by D. V. Bishop
‘Maso. We worked together a while back. Doesn’t talk much, but he’s loyal to the death. Finding him here was a happy surprise,’ the bandit said. ‘Of course, I’m only in this merda because of you – the accusations of a disgraced officer, it turns out.’
‘I’d mention that to your avvocato when he visits.’
Carafa stroked a thumb down the pale scar on his cheek. ‘Neither of us wants to be here, but since we are . . . If you don’t make trouble for me, I won’t make trouble for you.’
Aldo paused, as if considering the offer. It was a ruse, of course, but accepting cost him nothing and might mean a few hours without being attacked. ‘Agreed.’
Carafa nodded before strolling away, Maso close behind. Lippo let out a sigh of relief. ‘Had me worried. I’ll lose a fortune if you die today. That truce should keep you alive until tomorrow, at least.’
‘Don’t count on it,’ Aldo said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Strocchi lurked outside the cell while Ruggerio was meeting the Bassos. It sounded as if Ruggerio was doing all the talking, but his words were too hushed to hear through the door. When he emerged, Ruggerio beckoned to the waiting magistrates. Strocchi joined them, refusing to be omitted from whatever they discussed.
‘My guards have confessed to killing an unfortunate young man called Corsini,’ Ruggerio said. ‘He approached them on Sunday night, dressed as a courtesan. The brothers were taken in, believing he was a woman. When they discovered the truth, Ugo and Vico reacted as any man would, retreating from his perversion. But it seems the buggerone persisted, and righteous fury overtook them. The brothers never meant to end this lost soul’s life. They’ve been stricken with grief and remorse ever since.’
‘So stricken they couldn’t come forward and admit their crime?’ Strocchi asked.
Ruggerio’s assured manner faltered a moment before he continued. ‘Ugo and Vico didn’t know the young man had died until this constable brought that sad news to my palazzo yesterday. The brothers have been searching their consciences ever since.’ Strocchi fought the urge to laugh. ‘Ugo and Vico are ready to face whatever punishment the Otto deems fit for their . . . lapse in judgement.’
The segretario had joined them while Ruggerio spoke. ‘Signor, thank you for helping bring a swift end to this regrettable matter,’ Bindi said. ‘I cannot predict the outcome of the Otto’s deliberations. But I imagine the court will welcome this freely given confession.’ The magistrates nodded their agreement. Strocchi could hold his tongue no longer.
‘But none of this makes sense. Why were the Bassos in via tra’ Pellicciai? Why were they out after dark? A strong wind would have knocked over their victim, yet we’re supposed to believe he pursued them – in a dress, after dark?’
Ruggerio’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who knows what such unfortunates will do to sate their unholy desires? The fact remains the Bassos are confessing to this crime. There is no need for any interrogations, or a trial. A murder has been solved, and justice can be done.’
Strocchi opened his mouth to reply but Bindi spoke first. ‘I can only agree, signor.’ He glared at Strocchi. ‘And I must compliment you, constable, for your diligence in helping bring this matter to an end. It does you credit.’
Never had praise sounded so sour to Strocchi. ‘The brothers must go to Le Stinche until the Otto passes sentence. Segretario, I offer my help escorting them to prison. It would be embarrassing if they somehow escaped on the way there.’ Embarrassing, but he wouldn’t put it past Ruggerio to make that happen.
Bindi turned to the magistrates. ‘If the members of the Otto present do not object . . .?’ The pair looked at each other and Ruggerio before shaking their heads. ‘Very well – the brothers will be taken from here to Le Stinche, where they shall await sentencing.’
Strocchi watched Bindi usher Ruggerio and the magistrates out. The Basso brothers’ punishment would be severe when they came before the Otto. What must Ruggerio have promised to make them confess? At least Corsini’s killers were going to prison. But he was still dead, while the man who condemned him was free, with an unharmed reputation.
Signora Robustelli was preparing a belated breakfast for Piccolo when the tiny dog took to barking. ‘It’s coming, you ungrateful pup!’ But her beloved pup was barking at the hallway, not the matrona. ‘What’s wrong, sweetness?’
Crashing wood answered that question. Robustelli scooped up Piccolo and hustled to the front door. It was tilting off the frame, grim satisfaction on the face of the man beyond it. Cerchi stomped inside, two burly men close behind.
