by D. V. Bishop
‘Doctor Orvieto, are you there?’ Joshua called as he opened the front door. Aldo and Orvieto stepped apart as Joshua came in. ‘They’re gathering to prepare Dante’s body.’
‘I understand,’ Orvieto said, reaching for his satchel. ‘Go, I’ll be right there.’ Joshua left the room, the doctor following. Orvieto paused on his way out to glance back at Aldo. ‘I’ll leave my door unlocked, in case your knee hurts again tonight.’
Strocchi left the three constables outside Palazzo Ruggerio to stop anyone leaving. It didn’t take long to secure another meeting with the silk merchant. Ruggerio even came down to the internal courtyard to meet him, clad in robes of vibrant crimson and darkest black. He welcomed the constable with a smile, but getting answers from Ruggerio was another matter.
‘Signor, it’s a simple question. Are your guards here or not?’
‘Which guards do you mean? I employ a dozen different men to protect me.’
‘I witnessed the Basso brothers attacking a woman in her home today – not long after I came here to see you. Don’t you know where your men are?’
Ruggerio sighed. ‘I am among the city’s most successful silk merchants. I cannot be expected to know where all my men are. What the Bassos do with their own time is up to them.’
Strocchi bit his tongue, recalling Bindi’s warning: no threats, and no accusations. Shouted voices disturbed the silence, men bellowing at each other. Moments later, the Bassos burst into the palazzo, pursued by the three constables.
‘Ugo! Vico!’ Ruggerio’s voice stopped the brothers where they stood. ‘What are you doing?’ The pair glanced at each other, their confusion obvious. Ruggerio marched towards them, Strocchi following. ‘This constable says he saw you attack a woman. Is that true?’ The brothers didn’t reply. ‘Is that true?’
They hesitated before nodding. Strocchi wasn’t sure why Ruggerio was compelling them to confess, but still welcomed it. The admission meant he could interrogate the brothers – a chance to serve justice, and not just the law.
Ruggerio gestured at Strocchi. ‘You’ll go with this man to the Podestà. I’ll be there tomorrow to plead your case.’ The pair nodded again, meek as scolded children. Ruggerio raised an eyebrow at Strocchi. ‘I trust that meets your approval?’
Strocchi replied with a smile – and he meant it.
Free from pain, Aldo wasted no time in crossing Ponte Vecchio. Butchers’ boys were sluicing blood into the Arno as their masters closed for the day. Orvieto’s words had rung clear as a church bell. Alessandro could make his own decision about the threat posed by Lorenzino – but only if the Duke knew how close to him the plotters were. That meant getting inside Palazzo Medici and warning Alessandro before it was too late.
But when Aldo approached the Medici residence, a line of men were standing guard outside, with Scoronconcolo moving amongst them. They listened to him, faces resolute and grim. Was this a way to ensure nobody could reach Alessandro before the plotters did?
‘Out of the way!’ a voice bellowed, a clatter of hooves approaching fast. Aldo leapt aside as Alessandro rode by with two guards. The Duke halted outside the palazzo, jumping from his horse and throwing the reins to Scoronconcolo. All the guards followed Alessandro inside. Scoronconcolo gave the reins to a servant before striding into the palazzo.
When Aldo reached the entrance, it was empty. Inside appeared equally deserted, no Campana waiting to announce visitors to the palazzo. But as Aldo reached the courtyard, Scoronconcolo stepped from the shadows, a sword in his hand. ‘Why are you here?’
‘To give His Grace my report.’
‘He’s busy. Come back tomorrow.’
‘The Duke insisted I report each day.’
Scoronconcolo raised his sword. ‘I said come back tomorrow.’ Armed guards came into the courtyard, blocking the stairs up to Alessandro’s officio.
Aldo lifted both hands to show he had no weapons. ‘I need to see him tonight. It was your master who insisted I bring His Grace the name of Levi’s murderer.’
‘You know who killed the moneylender?’ Scoronconcolo asked.
Aldo spied a lone figure striding past windows on the middle level. Curly hair and dark skin – that had to be the Duke. ‘Your Grace, I need to speak with you!’ But Alessandro didn’t seem to hear. Aldo hurried towards another staircase. ‘Duke Alessandro, your life is in danger!’ More guards filled the courtyard, blocking the way. Aldo turned to find the stooped youth beside Scoronconcolo, dagger in hand.
