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

by Agustín Bernaldo Palatchi

  “Without seeing them?” asked Mauricio anxiously.

  “The agent in Valencia who sent the report is totally trustworthy. He assures us that they are of the very highest quality and the only reason they are being sold so cheaply is that the harvest in the Levant has been exceptionally good this season. Here, the war has devastated the countryside, which means we can resell them at a good profit as the almond trees will not blossom again until July.”

  “What if more people here have the same idea and Florence is suddenly inundated with almonds? The price would then plummet and we would lose our money.”

  “To avoid this, I think we ought to buy all the bags and then we will be the ones who can decide how much should be put into circulation. My idea is to send half to Bruges where I have a good contact and put the other half in storage here. The shipment to Bruges will provide us with enough to recoup our investment, and with the rest we will double our initial capital. Of course we shall have to ask for a loan to finance this investment and obviously nothing in life is risk-free, but my instinct tells me that this is a great opportunity.”

  “Let us take advantage of this opportunity then,” decided Mauricio, “and as Leonardo would say, ‘When fortune comes, seize her firmly from the front, because behind she is bald’.”

  Bruno laughed at this sally as he poured some more wine from the pitcher. Mauricio abstained from drinking more. He had joined Bruno in a toast out of courtesy, but the wine had barely touched his lips. Having recovered his health after the plague and showing no relapse, he now had no desire whatsoever to drink any form of alcohol and the truth was he felt happy about it.

  60

  “I have just kissed the hand of Lorenzo,” said Pietro Manfredi.

  “I already did so yesterday,” said Luca. “What an extraordinary sight! Men and women from all social classes filing up at the door of the Medici Palace for the honor of pecking at his hand.”

  “Well, there is no getting away from it,” said Pietro resignedly, “Lorenzo is a hero.”

  “It is quite unbelievable that he came out of Naples alive,” lamented Luca.

  “Especially considering that as many as three attempts to assassinate him were organized behind King Ferrante’s back. Regrettably, Xenofon Kalamatiano, Lorenzo’s spymaster, managed to thwart them. We failed to take advantage of the right moment so now it makes no sense in continuing to attempt it.”

  “Is it no longer relevant whether Lorenzo dies?” Luca asked, puzzled.

  “Not for the moment, no,” answered Pietro curtly. “Now Lorenzo is a hero. His death would convert him into a legend. Killing him would be the surest way of getting his ideas to propagate, inasmuch as it is impossible to fight against legends.”

  “So all plans to get rid of the tyrant are now cancelled,” concluded Luca.

  “I did not say that. The thing is that after his unexpected epic deed we are in no hurry to see him die: what truly interests us is that he should live long enough to give us time to ruin his prestige. But this will not happen from one day to the next. Therefore, our plan of action has to be slow by necessity. And a secret. I can tell you no more, although we shall advise you when we need something from you.”

  Luca looked around the room where he had received Pietro, the most elegant room in his house. The floor was white marble and the walls were covered in tapestries depicting different biblical scenes, but he had to admit that Pietro’s mansion was more luxurious and distinguished than his own. Luca had to resign himself to the fact that not only was Pietro richer than he was, but that he also belonged to an organization of which he knew hardly anything.

  “Nevertheless,” observed Luca “it is not over yet, as the pope is insisting that Lorenzo go to Rome to ask for his forgiveness.”

  “To which Lorenzo replied that he would only go if it were in chains, accompanied by a notary and a priest to draw up his will and receive extreme unction. Of course, there still remain some loose ends: compensations must be paid and there are still territories in the hands of the enemy that have to be returned, but the essentials have been negotiated. Although the pope is a stubborn old man, it is only a question of time before an honorable agreement is reached. Have you noticed that suddenly he has lifted the law prohibiting Florentines from receiving the Eucharist over Easter?”

  Luca knew that Pietro was right. Times had changed and prudence was called for. Next month he would marry Maria Ginori and would start a new life. He would also renounce, for the time being, any act of revenge toward Mauricio. The money from the dowry, if wisely invested, could yield a lot of profit. Perhaps it might be a good idea to become an associate in the Ginori textile business. Their good relationship with the Medici would guarantee that after two years of war things would improve for them. For now it was advisable to make the best of a bad job and concentrate on cultivating all those connections that might be of use to him in the future.

