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

by Agustín Bernaldo Palatchi

  49

  Defying the freezing wind, Mauricio had gone through the tortuous Florentine lanes enveloped in his scarlet tunic lined with fleece. Neither the tunic nor the woolen hat pulled over his ears had managed to keep the cold December winds from getting to his bones. As he did every afternoon, he ordered a pitcher of wine in the Victoria tavern and endeavored to get some warmth into his body. From where he sat at the small wooden table, he could observe the scene in the cantina. At the two larger tables, men and women sat next to each other, sharing long benches. Some were chatting while others played cards or rolled dice. Hanging on the walls above them were crossbows, horns, arrows, breastplates, drums, and other warlike artefacts with which Tommaso, the owner of the tavern, had adorned the premises.

  Mauricio drank in silence, remembering the argument as he left the house. Lorena had told him she was tired of his behavior, that if wine was more important than she was perhaps he should have married a bottle. When he did not answer her, his wife had become enraged and said she envied her sister for being lucky enough to marry Luca Albizzi and that she rued the day she had been crazy enough to bathe with him in the pond. After this, she had burst into tears as he walked out of the mansion.

  His brooding was interrupted by the entrance of a strikingly beautiful woman. All the men turned their heads to look at her. Her dark complexion and her large eyes were complemented by full lips and her walk exuded sensuality. When she came and sat opposite Mauricio, she completely took his breath away. Her dress, sewn with silver buttons, was slightly open to reveal a white blouse. Her hands and arms were sheathed in long black gloves. Mauricio was slowly filled with an uncontrollable excitement, although he was perfectly aware that those gloves marked her as a prostitute. Judging by the delicacy of her features, she must have been a courtesan far beyond the reach of most men.

  “My name is Andrea. May I have a drink with you?”

  Mauricio decided to share some wine and conversation with this attractive apparition. She was sin incarnated into the body of a woman, a temptation impossible to resist. However, when the beautiful woman suggested that they retire to a more intimate place, an astonishing thing happened. As if in a hallucination, the wine in his goblet seemed in his eyes to transform into blood. His mind was filled with the image that always haunted him: that of an angelical young woman on her deathbed. Immediately after this, appeared the face of his wife. Without pausing to think, Mauricio rose, paid his bill, and left.

  50

  Lorena had left behind her the luxurious residential area where she lived and plunged into the more popular, artisanal neighborhood of Sant’Ambrogio. As she walked down the Via dei Pentolini, thronged with potters selling the two-handled pots that gave their name to the street, she went over in her mind the events that had brought her here.

  She felt ashamed about what she had said to her husband in a fit of rage, but at the same time she was in a quandary about how to solve the situation. Feeling desperate, she had decided to follow the advice Cateruccia had given her some days before: to go and see Sofia Plethon. After all, she had nothing to lose by trying something new. What she had gleaned from her conversation with Cateruccia was that the woman was a sort of witch, as intelligent as she was cultured. The story of how she had come to be living in Florence was indeed interesting.

  In 1439, Constantinople, seriously threatened by the Turks, solicited the help of the Crusaders. Pope Eugene IV was willing to concede this help, but on the condition that the doctrinal differences that had separated the Greek Orthodox Church and the Church of Rome for centuries should be resolved beforehand. To this effect, a council was formed between the two churches in Ferrara. Nevertheless, it had barely begun when the plague broke out in this city. Very cleverly, Cosimo de Medici proposed that Florence should be the new headquarters.

  And so it was that the flowering city welcomed the distinguished sages chosen to solve the irreconcilable differences between the two Churches. Should the bread used during communion contain yeast or not? Did purgatory exist? And the most transcendental question of all: had the Holy Spirit been born of the Father and the Son or only the Father? Finally, after heated discussions, the representatives of the Orthodox Church accepted Rome’s point of view and the pope promised to send military aid.

  In spite of this, history did not reserve a happy ending for the Christians. When the delegation from the Orthodox Church returned to Constantinople, the people were so indignant with what they considered intolerable concessions that they rebelled. The agreement was not ratified and military aid never arrived. The Turks brutally conquered Constantinople, which fell in 1453.

  Gemisthos Plethon, Sofia’s father, was one of the scholars who managed to save himself by escaping to Florence before the Turks entered Constantinople. In his new refuge he was able to earn a living as a respected professor of Greek. His daughter married a spice merchant residing in Via della Salvia, where sage and other herbs were sold. The characteristic aroma that Lorena detected confirmed that she had found the right street. All she had to do now was find Sofia.

  51

  “Perhaps it is God’s will,” announced Lorenzo, “that since the war was initiated with the blood of my brother and mine, that it should also be the end of me. What I most desire is that my life and my death and all that is good and bad for me should always result in benefit for our city. It is for that reason that I have decided to leave tomorrow for Naples to seek an audience with the king and attempt to negotiate an honorable peace for Florence.”

  When Mauricio met Elias after leaving the tavern and was told that Lorenzo had summoned all his friends and representatives of the most important families to his palace, he never imagined he would be hearing this. To go to Naples was tantamount to offering the enemy his head on a plate.

