A wooden platform had been mounted at the centre of the square. Awaiting them upon it was Bernardo Guadagni.
He was just one face among many, and not a few of them were shouting angrily, their voices full of hatred and envy. He himself had played his part in this madness, thought Cosimo. He looked carefully at them but couldn’t see in their eyes the cold determination necessary to stick a sword into an enemy’s stomach. For the moment, at least, he did not have to fear for his life. If that had been the case, they wouldn’t have bothered bringing him here. And they certainly wouldn’t have done it in the middle of the day.
Shouting back at the men screaming insults at him were his supporters. Equally angry, equally ready to fight – with words, at least. In that confrontation, which the guards and the Gonfaloniere, who stood on the platform with his arms stretched out like a mystic, were only barely able to restrain, Cosimo sensed all the fragility and madness of a republic on the brink of the abyss.
He walked forward, trying to ignore the chaos around him.
Someone spat at him, covering his robe with yellowish mucus. He saw women in tears and men vowing to kill him. He saw children, and whores, their make-up smeared. In the blazing sunlight, he stepped through a teeming, roaring sea of bodies; the square was a powder-keg about to explode.
Finally, he arrived at the foot of the platform, and from there was led by two guards to the side of Bernardo Guadagni.
The Gonfaloniere did not deign even to look at him, as though he feared he might be contagious. Cosimo suppressed his anger at the arrogance with which these men, seduced by power and corruption, were treating him, and forced himself to maintain his composure. Losing it at that moment would be fatal.
‘This man,’ said Bernardo, pointing to Cosimo, ‘with his machinations and his agitators, has incited the people against the nobility of the Republic. He did so knowingly, and with malice and shameful arrogance. He commissioned Messer Filippo Brunelleschi to construct a building for himself and his family that was to rise above every other home in Florence. When word of the accusations reached him, he removed Brunelleschi from the commission and asked Michelozzo to take his place. It is not the identity of the artist which interests us, however, but this stubborn insistence upon considering himself better than the rest of us.’
The Gonfaloniere’s words echoed like a condemnation before the peasants, commoners and nobles gathered in the square.
‘For this reason,’ he continued, ‘I, Bernardo Guadagni, Gonfaloniere of Justice of this Republic, have summoned the people to this assembly in order to reach a verdict on the sentencing or acquittal of Cosimo de’ Medici. Until we do, I order that the defendant be taken to the palace and imprisoned in the Alberghetto cell of the Tower of Arnolfo, where he will wait to discover which fate the institutions have determined for him. Thus have I decided, in the interest of the Republic of Florence.’
On hearing those words, the crowd roared, curses and insults mingling with applause and cries of jubilation. Some voices despaired for Cosimo’s future, but many mocked him, calling him a traitor and a Judas.
As the shouts filled the air, Bernardo looked at him with an almost amused expression. He, Albizzi, Soderini and Strozzi had been looking forward to that moment for a long time.
‘Take him to the Alberghetto and keep him there until we have decided what to do,’ was all he said.
The guards nodded and, taking Cosimo’s shackled arms, walked him through the crowd, which parted to let them pass.
24
Contessina
‘Have you no love at all for your poor brother?’
Contessina’s dark eyes blazed as she glared furiously at Lorenzo. Her voice was filled with rage and in that moment her face possessed a warrior-like beauty. Her long hair was a dishevelled mass of rebellious curls; her bosom heaved under her dress as though her heart were about to burst from her chest.
Lorenzo had never seen her like this before, but he had soon realized that the death of Piccarda and the imprisonment of Cosimo had transformed her.
‘Answer me!’ Contessina urged him.
‘We will take up arms,’ he said. ‘I will call upon my friends and all those who have supported us so far and will drag Florence down to hell, if necessary. I will drown it in blood—’
‘Of course,’ she interrupted. ‘You will assemble the men, you will call upon those who are faithful to you and you will wage war against the Albizzi. And then? What do you think will happen then? Is it possible that you don’t realize?’
‘It will be war, my dear sister-in-law.’
‘And what else do you imagine it could be? And do you imagine that will free your brother from the tower? Think, Lorenzo! That is exactly what Rinaldo and his men are expecting you to do.’
‘It doesn’t matter! If that is what they are expecting, all the worse for them! They will fight better, with honour. Perhaps they will face their opponent for once, instead of stabbing him in the back.’
Contessina shook her head. How could he not see that this wasn’t the way? There had to be another, and she would find it, whatever the cost. She would do it for Cosimo and her children. She would do it for the love she bore them.
‘Very well, then,’ she said, ‘let’s do this: you will attempt to use violence but you will leave me the possibility of using more subtle strategies.’
Lorenzo could not believe his ears. What the devil was his sister-in-law talking about?
‘What do you mean?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Do you think we can reason with these people? Did you not see Rinaldo degli Albizzi? At Niccolò da Uzzano’s funeral he swore that he would make Cosimo pay. And unless you have completely lost your mind, the best thing you can do is to take refuge in the country and wait for events to run their course—’
The violent slap came suddenly and he immediately felt his cheek burn. His face grew red with shame at having raised his voice against his brother’s wife. He should never have spoken to her like that. But it was too late now.
