Medici ~ Ascendancy

by Matteo Strukul

  And when I reflect that, along with the fall of political and spiritual power, my own people fall too, I cannot express to you the downpour of bitter thoughts that overwhelm me. And knowing that the books and language that distinguish us from the barbarians will be lost, my hopes fade into melancholy.

  But it is better to endure and, by making ourselves more like God, try to escape from this earth for heaven as soon as possible.

  So forgive me for this foolish outburst, my friend. An outburst which is all the more pointless because it cannot turn back the wheel of time or change the course of history. What has happened has already been entered in the great ledger of memory and prepares to crumble into dust. And yet I hope one day to read a letter from you and to be able to draw from your friendly words a comfort that at this moment I can no longer see.

  Thanking you again for your generous attentions, I take my leave.

  Infinitely grateful, I embrace you,

  Basilios Bessarion

  Cosimo raised his eyes from the letter and a tear fell on to the parchment, smudging the words. They expressed not only his friend’s profound bitterness but also the failure of the plan they had once hoped to realize. In that failure, so clear and evident to all now, were all the errors of a time filled with division and feuds.

  He sat in a chair in the library. Rays of pale light penetrated the parted shutters, which shielded the interior of the villa from the September sun. Surprisingly, the morning was cool and a gentle breeze was blowing, occasionally riffling the papers that crowded the large desk at which Cosimo loved to spend most of the day.

  After the years spent in politics and banking, Cosimo finally had time for reading and philosophy. He had retired to the Careggi villa, restored by Michelozzo, and there he spent the best part of his time.

  For him, that locus amoenus was like an artist’s impression of a memory – it was the villa where his beloved brother had passed away, and during those disconsolate days Cosimo had resolved to take his leave from political life and dedicate himself to his family. But the place was also a source of the leisure and tranquillity that were crucial for a man of his age. He had only recently handed over the management of the Medici bank to his second son, Giovanni, and had severely reduced the number of his political commitments.

  His time was over now. His great enemies, Rinaldo degli Albizzi and Filippo Maria Visconti, had long since died. His most extraordinary ally, Francesco Sforza, had finally managed to conquer the Duchy of Milan, establishing an alliance that, though it had distanced Florence from Venice, had nevertheless confirmed his role as a leader with formidable strength.

  Even Pope Eugene IV was dead. That had been a serious loss for Cosimo. The new pontiff, Nicholas V, who was closer to the Albizzi and the Strozzi, did not share the same commonality of purpose and, Cosimo felt, had offered only tepid support to Constantine XI Palaiologos, the basileus of Byzantium, in fighting the Turks. The words of condolence expressed by the Pope on the fall of Constantinople had therefore rung particularly false in his ears.

  In the light of these considerations, Bessarion’s words were even more painful.

  It was true that Constantine XI had not formalized the union of the Churches in 1439, but was that enough to justify this lack of interest from the new Pope, which, in hindsight, placed the entire Western world at risk?

  Cosimo did not know, but perhaps at that moment, after so many battles and dangers, after exile and conflict, the time had come for him simply to enjoy his long-sought peace with his family.

  He pulled aside the curtains and looked out at the magnificent garden that his brother had loved so much. It was already tinged with the yellow and orange of autumn, and there was in that season much of what he had become: an old man, good for giving advice and for playing with the grandchildren. That, at least, was what he aspired to, because the world as he had known it was changed if not gone altogether. What mattered more than anything else in that moment was love for his family, peace and prosperity. The joy of still having Contessina by his side. The joy given him by the children, who would now be responsible for the future of the Medici.

  Cosimo was pleased with Giovanni but he worried for Piero: the young man was sick with gout, just as he was, and not very gifted in politics. The position of the Medici in the city was solid, but that was no thanks to Piero.

  He was looking again at the colours of the garden before him when his thoughts were disturbed by a melodic voice echoing along the corridor that led to the library, calling his name.

  Before he had time to answer, a small, brown-haired fury raced through the half-open door.

  ‘Grandfather! I’ve found you finally! Where have you been hiding?’ asked little Lorenzo. He wore a contagious smile and his eyes sparkled with intelligence.

  Cosimo smiled. This was why, despite everything, he had to thank his son Piero: because it had been he who had given Cosimo that wonderful, lively grandson, so full of wit and initiative, who was quite clearly his protégé.

  ‘I’ve been here all the time, Lorenzo,’ he replied indulgently. ‘Where did you think I was?’

  ‘Swear you’re not lying!’ cried the little boy.