  “I have asked you to come here,” continued Il Magnifico, “to inform you of this decision, not to seek your approval. I just wanted you all to know. Our city needs peace, but counting on its own forces alone, it is incapable of defending itself. The allies are unwilling to fulfill their commitments and the enemy claim they do not hate Florence, only me. It is for these reasons that I have decided to go to Naples. I consider this journey to be the best remedy. If it is true that the enemy only want my downfall, then they will have me at their mercy and by taking revenge on me they can stop battering this city.”

  The sound of murmuring filled the palace’s great hall. Mauricio calculated that there were about a hundred people gathered there. Some voices were raised protesting that Lorenzo should not abandon the city. Il Magnifico waved his hands to ask for silence.

  “I am perfectly aware of the risk I am running,” he assured them, “but public salvation is far more important than personal interest, whether it be because all citizens should comply with their duty toward the fatherland or because I personally have received more benefits and honors from it than anyone else. I am completely sure that whatever the outcome of this endeavor, those present here will not desist from defending our state and our constitution. I entrust you my house and my family. Above all I trust that God, having considered the justice of my cause, should look favorably on my purpose to bring to an end this war that started with my brother’s blood and mine.”

  Emotion clearly showed in the faces of all those present. The decision seemed irrevocable.

  As he left the palace, Mauricio noticed that his body was shaking slightly. When he noticed that he had a troublesome pain in his armpits, he realized that the trembling had no relation to the moving speech given by Il Magnifico. Terrified, Mauricio felt with his hand the area that was hurting him. Hard buboes infected with pus pronounced his death sentence: he had caught the plague.

  Mauricio felt as if his whole body was decomposing from within. A sudden weakness made it difficult for him to even walk. There was little doubt. The deadly scythe of oblivion would soon cut his life short and he would become mere memory to those who had loved him.

  He thought of Lorena and his eyes fi
lled with tears. Now, he would never have another opportunity to show his love for her. If he had been unable to demonstrate his tenderness in life, at least he would be able to do so in death. He would not return home for fear of infecting her. Walking slowly, he went toward La Scala hospital, contemplating for the last time the weak rays of sunshine bathing Florence that evening.

  52

  Luca left the Medici Palace very surprised by what he had seen and heard. Lorenzo was daring enough to go to Naples where he would be at the mercy of King Ferrante’s whims! This was a spectacular but very risky move, only understandable because of how desperate his position had become in Florence.

  It was more than certain that King Ferrante would have promised to safeguard his life during his stay in Naples. But was his word of any value? Everyone feared the king’s fickle character, never being able to tell if he was satisfied or annoyed. It was even said that he kept his most hated enemies embalmed in a room where he liked to collect all kinds of horrors. Luca was unsure if this was true or a mere rumor, although it was common knowledge that not too long ago, King Ferrante had promised the condottiero Jacopo Piccinio a safe-conduct: no sooner had he arrived in Naples than the confident Piccinio was seized and executed. Were Lorenzo ever to return to Florence, Luca suspected it would probably be in a coffin.

  Luca thought it amusing that he had contributed to the coming about of this suicidal trip. Indeed, some months previously Lorenzo had used him as an intermediary to arrange a meeting with Filippo Strozzi. The purpose of this encounter had been none other than to entrust Filippo with the mission of starting secret talks with the king of Naples in order to find a way of putting an end to the war. Luca and Filippo found they had a special understanding, having both had the similar misfortune of their parents being expelled from Florence following the triumphant return of Cosimo from his exile, which had been instigated by Rinaldo Albizzi. Both Luca and Filippo were exceptional cases, for although they were descendants of those exiled by Cosimo de Medici in 1434, they had been granted permission to establish themselves in Florence. Unfortunately, most of their relatives were still obliged to live in other cities.

  The story of Filippo Strozzi was exemplary, for although he had been obliged to start a new life in Naples, he had managed to rise to become King Ferrante’s personal banker as well as a prominent businessman. Finally, after years of fruitless negotiations, Lorenzo had permitted him to return to Florence. And now he had used him to forge links with King Ferrante, who held Filippo in high regard.

  He could never have imagined that Filippo’s negotiations would result in Lorenzo’s journey to Naples. Nevertheless, this is what happened. Luca did not know Filippo particularly well: there was a good understanding between the two men but they had never developed a friendship so intimate that it could have raised suspicions in Lorenzo’s eyes. However, he thought he detected a double game in the elder Strozzi. If Lorenzo were assassinated in Naples, the Medici would fall and the new regime would welcome the exiled Strozzi with open arms. If, on the other hand, against all logic, Lorenzo were to return from his journey in triumph, Filippo would be rewarded and Lorenzo would probably let some of his family return to Florence as a show of gratitude. Very well then, he—Luca Albizzi—was also a player in this game. If Lorenzo was capable of escaping victoriously from the Devil’s clutches in that Neapolitan hell, at least Luca would be able to boast that he had propitiated a key meeting instrumental to such an unexpected success.

