Medici ~ Ascendancy

by Matteo Strukul

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘I certainly am! This business of warring factions is tearing apart a beautiful city. Rinaldo would do well to get rid of his opponents. If I were in his place I would chop off Cosimo’s head and then annihilate Lorenzo and his ridiculous army. And once the opposition had been eliminated, I would kill of some of his most prominent allies.’

  ‘It would be a bloodbath.’

  ‘Yes, but at least I would turn the Republic into a signoria and I would do it by the light of day. I would no longer have to deal with procrastinating parasites and I would seize power definitively. A little at a time, the people would follow me. The plebs need a leader and so do the little people. The rest is just talk.’

  ‘Hardly the subtlest of strategies.’

  ‘Efficacy and refinement rarely coincide.’

  ‘Of course, though I... Why, that bastard!’ Laura’s face grew red with anger.

  ‘What’s the matter, mein Schatz?’

  Laura’s eyes filled with hate. ‘One of the men behind you just made an obscene gesture to me.’

  When he heard her words, Reinhardt Schwartz stood up. He turned around and saw three men seated at a table, who laughed coarsely at the sight of him. The Swiss mercenary looked them up and down: they were just curs, ready to act bold because they ran in a pack. He knew that he was no paladin and that his manners were anything but refined, but he would readily die to defend Laura. He was sometimes hard on her, but over time he had learned to love her and would tolerate no one – apart from himself – treating her with a lack of respect. Not even Albizzi.

  ‘Tell me what you find so amusing, sirs, and we will laugh together.’

  The largest of the three rose in turn. ‘We are laughing because we can’t understand how a filthy mercenary like you can be with such a beautiful woman. And the conclusion we have reached is that she must be a whore.’

  The man’s friends laughed again.

  Schwartz wasted no more words.

  ‘I will await you in the courtyard, sir. With your sword. The offence that you have caused this lady will be washed away with blood, if you do not mind.’

  The man shrugged. He didn’t look particularly worried.

  ‘As you wish,’ he answered calmly.

  When Schwartz turned around, Laura looked at him. Her eyes burned with desire.

  ‘Nobody,’ she said, ‘has ever fought for me.’

  ‘Really?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well, in that case I am happy to be the first. I hope I will also be the last.’

  Laura smiled. ‘While you take care of that yokel, I will pay the innkeeper – with Albizzi’s money! We should be on our way.’

  ‘You’ll find me in the courtyard,’ said Reinhardt. ‘It won’t take long.’

  The October sun was shining and Reinhardt felt particularly at ease. He drew his sword and dagger and put up his guard.

  The man in front of him did the same. And then the duel began.

  He made a couple of feints; then he attempted a lunge. Schwartz parried him easily and then he too feinted to the right, only to get in a blow on the return swing. His opponent was not taken by surprise, and their blades clanged again, the impact releasing a shower of sparks. Schwartz did not stop. He made two more lunges, harrying his opponent. He was in no hurry but neither had he any intention of wasting too much time on that peasant. The man parried again, but was now clearly in difficulty. Schwartz feinted a cross and then slashed at him horizontally, catching the man with his guard down. A spurt of blood drew a dark arc through the air and the Florentine raised his hand to his cheek. It was smeared with red.

  Laura had come out into the courtyard and her eyes burned as she watched the duel.

  Schwartz waited for his opponent to attack, then parried in a high sweep. With a lightning-fast movement, his sword found the Florentine’s chest and emerged from his back.

  His opponent dropped his sword, which fell to the brown earth; then he collapsed to his knees. Schwartz went over to him and, turning the man’s head to the side, sliced his throat open with his dagger. As the blood sprayed out like rain, he drew his sword from the chest of the man, who fell to the ground as a pool of red spread out below him.

  Schwartz looked at the dead man’s cronies. ‘This is what happens to those who are disrespectful to this lady.’

  The Florentines stared at him in shocked silence; then they picked up their friend’s body and departed.

