City of Vengeance

by D. V. Bishop

  Praise be, his attacker didn’t.

  An angry male voice called out below, but was cut off by a heavy, ringing sound. Strocchi dragged himself to a sitting position, everything still swirling round him. He stumbled down the stairs, a hand against either wall for support, legs almost giving way.

  At the bottom, Strocchi kicked the crumpled brother, just to be sure. The bastardo didn’t move. The constable lurched through the doorway where Mula had fled. She was standing over the second intruder, a thick iron pan in both hands. Her dress was ripped, and one eye swollen shut, skin round it already bruising. She spat blood at her attacker before peering at Strocchi.

  ‘Now I’ll swear a denunzia.’

  Rebecca hesitated at the door to Malachi Dante’s home. She hadn’t been inside since Father broke from his former business partner, it was forbidden. But Malachi had sat shiva almost every day, keeping her company while she mourned. The visits had been a reminder of how much she missed having him in her life. With Father gone, she’d hoped to rebuild her bond with Malachi. Then Joshua brought news of another stabbing, just like Father. If Rebecca wanted to say goodbye, it had to be now.

  Still she hesitated, lingering outside. It was shameful to admit, but she didn’t want to be there when Malachi died, not after witnessing Mother’s death. To watch one person you loved slip away was sorrow enough, surely? Then she heard Malachi’s voice. It was weak, but still him – still the man who had loved her without judgement, more than Father had ever seemed to, if truth be told. She could not abandon Malachi, not now. Clutching her courage close for protection, Rebecca went across the threshold.

  Malachi was on the table, a pillow under his head, that favourite russet cloak draped over his body, hiding what had happened. His face was pale and tired, the grey shadows beneath his eyes making him look years older. His lips whispered a prayer until he saw her. Malachi smiled, and it broke her heart. ‘Ahuva.’ He hadn’t called her beloved in months.

  Orvieto appeared at her side, facing away from the table. ‘Malachi doesn’t have long,’ he murmured to her. ‘Call me if he worsens.’ Rebecca nodded, and the doctor slipped away. She went to Malachi’s side, ignoring the bloodstained cloths on the floor and the smell of iron in the air. Rebecca took Malachi’s hands in her own, giving them a squeeze.

  ‘I knew you’d come,’ he whispered. ‘You’re a good daughter, a loving daughter to your parents. You deserved better from those who were meant to love you.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Father.’

  Malachi shook his head. ‘You deserved better from me, dear Rebecca. I should have spoken out for you, made your father be kinder to you, more loving.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter now. Tell me, what happened? Why would anyone hurt you?’

  ‘They kept demanding your father’s ledger.’

  ‘But it was stolen.’

  ‘Aldo found it or recovered it. He brought the ledger here last night for me to translate, before taking it away again – but that doesn’t matter now.’ Malachi stared at her. ‘I have something I must tell you. I betrayed your father. I betrayed both of you.’

  Rebecca let go of his hands. Whatever this was, she didn’t want to hear it. Malachi had been the one person she could believe in since Mother died. ‘Please, don’t . . .’

  Now his hands were clasping at her, urgent, desperate. ‘I cannot die without you knowing the truth. Your father – I hated him.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘So did I, sometimes.’

  ‘But there is more you don’t know. I paid a man to kill Samuele, on the road from Bologna.’ Rebecca wanted to breathe out but couldn’t. She wanted to pull her hands free but Malachi wouldn’t let go. ‘I tried to stop it, I did try, but I was too late.’ Malachi was weeping now. ‘When Samuele came back alive, I was so relieved. My sin had not come to pass.’

  ‘Stop telling me this,’ Rebecca said, unable to escape his words.

  ‘You deserve . . . You deserve to know the truth,’ he gasped, his breaths a rasp of air. ‘You deserve better than . . . Than any of us . . .’ Malachi’s face twisted, his back arching atop the table. Rebecca fought to wrench her hands free but his grip was too tight.

  ‘Doctor!’ she cried out. ‘Doctor, come quick!’

