The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring

by Agustín Bernaldo Palatchi

  Mauricio was disconcerted by the conversation. It was one thing for Elias to believe that behind his religion lay a hidden doctrine, but quite another thing for Pico and Lorenzo to insinuate the same about other religions, including Christianity. His rigid education had never allowed room for these matters, where even the mere fact of asking oneself questions was considered suspicious.

  “Do you mean to say that Christianity also contains secrets unknown to us?” enquired Mauricio.

  “Do not misinterpret us,” smiled Lorenzo affably. “It is well known that the great saints have been closer to God than we poor sinners. Even in the Gospels, they say that when the Holy Spirit came to the apostles their understanding of things increased extraordinarily. Picolo, you and I share the same religion, but our knowledge of Christianity is not the same as that of the saints, nor of the apostles, because they were more aware of the presence of God. It is to this greater knowledge, impossible to attain with mere inanimate words, that we are referring.”

  The truth, reflected Mauricio, could contain several levels of understanding.

  “In my case,” intervened Pico, “I wanted to express another nuance. Although it may appear surprising, certain elements recur within different religions, such as the mystery of the Trinity, which confirm the mysteries later revealed by Jesus Christ. And I am sure that if we were to delve into the secret doctrines of the Egyptians, Jews, or Greeks like Pythagoras and Plato, we would find even more wonderful elements that would demonstrate that God in his infinite mercy had already introduced the essential principles of Christianity into those other religions. So then why fight among each other? It would be far better to honor friends like Elias and celebrate that which binds us, even though they do not share our faith yet, rather than kill one another because of our differences.”

  “I am deeply grateful for your words,” said Elias emotionally as he bowed his head slightly. “Your creed is different from the Jewish one, yet a world in which we could each respect our differences and revere that which unites us, as described by Pico, a veritable prince of harmony, seems to me a supremely beautiful image. Unfortunately, this is all very far from reality. The history of our people is one of intolerance, scorn, hate, and persecution. Today, by the good grace of Lorenzo, we Jews are respected and accepted in Florence. But woe betide us if Il Magnifico were to be no more! Without his protection the populace would have blamed us for the outbreak of the plague and perhaps my voice would have already been silenced forever.”

  A deep emotion struck Mauricio to his very core as he listened to Elias’s moving words. The wise rabbi was right. Had they not exterminated nearly the entire Jewish population of the Call in Barcelona at the end of the last century, under the pretext of them being the cause of the plague which was devastating the city? His paternal grandparents had been practicing Christians, but not in their heart of hearts. Now, at a distance, it seemed more understandable than ever that they had professed one religion outwardly, knowing it was not truly theirs, but driven by fear. The fear of a horrible death that so many others had suffered. And in that case, did they really deserve to suffer in Hades for all eternity? If it were for him to decide, he would be unable to send them to hell. And if the majority of people in Barcelona were similar to those gathered there today, the Jews in the Call would not have been lynched. Was it possible that there was more pity in the hearts of those men than in that of God? Mauricio was frightened by his own thoughts. To reason in this way went against everything that had been inculcated in him with such fervor. If the Lord had created hell, who was he to put it in doubt? Had Jesus Christ not sacrificed himself so that all men could have salvation within their reach?

  “In the known world, we Jews will not enjoy peace other than temporarily,” affirmed Elias. “Too much hate has built up against us. Sooner or later we always end up being persecuted. However, the limits of the world are still unknown to us. Perhaps a distant land exists in which the ten lost tribes of Israel have created a kingdom in which we could live together without fear. It is also possible that there might be another far-off land, uninhabited by Christians, Jews, or Muslims. A land without history, free of ancestral hates. It is only there may be, that men such as us could live in peace without clashing for reasons of different race or religion.”

  “A wonderful ideal to dream for,” said Pico della Mirandola.

  “Gentlemen,” announced Lorenzo, “all we have to achieve now is to find the Promised Land. Who knows? Perhaps a map of the treasure lies hidden in one of those ancient parchments my grandfather Cosimo once bought.”