  The grandfather, who forgave his grandchild any impertinence, nodded. ‘I am telling the truth – just as it is the truth that, if you like, we shall go out into the garden.’

  ‘Yes!’ shouted the little boy, who couldn’t wait to run between the rows of trees in the orchards. ‘To the garden!’ he repeated triumphantly. ‘Let’s go to the garden!’

  ‘But if you really want to go, you must make sure you don’t tire me out too much. Your grandfather is not as young as he used to be. Will you promise me that you won’t tire me out?’

  ‘I promise,’ said Lorenzo seriously.

  ‘Very well. Give me a moment and I shall join you.’

  ‘Shall I go on ahead?’ the child asked him, assuming a martial-like pose.

  ‘You go on ahead, my brave one. Wait for me at the bottom of the stairs.’

  ‘Hurrah!’ shouted Lorenzo, excited again. And then, without another word, he shot out of the library door like a cannonball.

  At the sight of him departing with the same haste with which he had arrived, Cosimo couldn’t hold back a smile.

  ‘Come now, old fellow,’ he said to himself, ‘get a move on, or as sure as your name is Cosimo de’ Medici, you’ll disappoint your grandson.’

  And that, he thought, would be a sin he wouldn’t be able to live with.

  Author’s Note

  As you can well imagine, the preparation of a historical trilogy like this presupposes manic and desperate study, as Giacomo Leopardi would have put it, because each detail, each scene, each habit and custom must be researched, thought about and reconstructed long before it can be transferred to the page.

  It is worth remembering that the story of the Medici involves an arc of time of almost three hundred years: from the beginning of the fifteenth century to the eighteenth century – and this only as regards the period during which the Medici dominated the city of Florence, otherwise the timeframe would be much greater. This fact made some choices inevitable. The first novel is dedicated to the figure of Cosimo the Elder, the second to Lorenzo the Magnificent and the third to Caterina de’ Medici, Queen of France: a narrative framework that allowed me to cover a broad period from a historical perspective without of losing continuity.

  I chose to shape the backbone of this work through repeated and careful readings of the Florentine Histories by Niccolò Machiavelli and The History of Italy by Francesco Guicciardini. I did so because I wanted to base the book upon those histories that best captured the spirit of the times in their language and description. For this initial approach, I also undertook some Florentine ‘pilgrimages’, so as to incorporate into my ideas images of the city’s squares, domes, cathedrals and palazzos: because the place is history itself.

  And speaking of domes: the first chapter alone, which introduces the work carried out by Fili
ppo Brunelleschi on the construction of the imposing dome of Santa Maria del Fiore, required considerable study. Among the many monographs I consulted, I should mention at least those by Eugenio Battisti (Filippo Brunelleschi, New York 1981) and Ross King (Brunelleschi’s Dome: The Story of the Great Cathedral in Florence, New York 2000).

  I could say the same for the battle of Anghiari, another very important passage in this first book about the rise of the House of Medici. Here I will confess that I took a few liberties. It is down to you to discover what they are, but that shouldn’t be particularly difficult and they are, perhaps, the only real liberties that I have taken with historical fact. A novelist, though, has to invent and it is in the mixture of fact and invention that the particular reaction proper to the historical novel occurs.

  In any case, the techniques of war and the individual phases of the battle of Anghiari are reconstructed with care and loyalty to the sources. Among the monographs consulted, I would like to mention Massimo Predonzani’s Anghiari 29 Giugno 1440: La Battaglia, l’Iconografia, le Compagnie di Ventura, l’Araldica (San Marino 2010).

  Another key issue was the study of the mercenary troops and the particular relationship that existed between Renaissance lords and soldiers of fortunes. The profession of arms, to quote film director Ermanno Olmi, was particularly widespread and profitable during the Renaissance, at least for those courageous and unscrupulous enough to change sides when necessary. In this regard, the reading of Ghimel Adar (Storie di Mercenari e di Capitani di Ventura, Geneva 1972) proved to be fundamental. Furthermore, I could not have handled the duels and battle sequences satisfactorily without the help of historical fencing manuals, in particular those of Giacomo di Grassi (Ragione di adoprar sicuramente l’Arme sì da offesa, come da difesa; con un Trattato dell’inganno, et con un modo di esercitarsi da se stesso, per acquistare forsa, giudizio, et prestezza – translated into English as Di Grassi, His True Arte of Defence, Venice 1570) and Francesco di Sandro Altoni (Monomachia: Trattato dell’arte di scherma, edited by Alessandro Battistini, Marco Rubboli, Iacopo Venni, San Marino 2007). None of which prevented me from adding to the traditional the odd hint of modernity, so the terms are not always used strictly as they should be. I trust you will be forgiving.

