Luca could read the fear in Lorena’s eyes. Belatedly he realized that he had gone too far with that game. The wine had obviously gone to his head. Nevertheless his whole body was suffused with a perverse pleasure. Soon, he would be her husband and sole master.
20
Mauricio listened to Marsilio Ficino reading Book VII of Plato’s Republic in Latin while weighing up the immense amount he still had to learn if he were to take on a position of responsibility in the Medici Bank. It would be the only way he could hope to be considered by Lorena’s parents as worthy of her. Bruno, bookkeeper of the Florence tavola, patiently taught him hour after hour all that was necessary to make his dream come true in some distant future. Neither double-entry bookkeeping, nor bills of exchange or letters of credit, nor even the commission to charge for changing money were unfamiliar concepts to him now. At least in theory. Putting it into practice was a far more complex matter. A good banker needed to know how the subtle mechanics of friendship, interests, and power worked in the city in order to authorize or reject certain operations. But that was not all. It was also important to know where to invest the money that was deposited, when to be cautious and when to take risks, to master the complex financial relationships between the different Medici branches scattered across Europe … His father, who had always criticized Mauricio’s lack of enthusiasm for getting involved in the running of the Barcelona textile business, would have smiled ironically had he known the kind of work he was expected to do. It was a task worthy of a modern Hercules, but somehow he had to succeed. For the moment he had to concentrate on only taking small steps, meeting relatively modest objectives, such as perfecting his Latin under the guidance of Marsilio, a peerless master, not only for his great learning but also for the pleasure taken in being taught by him.
Yet how could he concentrate when his mind was constantly filled with Lorena’s laughter, gestures, and remarks? For the last week he had been sharing meals and games with her thanks to Il Magnifico’s powerful hand. Seeking relief from the rigors of the summer heat wave, Lorenzo had organized some days away at his villa in Fiesole, in the hills to the north of Florence. Statesmen, advisers, friends, artists, and families related to Lorenzo had formed a kind of court at his country estate. The Ginori family did not enjoy a sufficient degree of intimacy to be among the chosen ones, but Il Magnifico, in deference to his friendship with Mauricio, had decided to invite them. The masters of ceremony, duly instructed, had organized the different events in such a way that he often found himself in the company of Lorena.
Meals, games, storytelling and poetry contests, concerts, balls, horse riding … Any activity or place involving Lorena was for Mauricio a festival lit up by fireworks performing to the sound of the most exquisite musical accompaniment. Lorena, Lorena, Lorena … Just the sight of her made the world glow with colors he had never experienced before. Mauricio felt full of vitality when he was in her presence and, spurred on by an intoxicating euphoria, showed himself at his best in every encounter with Lorena, which led to some extraordinary moments. At least that was the way he felt. Did Lorena perhaps share those same sensations?
In the storytelling contests, his love for the tales of the troubadours had allowed him to improvise romantic stories of errant knights defying the most horrific dangers in order to rescue their loved one who was either locked up in the highest tower of some inaccessible castle, or abducted and held prisoner in the depths of some inhospitable cave by the most terrifying of dragons. As he reenacted these stories, enhanced by the music of his lute, he could see in Lorena’s eyes the innocent fascination with which she followed the characters’ adventures through the twists and turns of his imagination. In the end, love always triumphed and Lorena’s happy smile induced in him the same vertigo that Dante must have felt when he looked upon Beatrice.
“Try and imagine men confined in a cave since childhood,” propounded Marsilio, “their legs and necks chained in such a way they could only contemplate the interior of the cave and not be able to see the light from the fire shining behind them. That is the image Plato describes in his allegory of the cave. Well, that is the way we are,” asserted Marsilio “as limited as these cavemen, seeing nothing but the shadows of reality.”
Mauricio, who was deep in his own thoughts, had not been paying much attention to the lecture but found in that phrase, heard by chance, the opportunity to speak and pretend he was paying attention to Marsilio.