  61

  Lorena received Sofia in the main drawing room of her palazzo. It had been four months since she had first met her at her house in the Sant’Ambrogio district. On that afternoon Cateruccia, shaken and trembling, had burst into her friend’s home bearing the letter written by Mauricio from La Scala hospital. Sofia had given her hope: she had assured her that she knew of a powerful ritual capable of bringing Mauricio back to health. In the end everything turned out well: he was saved and they loved each other again with the same passion as before. Even the plague, confined to small areas of infection, seemed to be abating.

  “Forgive me for my delay,” apologized Sofia, “but neither my apothecary shop nor my children ever give me a moment’s rest.”

  Lorena observed her. She was roughly thirty years old, with olive skin, a stocky body, wide brow, Greek nose, and large sky-blue eyes. She was wearing a simple woolen dress that covered her entirely from the collar downward, leaving only her wrists and ankles visible. Lorena had often seen a similar outfit worn by working women who were also in the habit of wearing wide aprons over their dresses to protect them from the wear and tear involved in their work. In spite of this, it was almost inevitable that daily use led to the material being ripped and it was therefore quite normal to see them carefully mended and patched. Sofia’s dress, however, was impeccable. Its pale blue color contrasted perfectly with the white woolen bands coiled around her head in the manner of a turban. Lorena came to the conclusion that Sofia did not wear the dress to go to work, but kept it for visits and special occasions.

  “Sometimes the best things take a long time in coming but when they do, they are well worth waiting for,” said Lorena amiably as she offered Sofia some honey sweetmeats on a small tray.

  Cateruccia had gone out that afternoon and Lorena preferred not to have their conversation interrupted by any servants, as she wished to talk about intimate matters she felt somewhat shy about.

  “In the first place,” Lorena said, “I want to thank you again for the ritual you practiced for my husband to regain his health.”

  “All I did was to make an invocation,” said Sofia modestly. “If your husband got better, it is simply because God wished it to be so, for it is He who decides whether or not to answer our prayers. “

  “Yes, but if the person asking is pure of heart,” replied Lorena, “they may have more of a chance of being heard. In any case, that is my wish, for a fear haunts me, causing me great anxiety, and I do not know whom to turn to for advice. Perhaps you can help me.”

  “Speak without fear, for there is no worse apprehension than that which is borne in silence.”

  The tranquil yet powerful gaze of this woman radiated peace and serenity. Lorena let the words flow and revealed her deep concern.

  “A year has passed since I lost my child giving birth and since then I have not become pregnant again. I sometimes think that God has condemned me in this way for a sin I committed in the past, the nature of which I would prefer not to discuss. Perhaps by joining your prayers to mine, we could invoke an end to this arid desert I fe
el within me, because a woman without children is like a well without water.”

  “From this very day onward I shall join my prayers to yours, although I doubt you are being punished. A year without offspring is not unusual. Let me, nevertheless, ask you a few questions with the greatest respect in case I am able to offer you some advice. Do you make love frequently? For without sex, there can be no children.”

  Lorena felt her face flush, as if she were on fire.

  “Yes, I comply with my marital duties as a good wife should. It is for that reason that I believe I might be being punished for my behavior in the past.”

  “Marital duties? Punishment for bad behavior in the past? Hmmm! Let me ask you another question: do you experience deep enjoyment when you make love with your husband?”

  Lorena couldn’t believe her ears at such an impertinent question. Had it been anyone else, she would have sent them packing. But she held back. Sofia’s parents came from a different culture and her social environment in Florence was also very different from Lorena’s. Perhaps in her eyes it was not tactless to enquire about such matters. And after all, what was truly important was that Sofia might help her to have children.

  “Sofia, I do not make love with my husband to procure enjoyment, but to conceive children in the manner my family and the church have always taught me.”

