by D. V. Bishop
She glided into the piazza, her maid a few paces behind. Other courtesans went in pairs while parading beside the Basilica di San Lorenzo, but Venus hunted alone – after all, why risk the competition? Besides, the idle gossip of other women bored her. The conversation of men was far more enlightening, and rewarding.
Venus was on her second slow circuit when she noticed the young man watching her. His interest seemed intense, though he was far younger than her usual – it was doubtful he’d seen twenty-five summers. His face was new to her, bearing no likeness to any of the prominent merchant families. His robes did not promise much either, but he was tall and held himself with a quiet strength of character and purpose. If this newcomer was seeking a courtesan, the woman who took him home could be in for quite a time.
Venus gave him a warm smile, testing the water. He strode towards her, making no attempt to hide his interest. But as he approached, so did that plump-hipped fica Bella! She possessed all the subtlety of marble – before a sculptor had worked on it. Before Venus could tell her rival to fornicate away, the young man addressed them both.
‘Excuse me, ladies, my name is Carlo Strocchi.’
‘A pleasure to meet you,’ Bella replied quickly, offering a hand for him to kiss. He ignored it, instead clasping his own hands behind his back. A man of taste, it seemed.
‘I’m a constable with the Otto di Guardia e Balia,’ he continued.
Oh, a minor court official. How disappointing. Venus didn’t bother keeping the disdain from her face. At least he wasn’t a troublemaker from the Office of Decency, hoping for a bribe. But the longer he occupied her time, the less chance she had of attracting a suitable male. ‘And?’
Venus gave the briefest of answers when the constable asked stumbling questions about another courtesan. Never admit, never apologize, and never explain was always wisest. But she couldn’t hold her tongue when he pulled a handful of familiar dress fabric from his tunic. ‘That cunning little vixen! She stole my seat on Sunday, and my best prospect.’
‘Your prospect?’ Bella laughed, loud enough to send pigeons flying. ‘Biagio Seta was never yours, my dear. You had your eye on him and she got there first.’
Venus rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t pretend you had no plans for him.’
‘What if I did? Some of us can still attract men with all their own hair.’
Annoyingly, the constable stepped between them before Venus could use her nails on Bella. ‘Ladies, please! Whatever your disagreements, they must wait.’ Venus refused to respond before her rival. Eventually Bella shrugged her assent, and Venus gave a nod of agreement. ‘Now, could you describe this new courtesan?’
‘Young,’ Bella said, always too eager to please.
‘Very young,’ Venus clarified.
‘Even younger than me,’ Bella added. The cagna.
The constable nodded his understanding. ‘What about . . . the face?’
‘It was hard to see,’ Venus replied, noting the way he was carefully choosing his words.
‘Hidden behind a veil,’ Bella added, motioning with her hands.
‘She was delicate, and quite pretty – in an unusual way. Called herself Dolce Gallo.’
The constable’s face reddened. ‘It seems that “she” was actually a “he”. Your rival on Sunday was actually a young man called Luca Corsini.’
Bella gasped at this, but it was little surprise to anyone who’d been paying attention. ‘No wonder,’ Venus said. ‘I’ve been after Seta for a while, but he didn’t seem interested.’
‘Worried about losing your appeal?’ Bella asked, with a smirk. ‘Bit late for that.’
‘Biagio preferring the taste of cazzo to a real woman explains a lot,’ Venus continued, ignoring the remark. ‘It’s hard enough attracting the right kind of men without boys dressing up as girls to steal away the best men.’
‘What happened to this Corsini?’ Bella asked, the first sensible thing she’d said.
‘He was beaten to death,’ Strocchi replied. Venus crossed herself, muttering a prayer. But the constable wasn’t finished yet. ‘You say Corsini caught the eye of a man called Seta?’
Venus sighed. ‘Biagio Seta – his family are silk merchants. They have a palazzo near Santa Croce. But you can’t think that he beat anyone to death? Biagio is a big baby, afraid of his shadow. The older brother Alessio was the real power in that family, before he fell ill.’