  Orvieto raced back into the room as Malachi collapsed back onto the table, his hands letting go of Rebecca, arms flopping down from his body. She stumbled back, unable to look away from Malachi’s last moments. Then Joshua was at her side, his strong arms around her, guiding her away. They got as far as the doorway before Rebecca’s legs collapsed. She slid down a wall to the floor, Joshua making sure she didn’t fall. Rebecca could still see Orvieto leaning over Malachi, doing whatever he could. Soon the doctor straightened up, his face mournful. Orvieto saw her watching, and shook his head.

  Malachi Dante was dead.

  Aldo stalked into Palazzo Pazzi, ignoring the pain in his knee. Enough of waiting to be announced, people were dying. He barged into Cibo’s officio. The cardinal was behind his desk, peering at papers. ‘Aldo? What are you . . .?’

  ‘Alessandro is in danger. Lorenzino plans to overthrow him. Tomorrow.’

  Two servants scurried in, apologizing for not stopping the intruder. Cibo dismissed them with a wave. Once they’d gone, he rose from his chair, coming round the desk to Aldo. ‘Lorenzino? Are you sure? He’s always seemed so weak, so eager to please.’

  Aldo revealed everything: the ledger entries, the attempted bribe to step aside, the stabbing of Dante. ‘Lorenzino knows his part in all of this is becoming apparent. There’s no telling what he will do next to keep that from the Duke.’

  Cibo shook his head. ‘It’s still hard to imagine Lorenzino as a murderer.’

  ‘He gets others to bloody their hands while his stay clean.’

  ‘Like a true Medici.’ The cardinal frowned. ‘Do you have any direct proof of his involvement, or that the plotters will strike tomorrow?’

  ‘Lorenzino’s initials in the ledger, one murdered moneylender and another dying because I asked for his help to read that damned ledger – what more do you need?’

  ‘Have you got this ledger, can you show me the entry?’

  Aldo shook his head. ‘Bindi has it.’

  ‘Then there’s little I can do,’ Cibo said, moving away to a window.

  ‘You have to warn Alessandro. Tell the Duke that he’s in danger.’

  ‘From what? A ledger you don’t have, a possible bribe and some gossip.’

  ‘Some gossip?’ Aldo struggled to keep hold of his temper. ‘You were the one who told me about the conspiracy. You said plotters were using Levi to fund their insurrection.’

  ‘I said they may have found a way to fund it,’ Cibo replied. ‘Nothing more than that.’

  Realization hit Aldo like a slap across the face. The cardinal had been using him to test whether there was any truth to the rumour. The fact this had put Aldo in danger and looked certain to cost Dante his life made little difference to Cibo. ‘What about the stabbings?’

  ‘Neither committed by Lorenzino, it seems.’ Cibo stared out at the city. ‘I’m sorry, Aldo. Find me proof that can’t be so easily dismissed, and I promise to intervene, if I can.’

  ‘If it suits the purposes of the Holy Roman Emperor, you mean.’ No reply. ‘The Duke needs to know what Lorenzino is planning—’

  ‘I’m expecting Guicciardini and Vettori any moment,’ the cardinal said, not bothering to look round. Aldo knew them by sight, and by reputation. Both were leading figures among the Medici-supporting Palleschi faction of the city’s Senate. The Palleschi would have a significant role in choosing the next leader of Florence, should anything befall Alessandro. Cibo made a dismissive gesture with his right hand. ‘Since you know the way in, I trust you can see yourself back out.’

  Aldo glared at him before limping away. Cibo was a political creature, his words made sense most days. But this was no courtly intrigue. The plotters were dealing in blood.
<
br />   Bindi watched Signorina Mula swear her denunzia. There was no hesitation in the words, no evasion in her demeanour. Bruises were blossoming across her face and one eye was swollen shut, but she held herself with dignity and resolve. Benedetto returned from Oltrarno as she finished, confirming the damage to her home. Good. The signorina would make a strong witness if the matter came before the Otto. But the men who attacked her had escaped, leaving behind the ropes Strocchi had used to bind them, the ends torn and frayed.

  The segretario noticed Mula staring at him.

  ‘Are you in charge?’ she asked.

  ‘I am but a humble functionary of the court,’ he replied, inclining his head a little. ‘I advise the magistrates on matters of law and direct those who enforce it.’

  ‘Your name isn’t Cerchi, is it?’

  Bindi afforded himself a slight chuckle. ‘No, signorina. He is one of our officers.’

