by Taylor Buck
Lucrezia Donati…She did come.
Lorenzo faced the crowd and gave a slight bow then took position to address the people. Every eye was upon him. The entire city grew absolutely silent. All were completely transfixed on the young Medici heir.
Lorenzo took a deep breath and readied his lungs to project. Then he began.
I saw my Lady by a purling brook
With laughing maidens, where green branches twined;
O never since that primal, passionate look
Have I beheld her face so soft and kind.
Hence for a space my yearning was content
And my sad soul some consolation knew;
Alas, my heart remained although I went,
And constantly my pain and sorrow grew.
Lorenzo paused and closed his eyes. He took another breath and continued.
Early the sun sank down in western skies
And left the earth to woeful hours obscure,
Afar my sun hath also veiled her ray;
Upon the mind first bliss most heavily lies,
How short a while all mortal joys endure,
But not so soon doth memory…pass away.
He paused to let the last words fade into silence. A moment later, the crowd erupted in applause and cheers.
Lo-ren-zo! Lo-ren-zo! Lo-ren-zo!
Lorenzo turned to his father and gave him an assured nod. Then he turned and faced the crowd with a smile. “Thank you. I am honored by all of you… supremely grateful to be called a Florentine. But tonight I wear the colors of our Roman brothers and sisters.” He turned to face the visitors. “Although the distance divides us, we are all unified by our creator. Mothers, fathers, sons and daughters. We are all of us…children of God.”
The crowd roared again. Lorenzo had to hold up his hands to quiet them.
“Please join me in welcoming our friends. Open to them not only your homes… but your hearts, that they may see the uprightness of our people and the care with which we maintain this land. Our future… is one built together.”
Lo-ren-zo! Lo-ren-zo! Lo-ren-zo! The crowd was deafening in their cheers. Encore! Encore! Encore!
Lorenzo bowed in appreciation.
“Another poem!” someone cried. “Yes, speak to us again!” The crowd cheered and demanded until Lorenzo held up his hands. The noise subsided.
“Before the festivities begin, I offer you these parting words. In tribute to the most beautiful flora in this land… or any land for that matter.” His eyes met with Lucrezia. He turned to face her. “This poem is titled, Violetta.” He bowed, and then began.
From the verdant garden’s cultured bound,
That breathes of Poestum’s aromatic gale,
We sprung; but nurslings of the lonely vale,
’Mid woods obscure, and native glooms were found:—
’Mid woods and glooms, whose tangled brakes around
Once Venus sorrowing traced, as all forlorn
She sought Adonis, when a lurking thorn
Deep on her foot impressed an impious wound.
Then prone to earth we bowed our pallid flowers,
And caught the drops divine; the purple dyes
Tinging the lustre of our native hue:
Nor summer gales, nor art-conducted showers
Have nursed our slender forms, but lovers’ sighs
Have been our gales, and lovers’ tears our dew.
The crowd thundered around him at deafening level, everyone stood to offer him praise and applause, yet his eyes stayed locked on Lucrezia. The world around him seemed to drown in a sea of commotion, like waves crashing upon waves. He was hypnotized and absorbed by her smile. Before he knew it, they were standing together behind the stage. The townspeople were beginning to retire to their houses. The festivities had continued throughout the night—people dancing, singing, eating and drinking until the early morning hours. Now it was just the two of them.
“A sonnet about a flower?” she said inquisitively. “How daring of you to ponder so intently on such a feminine topic.”
“You think me too bold?”
“Never,” she said, running her hands through her long dark hair. “As flowers go, the violet happens to be my favorite.”
“Then I must be the luckiest man alive,” Lorenzo said with a boyish grin.
“Not yet, you’re not,” she said moving in closer. She was near enough for Lorenzo to feel her sweet breath on his neck. She was close… too close.
He backed away. “Lucrezia… I… What about Niccolo?”
She looked away. “What of him? My husband is married to his dealings. He stays in Rome and attends only to his business matters.” She looked back, her eyes burning with intensity. “I desire to live. To explore. Not to be chained to the depths like the anchor of a carrack. I am young. I desire much more.” She moved closer again. “What about you, Lorenzo de’Medici? To what end does your heart desire?” she said reaching down and unsheathing his stiletto. She began running her fingers seductively across the central spire. He wanted to protest but the words couldn’t escape his mouth. He was a captive, imprisoned by her unrivaled beauty. Utterly mesmerized by her allure. Entranced.
“Will you give up everything for me?” she asked.
“Everything,” he replied.
“What of our families? They would never allow it.”
“I would disown my family and abandon my birthright for you,” he said.
Lucrezia smiled bashfully. “Let us hope that is not necessary.” She held up the dagger. “I want this instead. As a symbol of our promise.”
Lorenzo looked taken aback; he cast his eyes downward, ruefully. His smile quickly faded. He stepped forward. “I’m sorry Lucrezia, but that is the one thing you cannot have.”
She looked surprised. “It’s only a dagger, Lorenzo. Surely it can’t be—”
“It’s not just a dagger,” he snapped harshly. “This is a gift from my grandfather. He entrusted it to me. You cannot have it.”