Bella nodded. ‘There’s as much chance of Biagio killing a man as there is of Venus welcoming Duke Alessandro to her bedchamber.’
Venus feigned a smile. ‘My darling, you really must learn to hold that tongue.’
‘At least my tongue is still capable of arousing a man.’
‘Not from what I hear.’ The constable slipped away while Bella protested. Let him go. With no men around worth catching, there was still fun to be had vexing her.
Chapter Twelve
Aldo went to the bordello for a change of hose before returning to via dei Giudei, hoping it would lessen the aroma around him. Bad enough to call on Rebecca Levi while she was sitting shiva for her father – to do so stinking of fish would only add further insult. The handsome young Jewish man who had been taking Rebecca to her father’s funeral answered the door.
‘I’m Cesare Aldo, an officer of the Otto, investigating Samuele Levi’s murder.’
The young man glanced over his shoulder. Rebecca was sitting cross-legged on the floor inside, rocking back and forth. Comforting her were several young women, all bearing a strong resemblance to the young man. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘She buried her father yesterday.’
The floor had been scrubbed clean, Aldo noted. ‘I must speak with her.’
The young man pulled on a pair of boots before stepping outside, closing the door behind him. ‘She is sitting shiva. This is private. You’ve no right to come here.’
‘I have every right. Rebecca was the person that asked me to find whoever murdered her father.’ Not strictly true, but close enough. ‘I have an official duty, too. The Duke of Florence has ordered me to see justice is done here.’
‘I understand, but Rebecca – she blames herself for Samuele’s death.’
Had the daughter murdered her father? Was she ready to confess?
The young man leaned closer. ‘Rebecca wasn’t at home the night Samuele died. She seems to believe he might still be alive, if she’d stayed with him.’
‘Or she might be dead too.’
‘That’s what I keep telling her, but she won’t listen.’
Aldo nodded. ‘Sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Joshua Forzoni. I’m learning to be a physician with Dr Orvieto.’
So this was the doctor’s student – strong as well as handsome. Perhaps Joshua was more than Orvieto’s student? No, there was nothing about the young man to suggest that – and his concern for Rebecca seemed far more than brotherly.
‘I met Orvieto, he told me you were most upset about what’s happened.’
‘We all are,’ Joshua said, his eyes cast down. ‘My sisters have been friends with Rebecca since they were girls. They’re inside with her now.’
But there was more to it than that for Joshua, wasn’t there? The nervous look over his shoulder, the way he spoke about Rebecca. He loved her.
‘It’s good she has friends to comfort her,’ Aldo agreed. ‘Samuele wasn’t the kindest of fathers, from what I’ve heard.’ The young man hesitated before nodding. ‘I wish this wasn’t necessary, but I must speak with Rebecca.’
Joshua finally gave way. ‘I’ll fetch her. But please, be gentle.’
Aldo watched Joshua return inside, slipping off his boots. There was a dark stain on the leather at the toe end of one, and a larger, crescent-shaped stain under the sole. But before Aldo could go closer to examine it, Rebecca was coming to the door. ‘You needed to see me?’
Aldo nodded. ‘You mentioned arguing with your father the night he died. You told me that you stayed with your cousin Ruth afterwards.’
‘So where were you the night Samuele was killed?’
A glance back at Joshua, that same nervous look he’d given her earlier. Rebecca stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. ‘I was with Joshua. I-I spent the night with him.’ She couldn’t meet Aldo’s gaze. ‘I’m sorry for lying to you yesterday. I didn’t want anyone to know. Father doesn’t – didn’t – approve.’
Understandable, but she was still hiding something. ‘Where does Joshua live? With his sisters, the rest of his family?’ She nodded. ‘And they’re happy for you to spend the night in his bed, even though you’re not married?’ Rebecca was shivering now, though that could be from standing outside in bare feet. Aldo heard a noise at the door. Someone was listening.
‘Who scrubbed the floor inside your home?’
The question made Rebecca blink. ‘I-I did.’
‘Can’t have been easy, getting that clean.’
‘No, it wasn’t.’
‘Especially the marks left by whoever stepped in Samuele’s blood.’ Rebecca began to reply, but stopped herself. ‘If I looked at all the boots inside, what would I find?’