  ‘The men who attacked me, they broke into my home once before – last Sunday, after dark.’ She scowled. ‘I came and swore a denunzia the next morning. The constable said he’d pass it along to Cerchi, but nothing happened. How do I know you’ll do anything about this?’

  Bindi forced a smile. ‘You have my word, signorina. That is my bond.’

  Mula pushed back her chair. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘One of my men can guard your home until the intruders are caught.’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ she said on her way out.

  Once the headstrong woman was gone, Bindi summoned Strocchi. The constable stumbled in, unsteady on his feet. ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘No, segretario. One of the intruders smashed my head into the floor.’

  ‘Benedetto says both men are gone.’

  Strocchi gaped. ‘But I tied them both securely before bringing Signorina Mula here.’

  Bindi grimaced. ‘Can you describe them?’

  ‘I believe they are the same men who beat Corsini to death – twin brothers, called Basso. They work for Girolamo Ruggerio.’

  ‘The silk merchant? Has he something to do with this?’

  ‘It’s possible he ordered the attack. It seems he . . . knew Corsini.’

  ‘Ahh.’ Bindi shifted in his chair. ‘And you have evidence to support this . . . possibility?’ The constable looked at the floor. ‘Very well, take three men to Palazzo Ruggerio and ask if these brothers are inside. If they are, request that both men be surrendered to you because they stand accused of attacking a woman in her home today. You will make no mention of Corsini or any involvement you think Ruggerio may have in these matters.’

  ‘But, segretario—’

  ‘You will make no demands, and issue no threats. Ruggerio is a powerful man among the silk merchants. Two of the Otto’s current magistrates are members of his guild. You will make no accusations against him, or about his conduct – is that clear?’

  The constable scowled before replying. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Bindi waited till Strocchi was almost at the door before speaking again. ‘Have you seen Cerchi today?’ The constable shook his head. ‘Then tell the guards at the gate he’s to report to me as soon as he arrives. I have questions for him.’

  Robustelli had run her bordello long enough to know when something was wrong. She did not see Clodia’s visitor arrive, but the sounds from her room were worrying. A low, urgent voice was demanding something from Clodia, and her only reply was quiet sobbing.

  A sharp knock brought a hesitant response from inside. ‘Y-Yes?’

  ‘Come out and explain yourself,’ Robustelli called.

  A long silence. The matrona was preparing to force her way in when the door opened. Clodia peered out, teardrops running down her painted breasts. ‘I’m with someone.’

  ‘I’m sure your guest will understand.’

  ‘Yes, matrona. I’ll just . . .’

  ‘Now.’ Robustelli pulled Clodia into the hall and marched her away from the room, speaking in a quieter, soothing voice. ‘Are you all right, my dear? I heard you crying.’

  ‘He keeps asking me things I don’t know,’ Clodia said. Robustelli pressed her for more details. ‘He wants to know about the officer who stays here.’

  ‘Aldo?’

  Clodia nodded. ‘He asked if I had been with Aldo, or seen others in his room.’

  Why would anyone ask that, unless . . . ‘What did you tell him? What did you say?’

  She burst into tears again. ‘That I didn’t know anything.’

  The matrona gave her a hug. ‘Good girl.’

  Clodia managed a weak smile. ‘I told him what you told me my first night. That Aldo was an officer of the Otto, and he wouldn’t arrest me. That he keeps most trouble away.’

  ‘Yes, he does.’ Usually.

  Clodia’s face crumpled with worry. ‘Do I have to go back?’

  ‘No, I’ll get rid of your visitor. Wait in my officio. Go quietly, yes?’

  The young woman nodded. ‘Oh, and I told him the other thing you said. That Aldo is a rarity – a man with no interest in women.’

  Robustelli kept her smile as Clodia left, but the matrona’s mind was racing. To most ears what Clodia had said meant nothing. But if this stranger was looking for ways to hurt Aldo . . . She strode to Clodia’s room, but the inquisitive guest was gone. Robustelli hurried back to her officio. Clodia was retouching the paint on her breasts. ‘Does this look better?’

  ‘Tell me dear, what did this man look like? I want to warn the others.’

  ‘He didn’t take his clothes off,’ Clodia said.

  ‘I understand. But what did his face look like?’