  As regards food and the timing of meals, I have opted for readability and clarity over strict accuracy... but these, I hope, are sins of little importance.

  Acknowledgements

  This novel is the first of a trilogy. In a sense it is, at least for me, the story of stories, because it tells the saga of the most powerful family of the Renaissance: the Medici. I confess that it was a daunting challenge for a novelist, but I had the perfect publisher for a project like this and when that is the case, an irresistible kind of magic is triggered in my mind.

  I had wanted to publish a trilogy for Newton Compton for a long time. I grew up with the novels of Emilio Salgari, a giant of Italian literature and creator of series such as those about Sandokan and the Black Corsair, whose adventures I read in the magnificent Newton Ragazzi series. My father brought home those wonderful books for me, with their white covers edged in red, and I haven’t stopped reading since.

  And so meeting Vittorio Avanzini, one of the great fathers of Italian publishing, thirty years later was a dream come true. Discovering that I would be published by Newton Compton gave me so much joy that... well, I can still hardly believe it. And that wasn’t all: thanks to his profound knowledge of the Italian Renaissance and genuine love of the Medici, Mr Avanzini was a reference point during the drafting of this novel, providing me with many suggestions and ideas. I owe him my deepest gratitude.

  Another very big thank you goes to Raffaello Avanzini for his courage, intelligence and energy, as well as his intuition and conviction that a story like that of the Medici and the Renaissance absolutely needed to be told. The trust he placed in my work is a precious gift and his words of encouragement would spur on even the laziest of authors. Every discussion with him leaves me a richer man. I am amazed to see how deeply he believes in publishing and in the book and with what determination he sees every detail as a new opportunity. So thank you, my captain, for this wonderful adventure.

  As well as the publishers, I want to thank my agents: Monica Malatesta and Simone Marchi who, as always, made the difference. They worked, and worked, and worked incessantly. Since I met them, my life as a novelist has changed dramatically. I hope that all authors have the opportunity to work with extraordinary professionals like them.

  Alessandra Penna, my editor: thanks is too small a word. Her patience, her sensitivity, the beauty of the ideas she suggested and I adopted, her teachings, the chats by email, the greetings in German... it was all simply wonderful – so wonderful that I admit I can’t wait to start the next...

  Thanks to Martina Donati for her comments and for the precision and the attention offered with generosity and infinite competence.

  Thanks to Antonella Sarandrea for having devised effective strategies, for her inventiveness and for her rare ability to handle press coverage and event organization in the best possible way for this trilogy.

  Thanks to Carmen Prestia and Raffaello Avanzini (again) for their incredible work with foreign markets.

  Finally, I would like to thank all the rest of Newton Compton Editori’s team for their kindness, competence and professionalism. Thanks to Edoardo Rialti, literary critic, translator and profound connoisseur of his city: Florence. Thank you for taking me on walks and for the charming explanations full of wonder you gave me: your suggestions and directions, impeccable and precise, made all the difference. Thanks to Patrizia Debicke van der Noot for listening and resolving in a masterly way several doubts that tormented me.

  There are two authors who, more than any other, were the reference point for this saga: Alexandre Dumas and Heinrich von Kleist. Anything I can say about their art is absolutely redundant. The best suggestion I can give is: read their novels.

  Naturally, I want to thank Sugarpulp for their support and deep friendship: Giacomo Brunoro, Andrea Andreetta, Massimo Zammataro, Matteo Bernardi and Piero Maggioni.

  Thanks to Lucia and Giorgio Strukul, Leonardo, Chiara, Alice and Greta Strukul, my clan, my gang of loved ones, my safe haven.

  Thanks to the Gorgis: Anna and Odino, Lorenzo, Marta, Alessandro and Federico.

  Thanks to Marisa, Margherita and Andrea ‘the Bull’ Camporese: you’re a great triad.

  Thanks to Caterina whom I adore and to Luciano who is always with me, with all his courage and wisdom.

  Thanks to Oddone and Teresa and to that African sea we saw together.

  Thanks to Silvia and Angelica. Thank you so much as always to Jacopo Masini & Dusty Eye. Thanks to Marilù Oliva, Marcello Simoni, Francesca Bertuzzi, Francesco Ferracin, Gian Paolo Serino, Simone Sarasso, Giuliano Pasini, Roberto Genovesi, Alessio Romano, Romano de Marco and Mirko Zilahi de Gyurgyokai.