Lucrezia’s beautiful eyes were wide with wonder. She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised by Lorenzo’s abrasive reaction or the fact that she had found someone who couldn’t be lulled by her beauty. “I see,” she said pulling the scarf up around her neck. “I was unaware that it held such significance to you.”
“It does,” he replied.
They stood silently for what seemed like hours. The morning light began to break.
“It is quite late,” Lucrezia said. “We should be getting back. Lorenzo, I’m sorry if I…”
“Do not be,” he interjected. “It is my place to apologize. I acted like a fool. Lucrezia, I had a joyous time with you this evening. I am deeply sorrowed to see you depart so soon.”
Lucrezia smiled again, flashing her eyes to him. “Then write to me. Send me more of your sonnets.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Then I promise we’ll be together again soon,” she said.
“Till then,” said Lorenzo.
“Until then,” Lucrezia said squeezing his hand tightly. She ducked out from behind the stage and disappeared around the street corner.
Lorenzo lay down on the pavilion and watched the dawn break over the green hills of Fiesole. The morning bells chimed as the birds began singing songs along the rooftops. His thoughts were on Lucrezia throughout the morning. Nothing else mattered.
“Until then,” he whispered.
CHAPTER 12
FLORENCE, ITALY
SEPTEMBER 7
JACK AND CHESTER EMERGED from the Stazione Santa Maria Novella to the bustling sounds of the Piazza della Stazione—the busy street wrapping around Florence’s central train station. Jack strode onto the crosswalk just as a woman breezed by on a moped, nearly running him over. Her jet-black hair whipped around behind her as she flew by. Dressed from head to toe in an expensive suit and long stilettos, she hastily putted around the corner and out of sight. It struck Jack as odd—a beautiful businesswoman riding a scooter to work. Totally acce
pted here, but something you would never find in the States.
Chester hailed a taxi and the two men entered the back seat. A friendly Italian man turned around greeting them. He asked for their destination in English, assuming correctly that the two men were foreigners.
“Via di Bellosguardo.” Jack handed up a written note with the exact address.
The driver looked and let out a trailing whistle. “Bellosguardo,” he said, speaking the name with reverence. “Very, very nice.”
Jack looked at Chester and shrugged.
They headed out and looped onto Viale Filipo Strozzi. The street name stuck in Jack’s mind. Strozzi. He remembered the account of the surname. It seemed even the street names echoed Medicean history. The Strozzi family, along with another prominent family, the Albizzi, were powerful Florentines in the early 14th century. Together, they had nearly rid Florence of the Medici family in early years. In 1433, The Strozzi and Albizzi imprisoned Cosimo Medici and held him captive in a high tower for days as he awaited trial. They falsely accused him of treason and rigged a city vote that ended in Cosimo’s banishment. Punishment was exile from Florence for twenty years. However, within a few months, Cosimo returned. He was able to regain control of the city utilizing a network of loyal compatriots. With the trust of the Florentine people behind him, he forced both the Strozzi and Albizzi families into exile. The Medici, as history repeatedly showed, consistently managed to top the opposition.
As they drove deeper into the western side of Florence, the streets became steadily narrower. They slowly climbed in elevation and soon began to notice the distinguishable buildings in the distance. “The tower of Palazzo Vecchio,” Jack pointed to a tall clock tower through the window. Jack knew this to be the very tower in which Cosimo awaited his fate during the Strozzi and Albizzi trial. Between the browned stonewalls and the terracotta rooftops, few other prominent domes and steeples rose above the city skyline. Jack spotted the largest structure instantly— he knew the iconic building well. Its round, brick dome pierced the sky and loomed authoritatively over the city. Basilica de Santa Maria del Fiore. More informally referred to as Il Duomo, the domed church was one of the most innovative and risky commissions of the Medici family. The personal project of Cosimo de’Medici, it is still today the largest brick dome ever constructed. Cosimo wanted to construct a symbol that reflected the power and importance of Florence. In order to do that, he recruited a promising architect by the name of Filippo Brunelleschi. A known artist and troubled genius, Brunelleschi began work on the dome in 1420 and took on what would become arguably the most important achievement of his lifetime. He was brash, rigid and socially awkward—but to Cosimo he was simply a man encumbered by brilliance and misunderstood by society. Collectively disliked by many due to his unorthodox style, Brunelleschi was nonetheless a mastermind. Cosimo saw his promise and had the foresight to know he needed someone of genius intellect to execute the impossible task ahead. At that time, a dome of the plan’s projected size had never been attempted. Brunelleschi began researching and obsessing over the dome to find a technique that would achieve the correct combination of geometry and physics. To prepare, he referenced ancient manuscripts and studied early Greek, Roman and Byzantine architecture. He even traveled to Rome and visited the Pantheon from which he pulled his initial design. But the answers were not immediately evident. The ancient Roman dome had been constructed using primitive formulas no longer in existence, forcing Brunelleschi to reverse engineer the structure to discover its method for himself. What he discovered was that the Pantheon had been constructed of a single shell of concrete, set by a massive wooden form. Emulating this method exactly, however, presented a problem; the whole of Tuscany didn’t contain enough timber to build the scaffolding and forms needed to support it. Cosimo’s proposed dome was simply too immense.
