by D. V. Bishop
‘I was,’ he replied. ‘What are you doing here?’
The widow drew herself up as if to protest, but smiled instead. ‘We’ve no secrets, you and I. Let us be honest with one another.’
There it was. Aldo had wondered when she would use what she knew about him. Better to his face than someone else’s ear. ‘We can try.’
‘Is it true? Is Alessandro dead?’
No one had forbidden Aldo from confirming that. Gossip must already be spreading. By tomorrow much of the city would know. ‘Yes. Murdered by his cousin, it seems.’
The widow nodded. ‘I’ve heard the Senate meets in the morning to appoint a successor. Alessandro doesn’t have an heir – not a legitimate one, at least.’
‘Florence has been led by a bastardo before.’
‘But the Duke’s son Giulio is four summers, if that – too young to rule.’
Aldo smiled. ‘How old is your son?’
‘Cosimo is not yet eighteen,’ she replied, affecting an air of innocence. As if she hadn’t already been thinking of him as the solution to Florence’s need.
‘Old enough to be appointed,’ Aldo said, ‘but young enough some might believe he can be guided. Led. Manipulated.’
Now it was her turn to smile. ‘They don’t know my boy.’
‘If Cosimo is his father’s son, he should enter Florence like a lamb so that those with the power to make him duke only discover his true strength later.’
‘I will send for Cosimo tomorrow,’ the widow said. ‘Thank you for being so honest – not many men share what they know with me. My son will reward that, if he becomes duke.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Monday, January 8th
Signora Robustelli didn’t believe in ghosts. She’d spent enough years as a matrona to have few illusions. When Clodia ran into the officio sobbing about unnatural noises coming from Aldo’s empty room, Robustelli dismissed it as nonsense. But the silly girl was inconsolable, leaving little choice. She had to go look before anyone else believed Clodia.
There were noises coming from Aldo’s room – but no ghost was making them. Someone was hurling things against the door. Had that bastardo Cerchi come back? Would he tear the place apart, one room at a time, until she paid him? The answer was yes – and he’d think it righteous. Men like him enjoyed using women, and then sneering at them elsewhere. Hypocrites.
Robustelli shoved the door open – and found Aldo slumped on the floor, his clothes askew, revealing a body mottled by bruises. ‘Finally. I can’t seem to get back into bed.’
She hefted him up on to the mattress. ‘Thought you were in Le Stinche.’
‘They released me.’ Aldo winced, rubbing at his swollen right shoulder. ‘The other inmates didn’t welcome me with open arms.’
‘More like open fists,’ she said. ‘Wait here.’ She fetched liniment from downstairs, pausing to reassure Clodia that the house wasn’t haunted. She returned to rub the foul-smelling salve into Aldo’s shoulder, ignoring his protests. ‘My girls take worse and they don’t complain this much.’
‘They lack my natural sensitivity,’ he replied, looking round the room. The few pieces of furniture were turned over or broken. ‘I hear Cerchi has been asking questions about me. Can I thank him for this?’
Robustelli nodded, wiping her hands on a cloth. ‘He’s been here twice, brought help the second time. Promised to shut us down unless I pay him half of what we make.’
Aldo scowled. ‘That won’t happen again.’
‘You be careful. The first time Cerchi came, he was asking questions about what you like – who you like.’ She didn’t say more. She didn’t need to.
‘If Cerchi had proof, I’d still be in Le Stinche.’
But Robustelli could see doubt in his eyes.
Aldo marched into the Podestà, enjoying the surprise of the gate guards. Dragged out in shackles, now he was returning a free man. Better still, he’d been proved right. It didn’t stop his shoulder aching, but the satisfaction still gave a warm glow. Cerchi was swaggering round the courtyard as if it was his domain. ‘You should be careful about using the Otto to fill your own pouch,’ Aldo said, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. ‘There’s a name for men who take coin from the work of women.’
Cerchi’s face darkened. ‘I’d be careful about making accusations without proof. Only a fool starts a fight he can’t win.’ The man was a grasping merda, but something new was behind that smug face. Cerchi seemed more certain of himself.