  Lorenzo had said this in a light, mocking tone but Mauricio thought he detected a note of sincerity in his voice. Il Magnifico was a man far too profound to be taken lightly, even when he spoke in jest. Mauricio remembered what Lorenzo had said during the tragic events at the cathedral: “a ritual murder!” he had exclaimed. A few days later he had hinted that the conspiracy formed part of a diabolical plan, but that he preferred not to talk about its ins and outs. Also the allusions to secret lore, which could not be understood through the written word, deepened the mystery even more. It was as if he were gazing at a game in which he could distinguish the pieces but knew neither the objective nor the rules.

  Mauricio’s abstracted gaze came to rest upon one of the Medici coats of arms hanging on the wall of the room. The emblem consisted of six balls. By the flickering light of the candles, he noticed for the first time that these spheres could be divided into two blocks. The one above was composed of three circles forming a triangle, whose apex pointed upward, toward the ceiling. The one below, containing the other three circles, formed a second triangle, with the apex pointing downward, toward the ground. This, he was certain, had a meaning that also escaped him.

  Perhaps it was better that way. It was quite enough to have to battle every day with the enigmas of the bank without taking on even more mysteries. The only important issue at the moment was that the plague should be over by the time Lorena gave birth. Until that day, all his efforts would have to center exclusively on acquiring a residence in Florence worthy of his wife and in which they could live together proudly and happily. In the meantime, it was convenient for him to stay in the Medici Palace, where the central offices of their commercial and financial empire were based, and in that way be able to maintain direct contact with Lorenzo. However his greatest wish was to be master in his own home. He had already mentioned this to Lorenzo, who had proposed an agreement he was sure would delight not only Lorena, but also her wealthy family.

  36

  Luca felt cold as he removed his tunic lined with rabbit fur, in spite of the thick logs burning in the open fire of Pietro Manfredi’s great hall. Both his shirt and breeches, woven in the San Martino convent, were of the finest English wool. The narrow velvet doublet tightly fitting across his chest and covering his shirt was reinforced with squirrel skin. So perhaps the cold sensation invading his whole body owed more to his fear. After all, it would not be the first time that a herald carried the message ordering his own death.

  Pietro Manfredi had come across as wary when he received him. He had just returned from England and it was possible that he was still in a bad temper after having ordered the closure of a branch in London, which had involved great losses. Clearly anxious to peruse the letter which Leoni had handed over in Urbino, he was quick to retire from the room after muttering a few polite words. Luca doubted he would be able to read anything, as the envelope merely contained a sheet of blank paper. Nevertheless, this could be a prearranged signal between Leoni and Pietro indicating something about the messenger.

  When a solicitous servant entered and offered him some honey sweetmeats, Luca thought it more prudent to wait until Pietro ate one before trying any himself. He did not have to wait long for his host was quick to return.

  “Well, well,” exclaimed Pietro. “It seems I have been commissioned to instruct you in certain things. Have you heard of the Simonetta code?”

  “No … ”r />
  “All the better,” said Pietro, helping himself to a honey cake. “It is a small manual in which Cecco Simonetta, chancellor of the powerful Sforza family of Milan, demonstrates how to decipher the keys used in letters and messages written by diplomats. I shall give you a copy to study at home. Once you have learned it, I shall show you other, more complex codes. If you have to write letters giving information about the situation in Florence, you must be acquainted with the more advanced methods of ciphering, including the use of invisible ink, which appears when subjected to bright light. Our mutual safety depends upon it.”

  “What will I have to report exactly?” asked Luca, relieved to see that no trap had been sprung for him and that the blank piece of paper had, in fact, contained a written message.

  “Your work will consist of informing us about the general situation in Florence and about certain people in particular. In some cases it will be advisable for you to use mail. Knowing that you have many contacts in other cities, you will not arouse suspicion by sending certain letters, these being duly in code should they fall into undesirable hands. On the other hand, there will be some information you will only report to me personally, leaving no written trace whatsoever. Your friendship with Bernardo Rucellai, married to a sister of Lorenzo de Medici, could be particularly useful.”