  “And following all this advice you have still not produced any offspring, am I right?”

  “Indeed you are.”

  “Very well, in that case, listen with an open mind to this humble woman who is already the mother of five children.”

  Lorena felt that two opposing forces were struggling inside her. One part wanted to interrupt this conversation, which struck her as scandalous. The other was waiting expectantly, yearning to absorb all that Sofia had to explain.

  “In the same way that love is sacred, so is sex. And just as loving is a way of leading us toward God, enjoying the ecstasy of matrimonial union is a door opening onto the divine.”

  Lorena listened in silence with searching eyes, inexplicably attracted as she beheld the birth of a world that was unknown to her.

  “Perhaps your confessor and your family have repeatedly warned you against the dangers of lust. But without sex and the pleasure to be derived from it, children would not be born. Would God really have created something that was intrinsically bad? True, it can involve certain dangers. An unmarried maiden surrendering to such impulses could suddenly find her life ending in ruins. But that is not what we are talking about here. What we are talking about is a marriage blessed by God and the church in which love can be sensed in every room in the house. Tell me, did you both enjoy each other’s company more after bathing together and caressing each other with the balms I recommended to you?”

  “Yes, we did,” answered Lorena, blushing again.

  “Very well, now pay careful attention to my words, because I shall give you some advice that will help you to reach the heavens while still on this earth. If you follow them, it will not be the devil you shall see but God. And when you see his pure light, pray that your womb may be the recipient of a worthy soul because you will find that you have been heard.”

  Lorena had given up the fight. Now all she wanted was to listen attentively to what Sofia was about to reveal.

  62

  Mauricio listened, enthralled, to the music emanating from the liras da braccio, which Marsilio Ficino and Leonardo da Vinci were playing. The name “arm lyre” was successful in graphically describing this musical instrument whose strings produced sounds similar to that of a traditional lyre when played with a bow, but whose wooden body could be held with just one arm. It had seven strings and two bass strings running parallel on the outside of the fingerboard, which was usually played with the thumb of the right hand, although Leonardo used his left. Mauricio had become accustomed by now to Leonardo, who always caught everyone’s attention, not only for his brilliance but also because of his wild eccentricities. As a case in point, he had designed his own lira da braccio in the shape of a horse’s head, an animal whose movements fascinated him.

  As he enjoyed the music, Mauricio cast his mind back to his conversation with Lorenzo a few moments earlier in the interior courtyard of his palace. Il Magnifico was in such an excellent mood that Mauricio had made the most of the occasion by asking him again about a matter that never ceased to trouble him.

  “During the conspiracy in the cathedral,” Mauricio began, “you cried out that you were the victim of a ritual murder. And before your departure to Naples, you linked the attack to the Resplendent Ones. I would love to know more.”

  “So would I. Perhaps one day you will be the one to explain it all to me. In any case, since time immemorial the practice of ritual murder has always endeavored to use the energies of the dead enemy to its own advantage. It is not that infrequent. There are people who are convinced they are able to obtain qualities from their dead enemy by devouring certain organs from the body while their heart is still beating. To my mind, that explains why the archbishop of Pisa took a last bite out of Francesco Pazzi’s chest as they both lay dying on the ground in the Piazza della Signoria. The archbishop was not only giving free rein to the fury he felt with the person who had convinced him to participate in the conspiracy, he was also attempting to obtain Francesco Pazzi’s courage to help him bear the journey into eternity!”

  “That is horrible!” exclaimed Mauricio.

  “I very much doubt that eating your enemy’s body can do much more than give you a severe case of indigestion. Nevertheless,” continued Lorenzo with a somber expression that contained both sadness and anger, “there are certain abominable people around who perpetrate bloody crimes with that sole purpose in mind.”

  “So do you think the attempt to assassinate you was part of a macabre satanic rite?” asked Mauricio.

