive for the murder. If Alessandro knew about the plot, it was possible he had sent someone to confront Levi at home on Monday night. Aldo pictured how the stubborn moneylender would react when someone demanded the names of his debtors. ‘If what you say is true, it’s possible Levi was stabbed by accident, or to silence him. Whoever did that then stole the ledger, believing the plotters must be named in it. They hadn’t realized all the ledger entries are written in Hebrew.’ That explained why the ledger hadn’t been destroyed; whoever took it still needed to know what was inside.