  Laura smiled. In a way, she adored Schwartz, even though she knew that there was something unhealthy about that bizarre mixture of suffering, love and humiliation they shared. She and Reinhardt were hounds in the service of their master, and could give one another pleasure or pain or both. After what she had endured, perhaps, for her, one could not exist without the other.

  She also knew that Reinhardt was subject to sudden changes of mood. He was sweet yet violent, refined yet coarse, and within him lived a strange disharmony of opposites very much like her own. In that bizarre see-sawing between extremes Laura recognized her own deepest essence.

  In those three years, they had ended up in bed together no more than two or three times, but she had never forgotten them. When she made love to him, she felt both hurt and protected. She was lost in him, and it completely terrified her while at the same time it gave her a thrill of intense pleasure.

  And so, as she looked at Schwartz sweating in the heat, the blade of his sword dripping with the blood of the man who had dared to disrespect her, she was overcome with a passion so intense that she wanted to give herself to him then and there upon the death-soaked earth of the courtyard.

  In her heart she rejoiced, because for the first time in her life, a man had fought for her. And he had done it to the death. From that moment on, she sensed, he would do anything for her.

  Even, if necessary, kill Albizzi.

  31

  Farganaccio

  The pleasant dinner was coming to an end.

  Cosimo was surprised how generous Federico Malavolti had been with him: not only had he guaranteed his safety but he had brought Farganaccio to his cell, just as Contessina had asked him to. Perhaps, then, there was still hope.

  When he felt that the appropriate moment had arrived, Cosimo had nodded to Federico, who had left on the pretext of getting another bottle of wine.

  Once they were alone, Cosimo had explained to his interlocutor what he had in mind.

  Farganaccio was a tall man with broad shoulders, ruddy cheeks, bright, lively eyes and a sincere face who had regaled them with many funny tales that evening. As he had nothing left to lose, Cosimo had decided to speak to him openly.

  ‘Messer Farganaccio,’ he said, ‘allow me to ask you a question, since you have been kind enough to bring a breath of refreshing, cheerful air into this grim place. So refreshing and so cheerful that I have almost forgotten the reason why I find myself here.’

  He paused for a moment to reflect upon how explicit he should be in his request.

  Farganaccio, who had apparently been intrigued by this opening, gestured to him to continue.

  ‘Very well. You know perfectly well why I am here,’ Cosimo continued. ‘Rinaldo degli Albizzi and his supporters claim that I am guilty of tyranny and they obliged Bernardo Guadagni to have me imprisoned and threatened with a death sentence. They think that by doing so they will make Florence a better place. Now, I wish to emphasize that I do not consider Bernardo, whom I know to be your friend, responsible, because it is clear that, in the position in which he finds himself – as Gonfaloniere of Justice – and given the accusations against me, he had no choice but to proceed as he did. On the other hand, even though my conduct has not been free of error, I have never intended to harm my city or my opponents. I have only ever attempted to bring benefit and splendour to Florence. It is no secret that my family enjoys a position of wealth and privilege, but it is also true that we have always tried to use our riches to increase the beauty of the city.’

/>   Farganaccio nodded. He had suddenly grown serious.

  ‘However,’ continued Cosimo, ‘if I am now considered an enemy of the Republic, I have clearly failed somehow, and therefore I can’t say for certain that my desire to make my city more beautiful did not come with an excess of zeal that made me guilty of vainglory. That’s why I feel I have no cause to protest and I am ready to accept the penalty that Florence, in the person of its Gonfaloniere of Justice, decides. All I ask is a little clemency, that my life be spared.’

  ‘Messer,’ said Farganaccio, ‘I wholeheartedly agree with your description of events and also with your conclusion. I must inform you that I personally have nothing against you – in fact I too believe that good sense must prevail. The Two Hundred have debated at length over the past few days and their decision, despite everything, remains uncertain. I think that there is plenty of room to tip the balance towards the side most favourable to you.’