Somebody must have surrendered what they knew to save themselves. Not Zoppo – the tavern keeper couldn’t be trusted, but he knew nothing that could make Cerchi so bold. Robustelli had revealed what that girl with the painted breasts had said to Cerchi, but it was little more than gossip. Renato, it must be Renato. He had the courage of a mouse. There was nothing to be told there, but Renato knew others and if they talked . . .
‘Aldo!’ Bindi shouted down from the loggia. The segretario made a single gesture, summoning Aldo before disappearing from view. Had Cerchi already made a denunzia? No, he looked surprised, even disappointed.
‘When Bindi’s done with you,’ Cerchi said, ‘we have unfinished business.’
Bindi didn’t bother making Aldo wait – the cardinal had made it clear any delay would be punished. ‘You’re limping,’ the segretario said when Aldo came in.
‘An old wound,’ the officer replied. ‘Got twisted during a scuffle in Le Stinche.’
‘Duro tells me you killed one inmate and left another fighting for his life.’ Aldo shrugged. Two nights in Le Stinche had made him no less elusive. ‘Are you able to ride a horse? For hours at a time, if need be?’
Aldo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You want me to go after Lorenzino.’
The segretario leaned back in his chair. ‘Cardinal Cibo and certain members of the Otto believe it would be wise to question potential witnesses regarding recent events.’
‘Such as the murder of Duke Alessandro de’ Medici at Casa Vecchia?’
Bindi ignored the question, reaching into his desk for a parchment sealed with red wax. ‘This grants you unquestioned authority across the Dominion. You can requisition horses or whatever else you may need.’ He pulled a pouch heavy with coin from the drawer, tossing it beside the parchment. ‘This should pay for anything else.’
Aldo took both. ‘Lorenzino has two servants with him. Both have killed at his command. I’ll need somebody I can trust.’
The segretario bristled, but had no choice. ‘Who?’
‘Strocchi is honest – and no fool.’
Strocchi was the constable Cibo had used the day before; now Aldo was requesting his services too. That couldn’t be chance, but Bindi’s hands were tied. ‘Agreed. The Otto is scheduled to meet this Friday, and the murder of Duke Alessandro will be foremost in the mind of the magistrates. That means you have four days to be back here with answers. When you do, report to me first. Understand?’
Aldo nodded. ‘Strocchi and I will leave within the hour,’ he said before withdrawing.
The segretario leaned back in his chair. The chances of finding Lorenzino were few, let alone of bringing him back to face justice from the court. If Aldo did at least return with answers, that would reflect well on Bindi. If the officer did not make it back alive, well, the Otto would have one less troublesome officer. So be it.
Aldo strode down the staircase to the courtyard, struggling not to limp. But Cerchi was nowhere to be seen. Instead Strocchi was waiting at the foot of the steps, concern evident in his face. He ushered Aldo to one side. ‘Word is spreading about the Duke,’ the constable whispered. ‘I was at the mercato and traders were gossiping about it.’
‘They know he was murdered?’
Strocchi shook his head. ‘But people know something’s happened. They’re already talking about who – or what – might replace him.’
‘It’s a small city. Rumours run through Florence faster than the Arno, and secrets never stay secret for long.’ More’s the pit
y.
‘What do we do about it?’
‘Nothing. Senators and cardinals decide who rules Florence. Trust me, you’re safer not getting involved with such things. I’ve got the bruises to prove it.’
The constable nodded, his unease still obvious. Aldo briefed Strocchi on their orders. Four days away meant taking clothes and supplies, not to mention good horses. After the first leg they’d be relying on whatever could be secured on the road.
‘Four days?’ Strocchi frowned. ‘Lorenzino and his men have been gone two nights, they could be halfway to Venice by now. What chance have we got of finding them in four days, let alone of getting a confession?’
‘We’re not expected to succeed. But Alessandro’s murder is still a crime, and the Otto has to be seen to pursue those responsible for it.’
The constable nodded. ‘I’ll pack a satchel.’
‘We leave at noon.’ Aldo reached into the pouch Bindi had handed over. ‘But first there’s something I need you to do for me.’