‘You’ve no right!’ Robustelli protested, blocking his way.
‘I answer to the Otto,’ Cerchi replied, ‘not some cheap whore.’ His men battered on doors, frightening the women. Customers didn’t start coming till noon, so most girls were still asleep. Clodia burst from her room in tears, while Matilde hissed curses at the intruders. Piccolo was barking so hard he nipped at Robustelli’s hands.
‘What are you looking for?’ she asked. Even the Onestà at its most bullying did not storm into a bordello without good reason.
‘Cesare Aldo.’
‘He’s not here,’ Robustelli said, refusing to give this bastardo the pleasure of seeing her fear. ‘Don’t think he came home last night.’
‘Which room is his?’
‘Upstairs, at the back.’ No sooner were the words out of her mouth than Cerchi’s men were stalking up the staircase, two steps at a time. Cerchi’s previous visit had been secretive. Now he was using his status like a cudgel. What had changed?
‘Your tenant’s accused of plotting to overthrow the Duke.’
‘The Duke? The duke of what?’
Cerchi leaned closer, disdain twisting his narrow features. ‘Florence.’
Robustelli burst out laughing. The notion was ridiculous. But laughing in any man’s face was not a good idea. Cerchi pulled back a hand—
—and Piccolo launched himself at Cerchi, barking and biting. Robustelli pulled the tiny dog back before it could actually hurt Cerchi, but the attack still startled him. ‘Get that little merda away from me,’ he hissed.
Robustelli thrust Piccolo into Clodia’s arms, sending her and the other women out of harm’s way. Once they were gone, she tried reasoning with Cerchi. ‘You must know Aldo has no interest in anything like that.’
‘The Otto already has two denunzia naming him as a suspect, more than enough to keep him in Le Stinche. I’m here to find further evidence. One of his informants refused to help. I doubt Zoppo will be reopening that hovel of a tavern anytime soon. You’d be wise not to test my patience any further.’
Le Stinche. So that’s where Aldo was. Robustelli could hear his room being torn apart. ‘Search all you want, there’s nothing to find. He lives like an eremita.’
Cerchi’s men soon returned with only a handful of books. He glanced at each one before casting them aside. Cerchi dismissed his men. When they were gone, he sneered at Robustelli. ‘You can expect life to be different, now there’s no Aldo protecting you. Staying open and staying safe comes at a price.’
Robustelli swallowed her anger. ‘You don’t work for the Office of Decency any more. You have no authority over what happens inside these walls.’
‘Don’t be so sure about that,’ Cerchi replied. His hand flashed sideways, slapping her hard across the face. ‘Get every whore working. I expect coin, and plenty of it.’
Escorting the Bassos to Le Stinche was easier than Strocchi expected. Nobody tried to free them, and the brothers went inside without complaint. Captain Duro agreed to let Strocchi see Aldo, but forbade giving him any coin. ‘New inmates need to learn how this place works.’
Strocchi expected Aldo to be brought to him. Instead, a ruddy-faced guard opened a heavy wooden door to reveal prisoners huddling in a bleak courtyard. ‘No need to worry, they don’t bite. Much.’ The guard was still laughing when the door slammed shut behind Strocchi.
Most of the inmates were unknown to him. T
here was a man who looked like Zoppo, but he was missing an arm, not half a leg. He was talking to Aldo. One night in Le Stinche had already taken its toll, etching pain into Aldo’s face. Strocchi went to him and the other inmate left them to talk. ‘How are you?’
‘Imprisoned,’ Aldo replied, leaning against a stone wall. ‘What’s happening at the Podestà? Has Bindi said anything about the charges against me?’
‘Not that I’ve heard. He wasn’t happy this morning, took it out on Cerchi.’ Aldo muttered something under his breath that Strocchi couldn’t quite hear. It sounded like ‘Maybe there is a God,’ but why would anyone question this? The constable pulled out his pouch. ‘Duro told me not to give you any coin. How much do you want?’
Aldo smiled. ‘All you can spare. Never knew life in prison cost so much.’
Strocchi emptied his pouch into Aldo’s hands. ‘You being in here is madness. They can’t honestly think you’d plot against the Duke.’
‘Lorenzino made a good case against me.’
