“Most certainly. Why not buy some land around here? The earth is exceptionally fertile, the river graces us with its presence, and only six miles separate Pian de Mugnone from Florence. It is an ideal place to build yourself another villa.”
“You are probably right, but I think I might be inclined to buy land in Poggio a Caiano, although it is further from Florence.”
“Why?” asked Luca with interest.
“Lorenzo de Medici is building himself a villa there that is so modern and original in concept that it will make everything built up till now pale by comparison. Furthermore, and this is the most interesting part, he is investing in huge resources to stabilize the banks of the river and endow the area with canals that will control the flow of the waters. A whole town has sprung up from nowhere just to house those who are working on this project! When the undertaking finally comes to fruition, the land value will increase threefold because it will become a veritable paradise on earth. One has to know how to get the most out of one’s investments, my friend.”
Luca managed to control a grimace of displeasure. Lorenzo was a constant reminder of the Medici’s superiority. Be patient. Things could change with every turn of Fortune’s wheel.
“I shall consider investing in Poggio a Caiano,” lied Luca. “By the way, is the plague taking hold in Florence? I have not set foot in the city since they detected the first cases of the disease.”
“There are nearly a hundred patients with it in La Scala hospital and every day at least ten people die. Although we are accustomed to the plague making a periodic appearance, this time it has made more impact than usual. It seems that all the ills have set their sights on Florence at the same time.”
“I have heard evil tongues saying that the plague is a divine punishment imposed upon the people of Florence for opposing the pope and defending Lorenzo. Some even dare say in private that the well-being of one sole citizen is causing too much suffering on an entire city. Those who mutter such things forget what Il Magnifico has done for Florence and, were we to buckle under on such a crucial issue, our republic would lose its independence. But anyway, you know what some people are like. When things are going well it is all adulation, but the moment bad times come … ”
Luca had used his favorite technique of putting in the mouth of others his own opinions and then disagreeing with the criticism these supposedly anonymous voices were expressing. In this way he was able to introduce into a conversation ideas that interested him without being accused of sharing the same opinions.
“Do not concern yourself,” said Bernardo self-importantly, “people give vent to their feelings in private but know which side to be on when the time comes.”
Luca watched his companion with consummate attention. His principal motive in inviting Bernardo for lunch was to glean the maximum amount of information from him, be it from his conversation or his gestures. Bernardo Rucellai was married to Lucrecia Medici, Lorenzo’s sister.
He therefore ought to know to perfection the secret machinations that were occurring in the seat of power. Bernardo’s expression only showed annoyance rather than concern. He had not even bothered to ask the names of the critics in order to include them in his black list. The men working for the dreaded Xenofon Kalamatiano were probably already compiling the list as they spoke. In any case it seemed more prudent to change the conversation. Luca poured some wine into the two great goblets of Venetian glass and, assuming a conspiratorial manner, smiled ironically.
“Did you hear about the lightning marriage between Lorena Ginori and that foreigner called Mauricio Coloma? They say the ceremony was so small that not even the whole of Lorena’s family was present. As far as that Spaniard’s family is concerned, no one at all turned up at the wedding. No one knows if he does not have any family or if he would have found it embarrassing to introduce them into society. Or perhaps, as the wedding was all so hurried, they had no time to come. I am sure you understand me … ”
Bernardo laughed as he drained his goblet of wine.
“I know what you are getting at, you rogue. Maybe Lorena had already been gored by that Spanish bull’s horn before the time decorum demands?” he said, making an obscene gesture with his index finger. “Lorenzo has not mentioned it, but I’m sure he would have needed time to explain such a juicy piece of gossip in detail. What with Mauricio Coloma lodging in Lorenzo’s own palace, nobody would be better informed about his exploits than him. But you do have a point. It is understandable that the plague stopped any plans for a lavish wedding. Nevertheless, a ceremony like that, with no previous warning … Certainly the Ginori family could have aspired to far more, however much Mauricio has the very best protector he could ever hope for in Lorenzo. It would not surprise me in the least to know that Mauricio had robbed Lorena of her virtue, considering that his father was already a consummate thief.”