  “In which way?” asked Luca with interest as he reached toward the tray of sweetmeats.

  “Let’s say that all aspects surrounding Lorenzo are of interest to us. Sometimes the most trivial details, such as knowing he has a penchant for pheasant in cream of artichoke sauce, or pannaccota with strawberry sauce, can be vitally useful. Were you aware that white hellebore is an inoffensive plant, but when knowledgeably distilled can produce a powerful poison provoking in its victim vomiting, diarrhea, muscular spasms, delirium, asphyxiation, and finally cardiac arrest? If the right amount is mixed in with artichoke cream sauce or strawberry sauce, its flavor is imperceptible.”

  On hearing these words, Luca’s hand recoiled instinctively from the tempting tray.

  “Are you talking about killing Lorenzo de Medici? Nothing would please me more than to see him dead, but we must take into account the enormous price to be paid should the plan fail.”

  “Yes, of course. We should never undertake any action that would prove too risky for the consequences it could entail. Were you or anybody found to be involved in a conspiracy of that type I do not doubt for one moment that, subjected to Xenofon Kalamatiano’s methods of torture, you would reveal anything, including my name. By the same token, you should also be very aware that to betray our side is always rewarded with a slow death. Leoni has an infallible sixth sense when it comes to choosing our people, but I also prefer to warn you in advance of the consequences of such a vile felony just to avoid any temptations.”

  “In my case, I have had more than enough warnings,” said Luca forcefully. “If you do not trust me it might be preferable not to explain anything.”

  “Do not take this personally. This is just a word of warning, something I always mention. As I told you before, killing Lorenzo in Florence is far too dangerous an undertaking. Following the failed attempt, he is the only citizen who has the right to be protected by armed guards within the city. Also if the security measures among his household staff were already exceptional before the Pazzi conspiracy, to try and get around them now would be running a most foolish risk. Kalamatiano himself undertook to infiltrate the staff with highly trained spies years ago. Any attempt to bribe any one of them would be an invitation to fall into a trap. We had also considered the black widow’s sting, but have rejected the idea for the moment.”

  “What on earth is the black widow’s sting?” asked Luca.

  “Ah, a most pleasurable death … What a shame we only have two experts and neither of them are in Florence. We are talking about two beautiful female assassins who conceal in their rings or brooches sharp tips dipped in deadly poisons. After having seduced the victim and while engaging in exciting sexual games, the black widow accidentally pricks him. The man, who by now is intoxicated with pleasure, hardly notices anything. However, after a few hours have elapsed he dies with no chance of recovery. Unfortunately, it would be easy to establish a connection between the foreign woman, who would be arrested, and Lorenzo’s sudden illness. Neither one of our assassins would come to Florence on a suicide mission.”

  “To say nothing of the fact that it is not that easy to seduce Lorenzo,” added Luca. “Despite arousing great passion among women, who consider his animal ugliness a kind of aphrodisiac, he is a man faithful to his one lover.”

  “Yes,” grunted Pietro. “Il Magnifico has too many books and thoughts in his head to give himself up to any kind of frivolity. It is far better to wait for the fruit to ripen before we think of eating it.”

  “What are you referring to?”

  “You saw what the streets were like at Christmas. The majority of shops were shut and there was a scarcity of nearly every produce. Taxes, war, the plague, and an economic crisis such as our generation has never experienced before, have all combined to demoralize the population. It is only a matter of time before a rebellion breaks out against Lorenzo’s tyranny. In this way, it will be much simpler to secure the opinions of the people we deal with without raising any suspicion. When there is a critical mass of important families who judge that it is preferable to sacrifice one man rather than lose a city, that will be the moment to act. Meanwhile, we must continue to publicly support Lorenzo while proceeding with maximum secrecy. The last thing we need is for Lorenzo’s spies to jot our names down in their list of potential suspects contrary to the regime.”