  The afternoon had been full of surprises. Mauricio had also been in the Medici Palace listening to Lorenzo’s announcement when, according to Luca’s calculations, at that point in time he should have been keeping the black widow busy. He wondered what in hell’s name could have happened to prevent the beautiful assassin from catching him in her spider’s web. That was all he needed—having to suffer Lorena sitting at the wedding banquet table with Mauricio! His marriage to Maria Ginori had now been confirmed. The ceremony would take place on the twenty-fifth of April the following year. Luca hoped that by then, both Lorenzo and Mauricio would be dead.

  53

  Mauricio realized that the room in La Scala hospital was indeed the antechamber of death. Enclosed by thick stone walls, the sick awaited their last hour without hope of salvation, knowing full well that they found themselves in a sinister funereal enclosure whose principal function was to keep them from spreading their disease to the rest of the population.

  The room was large, but there were not enough mattresses for everyone. It had fallen to Mauricio to lie on the ground with a pile of straw serving as a makeshift bed.

  It must have been the fever that not only made him tremble, but also caused a peculiar sensation of living in a sort of dream. That was probably the reason, he brooded, that he was able to assimilate so much horror so easily. Nature was harsh but also merciful.

  The charity of mankind, however, barely reached the dark and sordid chamber in which they lay suffering. An opening had been excavated in the cold ground in which the sick could defecate, but many did not even attempt to reach the filthy hole, incapable of controlling the spasms that racked their intestines. The stench that emanated from the bodies illustrated better than any image the decomposition of the flesh, that nauseating decay which, stemming from the inner organs, worked its way out until it erupted on the skin in the shape of lumps, pus, and black gangrenous scabs.

  The sensation of thirst was so overwhelming that nothing could quench it, least of all the buckets of dirty water they all shared and which constituted their sole source of relief. In most of the buckets, the water contained traces of the poisoned vomit left by the dying.

  Maggots began to emerge from a woman’s mouth, as if her body were a nest of worms. It was quite obvious that she had died hours ago, but neither the doctors nor the nurses were in a hurry to give her a Christian burial.

  It had been an age, it was so difficult for him to measure time, since two sturdy men, protected by gloves, cotton masks, and aromatic herbs attached to their belts, had brought him into the chamber on a rough wooden plank and had let him fall onto the hard ground. Mauricio expected no more attention from anyone. All he prayed for now was that Lorena should receive the letter he had written to her.

  54

  Forgive me for not having always been able to express the immense love I feel for you. I do not know how I made such mistakes or where I lost my way, or why I have behaved so unjustly toward you since we lost our son. Now it is too late, the clarity of death has finally shown me the truth. I have not known how to love you or to take care of you, my beloved, and now it is too late to do anything except protect you from my sickness by shutting myself away in La Scala hospital. Whenever you think of me, I beg of you, forget these last few weeks and remember me as I really am: the one who loved you in the pond with all his heart and soul. I shall always love you and will watch over you from on high. With all my love, I bid you farewell.

  Mauricio

  Lorena was desperate as she read the letter for a second time. Yet she was not thinking of farewells, but how on earth to save him.

  “It is likely he will die,” explained Marsilio Ficino. “The plague that has hit Florence is causing the death of all its victims although, thank God, it has not spread too quickly up till now. That being said, there is some room for hope, for on occasions the sick have been known to recover their health.”

  Lorena clung to the faint hope that some of the afflicted had recovered. “What can we do to save him?” she asked anxiously.

  “The first thing is to remove him as soon as possible from the hospital,” Marsilio said categorically. “The hygienic conditions in the ward where the sick are packed together are so appalling that even a healthy man would have little chance of surviving there more than a day.”

  “In that case, I shall bring him home immediately,” said Lorena without hesitation. She could not imagine any other option than to help Mauricio to the very limits of her strength and she certainly had no intention o
f leaving her husband to die like a rat shut up in a filthy hole.

  Marsilio Ficino looked at Lorena with respect and admiration.

  “During the outbreak in the last century, many men abandoned their wives and more than a few mothers did the same with their sick children for fear of contagion. Your gesture is exemplary, but involves enormous risks and sacrifices. For the sake of the community, you must undertake to remain shut in your palazzo for the next two weeks, even if your husband were to recover.”

  “And will the danger have passed once the two weeks are up?” asked Lorena.

  “Undoubtedly, that is if you are still alive by then. You see, the majority of the victims generally die within three to five days, some can even survive up to six but very few live after that. If your husband can survive until the seventh day, he will get better. But we shall need one week more to make sure no other person in your palazzo has contracted the disease. These are disagreeable rules, but they are necessary to stop the sickness from spreading.”

  Lorena understood everything Marsilio was telling her perfectly.

  “No one knows how the plague is transmitted. Some say in the air, others by looking at someone, or by touch … What do you think, Marsilio?”

  “If it were transmitted in the air or by looking at each other we should all be dead by now and there are many cases of people touching the sick without contracting the plague. Now then, what is true is that those who remain in close contact with the plague-ridden do tend to end up catching the terrible disease.”

  “What advice would you give me? What is the best way to take care of my husband?” asked Lorena.