“And who knows what could happen with Piero ruling Florence?” asked Mauricio.
“In theory there should be no problems, as the principal families of Florence would like to maintain the current status quo.”
“I know, Bruno. But sadly Piero has neither the intelligence nor the charm of his father. And what is worse, his arrogance incapacitates him from being aware of his own foolishness.”
“Therefore we shall not demand great strokes of genius from him as we did with his father. We shall limit ourselves to trust he does not do anything stupid. By the way, to change the subject: is Lorenzo still as interested in the voyage this so-called Christopher Columbus is planning?”
“More than ever. In spite of being bedridden, he is devoting much time and energy to the subject. From what I have heard, within a short time a scientific commission will determine whether the project is viable or not. Nevertheless, it seems that neither the Catholic Monarchs nor Lorenzo have much money to spend at the moment. However, Luis Santángel, one of Columbus’s main backers at the Spanish court, is willing to lend him one million maravedis from his own pocket. But even so, he would still be lacking another half a million to finance the expedition.”
“And would the Medici Bank provide the necessary money?” enquired Bruno.
“Perhaps, if the liquid assets were in a healthier state. Lorenzo, who always finds solutions, has managed to persuade some Florentine and Genovese merchants, among them Gianetto Berardi and Jacobo de Negro, to form a consortium and lend the money that is lacking, if the project is approved. A verbal agreement has already been made with Columbus that Berardi will supply the provisions for his ships.”
On hearing these words, Bruno started pacing nervously from one end of the room to another. He appeared highly excited.
“Listen to me, Mauricio. Lorenzo does not do something just for the love of it. If he is devoting so much energy to this matter, despite his terrible state of health, it is because he is placing an enormous amount of importance on it. Let us never forget that Il Magnifico is one of the best informed men in Europe. My instinct tells me that we too should invest in this voyage.”
“It is far too risky a venture!” protested Mauricio. “Just think: this Columbus wants to reach the Indies from the west by crossing the ocean—something that nobody has ever attempted before. To make a success of this, he would have to have too many balls in the air. First: the whole hypothesis is based on the Earth being round, so in spite of going in the opposite direction of the Indies they think they will happily reach their destination. But what if the Earth turns out not to be a sphere as scholars claim? If this were to be the case, the ships would never reach their destination. A second drawback: let us suppose that the Earth is actually round. Nobody has ever measured its circumference. Paolo Toscanelli has calculated that the Indies must be seven hundred and fifty nautical leagues from the Canary Islands. Christopher Columbus has maintained a correspondence with the Florentine cosmographer and even possesses one of his charts. But what if these calculations are wrong? What if the Earth is far bigger? Well then, our daring adventurer and his ships would die without provisions on the high seas. A third obstacle: if we admit that these theoretical calculations correspond to reality, even though nobody has ever verified them, what about the winds and treacherous currents that no one knows anything about? How will they ever find their bearings on the high seas? Without landmarks along the coast as a reference it would be easy for them to lose their way. Not to mention, of course, the monsters of the deep that could be lurking in those unknown waters. In other words, I wish Master Christopher the very best of luck, but find it unadvisable to risk sinking money into such an unlikely undertaking without being a prince or a potentate.”
“But we could actually become one of them!” exclaimed Bruno with as much vitality as optimism. “These days the spice routes are slow, dangerous, and expensive. The caravans have to endure the desert sun, evade Bedouin thieves, and pay expensive tolls to each and every sultan whose lands they cross. When they finally reach Constantinople the merchandise becomes impounded by the Turks, who then resell the produce at whichever price they choose. Should they deviate their route toward Egypt, the Venetian fleet exact an exorbitant tax for shipping the spices. And we religiously pay the price the successive intermediaries demand because which well-off family these days could even think of cooking without pepper, nutmeg, mace, cinnamon, cloves, or saffron? Were Columbus to be successful with this route, it could be a goldmine. All we would need to do is to charter a ship, sharing costs with the Negro and Berardi families to become rich beyond our wildest dreams. And if we were to make several successful crossings, we could be rubbing shoulders with princes and nobility, sitting with them at the same table.”
