City of Vengeance

by D. V. Bishop

  Maria left the servants to unload her trunk while she swept inside. It was too late to call on anyone important or useful today – that must wait until tomorrow. If no satisfaction could be gained, she might despatch a message to the Podestà, summoning Cesare Aldo. Given the choice, Maria preferred to hold all the favours owed her in reserve, calling on them only in times of great need. But Aldo’s position with the Otto made him a particularly useful ally. He would doubtless have knowledge her usual acquaintances could never supply. And what she knew about his nature meant Aldo was vulnerable. Maria had no wish to reveal his secret, but others might not be so scrupulous. One day it would be his undoing.

  Better to make use of him while she could.

  Bindi was preparing for the next Otto sitting when Cerchi barged in, not bothering to knock. The segretario could forgive Cerchi being a creature of brute force and no conscience; those qualities made him an effective – if blunt – enforcer. But insolence was not to be borne.

  ‘Benedetto said you wanted to see me?’

  ‘I’m a busy man, with considerable calls upon my time.’

  ‘Is it true?’ Cerchi spat, hands twisting into fists at his sides.

  Bindi sat back in his chair. Impatience deserved only silence. He counted to ten in his head, watching Cerchi seethe before deigning to reply. ‘You’ve been an officer for some months now, haven’t you?’

  Cerchi nodded.

  ‘And you understand the procedure for those who wish an audience with me, yes?’

  Cerchi hesitated before nodding again.

  ‘Then you know what to do.’ Bindi returned to the large stack of papers. After a long silence Cerchi stalked from the officio, shutting the door behind him before knocking on it. Bindi let the upstart wait before replying. ‘Come in!’

  Cerchi returned, eager to resume his rant. ‘Segretario—’

  Bindi held up a finger for silence, reading two documents before looking at the new arrival. ‘Ahh, Cerchi – you wished to see me?’

  ‘Yes, segretario. Benedetto said you needed me.’

  ‘I made no such request.’ Cerchi’s eyes narrowed. ‘Was there something else?’

  ‘Aldo stole an important piece of evidence.’

  ‘What evidence?’

  ‘A diary, written by the buggerone murdered several days ago.’

  ‘Why would Aldo steal that? Was he mentioned in the diary?’

  ‘No. At least, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Do you have any proof that Aldo took it?’

  ‘He searched my things in the officers’ cell this morning, and then he sent Benedetto to distract me when I was . . . busy.’

  Bindi sighed. Cerchi was not telling the whole truth, but it mattered little. This was yet another skirmish between the two officers, which was of little interest. ‘Are you any closer to knowing who murdered that young man?’

  ‘No, segretario.’

  ‘Then I suggest you concentrate on that, instead of wasting time with petty squabbles and accusations. Bring me proof Aldo is impeding justice and he’ll stand accused before the Otto. Until then, I have better things to do. Close the door on your way out.’

  Cerchi departed, pouting like a sulky youth. Bindi enjoyed the spectacle.

  Renato was grateful to see Aldo return to the sewing room, especially after recognizing what was in Aldo’s hands. Renato gave his workers the rest of the day off, announcing it was as thanks for all their hard work finishing gowns for the feast of Epiphany. He ushered them out of the sewing room, closing the door tight behind them before approaching Aldo.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ Renato asked, struggling to keep the joy from his voice.

  Aldo nodded, opening the diary on a bolt of azure brocade. Renato recognized the sketch of himself inside it, a pleasing likeness – lovely Luca was always a flatterer. ‘How did you get it?’ Renato asked, before waving his own question away. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Do you want to burn it, or should I?’ Aldo went to the sewing room hearth where the flames were burning orange. Renato took the diary from him, but stopped short of dropping it into the fire. Of course the book had to be destroyed, it was far too dangerous in the wrong hands, the last few days had proven that. But burning the last remnant of the beautiful young man who had filled each page with silly words and drawings felt wrong.

  ‘Why are you hesitating?’

  ‘Luca was such a pretty thing,’ Renato said. ‘In another time, another place, he would have been beloved.’ Aldo snatched the diary, tearing pages out and throwing them on the fire.

  ‘Corsini’s dead, and so is Agnolotti Landini. This puts an end to it.’