“What do you mean?” asked Luca with great interest.
“Well, many years ago, an experienced craftsman from our house sold some trade secrets to the highest bidder about our prosperous dyeing business. The buyer was a Catalan: Mauricio’s father.”
“In other words, like father like son.”
“Yes, yes absolutely,” laughed Bernardo, “but I beg of you not to tell anyone. After all, the fact Lorenzo is alive is thanks to Mauricio. For that reason Il Magnifico asked me to keep my lips sealed. I know I can confide in you as if you were my own brother.”
Luca realized the wine had loosened Bernardo’s tongue; his voice had the ring of sincerity. Being of the same age and sharing a liking for hunting and fine food, they had forged a natural friendship over the years. Thanks to Bernardo’s connections, Luca had been chosen on various occasions to fill certain important positions in Florentine institutions. Of course, in appreciation of this, he had always voted unconditionally in favor of the Medici interests. Being an Albizzi, anything that was less than enthusiastic support of Lorenzo would convert him into a persona non grata. For now he would make no comments concerning the shady business affairs of Mauricio’s father, but eventually he would find a way of using that information to his best advantage. Meanwhile, his own honor had been saved. No one had found out that he had planned to marry Lorena only to find himself left in the lurch. In fact, Francesco had never specifically mentioned that Lorena might become his wife, although he had hinted at it more than once with various unmistakable subterfuges. For this reason, when the old fox told him of Lorena’s betrothal to Mauricio, he had also mentioned how much he wished he could marry his other daughter, once she became a woman, to someone he liked more and felt a sincere affection for, someone, in short, named Luca Albizzi. At least Francesco had had the decency to tell Luca the news personally, rather than letting him find out from a third party. Furthermore, he had assured Luca that Lorena and Mauricio’s marriage was not the union he would have preferred. He had not revealed the real motives behind the betrothal, of course. Nor had Luca asked. However, he did want to ask Bernardo some important questions, not of a personal nature but a military one.
“What has befallen our captain, the Marquess of Ferrara? We have already lost Lamole, Castellana, Radda, Meletuzzo, and Cachiano with none of our troops going to their aid. It would seem that the main tactic of our captain is not to approach the enemy. If they sack a city, our troops immediately retreat and start attacking townships without a garrison that cannot put up any resistance. ‘I will sack here and you there. There is no reason our armies should get too close to each other.’ This seems to be the only rule that gets respected in this war.”
“Yes, this dynamic is dangerous,” agreed Bernardo sadly. “Continuous pillaging is starting to provoke food shortages. Bread, for instance, now costs four times more than last April. When the popolo minutto start to worry about whether there will be any food on the table the next day, there is a real danger of revolution.”
“So why does the Marquess of Ferrara not openly confront our enemies? Has he by any chance asked for more money than he has received?” asked Luca,
avid for any relevant information.
“Fifty thousand florins is more than enough to keep his army motivated. But we certainly are investigating it. Xenofon Kalamatiano suspects that maybe he is being bribed, but has no proof yet. Knowing his methods, I do not think it will be long before he obtains it.”
Luca swallowed nervously. If Leoni had handed him two thousand florins without blinking an eyelid, how much would he be prepared to pay the captain of the Florentine army? A shudder ran through his whole body at the thought of the letter he had been entrusted with in Urbino to deliver to Pietro Manfredi. Luca had prudently opened the sealed envelope using steam, careful not to leave any traces. To his utter amazement he had found that the letter was completely blank! What forces were these, engaging in war? Luca wondered to himself, as he sealed the letter again with the help of a sponge and an ingenious paste made up of wax and resin.
