Medici ~ Ascendancy

by Matteo Strukul

  They were just as he had requested: a tall peasant girl with raven black hair, full lips and generous curves and a blonde northern beauty who was just as voluptuous.

  Francesco wasted no time – all that thinking had made him impatient. He pounced on the dark-haired girl immediately, grabbing her big brown breasts from behind and pinching her nipples with his stubby fingers until she gave a squeal of pleasure, and then sucking at them like a hungry baby. The girl gave a silvery laugh, her complicity increasing his pleasure enormously.

  While the great leader hung from the peasant girl’s breasts, the other girl pulled down his breeches and grabbed his penis, tickling his scrotum with her nails and making him moan with desire before wrapping her full, moist lips around his member.

  Sforza felt as though he had gone to heaven. Women and weapons, those were his passions. And they were passions he should encourage, because the years were passing and he really ought to think about constructing a respectable old age for himself.

  *

  Cosimo’s horse was circling nervously. He was with Lorenzo on the road to Pescia, accompanied by a dozen Florentine horsemen, their armour dark and shiny, their sallets tight upon their heads. Francesco Sforza’s camp wasn’t far.

  Cosimo and his men bore a white flag so Sforza would know that their purpose was to come to an agreement, and two black horses carried sacks half full of seeds, beneath which were concealed gold florins. The reason for their journey was clear: to meet Sforza and bribe him to leave Lucca under the blade of Florence. Thus had the Ten – under pressure from Cosimo – decided, and now that Niccolò da Uzzano had been informed accordingly, the new lord of the Medici family would do all that was necessary to rid Tuscany of the oppressive influence of the Milanese.

  Of course, he had no intention of antagonizing Filippo Maria Visconti, since it was he who had sent Francesco Sforza in the first place. Cosimo wanted to proceed in the way most profitable for both parties so as not to jeopardize an equilibrium which might turn out to be useful in the future. Peace was necessary for business, but since his father had passed away it seemed that all and sundry were hell-bent on compromising it. Unable to develop their own lines of credit the way the Medici had done with their bank, Albizzi and Strozzi were seeking profits through political influence dictated by fear and war. This was on Cosimo’s mind while he motioned to his men to follow him.

  The sun was setting behind the black hills, a copper disc that flooded the sky with shades of red.

  They had to hurry.

  Cosimo spurred his horse forward at a gallop, followed by Lorenzo and the twelve men who rode with them. They raced down the track through a forest of pines until the vegetation began to thin and they came in sight of the plain hosting Francesco Sforza’s camp. It was dotted with tents and weary soldiers crawling around a campfire over which a spitted kid was roasting. The torches and braziers glowed red.

  As they approached, a pair of guards ordered them to stop, but Cosimo immediately indicated the white bands he and his companions wore on their arms.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked the sentry, his voice hoarse with wine and fatigue. His eyes were rheumy from drinking and the filthy locks which emerged from beneath his helmet were plastered to his temples by sweat.

  ‘We come in peace from Florence. Francesco Sforza is expecting us. If you could lead us to the captain’s lodgings we would be much obliged.’

  The soldier conferred with his partner for what to Cosimo and his companions seemed an age. A third man arrived; then he broke away from the other two and headed off towards the tents. Eventually, he came back and spoke briefly to the first guard. When the man was sure he had understood, he returned his gaze to Cosimo.

  Why must I always deal with idiots? Cosimo asked himself.

  ‘You’re Florentines, you said.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘You came to talk with Captain Sforza.’

  ‘Yes,’ confirmed Cosimo with a hint of annoyance. ‘And let’s get a move on, otherwise we’ll go back to where we came from just as quickly as we came here and your lord will be poorer by a substantial sum – at which point he will flay your hides. Is that what you want?’

  ‘It certainly isn’t. My comrade-in-arms will guide you to Sforza’s tent. Only you and your load though!’ he ordered, pointing first at Cosimo and then at the two horses with sacks.