  Renato saw the flames reflected in Aldo’s eyes. ‘You never used to be this angry.’

  ‘And you never used to be this sentimental.’

  ‘It comes of getting older.’ Renato couldn’t help noticing the cloak Aldo wore. The material was superior to his other, much simpler clothes, and so was the cut. ‘Where did you get that?’ Renato asked, reaching to touch the fabric. ‘A gift from an admirer?’

  Aldo stepped back, out of reach. ‘Tell Corsini’s other friends that the diary has been destroyed,’ Aldo said. ‘Cerchi should leave you all in peace now. If he doesn’t, let me know.’

  Shadows filled the narrow street as Aldo emerged from the sewing room. A few hours still remained before curfew, but tall buildings either side of the dirt road were already masking the sun’s light. He pulled the borrowed cloak closer to himself, savouring how Orvieto’s scent suffused the fabric. The troublesome knee had been better thanks to the doctor’s treatment. That was a relief but took away a reason to visit Orvieto again. Aldo rolled his eyes. Was it necessary to have a reason? No, but it was better than admitting how much he missed the doctor’s smile, the warmth of that gaze. It was too soon to know what those feelings meant, or where they might lead. Not when everything else was so uncertain.

  ‘You took it, didn’t you?’ an accusing voice demanded. Cerchi stepped from the shadows, his narrow face twisted by anger. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Always better to feign ignorance when standing accused, it gave more time to craft a better answer.

  ‘The diary written by your little pervert.’

  ‘If you mean Corsini, I told you already, he was my informant.’ Aldo moved to go by the other officer, but Cerchi blocked his path.

  ‘Admit the truth – you sent Benedetto to Signorina Nardi’s earlier to distract me, knowing it would give you a chance to steal the diary from me.’

  ‘I sent Benedetto to fetch you back to the Podestà. From what I hear, you’re doing nothing to find the men who murdered my informant.’

  ‘I’ve been to Bindi about what you did,’ Cerchi sneered, stepping even closer.

  Aldo retreated a pace to escape the stale garlic on Cerchi’s breath. ‘I’m sure the segretario was fascinated by that. Is he planning to punish me for reminding you to do your job? Or did he tell you to do some work instead of wetting your wick in a bordello.’

  Cerchi didn’t reply, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. ‘Those perverts that Corsini was meeting – they paid you to steal his diary, didn’t they?’

  Aldo laughed. ‘Not everyone serving the Otto is so easily bought as you.’

  ‘Then why were you just in there visiting Patricio? He was in that diary too.’

  ‘Was he? Please, show me the page with his name on it.’ Aldo couldn’t resist smirking at Cerchi. ‘Oh, that’s right. You said somebody stole the diary. That’s a shame. Not that you could even read what was inside it.’

  ‘You arrogant merda,’ Cerchi snarled, taking a wild swing with his right fist.

  Aldo leaned back so the flailing arm missed him. Cerchi stumbled forwards and Aldo stepped to one side, leaving a leg behind. Cerchi tripped over it and tumbled into a pile of horse dung on the muddy street. He was still shouting abuse as Aldo strolled away.

  Strocchi went to Zoppo’s taver
n hoping Aldo might be there. The constable needed counsel, and he didn’t want to be asking his questions inside the Podestà. The tavern’s front door had been kicked in and was now leaning against a wall by the entrance – no doubt left there by some unhappy customer. Zoppo was all charm at first until he learned Strocchi had come looking for Aldo, not a place to drink.

  Yes, the cripple was expecting a visit from Aldo but no, he didn’t know when. Zoppo invited Strocchi to have a drink until Aldo arrived. The rank aromas inside the tavern were too much for Strocchi to stomach any longer. He declined the offer and waited outside.

  It was a relief when Aldo came striding along the alley, a cloak swirling behind him. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, glancing back over one shoulder.

  ‘I need your advice,’ Strocchi said. He repeated what Biagio Seta had revealed.

  ‘Ruggerio’s a dangerous man to cross,’ Aldo said. ‘Not only is he a significant figure in the silk merchants’ guild, Ruggerio is also active in the Company of Santa Maria, one of the most powerful confraternities in Florence. That means he has alliances in business and the Church. I wouldn’t have picked him for one of Corsini’s visitors, but it takes all kinds. You think Ruggerio paid for the attack on Corsini?’