33
Mauricio was struggling to balance the accounts of the current year, but his imagination kept taking flight to the Ginori villa where his beloved was living. Her parents, and he too, thought it safer for Lorena to stay in the country until the outbreak of the plague abated. But, he missed her so much … since their betrothal they had hardly managed to have any time together. Not only because Mauricio had to attend to his duties at the tavola, but also because Francesco Ginori had suggested he limit his visits to the villa while the plague continued to leave a trail of deaths in Florence.
In fact, he had hardly been able to enjoy the company of his wife, not even during their wedding, as it had been as brief as it was hurried. One cold morning Lorena’s father had announced to him in a dry, threatening way that his daughter was pregnant and that honor demanded he marry her immediately. Mauricio, completely euphoric, effusively embraced Francesco, whose stern countenance remained grim. The ceremony took place a week later in an atmosphere of such intimacy that the few guests who had been invited to the small chapel were all members of the Ginori family, their joyless expressions more appropriate to a funeral than a wedding. Leonardo had been the sole and colorful exception. In spite of this, Mauricio’s happiness was only clouded by the fear that the plague could put an end to all his dreams. He was married to the woman he loved and he would soon be a father, God willing. Mauricio pondered on the quirks of fate, as swift as they were unexpected. In a short space of time, he had gone from being destitute and without a family, to suddenly acquiring one of his own. All the same, he had to prosper economically if he wished to uphold the honor of his wife and be accepted by her family and Florentine society. For the moment, the wedding dress he had given to Lorena had not exactly endeared him to Francesco Ginori, but at least had earned him his respect.
“You are looking very thoughtful. Is there something you do not understand?” asked Bruno.
Mauricio looked at his companion, a broad-shouldered, well-built man of around thirty years of age. Round-faced with a pleasing expression and sharp eyes, he was the right-hand man of Francesco Sassetti, the bank’s general manager, who had not come to the tavola today but had stayed working in Lorenzo de Medici’s palace where the central offices of his financial and commercial empire were located. The tavola, situated in the Calvantini Palace near the old market, only handled bank operations concerned with Florence. Encouraged by Bruno’s good humor that morning, Mauricio decided to try his luck with a question that he had been toying with for a long time. As Francesco Sassetti was not there and the couple of young messenger boys who usually loitered around were out delivering various documents in town, there would never be a more propitious moment than now for Bruno to answer that question, which was not remotely technical.
“I have spent days checking the entries in our accounts and there is something that does not tally. There is more money going out than coming in, and there is no evidence of sufficient funds to cover this discrepancy. Where does this money come from?”
Bruno leaned back in his chair, looking satisfied.
“At last, you have asked the right question. If the money is not coming from our deposits or from other branches, or from our investments, what is its mysterious origin?”
“This is what I would like to know. The accounts only show that our creditors are getting paid with florins that are appearing out of thin air.”
“The accounts will not provide you with the answer. You’ll see. I am going to tell you a story. Toward the end of November 1477, a galleon flying the Pazzi pennant, moored in the French port of Port du Bouc. Its hold was replete with jewels, gold, silver, precious stones, silks, and spices. The final destination of this extraordinary treasure was Rome, where it was to be used to maintain the magnificent lifestyle the Pazzi were accustomed to and also to be used for various payments that had to be made to Pope Sixtus IV. A caravan, under escort, was to travel discreetly across the country, making its way toward the city of Saint Peter. However, someone with inside knowledge knew full well what those mules carried in their saddlebags. When the caravan was between Casola in Lunigia and Castelnuovo di Garfagnana, they were ambushed. No survivors were left to tell the tale. Lorenzo de Medici sent a message of solidarity to Jacopo Pazzi telling him how highly distressed he was and offering all the help he could possibly need. The only thing that is certain is that a fabulous shipment valued at one hundred and thirty thousand florins disappeared together with the assailants, who were never to be heard of again.”
“Are you insinuating that Lorenzo had a hand in this crime?” asked Mauricio, who doubted that Il Magnifico was capable of issuing such an order.
