‘What will happen to the French in Milan castle?’ I asked him.
Felipe spread his hands. ‘I do not know.’
The atmosphere in Milan was one of tension.
In this the city reflected the mood of the country. The rulers of the Italian city states feared the papal armies and thought they must submit to the Pope’s rule. Only Ferrara spoke up in defiance. Duke Alfonso declared that the d’Este family would not pay tithes to Rome, and he would brook no interference in how he governed. It was said that one of the reasons that Ferrara kept its nerve was because Lucrezia Borgia was seen by her people as their indomitable duchess who would not yield their state to any intruder. She had gone with her women to help build barricades against their walls.
But it was the French who were under most immediate threat. Pope Julius had declared that Italy needed to rid itself of all foreigners. He had referred to non-Italians as barbarians.
Barbarians! The French? I thought of the elegance and refinement of their court. Of the exquisite manners shown by the French captain, Charles d’Enville, to Elisabetta on first meeting her, kissing her hands roughened by farm work. The French would take it hard being called barbarians.
One day I met Charles walking just outside the castle by the Porta Tosa. It was becoming less usual for the French soldiers to be seen in the streets in their free time, and when they were some townspeople had taken to shunning them. But I liked Charles. He had kept his promise and wrote to Elisabetta occasionally and had sent her a little thank-you gift after dining at the farm. I had no hesitation in speaking to him.
‘How can the Pope withstand against your army?’ I asked him. ‘It is the mightiest in Europe.’
‘He will use the Swiss,’ said Charles. ‘They are the best mercenaries as it is their way of life. They survive the extreme winters by offering their men for hire. The Pope recognizes this, for it is from the men of Switzerland that he has formed his personal guard in the Vatican.’
I knew very little about military things but it seemed to me that France was much larger than Switzerland. Therefore there were more soldiers and money to pay them, and I said this to Charles.
‘You forget about the kingdom of Naples,’ he replied. ‘It is full of Spanish troops. If Pope Julius asks them for help then the French and anyone else who resists him will be encircled.’
‘Are you not afraid?’
‘Certainly, yes. But I feel alive when I am soldiering, Matteo. It is the life for me, if not for you.’ He paused. ‘Though Paolo would have you be a soldier. You know this?’
I nodded.
‘He came to see me at my barracks to speak to me and my commanding officer. He enquired if we would hire a band of men-at-arms.’
‘He would not leave Elisabetta alone to take care of their uncle,’ I said.
In the Maestro’s studio at San Babila the discussion at meal times was mainly politics, but the arguments now were more fierce as to the merit of the actions of Pope Julius.
‘He is making Italy safe,’ Felipe declared.
‘But his fire is dampened down,’ said Graziano. ‘He is getting old. The warrior is failing.’
‘Which may make him more reckless,’ observed my master.
The Sforza coat of arms began appearing daubed on the walls in Milan. There were those who supported the cause of Duke Ludovico’s son, now in exile since the French had deposed his father. A French soldier was stabbed and three men executed for the crime. The French garrison was wary of being cut off from their supplies. Pope Julius had told the Swiss to plunder the north of Italy in an attempt to break the communication line between France and her troops.
I helped Francesco Melzi unpack our luggage from Pavia. He looked in wonderment at the illustrations of the anatomies. When he saw how many there were he gave a huge mock sigh and said, ‘You went away with two boxes and return with fourteen.’
He spoke to Felipe. ‘My father has a house at Vaprio on the banks of the Adda. It would be a safer place to store the Maestro’s manuscripts. And if things become desperate here, I know he would offer the Maestro hospitality.’
As I listened to this conversation I wondered what would become of me if that happened.
That evening Felipe called me to speak to him. He was seated behind his desk and his words were very direct. ‘Matteo. I know that you applied yourself well in your studies at Pavia. And our master says that you appear to find the anatomies interesting. Is this true?’
‘Not so much the doing of them,’ I replied honestly. ‘More the information that can be gleaned from watching them being done and the insight this affords us about the human body.’
