Lorenzo led the way to a spacious room decorated with paintings and small statues of marble and bronze. A handful of trusted family members and allies were on hand, grouped on either side of Piero de’ Medici.
Piero reclined like an invalid in a large chair padded with soft cushions. Beneath his pale, pouched face, his neck was puffed up like a toad’s. His half-closed eyes and slouched posture gave him an air of fatigue. His clothes were as simple as that of any artisan, the only mark of his wealth being a ruby ring he wore on his liver-spotted right hand.
Leonardo was surprised. He knew Piero was referred to as ‘Il Gottoso’ because of his illness, but he had still expected someone more like the splendidly attired Luca Pitti or the tall, aristocratic Neroni. Instead, although he had all the things Leonardo’s own father aspired to, Piero de’ Medici flaunted none of them. When he spoke, it was in a soft, polite voice, not at all the regal tone of a powerful ruler.
“I apologise for keeping you waiting,” he said. “When you arrived I was taking a sulphur bath to ease my joints. My health obliges me to dine early and my digestion forbids me to discuss business at table. I rely on a very strict routine to support me through the day, just as I rely on the support of my son.”
He glanced over at Lorenzo and Leonardo could see the trust that bound father and son together. Piero returned his heavy-lidded eyes to his visitor, assessing him just as he would a customer seeking a loan from his bank. It was obvious that the burden of his illness had done nothing to blunt the sharpness of his wits.
“Lorenzo has given me a full account of your escapade at the Duomo,” Piero continued. “I shall make a charitable donation to the church that will give honour to God and soothe the ruffled feelings of the bishop. Dealing with his brother, Diotisalvi Neroni, is another matter altogether.”
“Fresina and I can testify that he was a party to murder,” Leonardo pointed out.
“That may prove to be an effective bargaining counter later,” said Piero, “but it does us no good right now.”
“Can’t you just have Neroni arrested?”
Piero pursed his lips. “How do you propose I do that? I am merely a private citizen who does not even hold public office.”
“But I’ve heard that you are…that you have…” Leonardo hesitated. He realised from talking to Lorenzo earlier that it was ill-mannered – if not actually dangerous – to refer directly to Piero de’ Medici as the ruler of Florence.
“I believe what you are trying to say is that I exercise a certain influence over the affairs of the city,” Piero filled in for him dryly.
“Exactly,” Leonardo agreed.
“Even if we accept that this is so, my recommendations are unlikely to be followed if Neroni surrounds the Palace of the Signoria with armed men.”
“And there is an army marching from Ferrara to help install Luca Pitti in power,” Lorenzo reminded everyone.
“I have dispatched a messenger to the Duke of Milan humbly requesting his assistance in that regard,” said Piero. “I believe he already has troops close to our borders. News of their approach should give the Duke of Ferrara pause.”
“But that still leaves the armed mob Neroni has gathered at the Pitti Palace,” said Lorenzo.
“The Signoria will shortly receive a letter,” said Piero, “warning that the Ferrarese army is encamped at Pistoia, within easy striking distance of Florence. Under the circumstances, it will be my patriotic duty to arm the peasants who live on my estates and march them into the city to protect it from foreign attack. Once there, they will act as a deterrent to Neroni.”
“Are we to have more bloodshed then?” asked Leonardo. He was suddenly haunted by memories of Tomasso and Silvestro, ruthlessly cut down as if they mattered no more than a couple of stalks of corn.
“Not if I can prevent it,” said Piero. “Florence is like a sick man continually turning over in bed to avoid pain and never finding the right position. My duty, purely as a man who exercises a certain influence, is to keep the patient from falling out of bed and cracking his head on the floor.”
The sun had scarcely cleared the horizon when Lorenzo set out on horseback on the road to Florence with Leonardo at his side. Too infirm to ride, Piero would follow later in a litter carried by six strong attendants.