‘Do not dare tell me to take refuge in the country! Do you think that I could leave my husband to rot in the Alberghetto without doing everything in my power to defend him? I love him more than anything else in the world – you should have realized that at least in all the many years that you have known me! I will not hide in some villa while I wait for Cosimo to end up on the gallows, and neither will our children, of that you can be sure!’ Contessina softened her tone. ‘This is what we will do,’ she continued. ‘You will try to gather an army against Rinaldo degli Albizzi and his allies and I will try to bribe Bernardo Guadagni.’
Lorenzo was dumbstruck. Was this what it had come to?
*
Cosimo stared at the bars.
The Alberghetto measured eight feet by six, and there was single barred window and a bench for sleeping. In a corner, a bucket for his bodily needs. The thick walls of the Tower of Arnolfo made the cell impenetrable. The heavy iron door with its gigantic bolt ensured escape was impossible.
Cosimo dropped on to the bench, which immediately began to torment his back. From the window he could hear the roar of the crowd in the square below. He reflected on his fate. Time was passing and he needed to find a solution as soon as possible. On the other hand, the very fact that time was passing might mean they would not impose the death penalty, as everything had previously seemed to indicate they intended to. But apart from Rinaldo degli Albizzi’s atavistic hatred for him, nothing was certain, so he had to do whatever he could to influence Bernardo Guadagni, who at that moment held his destiny in his hands.
He had no idea what his family were doing, and could not rule out Lorenzo actually taking up arms. His wife, though, might attempt something subtler.
Contessina was pure and innocent, but that did not mean that she was without resources. It was with her that he needed to talk, and he hoped to see her soon.
He had to find a way out of here. He knew that there were only two possible sentences for the accusation of treas
on and tyranny: death or exile. Of course, there was always absolution, but as things stood, Cosimo doubted that there was much chance of that.
He thought back over the last year, especially to the death of his mother, which had, naturally enough, wounded his very soul. Then there had been the plague, and that absurd ambush, which he had only escaped thanks to his brother, and Albizzi’s threats at the church of Santa Lucia de’ Magnoli. And finally, Albizzi’s diabolical pair of assassins – the soldier of fortune and that woman who was as seductive as she was lethal.
His life had been full of threat and danger, and it occurred to him that he had underestimated Rinaldo degli Albizzi. He hadn’t wanted to believe the man could be so obsessed with wanting to kill him. He had always thought, wrongly, that it would be enough to stand up to him, but Albizzi was stubborn. He wanted his head. Badly enough to bribe the Gonfaloniere of Justice.
It was then that he realized what he must do. He had money, men and means, and he had to bribe Bernardo. A man as venal as he, who had allowed himself to be bribed once, would allow himself to be bribed again. Whatever sum Albizzi had offered him, he would offer more. It was said that Rinaldo had paid him a thousand florins in taxes – well, he would offer two thousand ducats in exchange for a merciful verdict.
The die was cast, and now all that was left to do was instruct his wife or brother to arrange things.
There was still hope, perhaps.
25
Cruel Beauty
She was sick of Rinaldo and his vacillations. They had used her to instil suspicion and give the Medici a warning, and now, four years later, when they finally had the chance to get rid of them once and for all, they hesitated? Was Rinaldo really so weak?
The situation was driving Laura mad.
She had risked her life: that was certain. Again. If Lorenzo had got hold of her that day, there was no telling how things might have gone. Cosimo seemed harmless enough, or at least less dangerous than his brother, who was a determined sort who certainly harboured a grudge against her. Lorenzo must be eliminated.
At the beginning of it all, she had been a pawn in a game which was far more complex than she had realized.
She had accepted her role, mainly because of the lifestyle that her services to Rinaldo degli Albizzi guaranteed her, but now she found herself a target, and for that reason could not welcome Cosimo’s imprisonment. And that was without even considering that the other Medici brother was still at large, and God alone knew what he would do.
The two of them were brothers, of course, but the bond of blood seemed to count more for them than for any other men she had ever met.
It went beyond a simple question of affection: each of the two would happily allow himself to be killed to defend the other, and, once again, Rinaldo degli Albizzi was underestimating them. It was not just about power, interest, money and corruption – there was something far more atavistic at work. The Medici were snakes and needed to be crushed and killed. Uprooted like weeds.
Laura snorted, her red lips curling into a delightful sneer. She sat at her dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror.
She was beautiful. The great mass of black curls framed a face with tawny, almost cinnamon-coloured skin. Her sparkling, cat-like eyes were green and made even more languid by their elongated shape. Extraordinarily large, they were capable of lighting up with a cruelty which could make them seem as hard as diamonds. Her nose, though not small, created an imperfect harmony, giving her face a sensuality that her soft, irresistibly shaped lips only made more seductive. Bare and desirable, her shoulders emerged from the fabric of the magnificent dark-green tunic, and her full, round breasts seemed almost ready to burst out of her bodice.