  ‘How dare you?’ snapped Lorenzo, his hand moving to his dagger, but Cosimo gestured to him to stop.

  ‘So be it,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what this Francesco Sforza is made of.’

  And finally the sentry stepped aside.

  13

  Cosimo and Francesco

  Francesco Sforza was a very large man, and his frank, pugnacious face bore witness to a lifetime dedicated to the art of warfare. His frank eyes commanded respect and, Cosimo was certain, fear if necessary, because there was a harshness in them despite the smile on his face. The broad, strong shoulders were like those of a bull and his considerable height completed the fearsome image.

  His face, though, betrayed his fatigue and his modest sage-green garment, filthy and creased, was soaked with sweat. He looked worn out by the fighting.

  The tent was furnished sparsely: there was a simple bed, a brazier of glowing coals and a small table with two cups and a bottle of wine. Scratched, dirty and covered in dust from the battlefield, his armour was propped up in a corner.

  ‘My lord,’ said Sforza, ‘how marvellous that you come to visit me on this hellishly hot night.’

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Captain,’ replied Cosimo. ‘Because, you see, your conduct – which is impeccable from the point of view of your profession – has caused great embarrassment to my beloved Florence.’

  ‘It pains me to hear that, Messer Cosimo. But Paolo Guinigi of Lucca has paid me for my services, and it was Filippo Maria Visconti in person who ordered me to intervene and force Fortebraccio to take to his heels.’

  ‘I am aware of that. Tell me honestly, Captain: what has Guinigi paid you to defeat Niccolò and his men and resist the Florentine militia?’

  Sforza seemed to hesitate for a moment.

  ‘Twenty-five thousand ducats: five thousand in advance and twenty thousand upon completion of the job.’

  Cosimo nodded.

  ‘A reasonable fee, but not shockingly high,’ he said with a smirk. ‘I would have thought the tyrant of Lucca more generous.’

  ‘Frankly, messer, he seemed to me to be in a bad way.’

  Cosimo raised an eyebrow. ‘How so?’

  ‘He’s locked up in his citadel, surrounded by the ghosts of four wives, and to judge from the way D’Alviano and myself were greeted in the city as heroes, it is my opinion that Lucca is ready to rise again.’

  ‘What makes you believe that?’

  ‘The fact that a true lord would not be afraid of his people. Look at yourself, Messer Cosimo: you’ve come here, and we both know very well why, and I know for certain that through the art of compromise and politics, you will obtain what you want. Because you are Florence.’

  Cosimo was unmoved. It was hard to tell whether that statement had pleased him or not. He nodded.

  ‘I am surprised how well appraised you are of our situation.’

  ‘I’m a man-at-arms, my lord, and a mercenary: in my profession, being informed is part of the job,’ said Sforza, striking his chest above his heart with his hand. ‘Would you like a cup of wine?’

  ‘I thank you greatly, but I would prefer to get down to business.’

  The captain walked over to the table, poured himself a cup and threw it back in a few long gulps. He smacked his lips in appreciation and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I have come to offer you the sum of fifty thousand florins in exchange for a promise to deliver Lucca to Florence. The sum is not negotiable. What do you answer?’

  Cosimo’s dark eyes stared into those of Francesco Sforza and for a moment it seeme
d that neither of them would look away. Sforza sensed a will of iron in the man before him and a determination that could not easily be halted. Cosimo de’ Medici appeared to have inherited the noble temperament of his father after all.

  The sum Cosimo was offering him was far greater than what Paolo Guinigi had promised as an advance, so there was no reason to refuse. The men would be happy and he would be able to buy a new horse and that castle in which he hoped to grow old. Perhaps together with a beautiful woman. Or more than one...

  He knew that he would accept, but there was one thing that vexed him.

  And unless that was cleared up, their meeting would have been for naught.

  14

  The Agreement

  ‘I would gladly accept,’ said the captain, ‘but there is just one problem.’

  Cosmo waited to hear what it was.

  ‘My honour.’

