In the days before Christmas Cesare Borgia feasted and listened to music. Yet still he exacted his revenge, for when his governor of the region, Remiro de Lorqua, came to join in the celebrations, he had him arrested. Under torture the man confessed to being part of the plot.
Thus on Christmas morning Remiro de Lorqua was beheaded in the main square and his body left for all to see. With this deed done, on the following day, the twenty-sixth of December, we set out for Senigallia.
Chapter Twenty
AS A SIGN of good faith Cesare Borgia asked that his former captains withdraw their troops from the citadel of Senigallia itself.
They complied with his request.
So on the last day of the year we came to the river Misa where these rebel condottieri captains came out to meet him. Beside me, on the cart, the Maestro groaned when he saw them approach.
Graziano whispered to me, ‘Vitellozzo is there! The master sees him!’
We watched anxiously as the two groups of horsemen met.
But Cesare Borgia was a man transformed. He rode forward joyfully and hailed the watchful and suspicious captains. His eyes flashed with pleasure at seeing their faces and he called their names individually. He leaned over in his saddle to embrace and hold each man to him as one would a friend not seen for many days.
For their part the captains seemed to relax. As far as they could discern Cesare had not brought troops with him in any great number. And they appeared mesmerized by his show of charm and attention.
The party prepared to go over the bridge into the borgo before the town. I clicked the reins but Felipe reached out and put his hand on my arm.
He said nothing to me but I pulled back and caused the animal to delay a little so that we lagged behind. I noted that Messer Machiavelli was doing the same.
On the other side of the cart, Graziano moved his horse closer to protect the Maestro.
Machiavelli told us later that Il Valentino had already sent his spies into the town in great numbers to lock all the gates except the one by which he would enter.
So now Cesare invited Vitellozzo and the rest of the captains to accompany him. As they crossed the river the Borgia cavalry swung in from their position and lined up guarding the bridge.
We saw the captains glance around and murmur to each other.
The procession entered Senigallia accompanied only by troops under Cesare’s command: a division of Gascon infantry and his personal men-at-arms. Among these was Michelotto.
We were with the last of the retinue.
The gate shut behind us.
And now the captains’ unease congealed into real fear. They hastened to say farewell to their prince and overlord and return to their own troops outside the walls. But Cesare entreated them to wait and speak more with him. His utmost friendliness and congenial manner served to confuse them. He told them he had a house already marked out where they might confer. He urged them to come and discuss what arrangements needed to be made for the future. He rode on. And they, like us, being pressed in by his escort, could not disagree.
When we reached the villa Cesare Borgia dismounted and the captains had no choice but to do the same.
Felipe and Graziano did not. Felipe gave me a significant look, and I, hoping I was reading his meaning correctly, began to manoeuvre our little cart back from the entrance. But the throng of soldiers was too great. We were stuck fast in the crowd.
Cesare strode on into the courtyard. His captains tried to catch up with him. There was an outside staircase leading to an upper level of the house, and Cesare went across and began to ascend the stairs.
The captains made to follow.
But immediately Michelotto and the Borgia men-at-arms seized them. There was barely a scuffle. So swiftly and firmly were these sorry men overcome that they did not even have time to draw their swords.
The trap was sprung.
‘Wait!’
One of his young captains called out to the Borgia. ‘I beg you,’ this youth cried out piteously. ‘My lord, allow us at least to speak with you!’
On the top step Cesare paused for a moment. He looked down upon his enemies. Then he turned away and went inside.
The soldiers behind us surged forwards. Graziano and Felipe took firm hold of the carthorse’s bridle. The Maestro covered my hands with his own to tighten our grip on the reins, and we forced our way out of the mêlée and back towards the main gate. Ahead of us we saw Machiavelli, who cried out to us above the uproar.
‘To me! To me!’
He led us round the inner wall of the town to another gate where he knew the men guarding it. His own spies, paid with Florentine money, no doubt. We went through without comment and came out by the riverside, where we found the place where the Borgia cavalry had made camp.
There we waited as the troops rampaged in the town, pulling citizens out of their beds and slaying any they thought had conspired against the Borgia. In the darkest watches of the night Machiavelli slipped away to learn what news he could. He did not return until it was almost dawn. His face was grave.
The condottieri captains had been bound and thrown into one of the lower rooms in the villa. In the early hours of the first day of the New Year 1503 Michelotto had strangled Vitellozzo and the young captain back to back upon a bench.
‘Forgive me for bringing you this most dreadful news,’ Machiavelli said. ‘But you should know that Il Valentino intends to ride out this morning in full battle dress at the head of his army. He will go now to Perugia and also to the other towns who resist him. The rulers there are already fleeing before his wrath. The rest of these captured rebels he will bring with him as prisoners, but their fate will be the same.’
Felipe went to my master to tell him of the death of his friend. He did not return for an hour.
‘The Maestro is ill,’ he told us. ‘He needs time to recover. We must try to make our way to Florence, where he can recuperate. I will send a message to Il Valentino telling him this, and hope that he is too concerned with his own Vendetta to pursue us. Matteo’ – he turned to me – ‘can you make ready our horses?’
