Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy

by Crews, Michael

  I continued examining the room under the hot gaze of the mistress. The shutters of the window were wide open and a patch of sticky film in the clear shape of a boot could be seen on the bottom of the sill.

  “So what happened next? You came in to investigate?”

  “I approached the room but by then the noises had stopped. I pressed my ear against the door but, alas, nothing. I even knocked. Then I entered, and found the carnage that you see before you exactly as it is now.”

  “You didn’t touch or move anything?”

  “No, absolutely not. I immediately sent one of the girls to find an agent of the Night Watch.”

  I sighed. “Was that before or after you evacuated your patrons, signora?” My voice could not hide the hatred my instincts held against this woman. If there had been any sort of witness then they were surely gone by now. Not that one with any sort of reputation would want to be caught in a place like this by the authorities.

  “My guests left of their own accord, as any would do when a murder has just taken place.”

  “Do you have any idea how the killer entered?”

  “Most likely through the front door. We are a public tavern so people can come and go as they wish. As for why Carlo was killed, I have no answer. Only a handful of people even knew that he stayed here.”

  “Including Tino?”

  For a moment she looked surprised. “Yes,” she stuttered. “Though Tino had gone missing, and Carlo was deeply disturbed. He was preparing to leave Florence this morning.”

  Staring down at Carlo’s inert body on the floor, I wondered how in the hell this could have happened.

  “So, there were no witnesses. No one saw anyone suspicious come or go. Someone simply walked into your brothel and murdered this man, then disappeared into the night. Is that correct, signora?”

  Geraldina’s jaw tightened in nervous tension. “Si.”

  “Where are your girls? I’d like to have a word with them.”

  “They are locked safely in their rooms. And, I must add, that they will corroborate my story in its entirety, Signore Capolupo.”

  “I will see that for myself, Signora,” I said coldly. Turning to the guard, “I need you and your men to canvas the neighborhood. Question everyone you see.” I pointed at the ledge. “If he's jumped from all the way up here he's probably limping. Go, quickly!”

  “Si!” he said, then disappeared.

  “Marcello, I am going to search every speck of this room. If you don’t mind, I would appreciate your help moving some of this furniture. And you, signora,” I stared into her round, dark brown eyes, “if I find out that you’re hiding anything from me I will see to it that you are detained for covering up for the killer of three men. Do I make myself absolutely clear?”

  She stumbled, her lips pursed in a tight line. “Si.” Then she humbly excused herself and hurried away.

  “Now,” I said, “let’s tear this room apart and see if there is anything it can tell us.”

  11

  “You handled the Signora admirably.”

  “I was on the verge of choking her, Marcello.”

  He laughed. “But you didn’t.”

  It was just the two of us in the macabre scene, and we systematically searched every item in the room. We had begun with the body, naturally, and had predictably found little of any conceivable other than his rings and a small San Antonio charm hung from a chain around his neck. He was wearing no boots and had no pouches on him.

  Our search of his belongings led us through several chests filled with clothing. At the bottom of one was a small collection of knives and jewelry. There were also vials of cloudy liquid, tonics for whatever health problems he may have had. One pouch had dried herbs for the same purpose. In another chest we found a sack filled with bread, cheese and sausages. These were the provisions for his flight that never happened.

  A while later, we had moved every piece of furniture. Bed, table, chest, everything. Marcello snorted when he saw me knocking on each of the floorboards.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for hiding places.” I tapped another, then another.

  He sighed. “Very well.”

  Minutes later, “Mercurio!” He tapped on a board and it gave a hollow echo. “Take a look!”

  Together we pried and found that the board was loose. I slipped the tip of my dagger between the planks and gently lifted. Up it came slowly, and beneath was a dark recess with a leather pouch at the bottom.

  “Is there anything inside?”

  I reached in and drew from its hiding place, then peeked inside. Empty. Some kind of symbol was embossed on the side, a worn out chevron or bird. It was hard to make out.

  “Damn,” he said. “But there might have been something in there before. Money, I would think. This man was a usurer. Why have we found no coin?”

  He had a valid point. I stopped for a second. No, he was absolutely right. So far we’d found jewelry and other precious items but no coin at all. He should have at least packed some in his provisions, but when we ran through them again we found nothing.

  Stuffing the pouch into my doublet, I reached down and looked at the man’s hands. They were clenched tightly, even post mortem.

  “What are you doing?”

  “His hands. I was just going to look at his rings but realized his fingers are wrapped pretty tightly.”

  “Perhaps he was trying to defend himself with his fists.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe not.” I tried to pry open his hand but it was closed like a vice. The harder I pried the more I thought his fingers would break, until finally they released.

  “Marcello. Look.”

  He stood up. “What did you find?”

  In the palm of his hand were several gold florins. Carlo had been clutching them so tightly that their edges had cut into his skin and were sticky with blood.

  “This man seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with money,” Marcello said sardonically.

  I picked the coins up and wrapped them in a cloth.

  “You’re not going to share?” He shrugged. “What a terrible waste.”