‘Enough!’ Joshua ripped open the door. Rebecca burst into tears, and Joshua hugged her to his chest. They certainly cared for each other. Had that been reason enough to kill?
‘Tell me what happened,’ Aldo said, keeping his voice low, unthreatening.
‘After I argued with Father, I walked round till it got dark,’ Rebecca replied between sobs. ‘I realized it was late, but I couldn’t face going home.’
‘She came to our house,’ Joshua said. ‘Rebecca told me what happened, the terrible things Samuele had said to her. I came here to confront Samuele.’ He paused, swallowing hard. ‘The door was open when I arrived, which was unusual. I went inside, and—’ Joshua stopped, taking Rebecca’s face in his hands. ‘Your father was on the floor. I could see his blood. I went over to help him – but he was already dead.’ Joshua looked close to tears. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I arrived home that night. I meant to, but you were already asleep when I got there. I couldn’t bear the thought of waking you to say what I knew. I wanted you to have one last good night’s sleep before—’ He stopped, overcome by emotion.
Aldo watched Rebecca. Her shoulders relaxed, as if a weight was leaving her. She had seen the blood on Joshua’s boot and feared the worst. That was why she had lied, to protect him. She must care for Joshua to do that, or hate her father more than she realized.
‘What about the knife?’ Aldo asked. ‘Was there a blade in Samuele’s chest?’
Joshua paused before answering. ‘No, there wasn’t.’
So the killer took it with them. ‘Did you see anyone else outside, near the house?’
‘I don’t . . .’ Joshua’s eyes widened. ‘Yes, I did. It was dark, but I saw a man hurrying away along the street.’ He pointed north, towards the Arno.
‘What did this man look like? Was he tall, short? Fat, thin?’
‘I can’t be sure. But he was carrying something with square corners – a book, maybe.’
Had robbery been the reason for Levi’s murder? ‘Rebecca, have you noticed anything missing from inside the house? Something that matches what Joshua describes?’
She shook her head, shivering more now. Joshua pulled her closer, his face full of concern. ‘Please, can I take her in? She’s freezing out here.’
A messenger boy came into the street, shouting Aldo’s name. Aldo nodded at Joshua and Rebecca to go in before gesturing to the boy. ‘I’ve a message from Constable Benedetto,’ the boy said. ‘A man with a scar on his cheek is being held at Porta San Gallo.’
Aldo put a coin in the boy’s expectant hand. ‘Anything else?’
‘Benedetto says you should hurry. The man hurt two guards when they first stopped him. Benedetto says he isn’t sure how long they can keep the man there.’
Aldo added another coin. ‘Run back to the north gate. Tell Benedetto I’ll be there soon, and it’s vital they hold that prisoner – understand?’ A nod, and the boy sprinted off.
Maria gave herself a night and a day to overcome the disappointment of Guicciardini’s letter, but time had not removed all her frustration. She paced the floor of her bedroom for an hour, turning over the possibilities, the significance behind his words. Finally, she set that aside and chose to focus on the path ahead. It was easy for a prominent Palleschi senator to dismiss her request by letter. Such men would find ignoring her more difficult if she secured an invitation to visit their residences. To do that she needed to be in Florence, moving among the wives of the Palleschi, winning their favour. A Medici could not be so easily ignored in person.
Maria sent Simona to fetch Cosimo from the stables, knowing he would be tending to the horses. He was dismayed when she announced her plans. ‘Am I not to accompany you?’
‘Not this time,’ she said, touching a palm to his face. ‘Better if you remain here, and keep watch over the castello. My efforts to secure a better future for you will require me to call on other wives and widows. I find women are more willing to help each other when talking among themselves. We may not have the brute force of men, but that does not mean we lack anything in the way of guile and cunning.’
In the past Maria might have expected her son to pout and protest at being left behind. Instead he nodded, accepting the simple wisdom of her words and experience. He had grown into a man able to perceive when someone spoke the truth. That was an ability which should serve him well amid the courtly intrigues of Florence, should her plans succeed.