I went to where the horses were stabled in rough shelters against the cold. Hay had been put out for them but the sound of the screams and the sight of the fires in the town had made the beasts restless. They jostled and strained at their tether lines. I spoke to them and they quietened. I reached to unhitch the carthorse first and then stopped. Just beyond the trees two men moved under the moonlight. They had features I recognized. One had been in the room when I had first met the Borgia. The other was one of Sandino’s men.
I sank down on my knees. Beside me the horse shifted and stamped and bent its head to nudge my shoulder. I laid my hand upon its long nose and blew softly into its nostrils. ‘Do not betray me, my friend’ – I spoke silently to the horse – ‘my life depends on you.’
Their conversation came to me on the chill night air as they passed and I heard a name mentioned.
‘. . . Perela . . .’
Perela!
‘. . . there . . . the boy . . . Weeks ago.’
And then, quite distinctly, one man said, ‘Already his men are riding to Perela. Sandino will go there as soon as he reports to the Borgia. He has vowed to burn the keep and all within it.’
My stomach knotted and I thought I might vomit.
Sandino intended to attack Perela.
Chapter Twenty-One
FELIPE AND GRAZIANO came to meet me in the early light.
I had both Graziano’s and Felipe’s horses saddled and the shafts through the harness of the other one that pulled the little cart.
‘Well done, Matteo,’ said Graziano as he began to stack away our belongings.
Felipe put down the box he carried. ‘I will go and fetch the Maestro,’ he said. ‘We must get away before the camp stirs.’
‘I cannot go with you,’ I said.
‘What nonsense is this!’ Felipe spoke sharply.
‘Why ever would you wish
to wait here, Matteo?’ asked Graziano.
‘I do not intend to wait here,’ I said. ‘I must go to Perela. I overheard two Borgia men talking and there is an attack planned upon our friends in their keep.’
Felipe put his lantern against my face. ‘Is this true?’
‘It is what I heard.’
‘Why would the Borgia do such a thing?’ said Graziano. ‘Captain dell’Orte is a loyal soldier.’
‘Yes,’ said Felipe, ‘but even loyal soldiers can be foully murdered.’ He looked at me closely. ‘How did you hear of this?’
‘I was by the horses and heard some men who had just ridden in. Two of the Borgia spies in conversation.’
‘It is good of you to want to go and warn them,’ said Graziano, ‘but—’
‘Please do not try to stop me,’ I said. I could not explain to them or even to myself why I would want to ride into danger when it would be more sensible to run away from it. My one thought was to reach Perela before Sandino and warn Captain dell’Orte. He had enough men and military experience to withstand an attack by Sandino and his brigands. But only if warned in time.
‘You must use my horse,’ said Graziano. ‘I will travel on the cart with our master.’
Felipe took my hand. He gave me some coins. ‘Take these,’ he said. ‘You may have need of money. I will tell the Maestro what has happened.’
Graziano also put something into my hand. It was a long dagger. ‘This may also be of use to you.’
Before I left Felipe said, ‘You will be welcome in the household if you decide to return. Do what you can.’ He cuffed me gently on the head. ‘I hope we meet again, Matteo.’
I led Graziano’s horse quietly away. As soon as I was out of sight of any watcher I mounted and set a course for Perela.
Travelling as fast as I could, it took me until noon the next day to reach the place where the rivers met. I galloped across the bridge with the toll keeper shouting after me to pay my due. On up the hill to where the keep stood at the top.
It was then that I saw the smoke rising into the air.
I saw the great door smashed open.
I saw that I was too late.
PART THREE
SANDINO’S REVENGE
Chapter Twenty-Two
MY FIRST IMPULSE was to kick the horse in its side and rush into the keep.
But I did not.
I reined her in and surveyed the building. There was no movement at the windows and no sound of battle. Yet whatever had happened here had happened only recently, else the fire would have burned out and the smoke would not be trailing into the sky.
There was a steading in a field close by. I dismounted and led the horse to it. Inside was some winter animal fodder. I left the animal to feed, then returned and made my way cautiously into the keep.
Captain dell’Orte’s men-at-arms were dead. They lay skewered, hacked down where they stood. They had the appearance of soldiers taken by surprise, their resistance overcome in minutes by a force which had shown them no mercy. Inside and outside the buildings nothing moved. The utter quietness disturbed me. There was no sound of women crying or men groaning, only thick plumes of silent smoke.
Then I saw Captain dell’Orte.
He had been decapitated. His head was stuck on a pike near the stable block with his dismembered body crumpled grotesquely beside it. Two figures lay on the ground before him. Rossana and Elisabetta, one slumped against the other.
I stumbled towards them.
They were alive, but their clothes were in disarray and there was blood over them, whether theirs or their father’s I did not know.
A great sucking of air from my lungs left me unable to speak. I had seen death in many forms. Had twice seen men murdered, defenceless men killed before me as I watched, unable to intervene. One I had seen garrotted on the other side of a dinner table; the first one, a priest, clubbed by Sandino until his head burst. But this was more. This was violent outrage.
A sprinkling of snow was beginning to fall.