Leonardo had discarded his peasant smock and replaced his straw hat with a proper cap which Lorenzo had provided. They trotted down the road southward with a single servant trailing behind. As they rode, Lorenzo spoke of his father.
“It is no small thing to be the guardian of the freedom of Florence for the sake of all her citizens. That freedom is a rare and precious thing in a world where most men live under the rule of kings and despots.”
“But isn’t your father just as much a sovereign as the princes and dukes who rule Milan, Ferrara and Naples?” Leonardo asked.
Lorenzo appeared to bristle at the suggestion, then his charming smile returned. “Absolutely not. He has no crown and no title. He is a citizen who must work for a living like everyone else. Have you seen the monument Luca Pitti is building for himself?”
“From a distance,” Leonardo replied. “It’s hard not to see it.”
“The plans for that palace were originally submitted to my grandfather by Filippo Brunelleschi as the design for the new Medici town house he was intending to build. My grandfather rejected them, saying they were too grandiose for a simple banker. Instead, he built the more modest house we’re on our way to now.”
“But Pitti got hold of a copy of the plans and is building that palace for himself,” said Leonardo.
“Correct,” said Lorenzo. “So you see, my father does not live in a palace – and more importantly, he has no palace guard to enforce his will. If the citizens decide he is unfit to rule, they will turn against him and have the Signoria throw him out of the city.”
Leonardo could not help but be aware of the affection and respect in Lorenzo’s voice whenever he spoke of the elder Medici. How fortunate he was to have a father he could turn to in times of trouble, someone he could trust and who trusted him in return.
“One day, I suppose, it will be up to you to take over those responsibilities,” said Leonardo.
A flicker of unease passed across Lorenzo’s face. “I expect so, but I don’t look forward to it. Governing Florence is no easy matter. You can see how it has destroyed my father’s health. Personally I would rather be free to hunt, race my horses and write poetry.” He gave Leonardo a grin. “Or even be a country boy playing in the fields and drawing pictures.”
Leonardo was surprised that the rustic life was something Lorenzo could find desirable. It made him feel ashamed of having come to despise it so. “Well, when the time comes, can’t you just refuse to be a leader?” he asked, shaking off his discomfiture.
Lorenzo cocked an eyebrow at him. “Do you think I could stand by and watch Florence collapse into chaos and mob rule? Or even worse, fall under the tyranny of a man like Neroni? No, my duty is to the city, not to my own wants. Even the deepest desire of my heart must be sacrificed to that end.”
There was a catch in Lorenzo’s voice and Leonardo realised he must be thinking of Lucrezia. At that moment, Leonardo found he no longer envied his companion. All of his wealth and privileges came at a price, and the course of his life had already been determined for him. Leonardo saw that if he had wished to, he could have followed the same career as his father. Or he could have chosen to become a farmer like his Uncle Franceso. And now, Maestro Andrea was offering him the chance to follow another path.
He could not help being just as ambitious as his father – he knew that now – but he could direct that ambition to a higher purpose than wealth or prestige.
The choice lay open to him.
The road took them over the crest of a hill. From the summit they could see the walls and rooftops of Florence in the distance below. The huge dome of the cathedral was clearly visible and the bell tower of the Palace of the Signoria. At the sight of it, Leo
nardo was reminded of his dream the previous day, then something more urgent seized his attention.
“Look!” he exclaimed, pointing. “There – among the trees close to that villa.”
Lorenzo pulled up his horse and squinted. “My eyes are not as sharp as yours. What do you see?”
“Men and horses lurking in the shade. They look like they’re waiting for something. One of them is on watch and I think he’s spotted us.”
Muscles tensed in Lorenzo’s prominent jaw and he twisted the reins tightly around his fingers.
“An ambush, do you think?” Leonardo wondered aloud.
“Yes, but not for us. Neroni as good as told me he intends to have my father killed. It’s a surer way to be rid of him than taking control of the Signoria.”
“And then he would use Lucrezia as a hostage to drive you out of Florence,” said Leonardo. “We should go back.”
