“Did the Albizzi hire you to kill me?”
“I don’t know,” he said nervously. “The man that approached me, he did not identify himself. But he offered me 500 soldi for the job, and he gave me 200 up front.”
Who would pay this man to kill me, I wondered. Tibbi was a simple thug, a poor stupid man who lived in a realm of wolves who were much more sophisticated than he. He probably thought that with enough favors that one day he would be welcomed into that world, the world of the wealthy elite. I knew the truth: that he would never be included because he was common and guileless, no different than any pimp or thug. He was an instrument and nothing more.
What were Tibbi’s connections? His patrons were illustrious members of the city’s bureaucracy. They would never want to sully their family name by openly sending a squad of their militia to apprehend an officer of the Bargello. But an anonymous hit? That would be difficult to trace. If Antonio had been successful and I was dead there would be no way to trace the killer. And if he had failed, as was the case now, then no one would be able to trace who had hired him to perform the assassination.
“What do you know of Arezzo?”
He stuttered.
“I don't know what you're talking about, ser.”
I persisted. It was worth a shot.
“Lies! We have evidence, Antonio.” A curious notion struck me, and the words tumbled from my lips forcefully. “Bartolomeo Neri has betrayed you.” It sounded convincing enough. With Ugo’s connections it seemed feasible that the name would create a spark.
A choking sob erupted from Antonio. “Please! You must have mercy!"
At last! I glanced towards Pietro, who was watching the interrogation with rapt attention. The scribe had paused and was awaiting my next statement. I struggled to keep my composure, surprised that my bluff had been so effective.
“Tell me exactly what you know about Bartolomeo.”
Antonio looked at me gravely. “His brother, Ugo, was a member of my crew. I had never spoken to Bartolomeo directly but we used his home as our headquarters in that parish. He ran that household like a despot. Everyone feared of him.”
With this revelation, the odd countenance of his wife was starting to make much more sense. How wrong I had been about this man!
“What about Ugo’s death? What was your involvement?”
Fear caused him to tense up again. “I had nothing to do with that! One day he just went missing. His vices were well known and we believed he had made a wager too many.”
His words struck me as honest. Like an animal accepting its fate from within the jaws of a predator, the fight was out of him.
“The Neri were receiving shipments of silver ore. Large shipments. Do you know about them?”
Antonio sighed, disappointed. “Yes. They were receiving weekly shipments of silver from a broker in Arezzo. My men and I provided escort occasionally.”
“Have you the name of this broker?”
“Yes, he was a man from Brescia by the name of Giovanni.”
Now things were becoming clear. At last we had a source for the ore deliveries, which was something I could take to Jacopo.
“Is there anything else you want to know?” Antonio was begging for the chance to bargain his way out of the death sentence he knew he would receive. I would not be the arbiter of his fate but if his information was as useful as it seemed then it was possible that it could be commuted to a lifetime of exile.
“Just one thing. Who is Vasquez working for?”
Even in the dim light I could see the color drain from Tibbi’s face. His eyes remained cast downward, away from mine. “Ser, you know everything else but not this? He works for Bartolomeo.”
Incredible. All of my theories about Ugo, his brother, and the murders had been completely backwards. It was not the Spaniard that was planning all of this chaos. Bartolomeo had been responsible for every bit of it, and he had been within our grasp since the first day! From the sightings near the Neri house to his knowledge of the counterfeit coins and through whose hands they had passed, everything seemed now to point to the elder brother’s guilt.
“That is enough for now. Warden! Bring this man to his cell.”
The warden appeared again and led the shackled man out of the room, a look of shock and betrayal affixed to his face. I nodded to the scribe, who collected his supplies and left Pietro and I in the interrogation room. When it was finally just the two of us I let out an enormous sigh of relief. “Where does one even begin?” I asked to no one in particular.
19
“Arezzo.” Jacopo mulled over the name. “You need to gather your men, Mercurio. Find this broker at all costs. If Bartolomeo has fled the city and resumed his operations elsewhere then he still must be receiving shipments. This could be the key to tracking him down.”
“My thoughts precisely,” I said. “If he’s burned his records and thinks that we have no way to track him then he may feel comfortable to get back to his work. I’ll summon Francesco and Lauro to meet with me at once. Pietro, will you make our preparations for travel? We leave first thing at matins.”
“Certainly.” The young man stood, saluted, and left promptly.
“You’re looking and sounding much better.” The comandatore was genuinely concerned. “You’re sure you’re up for more travelling?”
“I’m still wearing this poultice and every breath is a reminder of the other night. But I’m going to see this through to its end.”
“Every bit as persistent as I’d expect,” he said with a laugh. “Just don’t do anything reckless. Your men will have your back as long as you don’t go off on your own. Trust them with your life as they do you with theirs.”
“Grazie,” I said, and left. As I passed out of his bureau I felt the shroud of his protection lifted, like I was suddenly on my own in a dark place.
A short while later my men had received my message and were standing before me.
“Pietro told us! Was it really the brother?” Lauro asked in a hushed tone.