‘Leave now,’ Scoronconcolo said, ‘while you still can. Il Freccia will see you do.’
The young man smirked at Aldo. ‘We gave you a chance. Remember that.’
Strocchi and the constables escorted both Bassos to the Podestà without trouble, locking the pair in separate cells. Strocchi sent word to Bindi about their confessions. He soon emerged, beckoning Strocchi up to the loggia. ‘Good work. They can go before the Otto next week.’
‘The brothers admitted attacking Signorina Mula,’ Strocchi said, ‘but I believe they also killed Corsini. They look just like the men I saw fleeing from via tra’ Pellicciai after curfew on Sunday. Interrogation on the strappato would get the truth from them.’
Bindi’s eyes narrowed. ‘Perhaps, but is that the best use of our time?’
‘Sir, they beat a defenceless young man, left him to die on the street like an animal. Where is justice if we don’t find and punish those who unlawfully take a life?’
‘We enforce the law and the will of the Otto,’ Bindi replied. ‘That is all.’
‘But, sir—’
‘Enough!’ The single word echoed round the Podestà. Strocchi’s mouth went dry. ‘Your prisoners can wait until tomorrow. There are more important matters in hand.’
The constable nodded, bowing low as he retreated to the wide stone staircase. Strocchi risked a glance back as the segretario stomped into his officio, catching a glimpse of two men inside. One Strocchi didn’t recognize, but the other was all too familiar. Cerchi emerged from the officio, beckoning to Strocchi. ‘Constable, I have an errand for you.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Twilight was a shroud lowering across the city as Aldo strode south from Palazzo Medici, the Duomo a brooding silhouette ahead of him. The streets were all but empty, curfew sending most citizens home as the bitter cold of another winter’s evening set in. Aldo marched on, certain of the path ahead, no matter how dangerous it would be. Swearing a denunzia against Lorenzino would officially expose the conspiracy, forcing Bindi to involve magistrates from the Otto. That should stop or at least impede whatever the plotters had planned for tomorrow, the feast of Epiphany. Repercussions were inevitable, and likely to be bloody.
After passing the Duomo, Aldo turned east towards the Podestà. He pulled Orvieto’s cloak closer, but even that could not ward off the cold. Aldo knew there would be retribution for what he was about to do. Exposing the conspiracy meant also exposing the segretario’s refusal to take that threat seriously. Bindi hated to be thought a fool, but it was even worse to be seen as incompetent. To reveal he was both at the same time? That threatened his position with the Otto, and would never be countenanced. A sacrifice would be required, and Bindi’s gaze would fall on the man responsible for the denunzia. So be it. There was no prudence in avoiding danger, because danger always came. Better to calculate the risk and act decisively.
The guards outside the Podestà didn’t acknowledge Aldo, avoiding his gaze as he went inside. Perhaps Cerchi had been shouting at them again. That fool gave other officers a bad name. Aldo headed for the wide stone steps, keen to make his denunzia direct to Bindi. But the segretario was already coming down the staircase, belly bouncing beneath his robes.
‘Ahh, Aldo – you have questions to answer!’
‘I apologize for not coming sooner, but I was busy gathering the evidence you ordered me to provide. I now have that proof—’
‘Silence!’ Bindi thundered. ‘You will speak only when I permit it.’
Footsteps approached Aldo from behind. He glanced back and saw the guards from the gate, their blades drawn at him. What was happening?
‘A denunzia has been sworn against you,’ Bindi announced, his voice booming round the cold stone walls of the courtyard. ‘It accuses you of beating a citizen after he refused to submit to your threats.’ The segretario nodded to Cerchi, slouching nearby, who gestured at a doorway across the courtyard. A small, crumpled figure emerged from it: Sciarra.
‘That man has evidence of a conspiracy,’ Aldo said, pointing at the moneylender.
‘Indeed he does,’ Bindi agreed. ‘He came to me with details of what you said, how you hurt him because he wouldn’t submit.’
‘I never laid a finger on him,’ Aldo protested.
Sciarra pulled back a tunic sleeve to show yellowing bruises round his wrist. ‘You did this,’ he snarled. ‘Pulled my arm so far up my back that it almost broke.’