  ‘I see. And furthermore, I have no doubt that Messer Bernardo could easily influence the decision, but that, on the other hand, he ought – in the name of the position he holds – to act for the good of the Republic, and I am certain that this is what he will do.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Since it is also my intention not to be a hindrance to the Republic – rather I want only the best for it at all costs – and because I may to some have seemed arrogant and vainglorious, I have no intention of opposing the sentence. I am perfectly willing to step aside and set off along the road to exile as soon as possible. Therefore I would ask you to report to Bernardo my intentions and my full will in this regard. Ad adiuvandum, if the Gonfaloniere of Justice would consider this a solution to the question, I would be delighted to be allowed to pay, as pledge of my good faith, any compensation he sees fit.’

  And, at this point, Cosimo looked directly at his interlocutor: the offer had been formulated in a subtle manner, so as not to offend Bernardo’s integrity. Cosimo knew that he was all too willing to profit from corruption, but on the other hand could not openly declare himself a man who sold himself to the highest bidder.

  ‘And of course,’ he concluded, ‘my gratitude would also extend to you for the precious service you would have rendered me.’

  Farganaccio had listened to him with great attention. To tell the truth, since Federico Malavolti had offered him that dinner, he had presumed that the reason would be linked to some request from Cosimo de’ Medici. He had known, too, that in addition to the enjoyment that the bizarre dinner in Arnolfo’s Tower would offer, the proposal would not be displeasing to him. Neither to him nor to Bernardo Guadagni. Moreover, he respected Cosimo, and was enough of a man of the world to know that even though in this moment Albizzi was the favourite in the game of alliances, those alliances were subject to constant shifts.

  And after all, what harm could come from a friendship with a Medici?

  ‘And you feel that this compensation might be paid in coin?’ he suggested.

  ‘Whatever form Bernardo considers useful, that is the form I will choose.’

  Farganaccio sighed and a benevolent sparkle appeared in his big blue eyes. He went straight to the point.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Would two thousand two hundred ducats be sufficient, so that you may keep the eleventh part of it for yourself?’

  32

  The Sentence

  On 3 October, Cosimo was brought before the Gonfaloniere of Justice. As he stood in front of him, Bernardo Guadagni seemed preoccupied.

  In front of Cosimo were the Balia dell Otto – the Eight of Guard, the council which represented the supreme magistracy in criminal matters. Chosen every four months, their task was to decide without scruple or bias upon the fate of citizens accused of crimes against Florence.

  They wore beautiful red robes with ermine collars and sat upon carved wooden benches set in a semi-circle at the end of the hall with Bernardo at their centre. His toga, which was of the same carmine colour, was the only one that bore the golden stars testifying to the supreme office he held.

  Cosimo knew that his proposal had been accepted so the verdict would now follow a very precise script. On the other hand, there were no certainties in a Florence dominated by warring families – and regardless of the money he had received, Bernardo would certainly have considered the consequences of betraying Rinaldo degli Albizzi.

  In any case, they had now reached the point where Cosimo would discover what was to become of him. He looked his judges firmly in the face, ready to accept their decision.

  Bernardo raised his hand as though asking for silence, even though no one had, in fact, dared utter a word.

  ‘Cosimo de’ Medici,’ he began, ‘today, the third of October of the year 1433, after repeated meetings of the Council of the Two Hundred to investigate the will of the people, and after carefully examining that conduct which led to your being accused of the crime of tyranny, this supreme council which I have the honour to chair finds you guilty. However, upon consideration of your behaviour before, during and after your arrest, we have decided not to sentence you to capital punishment but to condemn you to exile within the precincts of the city of Padua, whence you may not return to Florence unless thus permitted by the institutions of the Republic. The present sentence extends also to Lorenzo and Averardo Medici and to Puccio and Giovanni Pucci.’