‘Alessandro’s cousin? How is he involved?’
‘It’s a long story. We’d better sit.’ Aldo sank onto a bench.
Strocchi listened with increasing disbelief about the investigation into Levi’s murder, the twists and turns leading to the plot against Alessandro. By the end of Aldo’s tale Strocchi was shivering. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Aldo nodded. ‘Alessandro is in danger. I don’t know if Lorenzino and the others plan to attack the Duke directly, or his position as ruler of Florence. There are few in the city that could stop them. But Cardinal Cibo has the authority of the Holy Roman Emperor, if he chooses to use it. Go to Palazzo Pazzi, see if you can persuade him into using that power before it’s too late. The fact Lorenzino swore a denunzia to stop me exposing the plot should help convince Cibo to intervene. He’s stubborn, but as it stands the cardinal might be the only hope left of saving the Duke.’
Santo Spirito, Aldo wasn’t asking much, was he? But an offer of help was a promise to be honoured. ‘I’ll do my best,’ Strocchi said. The door swung open, a guard gesturing at the constable. Time to go.
A sudden thought hit Strocchi as he strode away: what if this was the last time he saw Aldo? The officer was no saint, far from it, but he’d been the closest thing to a friend Strocchi had found in Florence. He paused at the doorway to look back, but Aldo was gone, lost behind inmates huddling round a burning brazier for warmth.
Aldo leaned against the wall. Good of Strocchi to visit, but the pity in his face was less welcome. The likes of Carafa would see only an easy target. Spurning Lippo’s offer of a weapon didn’t seem so wise now. It’d be even less so when the jackals came circling – and they would, sooner or later. The weak and the weakened were always victims in waiting.
A young woman stalking round the courtyard caught Aldo’s attention, her face a frown of frustration. She kept glaring at the upper level of the women’s ward, muttering to herself. She was plain to the eye, but Aldo knew men’s lust and violence cared little about beauty. Several inmates were gazing at her. No wonder female inmates usually went in pairs.
She was passing the condemned cell when Carafa’s brute Maso stepped into her path. The woman stopped, and Maso moved closer, leering at her. She looked round the courtyard for help but there were no other women outside. All the other men turned away, refusing to intervene. Disgust twisted Aldo’s stomach. He rose and limped across the courtyard, fighting the leaden weight of his legs. Maso clamped a hand across the woman’s mouth before she could cry out, dragging her into the condemned cell.
By the time Aldo reached the doorway, Maso was straddling her on the ground. ‘Leave her be,’ Aldo said, not sure what he’d do if Maso ignored the command. But his words made the assailant look back. The woman took her chance, snapping a knee up into Maso’s groin. He rolled away, breath whistling through his teeth, hands between his thighs.
She scrambled over to Aldo. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered before running out. Maso was back on his feet, a hand nursing his bruised palle, the other clenching into a fist.
No point running. Aldo knew his legs wouldn’t get far, and nobody was coming to help. Maso flung himself across the cell, his speed surprising for such a big man. Aldo swayed aside, but a flailing arm caught his head, smacking it against the wall. The impact hit right where one of Cerchi’s cudgel blows had fallen, fresh pain blossoming.
Aldo staggered away, white spots dancing before his eyes. Fool, don’t go deeper into the cell. He twisted round, but Maso was charging again, roaring. Aldo hesitated, letting Maso get close before dropping to a crouch. A pumping knee caught the side of Aldo’s temples but the rest of Maso tumbled over him, head first. A crack echoed round the cell.
Aldo put a hand over both eyes, willing them to settle. A warm copper taste filled his mouth. He spat three times to get rid of the blood and tried to stand, but the cell lurched round him. One hand hit a solid shape on the floor. It was the broken stone the size of a fist that he had stumbled on after waking up in the cell—
A crushing weight hit Aldo from behind, forcing the air from his chest. Thick fingers grabbed his ears, pulling his head back before smacking it into the ground. Aldo couldn’t see, couldn’t cry out. He stretched for the stone, fingers scrabbling at the dirt – but it was gone.
Maso gave a grunt and collapsed on top of Aldo, crushing the air from him again. But someone rolled the bulky body off him. Aldo saw the young woman standing close by, the stone clutched in her hands. ‘Grazie mille,’ he whispered.