“We are not in chains,” protested Mauricio. “No shackles hold us by the neck preventing us from facing the sun. We all see things exactly as they are.”
Marsilio half smiled before replying.
“When we dream at night, are we not convinced that everything that is happening to us is real? And yet, it is no more than a figment of our imagination. Sometimes, there are those who dream even when they are awake, in the full light of day.”
Mauricio was at a loss for words as he noticed Leonardo raising his eyes to heaven with an amused expression. That reaction clearly showed that his impulsive remark had not fooled Marsilio.
“In that case,” asked Marsilio “how can we be sure that we are completely awake? Perhaps we are within another dream state, the precursor of a state of wakefulness that will then give way to a more authentic reality.”
Mauricio admired, as always, the elegance shown by Marsilio, who instead of ridiculing him had preferred to take advantage of his distracted state to capture the attention of his audience and, in passing, raise a question of transcendental importance.
“Let us continue with Plato’s allegory,” proposed Marsilio. “If one of the prisoners were freed and forced to walk toward the light, what would happen then?”
“After so many years in darkness, he would be dazzled,” Leonardo pointed out. “If he were to look at the light, however briefly, his eyes would hurt him horribly and he would be incapable of seeing properly.”
“Exactly,” conceded Marsilio with satisfaction. “One would have to proceed in a gentle and progressive way, otherwise the prisoner would beg to go back to the depths of the cave, where his eyes would not bother him and where he would continue to perceive the shadows with which he had lived since he was born. Now let us suppose that we finally succeed in our undertaking. The prisoner is now a free man: he has emerged from his cave. He is able to contemplate the sky, the clouds, and the stars, just like any of you. What would happen now if we were to oblige him to sit once more among these old companions?”
Mauricio identified with that liberated prisoner, because like him, since Lorena’s arrival at the Medici estate, the world shone with such a luminous brilliance for him in a way that he had never experienced before. In fact, this was the best part of talks with Marsilio. However abstract or remote the ideas seemed, they always ended in debates that were so passionate, that the matters under discussion seemed to personally concern the people who were involved.
“It would be a big step forward for his old friends,” observed Mauricio, giving free rein to his private feelings. “He could explain to them what the world is really like. To begin with, he would tell them about fire, mountains, fields, forests … Persuaded by such images,” he concluded, “they would endeavor to find sufficient strength and ingenuity to break free from their shackles.”
“By Zeus, you are more idealistic than Plato himself,” said Leonardo jestingly. “You must bear in mind that were our hero to return to his old place among them, his eyes would be unused to such darkness. He would see everything very confusedly until his eyes grew accustomed once more and he would be unable to perceive the shadows in the same way as those who had remained in the cave. Would he not then be mocked by his companions? They would probably reproach him for having left the cave and say that it had clouded his vision. Also what words could he find to explain what he had observed? His old friends would take him for a madman, and were he to try and free them they would probably put him to death.”
Mauricio liked Leonardo and was intrigued by him. Elegant a
nd extremely brilliant, he possessed an immensely original way of approaching any matter his mind focused upon. He was in the habit of visiting the Medici Palace, where the doors were always open to him, once or twice a week. Lorenzo had also invited him to spend these few days at his villa in Fiesole. It was not surprising, as Il Magnifico delighted in surrounding himself with poets, painters, and humanist philosophers. As for himself, Mauricio felt proud that Lorenzo had included him in such a distinguished gathering. How he would have loved to dedicate his life to studies, teachings, and writings in the same way as the great Marsilio Ficino … ! But this desire was merely wishful thinking. Marsilio enjoyed such privileges due to his undeniable talent, but above all because the Medici allowed him to live free from care in their country villa with no other obligations other than sharpening his spirit with meditation and the written word. If Mauricio had been able to choose a profession above any other, he would not have hesitated to emulate the philosopher priest. But unlike Marsilio, his greatest wish was to create a family and to achieve this he needed the money that books could not provide.