Mauricio’s head was reeling. Palaces, chapels dedicated to his family, a patron of the arts, a princely life for his children … He would never have to worry again about money but would be able to promote young artists and, just like Marsilio Ficino, dedicate his time to study and writing books. At this point in his life he was convinced he would never become an outstanding poet, but he still had some original literary projects trotting around his head that he wanted to develop … However, he had to be careful not to get swept away by his dreams as the honor of his family and the future of his children depended on the fortune he had found so difficult to acquire.
“What you are telling me, Bruno, is the same as Gianetto Berardi, Jacobo de Negro, and the rest of the merchants must all be thinking, as one of the mandatory conditions of the loan is that on the following expeditions through the new route, one commercial agent could represent them, enjoying their total confidence. But you know full well that should the scheme fail, nobody will give us back one measly florin.”
“Where is there ever profit without risk?” enquired Bruno, his eyes shining. “Right now we are in the very best position to take on such an ambitious project. We could put in a tenth of the necessary money and even if the journey were to end in disaster and we were to lose the last florin we had lent, we would still continue to be rich. But on the other hand, if Columbus were to reach the Indies our social position would take an unimaginable leap forward. So you see, we are hardly risking anything and yet we could win everything.”
“Yes, well, from that point of view … ”
“Let us talk no more, Mauricio. Leave it in my hands. I will persuade them to accept us as partners on this loan to Christopher Columbus. After all, they would be limiting their losses supposing the venture fails, and would still make a great fortune if God gives his blessing to this undertaking. Commercial deals, Mauricio, are good when everybody concerned makes money … ”
70
“How is Lorenzo de Medici?” asked Lorena, troubled by the harsh allusion to his death announced by Girolamo Savonarola during his sermon in the Duomo.
“I saw him this afternoon and he seemed worse than ever,” answered Mauricio. “His knees and elbows are very swollen and his fingers are so twisted … He was unable to even move his hands. Also, small lumps have appeared on his skin and even in his ears.”
Indifferent to such serious news, Agostino, his eldest child, was toying with some roasted turkey tongues before eating them. Thank goodness her other children were in bed, Lorena thought. When the three of them happened to coincide at the dinner table, each competed in his or her own way for their parents’ attention and it was impossible to have a sensible conversation. The fact that Simonetta was already in bed was normal, as she was only five. But for nine-year-old Alexandra not to have resisted sleep until her father returned was certainly odd. As the last two days had been extremely cold, Lorena had felt her forehead to check her temperature. Although she did not seem to be running a fever, Lorena had made sure she drank some hot milk and honey and Alexandra had soon fallen into a deep sleep.
“Lorenzo’s state seems serious,” Lorena remarked with concern. “Although I am confident that he will regain his health as he has done so many
times lately.”
“Lorenzo has often been crippled by these recurring attacks he suffers, but then he gets better and continues with his busy life with as much energy as ever. However, his ailments seem to be getting worse each time and more constant. Il Magnifico still manages to control everything, but I get the impression that he only achieves this thanks to his indomitable will ordering his worn out body to obey. It is for this reason that he sometimes gives instructions without even leaving his bed.”
“We shall pray for Lorenzo,” said Lorena. “It saddens me so much to see him suffer this way. He has been so generous to us and we owe so much to him … ”
Lorena held a very high opinion of her husband, but she was also extremely conscious that without Il Magnifico’s unconditional support it would have been impossible for him to have risen so meteorically within Florentine society. Lorenzo had offered him friendship, protection, influence, and support in all his undertakings. Bruno had turned out to have great acumen in business matters and had come up with some outstanding ideas, but without Lorenzo they would never have got off the ground.
“Have you seen the bonfires in the streets?” asked Agostino. “Some foreign men lit them and they were shouting a lot. Who were they?”
“Agostino, do not talk with your mouth full!” scolded Lorena.