Rebecca had sent Joshua away to his studies when there was an impatient knock at the door. But it wasn’t Joshua returning for something he’d forgotten. It wasn’t even Lemuel Volterra from next door, who had promised to sit shiva with her today.
A thin, mean-faced man with beady eyes pushed his way past her, two more men following him inside. ‘Who are you?’ Rebecca demanded. ‘What do you want?’ The intruder gestured to his men. They ripped open cupboards and drawers, emptying everything onto the floor. ‘If you’re one of Father’s creditors, there isn’t any money here.’ Rebecca tried to stop the men, but they shoved her aside. ‘This house is in mourning. Where is your respect?’
‘Your father was involved with a plot to overthrow Duke Alessandro,’ the man replied, ‘conspiring with a man called Cesare Aldo.’
That made no sense. ‘Father was murdered. Aldo is searching for the killer.’
‘Is that what he told you? And you believed him?’ The intruder laughed at her.
She wanted to slap his smug face. ‘Yes.’
‘Aldo’s been sent to Le Stinche. For all we know, he murdered your father.’
Rebecca shook her head, unable to understand. Aldo couldn’t have slain Father, could he? ‘If that officer is in Le Stinche, who is looking for Father’s killer?’
The other men had finished, with little but mess to show for their efforts. They returned to the street while their master muttered under his stale breath. Rebecca stepped in front of him so he couldn’t leave without facing her. ‘What’s your name?’ she demanded.
‘Why should I tell you?’
Rebecca recognized a bully when she saw one. Such men were simply cowards with might on their side, Mother used to say. Stand up to them, and they will get bored or fearful. ‘I want to be sure Avraham Yedaiah knows who did this,’ Rebecca replied. ‘He speaks for our people.’ She didn’t mention that Yedaiah was away, visiting his ill sister.
The intruder scowled. ‘My name is Meo Cerchi, I’m an officer of the Otto di Guardia e Balia. Do what you like, I’m here with the authority of the court.’ Cerchi pushed past her, slamming the door on his way out.
Rebecca stared at the few things Mother and Father had left her, scattered across the floor as if they had no value, no worth. She sank on to a chair, but refused to let tears come. No matter what men like Cerchi did, they would not break her.
Strocchi went straight from Le Stinche to Palazzo Pazzi but, without an appoint
ment or letter of introduction, getting an audience with the cardinal was challenging. Twice he heard the chime of a distant church bell while pacing the courtyard. Finally a servant escorted Strocchi up to Cibo’s officio. It was richly decorated: tapestries on the walls and golden ornaments everywhere. A far cry from the modest lodging of Father Coluccio in Strocchi’s village. Perhaps the vow of poverty did not apply when a priest became a cardinal.
‘I don’t have long,’ Cibo said as the constable was ushered in, not even looking at him. ‘Tell Bindi whatever he wants can wait, at least until after Epiphany.’
‘I’m not here on behalf of the segretario,’ Strocchi replied. ‘I work for the Otto, but this is an unofficial matter. I didn’t think you would see me if I said so before.’
The cardinal peered at Strocchi. ‘Aldo sent you, didn’t he? Well, there’s nothing I can do. Criminal matters are for the court, not the Church.’ Cibo rose from behind his grand desk. A servant draped a cloak over the cardinal’s shoulders. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me?’
Strocchi had just got into the room and was already being dismissed. Still shivering from his long wait outside, the constable refused to give way. ‘Aldo believes you need to intervene before Lorenzino de’ Medici moves against the Duke.’
Cibo bristled before sending his servant out. He shrugged off the cloak, draping it over one arm. ‘Does Aldo have any new evidence to support this . . . belief?’
‘Wasn’t Lorenzino swearing a denunzia against him proof?’
‘No. The implications are worrying, but Lorenzino is no fool, despite his other flaws. He knows that denunzia will not stand close scrutiny by the Otto, but it doesn’t matter. He sought to halt Aldo’s investigation, and he succeeded. That’s concerning, but hardly proof that the conspirators are planning any imminent action against the Duke.’
Strocchi shook his head. Praise be he didn’t have to deal with the likes of Cibo every day. The cardinal could tie words into knots with that tongue. ‘So you’ll do nothing?’