  ‘Be more explicit.’

  ‘You see, Messer Cosimo, though it may seem strange, we soldiers of fortune have our obligations – obligations towards our clients, which cannot be simply disregarded.’

  ‘Obligations that prevent you from accepting the sum I offer you?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘As I thought,’ retorted Cosimo with a hint of sarcasm.

  ‘I can imagine what you’re going to say—’

  ‘Can you?’ interrupted the Florentine lord. ‘Because you may be mistaken. I realize that having accepted a commission prevents you from doing what I ask without due consideration. I realize that a soldier of fortune has principles which, although they may differ from my own, dictate his conduct, and that he is therefore required to act accordingly. On the other hand, I see just as clearly that you would be happy to make these fifty thousand florins your own. So here is what I think: instead of handing over Lucca to me, why don’t you simply abandon Paolo Guinigi and his city to Florentine swords? Would that not be a solution that works in both our interests and allows each of us to derive a legitimate profit from this nocturnal conversation of ours?’

  So saying, Cosimo went out to the horses, which were tied to a wooden pole outside the tent, and returned with one of the bags tied to their saddles.

  While Francesco Sforza was still trying to understand what he was about, Cosimo poured the contents of the bag on the table. Seeds flooded out, followed by a cascade of tinkling florins.

  At the sight of the gold, Sforza grinned and his eyes flashed greedily.

  ‘And now what have you to say? I have another forty-nine bags like this one on the backs of the two horses outside.’

  Sforza swallowed. It was clear how tempted he was by the offer. Cosimo had known that he had him as soon as he had seen the gleam in his eyes. He must only remember to conduct the negotiations carefully, because the captain was no fool. Indeed, an idea had occurred to him: why not maintain a friendship with this man? He might prove useful to him in the future.

  ‘So? Are you lost for words, Captain?’

  Francesco Sforza took a sharp breath.

  ‘Well, my lord, you speak wisely, and to be frank, the solution you propose is not only intelligent but also fits with what I’ve heard of you.’

  ‘So you agree, then?’

  ‘I agree...’

  ‘To my conditions?’

  Cosimo sensed that Sforza was about to give in, and had no intention of passing up the opportunity. He was offering him a lot of money and therefore demanded all necessary guarantees, and more besides.

  ‘What would they be?’

  ‘Essentially the following: tomorrow you will pack up camp and leave the Colle del Lupo without further delay. You will not bother to inform Guinigi, of course, and you will go wherever you feel is appropriate, provided it is far from here. As for Florence, you will not interfere in any way with what we see fit to do. In full and final settlement of all claims, I deliver to you, on behalf of the Republic, the fifty thousand florins which are tied to the back of the two black horses out there. Does that seem to you to be sufficient and do you feel able to honour these conditions?’

  Francesco Sforza pondered the question a moment, but it was clear he had already decided.

  ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘not only do I welcome your request but I am also convinced we are creating the foundation for a long and profitable alliance.’

  ‘I am convinced of it, too,’ said Cosimo. ‘Are you sure that what I have said will apply to you and all your men?’

  ‘I guarantee it, as sure as my name is Francesco Sforza.’

  ‘Very well, then.’

  ‘I believe that this agreement is worth a handshake,’ said the captain, proffering his right hand to Cosimo de’ Medici.

  Cosimo grasped it, feeling in his heart that he had not only avoided Florence being usurped by Milan that day, but had also created a precious alliance.

  Sforza was not the Duke of Milan – the Visconti were powerful and had deep roots in their territory, and Filippo Maria was no fool. But on the other hand, this man-at-arms had not only courage and valour but political insight and business acumen, which properly utilized, could take him far. Far enough, Cosimo hoped, to become an important ally in his future plans.