The truth was still settling in my mind. “Much as I hate to admit it I can’t find any proof that he was not behind all this.” It explained so much but there were still many questions.
“Animal!” He spat the words in disgust. “To kill your own brother in cold blood. We’ll see him hung from the gallows for this.”
"The worst part of it is that I believe he was using us in the hopes of locating those coins," I said. "This is why he was so forthright with us about his brother's disappearance."
"Cunning bastard," said Lauro.
Francesco said, “Pietro told us we are going to Arezzo in the morning. Do we know where he is hiding?”
I quickly recounted the major revelations of the interrogation. The men grumbled with discouragement that we were not going to go to recover Bartolomeo straightaway. I on the other hand was feeling very optimistic. If we could find Giovanni then we might not only find our suspect but also discover more about the silver shipments and, by extension, the counterfeit coins.
The mystery of the murders was solved and all that remained was to capture Bartolomeo and Rodrigo. But the riddle of those coins was far from clear. I still had no clues as to who had commissioned them or even why. I wondered if there would be any more news from the zecca or if that trail was already too cold.
After what felt like an interminable amount of speculation between us I brought back the discussion to the trip. By then Pietro had returned, so we were able to forge ahead on our plan. We would leave as soon as the gates were opened and spend the next two days on the road, arriving at our destination in time to find food and lodging. I had made the trek to Arezzo many times before, often in pursuit of fugitives fleeing for the crowds of Rome or Naples or further into the sparse Calabrian countryside where they could blend in with the peasants who still spoke Greek and lived the same as centuries past, or onward towards the kingdom of Sicily.
I dismissed the men for the evening and ventured back to my home as t
he sun was tipping into the mountains beyond. It would be the last time I would see that for a while, I realized.
My family was waiting for me as I entered. My mother in particular was concerned with my pallor and it was clear that she was still not pleased. Beside her sat my uncle, Faenza, who had arrived from Pisa earlier that day. Upstairs could be heard the voices of children playing.
“Figlio, you still don’t look well. You should not have been about today.” She called to Vera, who instantly appeared and began to remove my tunic. I winced as she loosened the poultice. The skin beneath was a deep violet with spots of yellow across the ribs.
Faenza winced when he saw the extent of my injury. “Mercurio! Go easy on yourself, boy. I don’t think you should even be standing.”
“Thank you, uncle. But I have something I must attend to in the morning. I ride to Arezzo first thing.”
I was expecting anger from my mother but her eyes and mouth remained fixed. Finally, she just shook her head. “Fine, do what you must. But I won’t hear any of your grumbling when fever sets in and you’re too sick to move, all because you refused to listen.”
I knew this wasn’t true, but her damning tone spoke otherwise.
“I’m sorry. I’ll be careful, mamma. I will be accompanied by my men and I’ll only be gone a few days, I promise.” I turned to my uncle. “So, what brings you here?”
The change of subject softened his posture somewhat, and I saw his shoulders relax a bit. “We just wanted to share the joyous news that your cousin has given birth to a boy a week ago. His name is Michele!”
“That is great news!” I said. Another trip would be forthcoming, but on much happier circumstances. It would be nice to spend time with the extended family and see some happy and familiar sights. As I fondly remembered the farm I had spent my early childhood playing on, Vera finished wrapping up my chest with fresh linen.
“He is to be baptized in a week. You really must attend,” Faenza insisted.
“I will be there, on my word.” I leaned against the back of my chair, relieved that my body had stopped throbbing for the moment. Once that pain had subsided it was soon replaced by hunger.
Supper was soon served and the children came downstairs with their mother, Monna. Cortesia and Antonello were there too, and had not heard me come home. I avoided talking about work as much as possible and tried to stay focused on lighter subjects. For once I felt whole, like I had woken from a grotesque dream but time had still somehow passed and now here I was, months and years older but disoriented and unsure of how I got to this point.
Cortesia made her usual sarcastic jabs at Nello and I while Faenza demonstrated another of his groan-inducing magic tricks which the children watched in amazement. My mother laughed while at the same time scolding us all over our poor table manners. Throughout the meal my mind would try to wander and I had to keep it in check, and was suddenly dreading the following day with great dismay. I had been working too hard and needed time to heal. I decided at that moment that I would speak with Jacopo in the morning and request some leave. The announcement was on my lips when there was a rattle at the door.
Staring at my plate while sifting my own thoughts, Vera answered the door and my heart sank as the familiar gravelly voice resonated from outside.
“Mercurio!” she said. “You have a visitor.”
Damn my luck, I thought. It just wasn’t fair. But my legs carried me to the door and to the regal figure of Jacopo in a finely tailored costume, standing with what appeared to be a smile in the darkness of my stoop.
“I need you at once. How long will it take you to get ready in your most opulent clothing?”
I stuttered. “I can have Vera dress me right away but I still move slowly. What is going on?”
Jacopo laughed heartily. “You, my boy, have been summoned. We are to sup with Giovanni di Bicci de' Medici himself. He’s taken an interest in your investigation and he asked for you by name.”
