As Luca had suspected from the start, the ring played an important part in the conspiracy against Lorenzo.
“By the way,” continued Leoni. “I should be extremely grateful if you could deliver this letter to Pietro Manfredi on his return from London.”
Luca’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Have no concern, my lord. Pietro Manfredi is one of ours.”
Luca took the envelope firmly with his right hand. There was no turning back now.
28
Mauricio usually attended mass early in the morning at the Basilica of San Lorenzo, which had been entirely renovated thanks to the patronage of the Medici and stood opposite their palace. Today, sunk in thought as heavy as the fog obscuring the outline of some of the buildings, he went past the basilica and continued walking until he reached the imposing church of Santa Maria Novella.
Mauricio decided to join the faithful gathering to celebrate the holy rituals, going in through the main door flanked by beggars whom he tried to console with a few coins. Overawed by the sheer size of the central nave, he found refuge in the secluded side chapel financed by the banker Tommaso Strozzi for the expiation of his sins. The main wall showed “The Last Judgment” and on either side were the two possible destinies that awaited mankind: “The Inferno,” with the nine concentric spheres described by Dante and the sought-after “Paradise.” Not surprisingly, the fresco depicted how Saint Michael guided Tommaso Strozzi and his beloved spouse heavenward.
Mauricio would also have loved to atone for his sins by building a chapel thanks to his great wealth. For now, short of any other resources, he had to suffer the lack of news concerning Lorena in silence, praying that his particular purgatory be a way of punishment that would soon lead him to a happy outcome. In the meantime, Francesco Ginori’s servants had invariably given him the same answer: “The master is busy. If he wishes to see you he will send you a message.” Mauricio clung to such an ambiguous answer and put all his hopes into it. Had Francesco been totally sure of opposing his marriage to Lorena, he would have let him know by now. The servants also would have been far blunter and told him not to come again. Leaving that door slightly ajar with the possibility of sending a message surely meant that there might still be hope.
Mauricio came out again into the spacious central nave of the church, knelt in front of the altar, and crossed himself. It was time to go to the bank and face the challenges that the day had in store for him. He had lately got the impression that Francesco Sassetti, the general manager, was subtly trying to obstruct his attempts at fathoming the true workings of the tavola. Even Bruno, initially enthusiastic, was reticent to explain anything when the general manager was present. They continuously evaded detailed explanation concerning some accounting entries that did not balance and he was sure they impeded his access to certain contracts or financial agreements.
Mauricio preferred to pretend he was unaware of Francesco Sassetti’s machinations. Before making a wrong move, he had to learn more about financial matters to enable him to discover what the general manager of the tavola was concealing. Only then would he have any grounds to report his shady conduct to Lorenzo. Otherwise, Il Magnifico, immersed as he was in a sea of worries, could interpret his complaints as those of a child incapable of asserting himself. As long as Francesco Sassetti did not see him as a threat, Mauricio would be able to continue cultivating his friendship with Bruno in secret without raising suspicion. In fact, Bruno was always first to arrive at the tavola, while the general manager usually took his time. It was for that reason that Mauricio had taken to rising at dawn because Bruno was always friendlier and more willing to share his precious knowledge when they were alone.
As he came out into the street, he was dazzled by the first rays of morning sunshine. Mauricio reached the Via della Scala, which led to the tavola, when an unusual sight stopped him in his tracks. At the crossroads with Via della Porcellana, three men were helping a woman along when suddenly she collapsed to the ground.
Mauricio ran quickly toward the group to find out what had happened. The three men looked distraught. One of them shook his head as he looked at Mauricio.
“There is nothing more to be done. The plague has taken her life. Would you help us take her to La Scala hospital cemetery?”
Mauricio recoiled instinctively. He was frightened at the thought that touching her clothes might mean death. Although the hospital was less than five hundred paces away, that short journey could lead him to a place from which the living never return.
The three men began to lift the dead body without waiting for his help. At that moment, Mauricio changed his mind. Maybe, as he stood at the threshold of the church, God had been waiting for him in order to test his faith. Or was it just praying a lot and helping very little that made good Christians? He had to act bravely. If God were looking down kindly upon him, he might have the grace to concede permission for his marriage to Lorena. Mauricio took courage remembering that, according to Marsilio Ficino, there was no proof that physical contact was the cause of infection, for there were people who cohabited with plague sufferers without contracting the illness.
Mauricio commended his soul to Jesus Christ as his hands came into contact with the corpse.
29
“Good morning, Lorena. How are you feeling today?”
Lorena jumped with surprise. Sitting on a bench in the villa’s garden, absorbed watching a bee that had just alighted on a beautiful mauve flower, she had not heard her mother approaching. The sun was shining brightly with hardly a cloud in the sky and the solitude of the garden provided the perfect refuge from which to escape from her anxiety.
“My period still hasn’t come,” replied Lorena.
Her mother’s face relaxed slightly, looking satisfied. “It is already more than a month since your last one, my girl.”