After months of research, an idea came to him. With the help of a small-scale model built in part by his friend and renown sculptor, Donatello, Brunelleschi’s theory came to fruition. His solution was ingenious. He proposed to create a double shell built entirely of bricks. His theory suggested that not only could it be taller this way, but it could be held in place without a centering support.
The physical laws and magnificent craftsmanship associated with the construction were far beyond anything ever built at the time. The physical inventiveness even surpassed architectural feats far into the 16th century. Men marveled as the dome began to take shape and fill the Florentine skyline, but there were also those who wished failure upon the structure. Enemies of the Medici plotted against the building knowing full well that successful completion of the dome would seal Cosimo’s fame throughout Europe and bring further glory to the Medici name. Brunelleschi received many death threats and Cosimo was forced to provide security for Brunelleschi day and night, even surrounding him with his own personal guards.
On August 30, 1436, the final brick was laid and Pope Eugenius IV consecrated the cathedral. The iconic cathedral was complete. News of its magnificence spread throughout Europe and Medici influence became widespread. A few years later, the great Michelangelo designed a similar dome atop St. Peter’s Basilica. He utilized many of the methods that Brunelleschi had formulated and stated, “It would be difficult to equal…impossible to surpass. I shall build its sister, bigger perhaps but not more beautiful.”
The dome passed out of view behind the terracotta rooftops. It was a reminder to Jack of where he was but more than anything it reminded him of Kat. The last time they had visited Florence together they had intended to take a tour there. It was part of Jack’s bucket list to climb the stairs inside the dome. However, when they arrived they found the entire church covered in scaffolding and construction tape. It had been completely closed for renovation. The second time they vacationed there Kat was two months pregnant with Valerie and morning sickness was so bad that they had to cut the trip short. It was as if they were destined to never see the dome together… an amusing curse that had evolved into a running joke.
But somehow it wasn’t funny anymore.
The taxi crossed the bridge above the Arno River and ambled over cobblestone streets on the opposite side. They began ascending the hills of Bellosguardo. Expensive villas with fortress-like rock walls began lining the thoroughfares. Vines crept along the stone-lined partitions of the Via di Bellosguardo and led the white taxi down an enchanting Tuscan road. The taxi labored to the top of a hill and placed them in front of a massive wrought-iron gate. Two lions sat atop the stone wall on either side and roared in an eternal pose of admonition. The taxi driver waited patiently for a moment until the gates swung wide, welcoming the visitors. They pulled up the driveway and circled around an ornate fountain in the middle of the rotunda. The colossal villa sat on the hillside behind it. Jack was taken by the picturesque architecture.
“It appears Signore Forlino has his own castle,” Chester joked.
“Yeah, impressive. So what does he do exactly?” asked Jack.
Chester half smiled. “I’ll let him explain.”
They stepped out of the taxi and Chester paid the driver. “Grazie, ciao! Thank you sirs,” the driver said seemingly impressed with the tip.
As the taxi drove away the two men topped a set of stone steps rapping on a large wooden door. Within a few seconds the door opened and a beautiful young woman emerged to greet them. She had long black hair, olive skin and the face of a supermodel. Her build was athletic and defined, likely the result of regimented yoga—a common activity of wealthy European women. She was tall, too. Almost eye level with Jack.
“Buon giorno,” she said cheerily, “I am Gabriela, Massimo’s daughter. You must be Jack Cullen.”
“Yes. Pleased to meet you, Gabriela,” he said and shook her hand.
“And I’m Chester Allen with TerraTEK Imaging Systems,” Chester said jutting his hand out in the same awkward manner he had done when introducing himself to Jack.
“Nice to meet you both. My father’s expecting you…please come in.�
�� She waved them inside. “I will show you to him.”
Jack and Chester stepped into the villa. Once inside, Jack couldn’t help but marvel at the interior architecture. The first thing he noticed was the massive vaulted ceilings and vast arching windows that blanketed the interior with glowing natural sunlight. The walls were an aged tawny color, made of rough and unfinished concrete. Every corner was filled with green foliage—large tropical palms, thick ferns, miniature orange trees and hanging baskets covered the walls. The layout was open, airy and welcoming. Jack followed Gabriela briskly through a hallway and into an even larger room. Above their heads an ornate chandelier sparkled brightly, suspended by an old galleon anchor chain roughly twenty feet up.
“You have an absolutely gorgeous home,” Jack said.
Gabriela smiled politely in response. “Thank you. This is Papa’s summer villa. It’s lovely but too quiet for me. I prefer our house in the city.”
Jack smiled. Even though the statement could have been perceived as haughty, it didn’t come across that way. Gabriela spoke with a young charm that seemed sincere and modest even though she clearly grew up in affluent surroundings. Jack tried to place her age and guessed her to be somewhere in her mid-twenties. Of course it was boring for a twenty-something.