Lorenzo was the most powerful and generous friend he could ever have wished to have. Had it not been Il Magnifico, who in spite of the enormous challenges he was facing, had secretly commissioned the house of Giovanni Gilberti to sew a wedding dress when Mauricio confessed his intention to marry Lorena? Was he not also a generous patron of artists and himself a great poet? Yet it was equally true that after the Pazzi conspiracy his revenge had been pitiless.
“I did not say that,” said Bruno. “Here we only keep the accounts of operations dealing with Florence. There is a secret book, to which I have no access, that summarizes the activities of different branches and the other industries in which the Medici are involved. Without that information, the rest is pure speculation. What is certain is that Il Magnifico had excellent reasons to perpetrate the attack I just described to you. You see, the pope had asked the Medici Bank for a loan some time before with the goal of using it to buy off the city of Imola and impose his nephew Girolamo Riaro as governor. Lorenzo refused, considering that this base might constitute a threat to the Republic of Florentine’s zone of influence. In spite of his express opposition, the Pazzi granted Sixtus IV the loan. As a result, they then became the new papal bankers. And so after more than a century of managing the finances of the Holy Roman church, the Medici were excluded.”
“I see,” said Mauricio thoughtfully, “if Il Magnifico had ordered the attack, he not only would have had his revenge on the pope, but on the Pazzi as well.”
“Exactly,” Bruno said, pointing at him with his index finger and arching his right eyebrow. “If that had actually happened, there would be a remnant of money with which to pay the various obligations contracted by the Tavola Medici of Florence. Naturally the florins would appear, but their true provenance could never be explained.”
“What you are saying makes sense. Nevertheless, both the pope and the Pazzi could have suspected Lorenzo.”
“But of course they did, yet they could never find the slightest proof. It had been a perfect robbery. Sixtus IV counterattacked, demanding an auditory of the papal alum monopoly that was managed by the Medici, a humiliating and unusual measure to take.”
“Alum … ” thought Mauricio. He was familiar with that white, astringent salt because of his father’s textile business. Extracted by means of the crystallization or dissolution of certain rocks and soil, it was essential in fixing the colors during the dyeing process of the fabrics. For many years, Christia
ns were obliged to buy it from the Turks, until enormous reserves of alum were discovered in Tolfa, a place near Rome. The pope immediately forbade, under pain of excommunication, any further purchase from the infidels while at the same time forming a company in conjunction with the Medici. It was through this partnership that they managed the entire business.
“And what did the pope’s auditors uncover?” Mauricio was curious to know.
“Nothing. The accounts tallied perfectly, down to the very last florin. There was not the slightest serious irregularity that could have put the Medici’s management in question. This is not to say that, in view of the cooling in his dealings with the pope, canny Lorenzo had not carried out a series of measures that would be impossible for anyone to detect.”
“Consisting of what?” asked Mauricio, wide-eyed and open-minded.
Bruno had deliberately crossed a point of no return when he went from explaining the best financial practices, always in the absence of the general manager, to revealing confidential information on matters that were as sensitive as they were secret.
“Now listen to me carefully. Not everyone respected the prohibition of buying from the Turks. But the reserves of alum discovered on papal territory were immense. As a result, the market became saturated and prices fell to a ridiculously low level. Up till now, would you say there was anything different from the inherent risk found in any business?”
“Absolutely not,” answered Mauricio.
“Now, let us go one step further. Lorenzo knows and controls the entire alum production of the whole of Christendom. He could have decided to sell less quantity, thus maintaining the price of alum. What if instead, he did the complete opposite? What if he sold more than a reasonable amount? If that were the case, once the prices had plummeted he could have purchased large amounts of alum through companies actually controlled by him and patiently stored away the product he had acquired so cheaply. Once there was a shortage on the market, the companies under Lorenzo’s domain could sell alum at very high prices. In this way, the Medici would be the only beneficiaries of the business and their partner, the Depositaria della Camera Apostólica, would be ruined.”
The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring Page 13