  Looking shaken, Bernardo stopped for a moment. The expulsion of the Medici from Florence was now a historical fact. The die was cast, and Albizzi and Strozzi could no longer escape their responsibilities. They no longer had any excuses: now, they would have to govern.

  When he heard the sentence, Cosimo nodded.

  Bernardo finished proclaiming the verdict of the supreme magistracy.

  ‘In order for the verdict to be respected and to ensure you are unharmed, this evening you will be taken by carriage to the border of the Republic and will be assigned an armed escort to guarantee your safety until you get there. Your family will be informed of the verdict so that they may provide for your well-being, it being understood that the verdict also applies to your brother and the others who conspired with you and plotted against the Florentine Republic. Thus it has been decided, and in the next few hours the verdict will be carried out as stated.’

  *

  Piero at his side, Lorenzo rode at the head of his men, seeming to wait only for the moment when they declared war on the city. The messengers they had sent had already returned, reporting that Ginevra and his sons, Francesco and Pierfrancesco, as well as Contessina and Giovanni and all the other members of the family, had already left for the villa in Cafaggiolo where they would remain until a suitable solution was found.

  They had set off at the first light of dawn and now saw the walls of Florence in the distance.

  Lorenzo had no intention of actually attacking; all he wanted was for them to hand over his brother. He had no desire to sacrifice his friends and all those who had taken his side in his moment of need. He did, however, hope that Florence would see his army and that that cur Bernardo Guadagni would dare show himself. He knew that his brother had tried to bribe him and hoped that he had succeeded.

  When they found themselves no more than three hundred paces from the vast St George’s Gate he and his men saw the Eight of Guard and the captain of the city guard standing in front of them.

  Lorenzo motioned his men to stop and the horsemen formed up in orderly rows. Snorting, their breath steaming in the cold air, the horses took up position, stamping their hooves on the ground.

  Lorenzo nodded to Puccio Pucci, who gave his horse a little prod with his spurs and came over to him.

  ‘Well, we’ve come this far,’ Pucci said.

  ‘Let’s hear what they have to say,’ replied Lorenzo.

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Give the order to wait and then come and meet me at the centre of the field.’

  While Puccio carried out his orders, Lorenzo set off, alone, towards the centre of the strip of land that separated him
from the Eight. He spurred his mount forward. It was a cold day: autumn seemed to have come suddenly. The air was freezing and rain had begun to fall, making the earth spongy underfoot. Large, unruly raindrops bounced off armour and helmets, making a dull tinkling sound that rendered that miserable day even gloomier.

  Two knights broke away from the group: one of them was certainly the captain of the city guard and the other looked familiar. By the time Puccio had returned to his side, they were very close.

  ‘If Neri de’ Bardi of the Eight of Guard is accompanying Captain Manfredi Da Rabatta, something important must have happened.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lorenzo, who barely dared hope for a peaceful solution, even though he had never stopped wishing for it.

  They stopped halfway, no more than a hundred paces from the gate. Now Lorenzo could clearly make out the double arch at the top with the bas-relief in the lunette depicting St George on horseback killing the dragon with his spear.

  They pulled at the reins to halt their horses and the animals trampled the mud. Lorenzo patted the neck of his mount to calm it. It was being skittish, and kept turning on the spot. He stroked its neck.

  ‘Don’t worry, old fellow,’ he whispered in its ear. ‘Everything will be all right. You’ll see.’

  As though it had understood his words, the horse snorted and grew calmer.

  Neri and Manfredi were now before them.

  The captain of the guard wore finely tooled battle armour. In the rain, the steel gave off iridescent glints which mingled with the rays of pale sunlight that had begun to make their way through the clouds.

  Lorenzo greeted them with a frank smile, for he had always held both in high esteem.

  The captain did not seem to feel the same way about him, but Neri de’ Bardi was more accommodating.

  ‘So, Lorenzo de’ Medici, you have arrived with your men, I see,’ he said, pointing to the lines of knights and infantrymen who formed a dark mass behind them.

  ‘I had no choice,’ he replied.