Maria waited in the courtyard of Palazzo Pazzi, her patience untroubled. A minute, an hour, or longer – she would wait till the day of judgement, if need be. A patient woman was a dangerous woman, and Maria prided herself on having all the patience in the world. She smiled when Cibo bustled in from outside. He seemed beset by worry. Good.
‘Your Eminence, you appear troubled. The Senate did not do as you’d hoped?’
‘How did you . . .?’ Cibo stopped himself, dismissing those at his side. The cardinal waited till they were gone before speaking again. ‘How are you aware of this morning’s events? The gathering at Palazzo della Signoria . . .’
‘It’s well known among the wives of the Palleschi,’ she said. ‘Men discuss much in bed, especially those with ambition. I’ve heard you proposed that Alessandro be replaced by his young bastardo, Giulio. You should have known the Forty-Eight would never accept a four-year-old as ruler, not with you as his keeper.’
‘These are matters for the Senate,’ Cibo insisted, moving away.
‘There were rumours the senators might offer you the post as ruler, if your stratagemma with the child fell short. Was that not to your liking?’ Maria took hold of his arm, refusing to be easily dismissed. ‘There is another option. A true Medici, born into wedlock. Young, yes, but with an open mind. Willing to be guided. Trained. Led.’
Smiling without sincerity, the cardinal removed her fingers. ‘Thank you for your counsel, signora – it will receive all the consideration it deserves. Buon giorno.’ He strode up the marble steps, two at a time.
Maria had expected little from Cibo and had got less. But his silence confirmed the whispers she’d heard. There was still a chance for Cosimo to become duke.
It was kind of Joshua to come and sit shiva with her again, there was no denying that. But his presence was as much a shroud as a comfort for Rebecca. She had been re-reading Father’s letter, his final wishes. She needed to decide what to do once the days of mourning were over. When Mother was dying, the house had still been a home. Now all it held were death and sour memories.
The knock at the door was a relief, stopping her from blurting out what was troubling her. A visitor meant she could delay the choice she must make a while longer. Joshua opened the door, stepping aside to reveal Aldo on the doorstep. He looked frayed, a man trying his best to hide his exhaustion. Wasn’t he meant to be in Le Stinche?
‘May I come in?’ Aldo asked, his voice quiet.
‘Please,’ Rebecca said, rising from the floor.
Aldo entered. ‘I won’t stay long. I came to say that the men we believe killed your father have fled the city. I’m leaving to pursue them, though the chance of catching them is slight. Nonetheless, you should know the danger to you has passed.’
Rebecca had assumed whoever had killed Father had done so because of his business – not for any reason that might threaten her. To hear she had been in peril all this time was a shock.
‘Where do you believe these men are now?’ Joshua asked.
‘They rode north, towards Scarperia,’ Aldo replied. ‘They may be bound for Bologna.’
A dark notion took hold of Rebecca. Were Ruth and her family in danger? ‘If you go there, you must visit my uncle, and my cousins. They shared the risk for all Father’s loans.’
‘I’m sure they are safe, but if I do go to Bologna I will visit them.’
Rebecca went to the table and wrote a brief note in Hebrew for Ruth. ‘Pass this to my cousin, she will give you any help you need.’ As Aldo was leaving, something occurred to her. If she decided to stay in Florence and marry Joshua, she would need a way to support herself until the wedding, to provide for a dowry. ‘Before he died, Dante said you’d found Father’s stolen ledger. Do you still have it?’
‘No, it’s at the Palazzo del Podestà. Segretario Bindi is keeping the ledger, in case of a trial. Whoever stole it tore out many of the pages, and burnt what was left.’
‘I understand. Do you think the ledger might be returned to me?’ Rebecca was aware of Joshua close by. She didn’t want him to know of her reasons for wanting the ledger, not yet. Not until she had made her choice. ‘Things were never easy with Father. But that ledger was his life’s work. To get it back would be like still having part of him here, with me.’
‘I’ll see what I can do when I return,’ Aldo said, closing the door on his way out.
Once Aldo was gone Joshua grabbed hold of Rebecca’s hands, kissing both of them, his face full of relief. ‘Did you hear that? You’re safe. The Otto believes the men who killed your father have fled the city. It’s over. It’s finally over.’