‘Rossana,’ I whispered. ‘Elisabetta.’
It is not right for a girl to be taken in violence. A man who would do that is lower than the beasts. And once a woman is violated it cannot be amended.
I fell to my knees before them. I stretched out my hand and touched their faces.
I looked at Rossana but she would not meet my gaze. She turned her face away from mine. And I too lowered my gaze for shame, but not for hers, for mine – to be a man when it was a man who had done this to her.
But Elisabetta, who had lived so long in her sister’s shadow, did not take her eyes from mine. She met them boldly, but with scorn, as if to say, Now I have seen what a man can do to a woman, and if that is where your strength is then I have withstood it. I despise you for it, and I will not be cowed by it or anything else ever again.
My spirit was driven down before the intensity of her gaze.
Then, with wisdom, Elisabetta said, ‘I am not ashamed to look at you for what happened to me here, Matteo.’
Only weeks ago I had left these girls in the innocence of their play; I returned to see them now, their childhood destroyed.
What had I done?
I brought some water for them to drink and Elisabetta told me what had happened.
A man came to the door. He said that he was a journeyman on his way to Bologna and had become very ill with stomach pains, and that someone at a neighbouring farm had told him my mother had some healing salves. My parents, being kindly, admitted him. He lay on a pallet in the guardroom and while we were at dinner he stabbed one of our men and opened the gate. There were others waiting outside. Only two of our guards were armed and they fought to defend us as best they could, but they were overcome. When he heard the commotion my father looked down from the window and saw what was taking place. He placed Dario in my mother’s arms and told her to run with us to our little chapel. He then took Paolo away with him. We went to the chapel and barricaded ourselves in. We heard fighting but could not see what was taking place because the chapel window overlooks the ravine and not the courtyard. After a while it was quiet. Then our attackers came and demanded that we open the door. My mother refused. They said if we gave them Paolo then we would be safe. But Paolo was not with us. They told us what they would do to us if they did not find him. My mother was very brave. She called out in a loud voice, claiming the sanctuary of a sacred place. But they began to break down the door. My mother led us to the window then and spoke to us quietly. She said that our father must be dead as this would not be happening otherwise. She said that she was going to jump into the ravine with baby Dario. She would do this because she knew they would murder Dario. He was a boy child and they would not allow him to live to avenge his family, and she could not bear to watch this happen. She said she was going to do this also to avoid the fate that awaited her when they burst through the door. She urged us to do the same, but said that it was our choice. Then my mother took baby Dario into her arms and stood up upon the windowsill, and – and’ – Elisabetta faltered – ‘she was gone. And we were left. And the door gave way, and – and—’
‘Hush, hush.’ I took her hand. ‘Do not speak of it any more.’ I glanced around. ‘Are any of these brigands still here?’
Elisabetta shook her head. ‘They went away when they did not find what they were looking for.’
What they were looking for . . .
My hand went to my belt.
Elisabetta misunderstood my action. ‘Matteo, a dagger would be no use against them.’
But it was not the dagger Graziano had given me that I reached for. It was the object in my belt pouch that my hand had strayed to touch instinctively. The object that Sandino wanted, and had sent his men here to retrieve. And by keeping it from him I had brought disaster to this place.
Snow was blowing with the wind and I knew I must get the girls to shelter. ‘Can you rise?’ I said. ‘I will help you.’
‘Rossana has not spoken a word since it happ
ened.’ Elisabetta stroked her sister’s face. Rossana looked at her with uncomprehending gaze.
‘It’s as if she does not recognize me,’ said Elisabetta. ‘As if she does not know who I am. As if she does not know who she herself is.’
Elisabetta stood, and with both of us supporting Rossana, we went inside the house.
I found bread and dipped it in wine and brought it to them. Elisabetta took some but Rossana would not eat.
‘Where is Paolo?’ I said.
‘We could not find him.’ said Elisabetta. ‘When we knew we were being attacked he went with my father. They were arguing.’
‘About what?’
‘I don’t know.’
I left them and searched for their older brother. But he was not among the dead. He would never have run away. Not Paolo dell’Orte. Where could he be?
I came back and spoke again to Elisabetta. ‘Can you recall anything your father or Paolo said before they left you?’
She shook her head, but then said, ‘Only one thing but it made no sense.’
‘What was it?’
‘My father had given Paolo an instruction. That was when they began to argue. Paolo cried out, “No!” He did not want to do what my father told him. My father said, “You must obey me in this.” And then my father said something more. He said, “Messer Leonardo will keep you safe.”’
Elisabetta shook her head.
‘That is what I did not understand.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
BUT I UNDERSTOOD.
It took me a moment or two. But suddenly I knew what had been in the mind of Captain dell’Orte as he had run to defend his keep, buckling on his sword and taking Paolo by the arm.
The secret chamber.
He had thought to hide his eldest son in the place constructed by Leonardo da Vinci and known only to him. The brave captain believed his wife and younger children would be safe in the sanctuary of the chapel, but a boy of Paolo’s age would have no such protection. He must have realized at once that the keep would be overwhelmed, so therefore he had forced his son to go there to save his life.
The Medici Seal Page 10