“Exactly,” applauded Marsilio. “Leonardo, yours are the very words of Socrates himself, Plato’s master. When they condemned him to death for ‘perverting’ the Athenians by illuminating the shadows with the light of his questions, he remarked that he marveled at having lived for so long. He attributed this fortunate circumstance to the fact that he had never dedicated himself to politics, for had he done so they would have executed him much earlier for having dared to speak the truth publicly.”
“Politics and philosophy. An explosive mixture,” Leonardo commented maliciously. “Is not philosophy pure speculation and politics pure practice? I am neither a politician nor a philosopher, only an artist, a lover of nature. I hope therefore to keep my head upon my shoulders until I die, old and grey by then, from natural causes.”
Leonardo accompanied this last commentary with a wry grimace that made the members of the little group laugh. These reunions, reflected Mauricio, frequently seemed to combine wisdom with good humor and often produced the most unexpected ideas. How his life had changed since he had left Barcelona! The revolving wheel of fortune was as capricious as it was varied … Would it turn once again and perhaps give him the opportunity of sharing his life with Lorena? It seemed like an impossible fancy, but what if Marsilio was proved to be right and life was a kind of dream. Why not be daring and dream the impossible?
21
Lorena had enjoyed the stories and songs that Mauricio had acted out during the morning more than ever: there was an original troubadour residing in the soul of that young foreigner. His voice, music, and gestures all transported her to an imaginary world she could not reach with other poets. And today had been a special day. Her father and Alessandro had unexpectedly been obliged to return to Florence on business matters, and Cateruccia and her mother were attending to her sister, who was suffering from a fever. Therefore, free of the usual surveillance, Lorena had enjoyed tasting the sweet wine served with the pastries in the same joyful, carefree way she lived out the adventures narrated by Mauricio.
Maybe this was why she accepted when Mauricio proposed showing her a beautiful place he had discovered just outside the grounds of the villa. Perhaps it was the wine or maybe the wonderful time she had been having in the past week on the Medici estate: dinners by moonlight with the finest musicians of Florence enveloping Lorenzo’s gardens with a dreamlike atmosphere, the balls where ladies and gentlemen exhibited their finest colorful attire, floral games in which Mauricio participated and whose poems reminded her of the Provencal verses in the Occitan language that she had learned to love since she was a child … What more could one ask for? To spend a few moments alone with her favorite troubadour? Why not? It was the last day of her stay in the villa, nobody was supervising her, she was happy, and the sun was shining brightly.
And so it was that when the group with which they had been sharing stories and songs dispersed, Lorena and Mauricio slipped away discreetly and left the gardens until they reached a small path flanked by cypress trees. Barely trodden down by footsteps, it wound up toward a small wood. Once there, in a tiny clearing, a pool of crystal clear water rose from the very depths of the earth and presented a nearly irresistible temptation on such a hot day.
“Ever since I discovered it,” Mauricio explained, “I have come to bathe here every day at noon. It is such a wonderful sensation to be in the cool water and yet feel the warm sun playing on your skin. Do you want to try it?”
Lorena had a burning desire to sink into its cold depths after her tiring climb, but in spite of feeling more daring than ever, there were considerations that could not be ignored, such as the decorum that had been inculcated in her since childhood.
“I can hardly swim,” Lorena apologized, timidly.
“Do not worry, I will teach you,” said Mauricio quickly, as he removed his shoes and white linen shirt.
Lorena was taken aback by Mauricio’s easy manner, but also at her own reaction. Far from feeling uncomfortable, she was enjoying seeing his open smile and his shirtless, naked chest.
“It is far more pleasant to feel the touch of water on your naked skin,” explained Mauricio laughing, “but in front of a young lady like yourself, I shall make a sacrifice and bathe without removing one more article of clothing.”