Aldo turned to the segretario. ‘When Levi’s body was found, Sciarra tried to force his way into the house where the murder happened. I had to restrain him.’
‘So you admit giving him those bruises,’ Bindi said. ‘What about the others?’ Sciarra lifted his tunic to reveal fresh black blotches across his bulging belly and chest. ‘People in nearby houses saw you beating at his door today,’ the segretario continued, ‘demanding to be let in. You threatened to charge him with Levi’s murder—’
‘I needed to know if he’d been approached by those who killed Levi,’ Aldo said, aware how weak the words sounded. ‘He refused to help.’
‘He refused to help you,’ Bindi replied.
Constables and other guards were spilling into the courtyard now, no doubt eager to watch. Someone must have told them what was going to happen. The smirk on Cerchi’s face left little doubt who was responsible. Aldo bit down on his anger. ‘I may have been too zealous with Sciarra, but I was seeking evidence of a conspiracy against the Duke.’
‘So you admit there’s a conspiracy?’ a voice interjected. Lorenzino stepped from the room where Sciarra had been. The Duke’s cousin sauntered across the courtyard, both hands behind his back. ‘Well? Do you admit there is a plot against Alessandro?’
‘Yes,’ Aldo replied. ‘And you’re one of its leaders.’ The accusation brought a gasp from several of those watching, but Lorenzino just laughed as he stopped by the segretario.
‘What did I tell you? This man will say anything, invent any lie, to conceal the truth of his murderous scheme. He is utterly without shame.’
Bindi scowled. ‘The Duke’s cousin has also sworn a denunzia, Aldo. He has accused you of plotting to murder Alessandro.’
‘But that’s madness,’ Aldo protested. ‘What reason could I have to kill the Duke?’
‘You’re working for exiles from outside the city,’ Lorenzino said. ‘I’ve heard you were in Bologna a few days ago – a perfect opportunity to meet your paymasters.’
‘The segretario sent me there to guard Levi!’
‘And the poor man was dead hours after returning to Florence,’ Lorenzino replied.
‘Slain by your servant,’ Aldo spat. ‘Scoronconcolo murdered Levi and took his ledger because it proved you wanted to borrow coin to fund your plot against the Duke.’
‘More lies, more duplicity,’ Lorenzino said, shaking his head.
‘I had the ledger translated,’ Aldo insisted. ‘The evidence against Lorenzino is still inside that ledger. The segretario has it in his officio.’
‘But where is this translator you claim confirms your story?’ Lorenzino asked.
‘Dead. Slain by another of your men,’ Aldo said.
‘Do you have any proof of that?’ Bindi asked.
‘Not yet, but I will soon,’ Aldo insisted. ‘I need to ask Dante’s neighbours if they saw his killers.’
Lorenzino was struggling to keep the triumph from his face. ‘Segretario, I am sure the Otto will bring all its wisdom to bear on these matters in time, but I urge you to put this man behind bars until the truth of his actions can be determined. If the Duke’s life is in jeopardy, you would be the one held accountable should anything happen to my cousin.’
Bindi’s dismay was evident, like a fish caught upon a hook. Aldo looked round for an ally, someone – anyone – that might speak for him. Strocchi, where was Strocchi?
The segretario took a deep breath. ‘Cesare Aldo, I believe there is evidence for you to answer. You will be shackled and kept in a cell until the next meeting of the Otto.’
Aldo resisted the urge to struggle as guards took hold of him, clamping cold metal round his wrists and ankles. So long as he remained here in the Podestà, there would be chances to get a message to Cibo. But a dissenting voice spoke out once the shackles were in place.
‘I understand your desire to be merciful,’ Cerchi said. ‘But Aldo has allies here. He might use one of them to have witnesses coerced. A cell in Le Stinche might be wiser.’
‘No!’ Aldo cried out, fighting against the guards holding him in place. He wouldn’t last a day inside the jail, not once word spread among its most violent inmates. The guards might as well kill him where he stood. That would be a mercy, at least.
‘Very well,’ Bindi said. ‘The prisoner will be taken to Le Stinche.’