  37

  Mauricio woke up drenched in sweat. Yet again he had suffered a nightmare that had haunted him ever since he was a child: a beautiful, delicate young woman lay dying on her bed until she finally passed away in the most terrible agony. In great distress, he quickly dressed and ran out into the street searching for the fresh air he seemed to be lacking in his lodgings at the Medici Palace. Day had hardly broken as he strode out, wrapped up in his thick woolen tunic, toward the Via Porta Rossa to the Tavola Medici, where he would try and forget those disturbing emotions that left him breathless and made him feel he was being smothered in his own bed. Paradoxically, the humidity rising up from the Arno and soaking him to the marrow, the sound of hooves on the cobblestones coming from an unseen horse close by, and even the ghostly barking of the stray dogs shrouded in the mist, all helped to reassure him that he had really woken up and had truly left behind the claustrophobic sensation that dreams provoked in him.

  Going into the tavola, he was not surprised to find Bruno there, busily examining some documents by the light of an oil lamp.

  “Good morning, Mauricio. I see that you could not sleep either. As you know very well, when I wake up too early I tend to come here and shuffle through papers. It is the best time to look at certain things calmly without being bothered by anyone,” Bruno said, giving him a wink.

  Mauricio was happy to have someone to talk to, especially as it was Bruno, whom he now considered a friend.

  “I had a horrible nightmare, although I prefer not to talk about it.”

  “Let us talk, therefore, of more pleasant things, such as the news that the number of people affected by the plague seems to be reducing. Now that is what I call good news.”

  “It certainly is,” Mauricio agreed with renewed optimism. “It seems that not even plagues can resist the Florentine cold. Please God may it disappear completely and as soon as possible. Nothing could make me happier than to live quietly in Florence together with my wife and our future child. Lorenzo has already promised me that he will rent me an elegant palazzo for a token sum before Lorena returns to the city. Now I know why they call him ‘Il Magnifico.’ Even so, I would feel more secure if I could have a small amount of capital of my own. Fortunately Lorenzo has made me a partner of the Tavola Medici of Florence, with the right to receive five percent of annual profits. D
o you know when these are usually issued and how much I could be entitled to, approximately?”

  “According to the contracts, all the branches and companies controlled by the Medici have to close their accounts on March 24, on which date the annual profits are then calculated. As anyone can see, you appear inscribed in the moneychangers’ register as a partner of the tavola of Florence. Unfortunately, and I hope I may be wrong, this year you will not receive anything.”

  “Why ever not?” asked Mauricio nearly protesting.

  “Because of something as elemental as the fact that the tavola of Florence has incurred losses. Also, before sharing out the profits, accounting practice insists on subtracting the amounts of money corresponding to debts that might not be honored. Judging by the official books, it will probably be a very long time before it is possible to issue as little as a florin. Also, when the time comes, it will be the majority shareholders who will decide whether it will be more convenient to distribute the remaining money or to reinvest it.”

  Mauricio felt both crushed and confused.

  “Although the figures of this tavola might suffer losses, the Medici Bank possesses interests and companies all over Europe. It is a commercial and financial empire. I simply cannot believe that the figures could be negative.”

  “Let me explain this to you in more detail, Mauricio. You are only a partner in the Florentine tavola. All the other banks and businesses in which Lorenzo de Medici holds a majority participation are entities that are legally independent from one another. This is an ingenious legal device that allows Il Magnifico to control all the companies, while at the same time limiting the risks. Therefore, let us suppose as an example that the Bruges tavola suddenly went bankrupt with all its creditors claiming thousands of florins, the only assets they could claim would be those which belong to that particular branch. The other entities Lorenzo has connections with would not be responsible for the debts left by the Bruges bank. Do you understand? Insofar as you are concerned, that means that you are interested exclusively in how this tavola runs, because you have no share whatsoever in any of the other companies.”