“Yes, nearly five weeks, but I am not putting on weight nor do I feel sick. If anything, I think I am a little thinner.”
“Every woman is different. Some feel their body changing in the beginning, others notice it more after the third month. In your anxious state it would be normal for you to lose weight even if you were expecting. You should eat better, rest, and take as much care of yourself as possible. Anyway, it is far too premature to make any diagnosis. At times of great stress I have sometimes been over eight weeks late.”
Lorena looked at her mother. She wore a pink dress with the skirt reaching down to the ground and her shoulders were covered with a delicate silk shawl. Her head was protected with a coif of fine white material with side pieces that covered her hair. It was possible, Lorena thought to herself, that she had not bothered dressing her hair that morning. She was a mature woman who would soon be reaching her fortieth year. Inevitably she had lost the first bloom of youthful beauty, but instead possessed a serene elegance that conferred its own kind of beauty.
“Mama, what will happen if I turn out not to be pregnant?”
“Once your father has given his word, he always keeps it, even if he regrets it afterward. And he is very upset with you. For Francesco, the union with Luca Albizzi was a sort of insurance should the Medici regime collapse. You know full well that many rich merchants have faced ruin when the governing families they were supporting fell from grace. And we are well known to be pro-Medici. So in Francesco’s opinion, your bold adventure constitutes a betrayal of the family. I doubt I could make him change his mind if you are not pregnant, but I can assure you I shall try my very best.”
Tears of emotion ran down Lorena’s face. Her mother loved her more than she had ever imagined. She had defended her from her father when, out of his mind with anger, he was about to hit her. She had always refrained from recriminations in her reckless conduct and she was willing to fight as much as was in her power in pursuit of her happiness. What hidden strength lay secret in her mother’s soul? Lorena had always seen her as a mother and lady of the house, but now she understood that she was looking at a woman much like herself, with her passions, y
earnings, and disappointments.
Her mother sat on the bench next to her daughter and hugged her.
“Cry no more, my dearest. I promise you will marry Mauricio.”
30
Il Magnifico looked at the heavenly bodies that covered the ceiling of the Medici chapel in the church of San Lorenzo, “his church.” The stars had chosen him to be the standard bearer of the Medici and his grandfather, Cosimo, pater patriae of Florence had explained to him from an early age the rules of the game. He had been educated from childhood to carry the weight of power and responsibility upon his shoulders. He had taken this on quite naturally and had never wavered when called upon to make a difficult decision. Yet on days like today, the exercise of power weighed down on him like a heavy mantle, and he felt as if he were forced to wear a golden crown spiked with thorns.
The corpse of his friend Adolfo Bennedetti, the young and promising artist, had been found floating in the River Arno. Never again would he compose a song or take up his paintbrushes. No more would his hands fill the silence with exquisite musical chords, or fill a blank canvas with images evoked by his fertile imagination. Someone had branded on his chest: “Your hours are numbered.” Lorenzo knew who his murderers were. A few days ago, young Adolfo had been certain he could find out something important about the “Resplendent Ones.”
Lorenzo had attributed his friend’s words to his well-known propensity for tall tales, although he had warned him, just in case, to be prudent and not take any steps without first consulting him. Unfortunately, he had not heeded his words and now he was dead.
This odious murder was also a dagger thrust from afar directed at him. Lorenzo had been anxious to end the sinister secret society. The Resplendent Ones were the puppet masters who had pulled the strings to make the Pazzi and the pope himself try to get rid of the Medici, he was sure of it. It was because of them that his brother Giuliano and the young Adolfo had died.
If he wanted to live up to his name, he could not allow the murder of another innocent. Xenofon Kalamatiano, his much-feared spymaster, would have to intensify his network of informers among the main Florentine families and include all the artists and humanists of the Platonic Academy in his list of people coming under his protection. This was a titanic undertaking that would require enormous resources, but if they dared attempt another coup, he would be prepared this time, arrests would be made, and he would follow the trail until the whole elusive organization was dismantled. Lorenzo considered the possibility that Mauricio might also be in their sights … Until now, the Resplendent Ones had crouched in the shadows and only acted by guiding the hands of the Pazzi to deal the decisive blow and more recently to protect themselves from anything that Adolfo might have revealed. It did not seem very likely that they would suddenly change their strategy and start committing violent crimes without real necessity.
However, it could not be ruled out that they might try and destabilize him by attacking his friends. Lorenzo resolved to provide Mauricio with discreet but effective protection. He had favored him in so many different ways and things being as they were, this could be cause enough to turn him into a potential target. For a start he had been personally involved recently in encouraging Francesco Ginori to consent to the marriage between his daughter and Mauricio. He had also used his influence to organize a present of such magnificence that Lorena would become the envy of every bride-to-be in Florence.
31
The elaborate, jewel-encrusted trains on dresses could make every movement so difficult that walking too fast could make one look ridiculous. Aware of this, Lorena walked very slowly, giving the serene impression of a person with no need to hurry.