  September 1430

  15

  The Plague

  They said that you woke up shivering and felt as though death had just passed beside you. Schwartz had awoken that morning with a start and had felt the icy sweat covering his pale skin like a shroud. It must be early, because no light filtered through the cracks in the shutters. As soon as he opened his eyes he smelt the sour sweat of the other men sleeping nearby. The air in the barn was hot and oppressive because of all the beer the soldiers had drunk, so his cold sweat and shivers made even less sense.

  It had been a while since he’d slept with his fellow fighting men, but Rinaldo degli Albizzi had ordered him to put his sword at the service of Guidantonio da Montefeltro at the siege of Lucca, which was being defended by Niccolò Piccinino’s troops. Schwartz had obeyed, and that was why he had ended up in that barn with several other men-at-arms after carousing until late the previous night.

  The Swiss mercenary was not particularly enthusiastic about the assignment – indeed, he thoroughly missed the well-paid intrigues that had previously been his lot – but since Albizzi had spared no expense and the job was a short one, he had joined the ranks of the Florentines in order to keep his master informed about the progress of the siege after Francesco Sforza had left the Val di Nievole along with the fifty thousand florins he had received from Cosimo de’ Medici.

  He suspected that the stupid job had not come his way by accident, but rather because Albizzi had discovered his liaison with Laura Ricci and had sent him there to punish him. Laura Ricci belonged to Rinaldo degli Albizzi and no one else, or so the arrogant fool believed. The fact that Schwartz worked for him didn’t mean that he was afraid of the man, though, or that he was obliged to comply with his rules.

  He could have chosen to leave, but the iniquitous jobs Albizzi gave him were not only welcome – they were necessary. Finding a new master was no easy business these days. There were many men about who knew how to wield a sword, and however good his reputation, his services were far from unique.

  He had thus decided that it was worth suffering a little indignity to complete the mission. In two weeks he would return to the Palazzo Albizzi with news from the battlefield and await new orders.

  In any case, he had no intention of giving up Laura Ricci and her devastating beauty. She had bound him to her very closely, and he must be careful not to let her pull the leash too tight – otherwise he might end up strangling himself.

  He decided to get out of that pigsty crammed with filthy bodies, and procure some fresh water from the well to drink.

  The barn door creaked on its hinges as he closed it behind him.

  The September air was even warmer and more humid than that inside the barn, and the sky was filling with the golds and reds that announced the arrival of dawn. Shivering, he pulled
close his black cloak and walked over to the well, where he picked up the wooden bucket and dropped it in.

  It seemed to take him forever to pull it back up, the thick rope crawling over the pulley as he hauled it aloft. Once it was in his hands, he looked up at the sky, now pale with dawn, which was reflected uncertainly in the circle of water, then immersed his face in it.

  The water was warm, as if it were full of disease and fever, and the sensation was so disgusting that he thought he might faint. It took him completely by surprise – it was as if he had plunged his head into all the filth of the night before.

  He wiped himself off as best he could with the cloth he carried with him; then he raised the ladle to his mouth and, despite everything, drank.

  Others began to awaken, and the sound was a relief. It was incredible how the miseries of war made one appreciate even the smallest things.

  He was considering how he might find some breakfast when he saw a man approaching. He looked like a soldier, but his clothes were ragged and he was worryingly pallid.

  As the fellow drew closer, Schwartz saw tears of unspeakable torment in his watery blue eyes. He was extremely thin, and his gaunt face, devoured by hunger and jaundice, made his head look like a skull. The effect was intensified by the hooded cloak covering his head, from under which his eyes peered out.

  Schwartz was about to ask him where he came from, but what he saw choked off the words in his throat. The man turned towards him, revealing something Schwartz had hoped never to see again: from the pale skin of his neck hung a sort of monstrous purplish swelling the size of an egg – swollen and throbbing, it looked as though death itself lurked within it.

  Schwartz stepped back unsteadily, but the man came right up to him and fell to his knees. Without saying a word, the unfortunate pulled open his cloak, revealing his chest and allowing Schwartz to see other buboes which bloomed like monstrous fruits on his flesh.

  For a moment, the Swiss mercenary was at a loss as to what to do.