  “Probably. What is certain is that the assassin who was chosen to stab me, the Count of Montesecco, refused to spill my blood in a sacred place. Obviously the count was an honest Catholic mercenary who had no idea what he was getting involved in. Although we interrogated him, we were unable to obtain any additional details. As I told you before, I am convinced that the people behind all this are the Resplendent Ones, but up till now it has been impossible to get anywhere near these puppeteers, who have the ability to pull strings without showing the slightest trace of their hands. They have not acted since my triumphant return from Naples, perhaps for fear of being discovered. But I am convinced they are still lying in wait.”

  After a few seconds of thoughtful silence, Il Magnifico’s face changed expression.

  “Enough of these dark thoughts. Let us hurry to the palace for Leonardo and Marsilio must be about to start playing. You will see how worthwhile it is to hear them. Marsilio contends that music is the voice of all things invisible.”

  “What does Leonardo think?”

  “Well, Leonardo is more caustic. According to him, music is … music.”

  Mauricio let his mind drift away with the sounds of the harmonies and, following Lorenzo’s advice, avoided dwelling on dark premonitions. Calmer now, he half closed his eyes. For an instant, he thought he saw in his mind his wife’s eyes shining with far more intensity than Lucifer’s emerald.

  63

  Everything seemed to be seen in a magic light that day. When Mauricio returned from his visit to the Medici Palace, Lorena thought she could see a halo of invisible light around her husband, replete with love. Neither his words or gestures seemed any different from usual, but in some subtle way Mauricio radiated a kind of luminous vibration. This was not something that could be explained away by any external sign. A kind of superior quality enhanced the moments they spent together, filling her with so much joy she found it hard to contain.

  It was for that reason perhaps that Lorena felt neither shame nor fear of their naked bodies when they lay together in bed. When her skin came into contact with Mauricio’s, she felt a sensitivity she had never experienced before and
the slightest touch or caress provoked a wave of sensations. Following Sofia’s advice, she put two lighted, white candles near the bed that night, in such a way that their bodies could just be seen in the half light as they touched each other.

  Mauricio placed himself on top of her ready to take her, but Lorena was feeling daring today. The special bond they were sharing, which suffused the atmosphere, helped her to make such a bold move. She delicately pushed her husband’s body away, kissing and stroking him all the while, and positioned herself on top of him. She was somewhat apprehensive but more excited than afraid. With a firm hand she gripped Mauricio’s erection and eased it into her body. Lorena had thought that maybe her husband would feel it was contrary to decorum that she should mount him, but far from protesting Mauricio was showing every sign of enjoyment and starting to groan with pleasure.

  Lorena started moving her hips slowly, then faster as she gained confidence. Following Sofia’s advice, she began exploring the different angles and rhythms that gave her most pleasure. It was a wonderful feeling. Mauricio watched her in ecstasy, a smile lighting up his face. Lorena felt good and let her body take over. She soon sensed pleasure flooding through every pore and rising upward from her navel to her breasts. She kept riding the wave. A serpent of sheer bliss rose in her throat, reached her head, and culminated in an explosion of light. Sofia was right. God was there. Lorena and Mauricio smiled, looking into each other’s eyes. Although they had often made love, this was the first time anything like that had ever happened. There were no words to describe it, nor would they make any sense. Lorena gave herself up to the invisible energy of love and continued riding the wave.

  64

  That morning, Mauricio, radiating vitality after a wonderful night of love with his wife, strode through the streets in a very special way. Not only was he walking without any particular destination, but even the barking of the dogs transmitted a sensation that something transcendental was about to occur. Without knowing why, he started walking toward the Ponte Vecchio, the oldest bridge in Florence. Two barges were making their way along the River Arno. On its banks, dozens of wool workers were toiling away. The stench of urine, used as a disinfectant, rose up to the bridge and blended with the smell of putrefying meat the butchers had thrown into the river. In contrast, Mauricio appreciated the aroma of melting wax emanating from the candle vendors scattered along both sides of the bridge, side-by-side with the leather stalls, blacksmiths, and butchers. Breathing in the different effluvia deeply, he made for the area situated on the southern bank of the Arno, without stopping at any of the little stores along the way. All this was very familiar to him, but today it seemed different somehow. The light catching everything seemed to want to tell him something he would not have known how to listen to in the past.