The look on my face must have been ridiculous. I was beyond speechless. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” he assured me. “Now get yourself put together right now. We need to go as soon as possible. The banquet is probably being laid out as we speak.”
“I just ate,” I said stupidly.
“Find your second wind then.” He leaned closer. “It will be absolutely worth it.”
The looks of dismay from my family spoke louder than any verbal reprimand. I told myself that I had no choice, that work was work and I was powerless. It was hard enough to convince myself but I knew that any appeal to them would have fallen flat. I was left with no alternative but to apologize profusely and hope that they could forgive me at a later time. Vera was cold and silent as she dressed me in my bedchamber.
After an excruciating ordeal of binding and tying together my most colorful ensemble I bid a final farewell to my family and departed with Jacopo.
“How did Giovanni hear about this?”
“Your discovery of the Banco dei Medici pouch. I went directly to the podestà and he went to Giovanni himself. You’ve kicked a hornet’s nest with this one, Mercurio.”
“That was never my intent,” I said begrudgingly. “I only set out to solve a murder.” I hoped that the hostility that I could hear in my voice was not audible to the comandatore.
“And you did. Brilliantly, in fact. But you unearthed an even greater menace to the commune. Now you have to accept the responsibility of the consequences of that. But it’s not all bad. You’ve earned a powerful ally, one who could protect you far better than I could.”
“What are you talking about?” I nearly tripped over an exposed plank lurking in the shadows. How foolish would I have looked now if I had fallen into shit on my way to the palace of one of the most powerful men in Florence?
“Can’t you see, Mercurio? This isn’t only about justice. You heard it yourself. There is a power struggle brewing and you’re now at the center of it. How you handle this will determine not just your own fate but your family’s as well. You’re doing this for them too.”
My stomach turned. I remembered back to my father, when he was alive, what awful events had led to us being routed and forced out of our home. My father was lucky enough to escape with his life, though it disrupted all of ours and surely led to his sickness and untimely death.
Jacopo saw my reaction. “I’m sorry, I’m not one to mince words but it is true! Comport yourself, and remain steady.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“After seeing how you handled our meeting with Gattamelata, I’m sure you will be.”
We hurried through the winding alleys leading to the home of the Medici, which turned out to be a typical structure built in the previous century with storefronts on the ground floor and the living quarters above. At one point as we were traipsing through the dim passages I happened to see the moon peeking out from behind a tower that poked the darkened sky.
It was surprising, having seen Bartolomeo’s colossal and hideous palace, how nondescript the Medici home really was. There was nothing outstanding or unique about it apart from those who resided within. From the outside, it looked astonishingly common, like that of a successful artisan but not of a banker whose fortunes and influence were amassing at a rate that would alarm the old families.
“This way,” directed Jacopo. We approached an iron door that stood like a monolith before us, and my mentor gave it a firm knock. A window was raised and Jacopo announced our arrival. Without a moment’s hesitation the bolts slid loudly and the door was released.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” said the elegant and polished servant who came to meet us in the vestibule. “If you would please follow me, I will lead the way to the master’s banquet.”
Across from us another door opened as the first was shut tightly, this one leading into the courtyard. As we stepped through I saw for the first time how much of a ruse the exterior was. Lamplight flooded the outdoor area and revealed a splendid display of ancient and
contemporary Greek statues poised and contorted into an array of positions from dozens of plays. These stood surrounded by beautiful flowered arrangements and brilliant banners from places unimaginable and exotic to me. We walked through the colonnade and around to the other side to the grand staircase. I spotted vastly oversized jars from Egypt and China amid busts of Roman emperors long since passed into the annals of history.
I took a step but noted that Jacopo remained rooted in place.
“Ser?”
He smiled. “It’s you that received the invitation, not I. I can lead you no further because, alas, I was asked only to escort you here. I will remain in the garden enjoying the night air.”
The steward nodded in agreement. “Worry not, dear boy, we will take exquisite care of you. Jacopo will rejoin you after supper.”
I relented with a quiet sigh and followed the old man. Few things I disliked more than surprises, and this night was quickly becoming full of them. There was a game being played, and I was feeling more and more like one of the lesser pieces.
A staircase of polished marble led us upwards into the heavens, as it felt. Every fixture seemed to be plated in gold or silver or semiprecious jewels of some kind. Rugs from Persia hung from the walls accompanied by tapestries from France, Italy, and even England. We passed by a study that had one door ajar and inside sparkled with odd baubles on the shelves. The books themselves gave off a faint earthy scent that reeked of knowledge in its base physical form, but this was masked by all the other smells that included perfume, flowers, seasoned food, and all the other ingredients that composed decadence incarnate.
When we reached the entry of the banquet hall a voice rang out clearly. “Ah! I see you’ve made it, Mercurio. And with such impeccable timing as well!”
Across from us was old man himself, Giovanni di Bicci, seated at the head of the table within the banquet hall. But it had not been he that greeted us so cheerfully but his son who stood beside him, the proud and illustrious Cosimo de' Medici.
Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy Page 19