He started to turn his horse around.
Lorenzo grabbed his bridle. “No! As you say, they’ve spotted us already. If they see us leave, they will follow and my father’s litter cannot outrun mounted pursuit.”
He toyed with his sword hilt for a moment then turned and called back to his servant. “Domenico, stay back out of sight. There are armed men on the road ahead waiting to waylay Ser Piero. Ride back and warn him to take a different route.”
Domenico promptly wheeled about and galloped off. Leonardo swallowed hard. “Shouldn’t we go with him?”
“Not at all,” said Lorenzo. “We need to make sure my father has time to reach safety.”
“So what are we going to do?”
Lorenzo started his horse forward. “We’re going to ride down there and pass the time of day with those fellows,” he declared jauntily.
21 A NEST OF VIPERS
Soon they were close enough to discern the men clearly, even though they were still skulking among the trees. Lorenzo raised a hand and hailed them jovially. “Greetings, friends! Is this not a fine morning to be away from the noise and dust of the city?”
Leonardo held his breath, scarcely able to believe Lorenzo had the courage to be so casual with men who were waiting here to murder his father. There were six or seven of them, all armed with swords and daggers. Uncertain glances flashed back and forth between them until their leader stepped out of the shade.
Leonardo’s first impulse was to turn and flee. It was the red-haired man who had stopped him in the Piazza della Signoria and asked him if he were for the Plain or the Hill. Unquestionably, he was one of Neroni’s supporters. And if he should recognise Leonardo…
The red-haired man sauntered forward and eyed them insolently. “I recognise you. Aren’t you Lorenzo de’ Medici?”
“I am indeed,” Lorenzo replied politely. “I regret I do not have the honour of knowing your name.”
“My name is Luigi Circone. Is your father not with you?”
The question sent a cold shiver down Leonardo’s back. If they turned and spurred their horses, might they yet be able to escape, he wondered.
“He is no more than an hour behind me,” said Lorenzo with a smile. “You and your men must be the escort sent by the Signoria to accompany him into the city.”
Circone grinned wolfishly. “That’s exactly right.”
“You’ve been waiting for some time. Perhaps I should ride back and hurry him along?” Lorenzo offered.
Circone raised a hand. “No need for that. It’s still early in the day. And who is this with you?”
Leonardo’s heart almost stopped. He lowered his head submissively and tugged his cap forward. “I’m merely a servant, sir,” he mumbled.
Lorenzo quickly interposed. “Captain Circone, I can tell that you and your men are thirsty from your long vigil. Luckily, I have with me a flask of best Trebbiana wine, drawn from my father’s private stock. You have never in your life tasted anything so sweet. Why don’t we share it while we await him?”
“That would be most agreeable,” said Circone, licking his lips at the prospect.
Cheerfully, Lorenzo dismounted and unhooked the large, leather wine flask from his saddle. Quaking at the risk they were taking, Leonardo climbed down from his own horse and joined the assassins in the shade of the trees. He felt as if he were sitting down in the middle of a nest of vipers, any one of whom might suddenly turn and bite.
The next half hour was the longest Leonardo had experienced in his entire life. Lorenzo, on the other hand, seemed utterly at home, laughing and joking as if he were in the company of his closest friends.
At once point he even launched into a song:
“The ladies of Tuscany Everyone knows Will sell you a kiss For the price of a rose. But roses must wither And kisses will fade, So save your last rose For the next pretty maid.”
His cracked, high-pitched voice had Circone and his men guffawing as much as the bawdy lyrics. One of them gave Leonardo a jovial thump on the back. He did his best to join in the merriment while trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
Just when he was beginning to think the worst was over, Circone suddenly stared him in the face. “I know you, don’t I, boy?”
“I don’t think so,” Leonardo said. “I don’t recognise anybody here.”
Circone frowned, clearly unconvinced.
Once again, Lorenzo came to the rescue. “Captain, you have stopped drinking!” He thrust the wineskin under Circone’s nose. Soon the two of them were warbling a drinker’s song in loud, broken voices.