‘Where will you stay?’ Cosimo asked.
It was a good question. In years past Maria had been a guest of her sister Francesca, whose husband Ottaviano had a residence not far from Palazzo Medici with the most beautiful gardens. But to the chagrin of Ottaviano, many rooms at his home had been given over to Duke Alessandro’s young bride Margaret and her ladies. The Duke and Margaret were still living apart, supposedly because of her youth, so she needed a respectable home. Judging by letters from Francesca, Ottaviano had been given little say in that decision. Whatever the truth of it, another lodging was needed when Maria reached the city.
‘I shall find a bedchamber at Casa Vecchia,’ she said. The thought of sharing a residence with Alessandro’s craven cousin Lorenzino gave her little joy, but necessity made for unlikely neighbours. At least she would be near Palazzo Medici, and that put her close to the true power within Florence. The challenge was turning that to an advantage for her and Cosimo.
Palazzo Seta lacked the splendour of the Landini family home, but Biagio Seta’s smiling sister Madelena gave Strocchi a warm welcome when he was ushered up to a plush chamber on the middle level. She was much the same age as Strocchi, but her clothes were evidence of a life more pampered than his. A flowing dress of golden silk brocade caressed her womanly form, while the tight bodice drew his eye to the swell of her bosom. Madelena caught the direction of his gaze as she sat on a chair draped in vibrant patterned cloth, picking up a half-finished embroidery and needle. But instead of being offended by him, she seemed amused.
Aware that a blush was starting to colour his cheeks, Strocchi willed himself to focus on her face. Was that a twinkle of mischief in her eyes? Was she enjoying his unease? He knew it was unusual for an unmarried, unaccompanied young woman to receive an unknown male visitor in a merchant family’s home, but Madelena had sent the servant away before Strocchi could ask his questions. He pressed on, determined to find Biagio Seta.
Madelena was full of apologies that her brother was not there to meet the constable. ‘He’s in Pisa visiting the weavers. Our elder brother Alessio hasn’t been well, and his business partner couldn’t make the trip, so Biagio offered to go
instead.’
‘When did he leave?’
Madelena pondered a moment, setting aside her embroidery to answer. ‘Late on Sunday afternoon, I believe. It was all decided in great haste.’ She shook her head. ‘Why he couldn’t wait until Monday, I don’t know.’
But Strocchi did. Leaving then meant Seta couldn’t be accused of killing Corsini. Had he paid for the murder? That would be impossible to prove without a confession. There was another potential explanation for his hasty departure: Seta had known the murder was imminent. Even if he hadn’t paid for the killing of Corsini, he might know who had.
‘When are you expecting your brother back?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Madelena replied, the hint of a smirk playing around the curves of her cupid’s-bow lips. She rose from the chair, holding the embroidery just below the line of her bodice, drawing Strocchi’s gaze downwards as she approached him. ‘What a strange profession you have. Everything you say ends in a question. Isn’t that frustrating?’
‘Only when I don’t get any answers,’ Strocchi replied. He backed away from the advancing Madelena, bowing on his way out. She couldn’t be more than a summer or two older than him, but he had never felt more out of his depth in the company of a woman.
Renato smelled the visitor before seeing him. ‘Did somebody bring fish in here?’ he demanded, looking up from his needle and thread. There was a figure in the workroom doorway, its face hidden by shadow. Renato squinted, his eyes taking a moment to adjust after long hours of fine stitching. ‘Cesare? Is that you?’
The visitor nodded before stepping outside.
Renato set his work down. He’d been thinking about Cesare since one of the cutters described a man asking questions that morning. It was years since Renato had spent time with Cesare. He could still picture Cesare as a young man – how striking he had been despite the cuts and bruises suffered while fighting to stay alive on the city streets. They had been kindred spirits for one glorious summer, though never lovers – much to Renato’s regret. On the rare occasions their paths crossed now – which wasn’t often, even in a city as small as Florence – a nod was all that passed between them. Their lives couldn’t be more different, Renato supposed. But he had no illusions as to why Cesare was visiting now. This was about that silly diary. Bracing himself, Renato went outside.