  “We’ll see,” I said, stuffing the bundle into a fold in my doublet. “Right now we have more important things to worry about.”

  I stood. We had scoured the room completely, and there was nothing left to be learned from within. Next I questioned the girls, who were found in their rooms just as the mistress had said they would be.

  “What is your name?” I asked a frail-looking brunette with sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were swollen, thin streaks of dried tears plunging down her face.

  “Anastasia.”

  I folded my arms. “Had you seen anyone unusual earlier, a stranger or someone behaving in an odd manner?”

  Staring at the floor, she shook her head no. I tried to look her in the eyes but her gaze shifted away.

  “You’re familiar with Carlo, yes? You should be, I’m told he had been hiding here for some time.”

  Her motions stopped and she sat still. At last, “Si.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  At last she made eye contact. As I’d hoped, I had struck a nerve. “What do you want to know?”

  “Don’t worry about what I want. Tell me what you know. Talk.”

  She was starting to loosen as the words tumbled fourth, the tension in her shoulders eased and her movements were a bit more fluid. Still no eye contact, but it was a start.

  “He came around most weeks. Spent large amounts of money here on wine and, of course, entertainment. But lately he was very anxious, and in the last week or so he simply stayed here in that room.” Anastasia’s eyes darted from me to Marcello and back.

  “Do you know what Carlo kept in his room? Aside from ordinary personal belongings, that is.”

  She shook her head. “No, just his stash of money and clothes I suppose.”

  I stood and began pacing. None of this made any sense. What the hell had the killers been after? What terrible thin
g had Carlo stumbled across, and how did it relate back to Ugo? I continued to rule out money because, simply, there are far easier and less risky ways of acquiring it. If it was something physical then it must have had great sentimental or financial value to someone, if not the killer. Revenge? Might the two of them have been involved in some scandal together?

  It suddenly occurred to me that I had absolutely ruled out Carlo as the murderer of Ugo. No, it wouldn’t have made sense at all, not now, not with both men dead in so short a span of time. The murders were different after all, Ugo’s throat had been cut and Carlo had suffered from a knife to the heart. On the other hand, both men’s belongings had remained intact. Ugo still had his dagger, Carlo had his rings. Both attacks seemed unprovoked otherwise. The killer had selected his targets with great care, and it was apparent now that he was willing to put himself at great risk to end them.

  Information. If anything is ever at a premium, it would be information. What I’d overheard at the ganea was only a taste of the scheming that took place on any given night, especially in Florence. The ganea was also what connected Ugo and Carlo more than anything, aside from debt.

  “Did Carlo ever say anything? Have any visitors? Send or receive any messages that you’re aware of?”

  “The only contact he had with the outside world was with his man Tino, who would visit most mornings. When he didn’t show up yesterday Carlo panicked and spent all day preparing to leave the city.”

  “Did he say where he was going?”

  She shrugged. “Pisa or Genoa, I suppose. Or south. I don’t think he even knew to be sure. He wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “Indeed.” I sighed loudly. “All right, Anastasia. Your lack of substantial information has been surprisingly informative to me. I appreciate your help with this matter. Marcello, will you please escort the young lady to her chamber and bring me the next one?”

  “Of course,” he replied.

  I questioned all the young ladies of the house and was able to gather nothing of further use. By the end I could tell that Marcello was tired of being there and it was only then that I realized how long we had been at The Persian Lily. I bid farewell to Geraldina, who remained as stoic and dispassionate towards me as when we’d first met, and left.

  “Do let me know if you find anything, Marcello,” I said, outside.

  “Naturally. Now go home, Mercurio. What is this now, two days since you’ve had a decent rest? You’re becoming one of us!” He laughed heartily at the thought.

  “Nonsense, I’m fine, I slept all day. Dear god, you’re right,” I groaned. “But thank you for rousing me when you did. I owe you.”

  We parted ways and I trudged back to my home amidst the darkened avenues. Despite the initial shock of finding my last remaining lead lying dead in a brothel I felt oddly positive. Perhaps it was because there was one less monster to roam these lonely streets.

  The next morning I awoke with the sun. Sleep had been dreamless but restful, and I had no memory of even passing out. I stumbled out of bed, joints popping and muscles protesting as I stood and prepared myself for the day.

  I was about throw on my cloak and step outside when I heard my mother’s voice behind me. “Mercurio. Wait.”

  I turned. “Good morning, mother. You’re up early.”

  “I’ve barely seen you, figlio. Your work has kept you so focused that you are like a stranger lately. Is everything okay?” Her voice was gentle and warm in contrast to her usual authoritative tone.

  “I’m well. Things have reached an impasse, and I’m not sure where to go from here.”

  “You were out last night? I heard knocking and then voices late.”

  “A man we had been searching for was found dead. I believe you may remember him, the usurer I told you about.”

  “I’m sorry, Mercurio.” My mother hugged me. I couldn’t remember the last time she had done that, and it was welcome. “Are you in a hurry to leave?”

  “Not really, no,” I said. There wasn’t much need for me at the Bargello until later, and I was only leaving at that hour to ease boredom.