‘Listen to me,’ Aldo shouted. ‘The Duke, you have to protect the Duke!’ But Bindi turned away, escorting Lorenzino up the steps. Aldo fought his shackles, determined to be heard. He had to make them listen, to make them see sense. ‘Alessandro’s life is in danger!’
Bindi gave a final, dismissive gesture to Cerchi. He advanced on Aldo, slapping a thick cudgel in the palm of one hand. ‘I’ve waited a long time to do this.’
Strocchi was on his way back to the Podestà, still unsure why Cerchi had sent him to Porta San Gallo. A messenger could have taken the request for a tally of those passing through the north gate. But Strocchi did what he was told, hurrying back with the numbers.
Four guards were dragging a body out through the Podestà gates. It looked like a corpse, maybe a suspect who’d died during interrogation. Shackles were binding the arms and legs. It was a prisoner, not a corpse. Then Strocchi saw the prisoner’s face: Aldo!
‘What happened?’ Strocchi demanded. ‘Where are you taking him?’
‘Le Stinche.’ Cerchi emerged from the gates, his pleasure at Aldo’s plight all too evident. ‘Captain Duro can deal with him.’
Coming closer, Strocchi saw why Aldo had looked dead. His head rolled to one side, blood streaming down the bruised face.
‘You know what happens to law enforcers in Le Stinche,’ Strocchi said. ‘He won’t last a day there, not like that.’
Cerchi gestured at the guards. ‘Get moving.’ The men staggered away, Aldo a dead weight between them. Strocchi strode towards the Podestà gates, but Cerchi stopped him. ‘Wouldn’t go to Bindi right now. He’s busy with the Duke’s cousin, giving an apologia for Aldo’s lies and accusations.’
Aldo knew pain first, pounding in his head like a dozen horses on cobbled streets. Nausea came next, churning and roiling, before the rasp of shackles on his arms and legs. Fingers dug into his limbs as he was carried through twilight air, swaying from side to side. Aldo opened his eyes, but that was a mistake. A burning stream of bile spewed from his mouth, spattering the boots of those carrying him. They shouted, almost dropping him. He would have enjoyed their curses more if he hadn’t recalled where the guards were taking him.
Soon they were outside Le Stinche, the ugly building a brutal silhouette against the darkening sky. Debtors went into the prison and some managed to pay their way back out, but no law enforcer incarcerated inside these forbidding walls had ever emerged again. Not alive. Three guards pulled Aldo to his feet while the fourth pounded on the Porta di Fuori. The door opened, an angry warden with a lantern glaring out. ‘What?’
‘Prisoner.’
‘It’s gone curfew. Come back tomorrow.’
‘Orders from Segretario Bindi. Let us in.’
/> The warden grumbled before shoving his lantern at Aldo. ‘Who’s so important they have to . . .?’ His eyes widened.
Aldo forced a smile. ‘Cesare Aldo, at your service.’
‘Not for long.’ The warden waved at the guards. ‘Bring him in.’
The four men shoved Aldo towards the low doorway. He saw a stone plaque above the entrance, two words on it: Opertet Misereri. He knew what to expect inside Le Stinche, and mercy was never part of it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Saturday, January 6th
Rebecca lay awake, not wanting to move in case she disturbed Joshua. He had brought her home after Dante died. Ruth and her brothers were already asleep, and Joshua was being so kind to her. Rebecca had kissed him to say thank you at the front door. Then one kiss turned into another, and soon they were in her room – alone, yet together.
The temptation to keep kissing, to go further, had been so strong. But the words in Father’s last letter filled her thoughts and she’d drawn back. She still let Joshua stay the night, sharing her narrow bed, his hard body pressing against her, his warmth so close – but no more than that. Now it was morning and Rebecca knew they’d been right to stop. The question was, how could she get Joshua out of the house without the others realizing?
A gentle knocking startled Rebecca. ‘Are you awake?’ It was her cousin, come to say goodbye. Ruth and her brothers had a long journey ahead. Rebecca slid from the bed, grateful Joshua was facing the wall. She slipped a shawl round her shoulders and went to the door.
‘Be with you in a minute,’ Rebecca whispered. She heard Ruth move away. Rebecca stared at Joshua, his clothes strewn across the floor. In a few days sitting shiva would be done. There were so many decisions to make – where to live, and what to do with that life.