‘So,’ he went on, ‘would you be inclined to study those subjects further if it were possible for you to be enrolled at the university there?’
My heart began to beat very fast. ‘I do not see how that could be possible.’
Felipe clicked his teeth in annoyance. ‘It is not for you, a boy, to say what is or is not possible.’
‘Forgive me,’ I said. ‘I only meant—’
‘Do me the goodness to answer my question.’
‘If it were possible,’ I said quickly, ‘I would like very much to study at the University of Pavia.’
‘Then, know this. Professor Marcantonio della Torre has agreed, as a favour to our master, to allow you to attend his lectures. When the new term begins he will be your sponsor and arrange for you to matriculate at Pavia.’
I wanted to run to the Maestro and fling myself on my knees to thank him and I told Felipe this.
‘Indeed,’ he replied, ‘I expect that is why the Maestro asked me to be the one to tell you of your good fortune to forestall any such exhibition. You may repay him by working hard. Now, I believe the floor of the studio needs your attention.’
I picked up the broom as Felipe left the room. I had already swept the floor but could think of no better thing to do than to sweep it again.
A few days later Charles d’Enville came to see me. He had orders to ride out. The French had agreed to send forces to help Ferrara. ‘Be careful when you are abroad in the street,’ he said to me. ‘The city is no longer safe.’
‘You go to war again,’ I said.
‘I hope so,’ he replied, his eyes lively. ‘I loathe hanging about awaiting action. Better to be on the battlefield, doing what I do best.’
‘The Pope has many divisions to bring with him,’ I reminded him.
Charles laughed. ‘The French troops are not downhearted. Let the Pope bring on whom he will, the Spanish from Naples, the Venetians, the Swiss, all his papal armies. We have the most brilliant leader, nephew to the king himself, Gaston de Foix.’ He hugged me. ‘I hope we will meet again,’ he said.
Now a strange mood settled over Milan. A half-life of expectancy and dread. In some areas trade was already falling off. Even the courtesans who worked the streets no longer sought the soldiers’ company. If the French withdrew completely there would be reprisals against those who had been friendly with them. Among the people still doing business were the apothecaries and, recalling my promise to Elisabetta to find an outlet for her produce, I went to the nearest apothecary shop.
I soon made an agreement with the old man who owned it. ‘Trade may fall off but I will never go out of business,’ he said. ‘An army of some kind will return. Be it French or Italian, victorious or defeated, there will be wounded men. And of course armies always bring the pox. I will pay for any herbs sent to me.’
I was able to write to Elisabetta and tell her this.
Then, just before Easter, I received a letter from Elisabetta. She wrote to say that her uncle had died: ‘Matteo, I would ask that you visit me at this time.’
Her need must be urgent. She had never asked me for anything before.
The grooms at the stable were on edge. The French garrison scented betrayal, and the castle was preparing for attack. The commander had withdrawn himself and his officers to the more secure inner area of the Rocchetta. It was
with difficulty and only on the basis of personal friendship that I procured the loan of the chestnut mare to ride out to the farm at Kestra.
The weather was bleak, with a chill wind blowing from the mountains. I knew that I must have the horse back by nightfall so I did not pause or look around me as I passed the place on the road where we had come across the Romany camp last summer.
My thoughts were of Elisabetta and the summons in her letter.
Thus I did not see the man who watched and waited among the thicket of trees.
Chapter Fifty-Five
AT THE FARM signs of neglect were everywhere. Sheep had wandered among the crop fields, and precious farm equipent and tools were lying discarded carelessly on the ground. Inside the house Elisabetta and Paolo sat at opposite ends of the kitchen table. It looked as though they had been arguing.
Paolo leaped to his feet as I entered the room. ‘At last!’ he cried out. ‘Someone who will talk some sense into my sister.’