  “Then you’re coming to morning mass with the family. No arguments, your soul sounds like it could use it. Besides, you really should come more often.” She roused my sister and Vera and then began to assemble herself for a public appearance. I stood by and waited for everyone to get ready, and when all the ladies of the house emerged we left immediately for the tiny chapel that was only a couple blocks from our doorstep.

  Already present when we arrived was half of the neighborhood, among them many faces I felt like I had not seen in years. Elderly neighbors that I knew since my youth who were grayer than I remembered, children who were more grown than when I had last seen them. It was startling to think that they had all been there, surrounding me, all this time and had gone unnoticed.

  The priest performed the service exactly the same as I remembered it word for word. I found comfort in the familiar that morning, and the friends and neighbors surrounding me renewed my sense of belonging.

  Soon it was time for Communion so I gathered with the rest to take the holy host. The bitter taste of the unleavened bread brought back memories of my very first one when I was just a boy. As soon as the ritual was complete I looked at my mother and could see her smiling proudly at me.

  When all were dismissed I said farewell to my family and departed for the Bargello. The walk was refreshing and my soul felt lighter as though it had been purged. The crowded streets opened themselves to me and for a moment I felt at peace.

  Midway through the Piazza della Signoria I happened across a preacher surrounded by a group of onlookers. Bernardino was his name, and whether there was something about his words or I was simply more receptive to spiritual guidance that day I was not sure but I paused to listen to the man speak.

  He spoke eloquently and passionately, his voice flowing with grace and his face glowing with zeal. Virtue was the subject of that day, and when he spoke he echoed the words of Aquinas and Ambrose as though the saints stood before us themselves.

  “Remember the cardinal virtues: prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance. It is through these that we can control our base appetites and direct them towards goodliness. How does one acquire these virtues? Through careful discipline and humility!

  “Now let us examine more closely the virtues, or rather firstly, the appetites that these virtues govern. A man seeks to satisfy the thirsts of the intellect, the will, the querulous nature, and the physical indulgence. Left untamed, these desires would render a man no better than beast!”

  I considered the life of Ugo for a moment. None better than he exemplified the type of reckless living that the priest was describing. Had he but a shred of humility he might not have met the unspeakable fate that ended him.

  “Base sins such as gluttony and lust are directly opposed to reason, which is inexorably good and is the ultimate gift of God to man! As such, they defy nature and lead man down a wholly unnatural path. A man who indulges on his carnal appetites forgets his duty to God and his family. Fallen from his rightly stature, he becomes a slave. A slave to his aversions!” The priest extended his arms in a sweeping gesture. “And for that we must practice the virtue of temperance.”

  He paused for a dramatic moment. For the span of a breath the corner was silent, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood.

  “But what of the other appetites? There is that of the irascible nature, which clouds men’s judgment and leads them to commit all manner of folly. Like an inner beast within, it is nourished by fear of danger and hardship, and it leads men astray and commits them to decisions that their reason would have steered them away from. This beast makes man forget what he is, so that he loses his reason and falls into the trap of the deceiver! Against this we must practice fortitude, so that our reason can keep us on the path of righteousness.”

  Carlo’s inner beast governed him, I understood. It led him to prey on his fellow man, stripping him of his humanity. At
what point, I wondered, had it take over his life? Are some men more weak against this beast than others? Many times I had wondered why some men made the decisions that they did. Having seen the ultimate result of a great number of bad decisions first hand, it was a recurring question that eluded me each time.

  “What of the will? The will is the execution of reason, the force upon which reason acts in order to represent itself in the physical world. What good is reason if it exists only in the mind? The answer is that it is no good unless it is given the means to affect the world. Without will, the world is defenseless against the beastly instincts that would overwhelm the rational. We live amongst each other in peace and in harmony with God because of the constructive force of will. And what gives the will its constructive power? That is justice, and it fills man with the power to intervene in the affairs of the physical world and impose upon it the reins of reason.”

  I am an agent of justice, I reminded myself. My work was all to serve peace and social order, which were the product of the reason of God and man. This was what gave me the authority to do what I saw was right. I was a servant of the greatest good.

  “And finally we have prudence, which governs the appetite of intellect. While intellect is the gathering of facts, prudence is the guiding force that organizes those facts into reason. Intellect is morally sterile, and can be used for good ends or for evil. Prudence is the force that gives the intellectual drive a purpose for good. Without prudence, all the knowledge in the world can indifferently serve man or be its downfall. Of all the virtues, we must practice prudence most importantly! For without prudence, we can have no justice, no fortitude, and no temperance.”

  Prudence. Was I prudent? My lifestyle was not, I suspected, what my family favored in this regard. My youth was certainly lacking in prudence, but had I ever learned it? Jacopo might have said so, it had been a major goal of his to impart me with it. My career had rewarded me richly, and my success was certainly a product of great intellect. And yet, I had an uncomfortable feeling that I had ignored prudence largely. What if I was not really serving reason at all, but more carnal impulse? Pride, perhaps?