She smiled. Few men could resist her charms. And now she would have to use them more than ever, or she would be in danger of losing everything she had worked so hard to achieve. It was not easy for a plebeian to get to where she was. Betrayal and lies were arts that must be refined with skill and caution, and God knew she had used them often enough over the years: they had ensured her survival against traps and intrigues in that accursed city where corruption and deception intertwined and flourished.
But poisons and lies were not enough to protect her, and for that reason she had made a tacit alliance with Schwartz. She knew she belonged to Rinaldo degli Albizzi, at least for as long as he guaranteed her what she needed. There was no other way she could have afforded to live in a patrician palazzo in the centre of the city, with servants and guards. On the other hand, though, a pactum sceleris made with a man like that was subject to his moods, which made her vulnerable.
Rinaldo considered her simply as a tool for his sexual satisfaction, always ready and available, and that gave her an advantage. On the other hand, despite craving her with a savage, wild desire, Schwartz loved her deeply. He was a violent man who wanted to physically control her, certainly, but once he was sure he had that dominance, she knew he would do anything for her. She had read it in the Major Arcana of the Tarot – and even if they hadn’t told her, her own instincts would have.
She put the gilt-edged deck of cards in a drawer of the dressing table.
She needed to be able to exert special pressure on Rinaldo to guarantee herself greater security. She wanted to make him desire the death of the Medici brothers so ardently that he would kill them, or would at least protect her when she did.
In due time, she might even use Schwartz to free herself of him. But not yet.
She detested Rinaldo but above all she loathed the Medici. Unlike Albizzi they were hypocrites: they did not show themselves for what they truly were but rather presented themselves as benefactors and patrons. But the large sums of money they donated to help the common people and the generous funding they provided for public works were for the sole purpose of increasing their prestige and power – and to hide the fact that they were even worse than the rest of them.
There was nothing honest about them. On the contrary, in some respects their behaviour was even more disgusting and revolting than her own. But the nobles who shunned her ways had certainly never known privations and hunger – real hunger. Nor would they have been able to imagine the fists of a cowardly, drunken father and his unspeakable attentions. Her father, who had sold her off at the age of ten to a travelling merchant like a piece of meat.
And that had only been the beginning of her nightmare.
The merchant had kept her chained up in a cart like an animal. She slept in the stables next to the beasts, amidst the stinking straw and dung. And she remembered the monstrous men who paid to mount her: rich, poor, false, cowardly and violent. Because, in his own way, each of them had been violent.
And the one that she had never forgotten, the one who had scarred her for life. The one whose eyes, in the dim light of the cart, had seemed to be a terrifying yellow, as though he were consumed by fever. She had shivered at the sight of them.
He was a big, muscular man with a boyish face and pale skin. He hadn’t taken her, but he had taught her the real meaning of fear and horror. He had arrived one evening from God alone knew where as though a pack of dogs was at his heels. He must have been a thief. He’d been practically foaming at the mouth when he’d climbed into the cart. Overcoming her terror, she had begged him to free her from her chains, but instead of helping her, he had beaten her so badly that she had thought she was going to die. When she tried to defend herself, he had slashed open her leg with a dagger and then beaten her again. And at that point, Laura had collapsed.
He had rooted around in the wagon for a while, and when he had put on the merchant’s old clothes, he had taken off a strange jacket: on it were six red balls on a golden background.
Then he had left her there, vanishing into the nothingness from which he had arrived.
The merchant had been furious when he returned from the village, where he had gone to buy some things, and Laura had spent two months recovering, fearing the whole time that she would be lame and disfigured.
> That terrible image had always remained in her mind: the six red balls on a golden background. They had become an obsession, a symbol of horror. Time had passed, and as well as becoming more and more beautiful, Laura had grown taller and stronger, and her will had grown stronger too. Her master had been less and less able to control her and she had frozen her heart, turning it into a fist of hard crystal.
She still remembered the first herbs, the powders and the fungi: shiny, their red or orange caps dotted with white scales, their stalks fleshy and swollen, unspeakably pale. They were so beautiful yet so dangerous, and she was forced to devour them to kill the children that grew inside her. Because men still took her – men like the Medici and like the Albizzis. Men who condemned her to a motherhood she did not want, because raising children in that hell would be even more awful than never giving birth to them.
She remembered the delirium and the nightmares that the mushrooms had caused her – her life had been so shaped by them that they had become the faithful companions of her existence.
But in time she had also realized what an extraordinary effect she had on men – an extraordinary effect that was also a weapon.
And one fine day, when she had grown big and strong enough, she had fed the deadly mushrooms to the merchant, crumbling so many of them into his soup that they had devoured his belly. That night, when she had seen him foaming at the mouth and watched as his eyes swivelled blindly in their orbits, it had been easy to cut his throat so deeply that she had severed his head.
Finally, she was free. And she knew what she would live for.
After a long journey, she had arrived in Florence and put her knowledge of plants and flowers to good use, employing them to make essential oils. And then, one day, she had discovered that the six red balls on the golden background were the Medici family crest.
The crest of the man with the yellow eyes.
When she had first made her discovery, she had thought for a moment that she would die. But after the horror, the anger returned, and she had promised herself that she would do everything in her power to exterminate that family of filthy bastards.
Medici ~ Ascendancy Page 10