I glanced from one to the other. Unlike many brothers and sisters they rarely fought with each other. They had suffered too much in their lives to allow trivial disagreements to come between them. It would have to be something serious to disturb their harmony.
Paolo led me to a seat. ‘I have just told Elisabetta my plans for my uncle’s money. We found a stack of it under his bed where he had hidden it, the old miser.’
‘He wasn’t a miser; he was a careful man,’ Elisabetta contradicted her brother. ‘If he had been a miser he would not have taken us in and fed and clothed us.’
‘He would not give me money when I asked him,’ Paolo said stubbornly.
‘Because he thought you might squander it foolishly.’ Elisabetta spoke calmly. ‘And the money he hoarded is needed to pay taxes and dues on the land.’
‘There is enough for me to have my own group of men-at-arms,’ Paolo went on excitedly. ‘I can become a condottieri captain and we will join the French. They are going to fight the Pope. It was due to the papal expansion that I lost my family and now I have the chance to foil the plans of the Papacy.’
‘The Pope is here on earth as the Vicar of Christ,’ Elisabetta pointed out. ‘You must not go against his wishes.’
‘King Louis has declared that the Pope is a spiritual leader and cannot interfere in anything worldly,’ said Paolo.
‘It would suit King Louis to immobilize the only person who might unite Italians,’ I said, quoting an observation made by Felipe.
But Paolo had found a focus for his anger and a way to expiate his grief.
‘I have made my plans. I will buy arms and pay my men. I will be known as the Condottiere dell’Orte. We will wear black tunics with one sash of red slashed across the front, diagonally from shoulder to waist. By these red bands across our tunics we will be known and feared. The Bande Rosse. See, Matteo! I have already purchased the material and asked Elisabetta to make the sashes for us.’
I glanced to where Elisabetta sat. There were scissors and a bolt of crimson-coloured silk on the table before her. She made a helpless little gesture with her hands.
‘Who will come to join you?’ I asked Paolo.
He stretched across the table and grasped both my hands in his. ‘You’ll be the first of course, Matteo! It’s what we’ve always wanted. What we swore to do together on the mountain above Perela. You remember? I still have my father’s sword and I will strap it on. My band of men will fight against the papal armies. That is how I will take my revenge. And you will be my second in command, my faithful lieutenant.’
I looked at Elisabetta. She did not reply, only dropped her head to avoid my eyes. I noticed her hair, neatly braided and coiled at the nape of her neck.
‘I must go and see to some things in the barn. When you’ve finished speaking to Elisabetta, come and see what I have prepared already.’ Paolo got up and went off outside.
When he left there was silence in the room, then I said, ‘You could refuse to help him.’
She raised her eyes to mine. ‘How could I do that? He suffered such great humiliation at Perela. It almost killed him. Indeed there are times when I think it would have been better for him to have died at my father’s side.’
‘Your father ordered him to hide.’
‘I think my father truly believed that those men would not violate his wife and children.’
‘Those brigands were ruthless and without principle.’
‘Yes. You and I know that, Matteo.’
My heart bumped hard at the shock of her words. What did she mean, ‘You and I know that’? I glanced at her but she had moved her gaze and was looking out of the window.
‘From here I can see the distant tops of mountains,’ she said, ‘although I do not expect they are the same hills that we saw from our keep at Perela.’
In her fear of what lay ahead she was recalling her childhood, reaching back to fond memories for reassurance.
‘I do not know what will become of me,’ she said. ‘Already Paolo has secured loans against the property. This is a good farm, but it needs good husbandry.’
‘Men do live by hiring themselves out to armies and nobles,’ I said cautiously.
‘Yes, but it is not the life my parents would have wanted for Paolo. The farm is hard work but it is profitable enough . . .’
Her voice tailed off. She knew that Paolo would never be content to work and live as a farmer.
I tried again. ‘Men can do both,’ I said. ‘In Florence under the advice of Niccolò Machiavelli they have their own citizen army, recruited, armed and paid for by the state. This would seem more sensible. It means that each person has an interest to keep rather than serving self-interest.’