Leonardo felt as though an axe had been removed from his neck. Just then Lorenzo looked up at the hill from which they had spotted the ambush.
“Look there!” he exclaimed. “Here comes my father now!”
Circone and his men blearily scanned the hillside for some sign of their victim.
Lorenzo scurried over to his horse. Seizing the reins, he jumped into the saddle. “Come along!” he called to Leonardo. “We must ride on ahead and prepare a proper welcome. Good luck to you, Captain Circone!”
Leonardo barely had time to mount his horse before Lorenzo was galloping up the road towards Florence.
“What did you see up there?” he asked once he had caught up.
Lorenzo chuckled. “I didn’t see anything. I just needed to distract those cut-throats while we made our getaway. If their eyes were as keen as yours, they would have seen through the deception. By the time they realise they’ve been tricked, we’ll be safe inside the city walls. And so will my father.”
They entered Florence by the Porta Faenza and made their way through the increasingly crowded streets to the Via Larga and the Medici house. It was an impressive, three-storey building that surrounded a wide courtyard. Lorenzo led the way through the open gateway beneath the Medici emblem of six circles set on a shield.
“What is that symbol supposed to be?” Leonardo asked.
“The story goes back to our ancestor, the knight Averardo,” Lorenzo replied. “He was fighting a giant who had been terrorising the countryside around here. When the battle was over, the giant was dead, but his club had left six huge dents in Averardo’s shield.”
“It doesn’t sound very likely,” said Leonardo.
“That’s what my father thinks,” said Lorenzo as they dismounted. “He prefers to think of those circles as coins, since that is more suitable for a family of bankers. Personally, I prefer the old tale.”
Servants and retainers rushed to greet their young master and take care of the horses. Once they had assured him that his father had arrived unharmed, Lorenzo swept Leonardo off to the dining hall where Ser Piero was poised to address a gathering of his supporters.
The head of the Medici family was standing, in spite of his illness. A map of the city was spread out on the table before him. Behind him, frescoes of biblical prophets decorated the wall and facing them were statues of Roman deities perched on pedestals between the high windows. Members of the household were gathered on all sides, some of them wearing breastplates with swords at their sides.
A smile lit Piero’s sallow face when his son entered the room. “Lorenzo, I have been worried to distraction. Where have you been all this time?”
“I was sharing wine and song with the welcoming committee Neroni sent out to meet you,” Lorenzo replied jokingly. “They are actually rather jolly company, for murderers.”
“I imagine they are a lot less jolly now they know they have been tricked,” said Leonardo.
Lorenzo delivered a brief account of their adventure. Piero was obviously torn between admiration for his son and horror at the risk he had taken.
“From now on we cannot afford to take such chances,” he said. “The first of our troops from the country are already arriving. We must close off all the gates into the northern part of the city” – with his forefinger he stabbed where the gates were marked on the map – “leaving only the Porta San Gallo for our reinforcements. Rubeo, is our warning about the Ferrarese army on its way to the Signoria?”
Piero’s clerk nodded.
“Will they believe it, do you think?” asked Lorenzo.
“I don’t care if they believe it or not,” said Piero. “I have informed them that I am organising the defence of the city. That is what counts. Now, what word do we have of Neroni?”
A sergeant-at-arms stepped forward. “He has mustered up to 200 men at the Pitti Palace. To all intents and purposes, the Oltrarno has become a separate city under Luca Pitti’s rule.”
Piero allowed himself a rueful smile. “That pompous idiot. He has what he has always wanted – his own little kingdom right on his doorstep. He will make that palace of his bigger than the Colosseum at Rome, if he doesn’t run out of money first.”
There was a ripple of laughter. Piero singled out three of his most trusted servants. “I want you to send men around to every wine shop, butcher and baker in Florence. Buy up every scrap of food and every drop of wine in the city.”
Leonardo and the Death Machine Page 13