Lorena observed Mauricio’s tight-fitting hose covering his shapely thighs and legs and could not help but imagine his naked body. To her surprise she felt excitement rise within her.
Without giving it another thought, he threw himself headfirst into the water, creating a whirlpool from which he soon emerged, carefree and euphoric, a mass of thrashing, splashing limbs.
“Do you see what I mean? It is easy. Have no fear.”
Lorena had no intention whatsoever of plunging in with Mauricio, but she was enjoying the sight of his antics and saw no harm in cooling her feet by dipping them in the pond. However, as she stepped on a rock she lost her footing on some moss and fell in fully dressed. In an instant Mauricio swam to her, laughing.
“So we are now ready for our first lesson,” he said, winking at her as he gripped her firmly with his arms.
Lorena did not know whether to laugh or cry at this ridiculous and embarrassing situation, although she finally plumped for her first reaction. Her clothes were totally drenched, she could not swim and she was entirely dependent on Mauricio’s goodwill. However, the water was so refreshing after the intense heat she had been enduring and Mauricio’s arms so warm and comforting. A sense of freedom that she had never experienced before invaded her: why not surrender to pleasure and enjoy the situation? Coming out of the water immediately would not change the fact that her clothes were completely soaked. So Lorena burst into laughter, as she enjoyed the impromptu aquatic ballet. She had never done such a crazy thing before and the sense of exhilaration was indescribable. All normal rules of conduct were shattered into tiny pieces and in their place life was displaying its most radiant side. The water, the playing around, the sheer physical presence of Mauricio so close to her in a way she had never experienced with any other man before, the jokes they shared … All this seemed to be happening in a dream in which everything was permitted without having to feel guilty about sinning. Perhaps it was that mixture of sensations, Mauricio’s physical attraction, the complicity of their friendship, or the intoxicating effects of the wine … when they came out of the water, Lorena felt, for the first time in her life, utterly happy and free to do whatever she wished.
For the present, however, she had to dry her clothes before returning to the villa.
“Close your eyes,” said Lorena while she undressed behind some bushes in order to spread out her clothes for them to dry on some rocks. She heard the snapping of a twig and felt a presence behind her. It was Mauricio with his eyes tightly shut, holding out his white shirt.
“Do not worry, I promise not to open my eyes,” he assured her, “but if you are going to wait for your clot
hes to dry, you had better cover yourself with something and my shirt is the only garment that is not wet.”
Lorena realized that any alternative was preferable than being found stark naked in the middle of the forest. What would happen if people were to stumble upon them?
“Here, let me help you,” Mauricio suggested, holding out his shirt. “In this way, all you have to do is to slip your arms into the sleeves.”
She gazed at him, his arms held wide apart, eyes shut and naked from the waist up. She found the sight extremely erotic. A handsome young man, strong bodied and slim, stood motionless in front of her awaiting her response but unable to see her. Lorena was completely naked, a few steps away from this man, her body caressed by the sun and a soft breeze. Unable to prevent herself, she felt her nipples harden and a wave of sensuality flooded through her. She had the power of decision, but more than anything she yearned to feel Mauricio’s body close to hers again.
Once the shirt was on, Mauricio helped her to fasten it, grazing her lightly with his fingertips. Lorena submitted as a slight tremor ran across her skin. Mauricio’s hands touched her breasts like some inescapable continuation of the warm summer breeze. Lorena tilted her head slightly. He stayed behind her, his eyes still shut. He was trembling slightly, his hands had felt the excitement of her breasts and he began gently fondling her nipples. Pleasure flooded through her with the impetuosity of torrential rain. Their bodies came together tightly like two magnets. The heat of the sun was no match for Mauricio’s ardor and the sensual feelings running through her whole being were as powerful and natural as the nature surrounding them. Mauricio’s hand reached below her waist while the other continued caressing her breasts. Lorena gave herself up completely, her eyes gazing unfocused at the landscape blending in with the humidity that was welling within her.
The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring Page 9