  In conclusion: infinite thanks to Victor Gischler, Tim Willocks, Nicolai Lilin, Sarah Pinborough, Jason Starr, Allan Guthrie, Gabriele Macchietto, Elisabetta Zaramella, Lyda Patitucci, Alessandro Zangrando, Francesca Visentin, Anna Sandri, Leandro Barsotti, Sergio Frigo, Massimo Zilio, Chiara Ermolli, Giuliano Ramazzina, Giampietro Spigolon, Erika Vanuzzo, Marco Accordi Rickards, Daniele Cutali, Stefania Baracco, Piero Ferrante, Tatjana Giorcelli, Gabriella Ziraldo, Marco Piva a.k.a. il Gran Balivo, Alessia Padula, Enrico Barison, Federica Fanzago, Nausica Scarparo, Luca Finzi Contini, Anna Mantovani, Laura Ester Ruffino, Renato Umberto Ruffino, Claudia Julia Catalano, Piero Melati, Cecilia Serafini, Tiziana Virgili, Diego Loreggian, Andrea Fabris, Sara Boero, Laura Campion Zagato, Elena Rama, Gianluca Morozzi, Alessandra Costa, Và Twin, Eleonora Forno, Davide De Felicis, Simone Martinello, Attilio Bruno, Chicca Rosa Casalini, Fabio Migneco, Stefano Zattera, Marianna Bonelli, Andrea Giuseppe Castriotta, Patrizia Seghezzi, Eleonora Aracri, Mauro Falciani, Federica Belleri, Monica Conserotti, Roberta Camerlengo, Agnese Meneghel, Marco Tavanti, Pasquale Ruju, Marisa Negrato, Serena Baccarin, Martin
a De Rossi, Silvana Battaglioli, Fabio Chiesa, Andrea Tralli, Susy Valpreda Micelli, Tiziana Battaiuoli, Valentina Bertuzzi, Valter Ocule, Lucia Garaio, Chiara Calò, Marcello Bernardi, Paola Ranzato, Davide Gianella, Anna Piva, Enrico ‘Ozzy’ Rossi, Cristina Cecchini, Iaia Bruni, Marco ‘Killer Mantovano’ Piva, Buddy Giovinazzo, Gesine Giovinazzo Todt, Carlo Scarabello, Elena Crescentini, Simone Piva & i Viola Velluto, Anna Cavaliere, AnnCleire Pi, Franci Karou Cat, Paola Rambaldi, Alessandro Berselli, Danilo Villani, Marco Busatta, Irene Lodi, Matteo Bianchi, Patrizia Oliva, Margherita Corradin, Alberto Botton, Alberto Amorelli, Carlo Vanin, Valentina Gambarini, Alexandra Fischer, Thomas Tono, Ilaria de Togni, Massimo Candotti, Martina Sartor, Giorgio Picarone, Rossella Scarso, Federica Bellon, Laino Mary, Gianluca Marinelli, Cormac Cor, Laura Mura, Giovanni Cagnoni, Gilberto Moretti, Beatrice Biondi, Fabio Niciarelli, Jakub Walczak, Lorenzo Scano, Diana Severati, Marta Ricci, Anna Lorefice, Carla VMar, Davide Avanzo, Sachi Alexandra Osti, Emanuela Maria Quinto Ferro, Vè ramones Cooper, Alberto Vedovato, Diana Albertin, Elisabetta Convento, Mauro Ratti, Mauro Biasi, Giulio Nicolazzi, Nicola Giraldi, Alessia Menin, Michele di Marco, Sara Tagliente, Vy Lydia Andersen, Elena Bigoni, Corrado Artale, Marco Guglielmi and Martina Mezzadri.

  I’ll certainly have forgotten someone. As I’ve said before... you’ll be in the next book, that’s a promise!

  A big hug and infinite thanks to all the readers, booksellers and promoters who put their faith in my historical trilogy and its romance, intrigue, duels and betrayals.

  I dedicate this novel and the entire trilogy to my wife Silvia: because she has made me happier than I could ever have dreamed of being in this life and because she is the most beautiful woman and human being I have ever met.

  About the author

  Matteo Strukul was born in Padua in 1973 and has a Ph.D. in European law. His novels are published in twenty countries. He writes for the cultural section of Venerdì di Repubblica and lives with his wife in Padua, Berlin and Transylvania.