  ‘He seems the most likely from what I’ve discovered, but I need to be certain before making a denunzia against him. Can I ask your informant? I wasn’t sure if I could trust him.’

  ‘Zoppo is a self-serving merda, but his information is usually right.’

  Strocchi followed Aldo inside. Zoppo was still lurking behind the bar, spitting phlegm into a cup before rubbing it with a greasy rag. ‘Who wants a drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Nobody with sense,’ Aldo replied. ‘What do you know about Girolamo Ruggerio?’

  ‘The silk merchant? Enough not to cross him – why?’

  Aldo nodded to Strocchi, who took over the questions. ‘What about his guards? There are two in particular, they could be related.’

  Zoppo’s lopsided smile faded. ‘You mean the Basso brothers. From up north, both have got yellow hair. Fists like anvils, and faces like sides of meat. Best avoided, I hear.’

  ‘Handy men to have on your side,’ Aldo said.

  ‘Word is they’ve been spending plenty in bars and bordelli. Men like them coming into money usually only means one thing. They did someone else’s dirty work and got well paid for it. Why are you asking? This got something to do with that dead buggerone?’

  Strocchi was sick of hearing the victim dismissed that way, but still nodded.

  Zoppo gave a low whistle. ‘Whatever you’re hoping to prove, those two aren’t going to help. From what I’ve been told, the brothers are loyal. To the death.’

  Strocchi kept his face impassive, but his heart sank. The closer he got to the men who murdered Corsini, the further away justice seemed to be.

  Aldo beckoned him aside. ‘Got what you needed?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s someone else I need to see.’

  ‘Tell me you’re not going to Palazzo Ruggerio.’

  ‘Not now, but I will in the morning, if you’ll go with me. Men like Ruggerio can ignore a constable, but I’m hoping he will pay attention to an officer of the Otto.’

  Aldo scowled. ‘I wouldn’t depend on that, but I will go with you tomorrow.’

  After bidding farewell to Strocchi, Aldo returned to the fetid gloom of the tavern. He’d noticed a new smell earlier, an acrid scent amid the spoiled wine and despair. Zoppo was still lurking behind the bar, but he seemed more furtive than usual. Aldo dug in his pouch and threw two coins on the bar. ‘That’s for helping Strocchi.’ Zoppo nodded, sweeping the coins into his hand. ‘So, what have you heard about the man with the hooked nose?’

  The cripple scowled. ‘I didn’t have much time. And Palazzo Medici isn’t exactly where my eyes and ears spend their days. But I do have something for you.’ Zoppo reached under the bar and pulled out a bundle wrapped in rough cloth. The acrid smell grew worse. Much worse.

  ‘What is it?’

  Zoppo tilted his head to one side. ‘I need a promise first. Your word that you’ll never threaten to tell anyone else about our arrangement.’

  Aldo couldn’t keep his gaze from what was clutched in those grasping hands. If it was what he thought . . . ‘Yes, of course.’ He reached for the wrappings but Zoppo pulled back.

  ‘Your word, Aldo. Say it. Or else we never do business again.’

  He meant it, every word. Aldo looked Zoppo in the eyes. ‘I, Cesare Aldo, do vow and promise never to tell – or threaten to tell – anyone about what you do for me.’

  ‘And don’t you forget that,’ the cripple said. Still scowling, he pushed the object across the bar to Aldo. ‘Here, take the damned thing. It’s been stinking my place out.’

  Aldo pulled the object closer before carefully unwrapping the clothes folded round it to reveal what was inside: a leather-bound book. The outside was burnt and charred, as if it had been thrown atop a roaring fire, but a few Hebrew symbols were still legible on one side. It was Levi’s stolen ledger. Aldo stared at the book. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Better you don’t ask,’ Zoppo said. ‘Pulled from a fire is all you need to know.’

  Aldo opened the book. More than half the pages had been torn out, judging by the threads left hanging from the binding. The pages that remained were all blackened round the edges, but close Hebrew text was still legible on most of them. It was fortunate whoever had wanted to destroy the ledger had thrown it on the fire closed, otherwise nothing would have remained inside it. Aldo closed the covers, swaddling the ledger in cloth again. ‘Well done.’