A very handsome little boy of eleven, he bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, except for his hair, which was curly and unruly like his mother’s. However, his good looks were no excuse for giving in to his every whim. It was extremely important to Lorena that he should acquire the manners of a prince and she was prepared to go to any length to achieve this, however difficult it might prove to be. If Mauricio had learned to have exquisite dinner table manners, then her son would display equal breeding.
“They are Spaniards staying in Florence,” explained Mauricio, after the reprimand. “I was talking to them as I came out of the Medici Palace. They are celebrating the latest news: Granada has been conquered and they have expelled all the Moors who were living there.”
Without any apparent reason, Lorena was filled with a disagreeable premonition. For the last two nights, a fine rain had fallen, freezing before it hit the ground and leaving enormous lumps of jagged ice on the crops in the countryside. There were so many icicles that the trees were bent in half under their weight. Many oaks and chestnut trees had keeled over with their roots ripped out. That terrible rain had started in Fiesole and had extended to Mugello, San Godenzo, and Dicomano, snapping off the branches of any olive tree it found in its path. Without a doubt, this was a bad omen. The olive branch had always been a symbol of peace, victory, life … Lorena could only hope that she was wrong. However, after twelve plentiful years, some lean ones seemed to be heading their way.
71
“Lorenzo’s days are numbered,” said Pietro Manfredi. “I would bet you anything you want that he will not be alive by next summer.”
Luca kept silent. He wondered if Pietro had discovered this through the indiscretion of some physician, or if he had been instrumental in the development of Lorenzo’s illness through some slow-working poison. He had no intention of asking. He concluded that in certain matters, the less one knew the better.
“Fortunately, times have changed a lot since Lorenzo returned triumphantly from his journey to Naples,” observed Luca. “What is certain is that Savonarola’s sermons have brought a breath of fresh air to the city. He even dared to rail against Lorenzo from the pulpit, describing him as a tyrant who had taken away the liberties of Florence!”
“It was about time,” Pietro pointed out. “Thanks to Savonarola, all the ideas that Lorenzo had promoted with such eagerness are now starting to fall into discredit, without any need for cannons or swords.”
Luca remembered that some years ago, Pietro had stated that it was useless to kill someone if it made them into a hero for all eternity. In order to fight against Lorenzo’s malign influence, one would have to arm oneself with patience. He had even hinted at the existence of a long-term plan to put this into effect. Could Savonarola be part of this scheme? He had no intention of asking him. He knew that a secret organization existed, to which he provided all the information he had access to through the mediation of Pietro Manfredi. There was little else he knew about. Drawing on the conversations he had maintained with Pietro, he was convinced that his ideas and those of that mysterious society coincided completely. However, Pietro had never revealed the name of any member nor had he ever suggested to him that his role could be anything other than a simple informer. With the passing of time, Luca had accepted this situation quite happily, for there were certain things he preferred not to know. What they did with the information he provided was not his concern. As compensation, over the years Pietro had often put various commercial opportunities Luca’s way, which had always brought in some very healthy profits. He never saw Leoni again nor had anyone ever reclaimed a single florin from the two thousand he had been given. Up till now, he could not complain about anything, because all he was expected to do was to talk regularly with Pietro, whom he now considered as a friend.
“Unfortunately, Savonarola will be unable to prevent Giovanni de Medici becoming a cardinal,” said Luca, returning to the conversation. “What a disgrace! His father even assigned him Poliziano, the humanist, as a tutor from a most tender age. Even Lorenzo’s wife complained that a private teacher who was so clearly not apostolic should be responsible for the education of her son. Giovanni’s soul must be more pagan than Christian. And to think that if he is proclaimed cardinal he could eventually become pope!”
“Unless Pope Innocent dies before officially naming Giovanni a cardinal,” warned Pietro. “I have it on good authority that his health is none too good. And if the new pontiff were not pro-Medici, he could decide not to make him a cardinal.”
“God will decide,” was Luca’s only comment.
“Let us hope that when Providence decides the moment has come for a change to take place on the throne of Saint Peter, the new vicar of Christ will not be too favorable toward the Medici.”