  ‘Oh! Well, it was thin. He had a patchy sort of beard, and a drooping moustache. Narrow, beady eyes, too.’ Clodia shivered. ‘He looked like a rat.’

  That described plenty of men, but it captured one in particular: Cerchi. He’d been a grasping merda while working for the Office of Decency. Robustelli knew Cerchi had since become an officer of the Otto. So why was he investigating Aldo?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The segretario was no doubt expecting a report on Dante’s stabbing, but Aldo passed the Podestà gates without a pause. Better to know if the stabbing had become a murder before facing Bindi. That meant returning to via dei Giudei. He went to Orvieto’s house first. For once, the door was shut. But the doctor still answered, rubbing his eyes. ‘Cesare?’

  ‘I need to ask about Dante.’

  ‘He’s dead. I made him as comfortable as I could, but . . . Please, come in.’ Orvieto stepped aside, allowing Aldo to enter before closing the door. ‘I don’t often shut out the world. My patients expect to call on me at any time, but today . . .’ They went through to the back room. Orvieto took a seat at the table. ‘What do you need to know?’

  ‘Was his stabbing like that of Levi?’

  Orvieto shook his head. ‘Similar, but not the same. The blade was driven up into Dante’s chest, so whoever held the knife was probably shorter than him, or stooped over. I’d say the weapons were similar, but not the person holding them.’

  Aldo nodded; that confirmed his suspicions. The stooped youth Il Freccia had stabbed Dante, but it was Scoronconcolo who murdered Levi. Would either attacker have kept their blade? Unlikely, but some men had affections for their weapons that went beyond reason. Aldo realized Orvieto was studying him. ‘What?’

  ‘Do you know who did this to Dante?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’ve caught him?’

  ‘No, but I know who’s paying him.’

  The doctor frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Good, it’s safer that way. I don’t want your blood on my hands too.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me names, Cesare. But something is troubling you.’

  ‘Besides my bad knee?’

  ‘I’ll see to that if you stop avoiding my questions.’ Orvieto went to his shelf of remedies, taking down the bottle of salve. ‘Trust me.’

  It was tempting to share what he knew with this man. The
y’d only met a few times, but a bond was forming between them – something Aldo hadn’t known with another man in years. It was more than just wanting Orvieto, though that was part of it. ‘I do trust you.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘Roll down your hose.’ Soon he was crouched by Aldo’s bare legs, rubbing lotion into the aching joint. ‘So, what can’t you talk about?’

  ‘A conspiracy. I believe those behind it intend to strike tomorrow. I know who some of the plotters are, but don’t have enough proof. I’ve asked those with power to intervene, but nobody will listen.’ Orvieto’s hands were strong and supple, his fingers soothing away the dull pain. As it receded, more urgent feelings took hold.

  Orvieto continued caressing the knee. ‘You’re used to finding those who have broken the law. But in this you’re trying to stop a law being broken. That’s much harder. There’s no real proof yet because the crime hasn’t happened.’

  ‘Tell that to Levi or Dante.’

  The doctor rose to wash his hands. ‘You didn’t push the blade into either of them.’

  Not directly, but taking that damned ledger to Dante had led to him being stabbed. Aldo kept that to himself as he pulled up the hose, adjusting his tunic to hide the effects of Orvieto’s touch. ‘How do I stop something that hasn’t happened yet?’

  Orvieto wiped his hands on a cloth. ‘You’re like a doctor who knows his patient is hurting themselves by their choices. Take your knee, for example: that will keep becoming aggravated unless you rest it properly. Eventually you’ll have a permanent limp – or worse. Doesn’t matter how often I tell you to rest; what happens next depends on you. It’s the same with this conspiracy. You can warn those in danger, but they must decide how to respond.’

  Aldo nodded. The doctor was right, but that didn’t solve the problem.

  Orvieto smiled. ‘Whatever you decide, Cesare, please – be careful. I would hate to be doing for you what I have for poor Dante.’

  Aldo knew he should go, but also knew he might never see those warm hazel eyes again. Too often he turned away from moments like this, leading to too many regrets. Not any more. Instead he pulled Orvieto into a kiss. Mouth to mouth, lips together, tasting him, savouring, feeling his warmth. The doctor didn’t respond, and Aldo feared it was a mistake. Then Orvieto was kissing him back, pulling him into a closer embrace, tugging at his . . .