Her joy was so intense that she feared tears would gush down her face with the impetuosity of a torrent. Gathering up all her courage, she controlled her emotions as the slightest hesitation would have been misinterpreted by the small number of people present at her wedding. In Florence, the most important public display in a woman’s life was the short walk that led from the church door to the marriage altar. Normally, the church would have been replete with guests and the family members would have made every possible effort for the wedding dress to reflect the honor of their lineage. But this was not the case, in spite of the nearly sacred character of both traditions.
Contravening all social norms, her father had not put one single florin toward her wedding dress and left it up to Mauricio to be in charge of this delicate task. Lorena was sure that by doing this, Francesco wished to ridicule her husband-to-be, for it was impossible to fashion a decent dress in such a short space of time: only one week! Not even her father’s workshops, working day and night, would have achieved more than a mediocre result. This was another reason her father wanted to disassociate himself from the wedding dress. One thing was to consent to a hurried union, thus avoiding the scandal of producing a child born within six months of the marriage, and another quite different one was to put the prestige of the Ginori firm in a bad light.
Nevertheless Mauricio had amazed everyone, and even Lorena wondered if he were not really a magician as he had presented her with a dress capable of dazzling the vainest and most demanding of women. Most brides would wear a giornea, an overgown with sewn sleeves instead of a one-piece cioppa, which required far more time and skill. Lorena was not only wearing an elegant crimson silk cioppa, but also the brocade of the fabric made a most beautiful visual spectacle in which day blended into night.
In the center, a small golden sun embroidered just below the shoulders lit up the dress with its glow. Emulating this splendor, encrusted jewels gave the impression of an eagle’s flight up toward the king of the stars. Scattered around the back of the cioppa, myriad pearls represented the constellation of Aquarius, her birth sign in the zodiac. Her headdress was a delightful combination of silver and plumes, which enhanced the beauty of her plaited hair. A silken belt and velvet slippers completed her outfit.
Only one other establishment, apart from her father’s, could have produced such an exquisite result: the well-known and highly esteemed company of maestro Giovanni Gilberti. Mauricio, Lorena decided, was starting to acquire Florentine manners. On the one hand, her father could not help admire and praise the fabulous dress she was proudly wearing. But on the other, the fact that his main business rival had made his daughter’s wedding dress constituted a most shameful affront. No one could have foreseen such a subtle move because the work involved in producing such a piece of art implied many weeks of hard labor, not to mention costing a veritable fortune. How had Mauricio managed to do this? The same question must have been bothering her father, whose fury was only mitigated by the fact that so few were there to witness such a tremendous humiliation.
In fact, on her wedding day, Lorena had not arrived at her husband’s house riding a white steed as tradition demanded. The busy streets of Florence, usually so accustomed to witness weddings, had been kept completely ignorant of her new status. There was no color or feeling of celebration in the church for them to enjoy as they usually would when witnessing other marriages. Not even her best friends had come. What with the hastiness of the arrangements and the plague, which discouraged celebrations involving large crowds, her father had resolved to celebrate with a simple ceremony in the small and isolated sanctuary and had only invited the very closest family.
This was not exactly the wedding day every woman would dream of, but the gloomy convent in which she would have languished her days away with no other company than her fellow nuns was nothing now but a building she would never have to enter. Mauricio awaited her at the top of the aisle. There lay all her hopes, dreams, and desires, although also fear of the future, which was as uncertain as it was unknown.
As she walked toward the altar, Lorena could see out of the corner of her eye her husband’s only guest. Leonardo da Vinci caught her fleeting glance, smiled imperceptibly and continued drawing in one of those leather-bound sketchbooks he always carried. Was he perhaps depicting the expressions of those prese
nt, the small details of the gold interwoven in the silk, or perhaps the swirl made by the folds of her skirt? Leonardo was probably recording all the images captured by his penetrating eye precisely and meticulously, as was characteristic of him, being as Lorenzo de Medici himself had commissioned a painting to immortalize the nuptial ceremony.
Lorena was overjoyed at the idea of having a pictorial record of her wedding. Her father, on the other hand, did not share her enthusiasm for a painting in which the whole of Florence would be able to contemplate her dressed by the house of Giovanni Gilberti.
He would have been even less happy to find out that his consent to the marriage of his daughter was based on a lie.
The fact was her mother had tricked Francesco: she had assured him that Lorena was two months’ overdue, not five weeks, and for that reason, her father concluded that he could waste no time in hurrying up the wedding plans to save the Ginori from utter shame. Lorena could only wonder what would be the consequences if it finally turned out that she was not pregnant.
The future would provide its own answers, she told herself. The only question that she must answer now was that which God was asking through the priest: would she take Mauricio as her husband for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do them part?
32
“One lives very well here,” said Bernardo Rucellai as he savored some succulent roasted turkey tongues.
Luca nodded with satisfaction. He was extremely proud of his villa and he had prepared for the visit of the wealthy Rucellai with special care. Roasted capons, pheasants cooked with mushrooms, quail in peppercorn sauce, and the very best wines from his cellar, all combined to turn the meal into a veritable feast.
The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring Page 12