“One can only hope your wishes come true, because it would seem that Lorenzo has cast a spell on Pope Innocent. He has gone so far as to say publicly that Lorenzo is the compass that keeps the whole of Italy on an even course!”
Luca felt a wave of anger rising from his stomach to his head. He detested the Medici and all they stood for. If a foreign upstart such as Mauricio had risen so far and had overtaken him in recognition and wealth, it was exclusively due to the favoritism bestowed upon him by Lorenzo. Luca was filled with bitterness by the fact that a nobody such as Mauricio was constantly invited to the Medici feasts and celebrations as if he were an important person while he, an Albizzi, was merely treated politely. For years now he had been obliged to bear this grievance and put a good face on it. God willing, Lorenzo’s imminent death would allow him to seek revenge for the many affronts he had been obliged to endure.
“Yes, too many people have unjustly extolled the virtues of Lorenzo,” agreed Pietro. “However, I have high hopes this year of 1492 will bring us many changes and surprises.”
72
Mauricio looked at Lorenzo with concern: he lay prostrate in the bedroom and his face was deathly pale. Il Magnifico must really be incapable of moving, otherwise he would have undoubtedly gone down to the ground floor of his palace where one of the most lavish celebrations within living memory was taking place. On that day, March 10, 1492, Giovanni, Lorenzo’s second son, had received the cardinal’s galero from the hands of the pope himself in the Abbey of San Domenico.
“I called for you,” said Lorenzo, “because there is something I wish to give you.”
Mauricio was speechless as Lorenzo handed him the ring he had brought with him from Barcelona fourteen years earlier.
“But Lorenzo, it is yours,” protested Mauricio.
“It will be of little use to me where I am going. But I have also various weighty reasons for having made t
his decision. First and foremost, when I die, I am convinced that the Resplendent Ones will enter the palace and steal the ring.”
“The Resplendent Ones!” exclaimed Mauricio. “It has been years since we talked about them.”
“The Resplendent Ones, an organization that is so secret that it is impossible to know who belongs to it or what their plans are,” murmured Lorenzo. “All we have been able to find out is that they are followers of Lucifer, the fallen angel. Among its higher echelons, the leaders could be in contact, through black magic, with the angels who rebelled against God. On a lower level, they have members who serve them without even knowing who their masters are, let alone their intentions. Among those, there were a couple of servants who tried to steal the ring from me. We attempted to make them talk, but they had no important information to reveal. A stranger had given them money and had promised a fortune if they were to achieve their objective. However, the foreigner disappeared from the city before we could catch him or clarify anything. I am telling you all this because I’ve protected that ring as if it were my own child and I doubt that Piero, my firstborn, would be capable of doing the same when I am gone.”
“Why do you think that?” asked Mauricio, although he already knew the answer.
“Let us just say that Pietro has great athletic qualities. He loves calcio, hunting, horse racing … Unfortunately, he has not inherited the mind of my grandfather, the great Cosimo. Giovanni, my second son, is more brilliant. This is the reason it was absolutely vital that he obtain the cardinal’s galero. You know how things are in Florence. One day you are the most honored man in the city and the next you are condemned to exile. Florence loves the Medici for the moment: business is going well, bread is cheap, the arts are flourishing, there are abundant celebrations … Yes, Savonarola accuses me of being a tyrant, but the people are content with our government. Nevertheless, circumstances can change very quickly and the Medici could suddenly be on the verge of ruin. Hence all my efforts and desires to make sure that Giovanni should become a cardinal. The power of the church is immense and in the end my second son now belongs to that force. But forgive me, I am losing the thread of our conversation due to the emotion of seeing my wish come true. As I was saying, when I am no more, and especially now my former spy chief Xenofon Kalamatiano has died, I consider it inevitable that the ring will end up in the hands of the Resplendent Ones, unless they have no idea at all where it is to be found. Therefore, you must keep the emerald. Tell no one you have it, not even your wife. In that way, everyone, including the Resplendent Ones, will think that some thief stole it from my deathbed. No one will ever imagine that it was returned to your hands.”
The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring Page 25