Rebecca looked at the joy in his face. In that moment, her mind was made up. She knew what she was going to do with the rest of her life.
Strocchi hadn’t been outside the city walls since coming to Florence. He’d expected his first journey beyond them would be to return home. Instead he was preparing for four days and nights in the Dominion, helping Aldo hunt murderers. That meant riding at speed, and travelling light. Strocchi shoved a handful of clothes in his satchel, and threw a cloak across his shoulders. That would have to do.
He went to a market for food, and a trustworthy stable for two strong, fast horses. Going long distances meant they’d have to change rides, taking whatever was available, but at least the first leg would be assured.
Preparations complete, Strocchi went somewhere he’d hoped to avoid revisiting. The Podestà was a brooding presence, but he found Le Stinche far more intimidating. The tall stone walls bore no ornamentation, and no windows. Once inside, he met with Duro. The captain was surprised to see him, and more so when the coin was handed over. ‘You’re sure?’
‘It’s not my money. I’m paying for someone else.’
‘As you wish.’ Duro opened a desk drawer and swept the coin into it. ‘There are certain formalities to be completed; it may take a while.’
‘I’ll wait outside,’ Strocchi replied, grateful to escape the cramped officio.
Back on the street, people scuttled by, eyes cast down, ignoring the prison. Le Stinche cast a cold shadow, forcing Strocchi to rub his hands together for warmth. Finally the small door opened and a young woman stepped out. She was more handsome than beautiful, long dark hair down to her thin shoulders. But there was strength in the way she stood. She had a proud face yet her eyes were warm. She looked round, as if expecting to see someone she knew.
‘Tomasia?’ Strocchi asked, introducing himself. ‘I paid to have all your debts settled.’
‘Do I know you, sir?’
‘Please, I’m no gentleman. I mean, I’m not a scoundrel, but . . .’ He shut his mouth to stop the babble spilling from it. Tomasia smiled, and it lit up her face.
‘Well, whoever you are, thank you.’
He recovered enough to speak. ‘Cesare Aldo sent me, he’s your true benefactor.’
She looked surprised. ‘He said he would help, but I didn’t . . . You hear men say so many things, but few of them prove t
rue.’
Despite being a free woman, Tomasia seemed slow to leave. If Strocchi had been released from Le Stinche, he would have been running by now. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘My debts being cleared is a miracle, beyond anything I could ever have hoped – but what do I do now? I have no job, nowhere to stay, and no family left alive.’
Aldo hadn’t mentioned any of that. Solving one problem had created another, and Strocchi had little coin left. There must be something he could . . . Of course! ‘It’s not much, but you can sleep in my bed the next few nights.’
Tomasia’s face soured. ‘I will be no man’s whore. I would rather go back inside Le Stinche.’ She stalked away, muttering under her breath.
What had he said to make her—? Strocchi’s stomach lurched. Santo Spirito, he hadn’t meant . . . The constable hurried after Tomasia. ‘You misunderstand . . . I wasn’t . . . Please, stop!’
She whirled round, fists clenching. ‘Touch me and I hurt you.’
Strocchi raised both hands. ‘I’m leaving the city for the next four nights on behalf of the Otto. The room I have, my bed – it will be empty. That was all I meant. I would never . . .’ He shook his head, unsure what else to say. Did she believe him?
Eventually, finally, she spoke. ‘It’s difficult for me to trust anyone, especially any man, after . . .’ Tomasia fell silent. What had happened to her in Le Stinche?
Strocchi lowered his hands. ‘I lived in a village all my life before coming here. I knew everyone, trusted everyone. But this city . . . It can be hard to survive.’
Tomasia nodded. ‘Where is this room?’
He told her how to find it, where the key was hidden outside his door. ‘Forgive the mess. I didn’t know, that, well . . .’
The edges of a smile reappeared at the corners of her mouth. ‘I understand. But I have one more question. Why are you trusting me with your home?’
Strocchi hesitated. ‘Aldo trusts you, and he’s mostly right. About people, at least.’
‘Well, thank you.’ She leaned closer – and kissed him on the cheek.