‘Ha!’ said Elisabetta. ‘We will see what happens if this fine citizen’s army is put to the test. Against men with murder on their mind, what use are farmers, craft workers and guildsmen?’
‘They are trained,’ I persisted. ‘They have their own uniform.’
‘Yes,’ Elisabetta agreed. ‘Give a man a uniform’ – she held up the red sash that she was stitching for her brother – ‘put him in striking livery, with a fancy plume in his hat and a halberd in his hand, and he will march anywhere to the sound of a drum. But we know what happens then. The French captain Charles d’Enville spoke the truth when he told us there was little glory in battle. For many men in armies are mere criminals from the streets who are given free rein for rapine, murder, outrage, theft and killing. That will be my brother’s future, to keep such company.’ Tears started from her eyes and she rose up in distress. ‘My brother has no life without his purpose and he will die if he does not become a condottieri captain. But if he does, I’ll have surely lost him in a much worse way!’ And she began to cry in earnest.
Her tears fell onto the red silk. Large watermarks spilled out across the material.
I got to my feet and went to where she stood. ‘The fabric,’ I said. ‘It will spoil.’
I reached to move it, and suddenly her head was on my shoulder and her face was close below mine. I felt her tears then and they were warm as she pressed her face into the hollow of my neck. She seemed to sink against me and I had to hold her more tightly. Her hair uncoiled a little and the weight of the braid slid heavily onto my wrist and arm, and she rested there for some moments until we heard Paolo calling me from the courtyard.
I had to go to inspect his horses, and the arms and armour he had collected. There was a good arquebus, some swords and a few battered shields.
‘Come and see! I have made a forge in the stable. The blacksmith is already working.’
Paolo showed me his progress. The smith was working there, hammering out a sword blade. Several boys and a few ill-featured men hung around watching him and drinking ale.
‘This is my friend.’ Paolo hailed them as we approached. ‘He will be the second in command.’
‘Paolo . . .’ I began.
But he went on without seeming to hear me. ‘Matteo is a fine horseman and very handy with a dagger.�
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‘I cannot get away,’ I ventured to say. ‘Paolo, you know I am committed—’
He rounded on me then. ‘Is that what you want to be all your life? A lowly servant?’
My face flushed. Was that how he viewed me? As a servant of the lowest type?
He flung his arm around my shoulder. ‘I thought we had a bond,’ he said. ‘A bond of brotherhood, and more than that, an oath we took together as we left the convent at Melte.’
I shrugged him off and walked away.
At dinner we ate a meal together. The food was wholesome and well prepared. It was not like Paolo to hold a grudge and he was soon chatting. But Elisabetta was silent, watching me, and I had to force my replies and pretend to take his plans seriously.
When I took my leave of them she drew me aside.
‘You do not need to fall in with Paolo’s intentions.’ She paused. ‘There is no’ – she sought the right phrase – ‘obligation on your part. Despite the circumstances that brought our lives together.’
But I knew this was not so.
It was I who had caused the death of their parents, their baby brother and their sister.
My mind was as gloomy as the sky as I set off back to Milan. What was I to do? The Maestro in his generosity had opened up the prospects of my life in a way I had not imagined possible. Yet Paolo spoke the truth when he said I had given my bond to him. No doubt a cleric would argue that a promise made under duress was not binding. Why then did I feel my soul shrivel at the thought of not keeping my word?
I made my way via the various farm tracks and on towards the junction to the main road into Milan. My thoughts occupied my mind and my mood, and thus I was not looking at my surroundings. As I came onto the road some distance after the main crossroads, my chin was half sunk upon my chest and so I gave the scene ahead no attention. In any case, at this point the thicket of trees would have obscured my vision as I approached the turn where the road was hidden from view.
Therefore I had no inkling of anything amiss, no suspicion of ambush. Before I was aware of them, my attackers were upon me.
The Medici Seal Page 28