  Zoppo accepted the appreciation with a nod. ‘The hook-nosed man you were asking about? Used to be a page, carrying a shield in parades and tournaments, according to some people, before discovering his true talent. He’s had a few different names too, depending on who you ask. The name my people have heard used the most is Scoronconcolo. People say he’s good with a blade, and not afraid to use it. Bloodthirsty was the word.’

  Aldo leaned closer. ‘And?’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, this Scoronconcolo has been in Palazzo Medici a lot lately. Got ideas above his rank, apparently, which was why people were happy to talk. Some admit to being afraid of him. Got a sharp tongue as well as a sharp blade. He’s a dangerous one to cross, especially since his master has the ear of the Duke.’

  There were two men at Palazzo Medici who had that distinction. Aldo dug three more coins from his pouch and slid them across the bar to Zoppo. ‘Who’s his master?’

  The cripple swiped the coins into his hand. ‘Your hook-nosed man works for the Duke’s own cousin. Scoronconcolo is the faithful servant of Lorenzino de’ Medici.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  For the third time in four days, Strocchi found himself at the last place Corsini had called home. Knocking on the front door got no response, so he hammered it with a fist, setting off a chorus of barking dogs nearby. Signorina Mula opened the door, scowling at him. ‘Haven’t you anything better to do?’

  ‘The intruders who ransacked your attic on Sunday night – can you describe them?’

  ‘I told you already. They wore cloaks with hoods hiding their faces.’ Mula reached for the door to shut him out but Strocchi blocked it with his right boot.

  ‘I’ve another witness who described what the two men looked like.’ A lie told in the hope of catching a truth. Strocchi lamented the need to use falsehoods so often, but if this succeeded it would be worth the penance his sin required.

  ‘If you’ve another witness, you don’t need me.’

  ‘Please,’ Strocchi insisted. ‘Hear me out.’

  Mula folded her arms, scowling. ‘Say what you must, then go.’

  ‘The two men, could they have been brothers?’

  ‘Brothers?’

  ‘Twins. Two big men, heavy – with blond hair.’

  Mula’s eyes widened at the mention of hair colour. She did what she could
to hide the reaction, but not fast enough.

  ‘You did see them,’ Strocchi said. ‘I knew it.’

  The widow shook her head. ‘It was too dark.’ She kicked Strocchi hard in the calf, making him withdraw his leg. ‘Don’t come back here. I’ve nothing more to say.’ The door slammed shut, setting the dogs off again while Strocchi nursed his leg.

  Blond hair was not common in the city, certainly not for men – any glimpse of it would have stuck in her mind. So why deny the truth? Because she was scared. Strocchi had one faint hope left: that he and Aldo could get a confession from Ruggerio. They would probably need the Holy Madonna herself on their side for that.

  Keen to avoid Ponte Vecchio, Aldo used Ponte alla Carraia to cross the river while musing over what Zoppo had revealed. Scoronconcolo being Lorenzino’s servant seemed to confirm what Cibo had implied – that Levi died after getting involved with a plot to overthrow the Duke. Lorenzino was a Medici, after all; it was in his interests to protect Alessandro. What better way to do that than Lorenzino sending his faithful servant to confront Levi.

  It was the Duke’s cousin who had insisted the murder investigation be completed by Epiphany. Lorenzino must have evidence that the plot to overthrow the Duke was planned for the feast day. It certainly made sense for the conspirators to strike while Captain Vitelli and most of the ducal guard were outside the city. But what other secrets were Alessandro and Lorenzino withholding about Levi’s murder? Were they using the Otto’s investigation as a way to uncover the conspirators, or was some other motive behind all of this?

  After reaching Oltrarno Aldo turned east, moving parallel to the river, the remains of the ledger tucked under one arm, still wrapped in rough cloth. That the ledger was burnt suggested two outcomes. The contents had proven to be of no use, or those who took it were unable to find someone trustworthy to read the Hebrew entries. They certainly couldn’t take the ledger to ask one of Levi’s neighbours for a translation, not without it being recognized.