Those two accursed individuals – he couldn’t remember their names. That man and that woman. He had seen them at Niccolò da Uzzano’s funeral. They must have been spying on them. They knew everything about them. He and Lorenzo had believed they were safe, that no one would venture to Venice for the sole purpose of killing them. But they had been wrong again. They had behaved like fools. How could they have been so naive?
If something happened to Lorenzo, Cosimo would never forgive himself.
He raced down the imposing marble steps, taking the last few in a single bound, and found himself at the door. Once out of the palazzo, he ran towards the pier, weaving like a drunk because of the fog.
‘Toni?’ he shouted. ‘Toni!’
‘Here I am, Messer Cosimo.’
Cosimo saw Toni at the pier. He ran over to him and jumped into the gondola.
‘To the Palazzo Grimani! And quickly! We have to get there quickly!’ he cried, like a sleepwalker trapped in some awful nightmare.
Though uncertain what his master had said, Toni started to row without asking questions.
‘My God... Rebecca. Toni. Rebecca is dead! Someone poisoned her... the wine...’
*
Now this was a party!
Lorenzo was in seventh heaven. Those rows of slender and elegant blown-glass goblets on the Flanders linen tablecloths and the mirrors with the gold frames that multiplied the space were absolutely breathtaking. He gazed in amazement at the tapestries, as vast as they were wonderful, which covered the walls with exotic designs woven in the most incredible range of colours, stared awestruck at the shimmering, bizarrely shaped jewellery created by the Venetian master goldsmiths, and watched the glimmers of the candlelight from the vast chandeliers which hung from the ceiling. And with their daring hairstyles, astonishing wigs and clothes made of extraordinary fabrics encrusted with pearls and precious stones, the ladies were the very essence of elegance.
The atmosphere was enchanting, and Lorenzo soon found himself chatting with a pair of Venetian noblemen who were friends of his brother. He found the idea of hiding one’s identity behind a mask amusing. The practice of disguise had been developed into a fine art here in Venice, and there were entire shops dedicated to the creation of costumes and disguises. Though not overly strong, the perfectly chilled Ribolla Gialla wine which he had savoured had made him feel pleasantly tipsy.
‘You have made it, my good friend,’ said one of the two noblemen. ‘For months now the talk here in Venice has been of nothing but you and your brother. I am Niccolò Dandolo, a diplomat of the Most Serene Republic,’ and he raised his bautta, revealing elegant features animated by two particularly lively and witty eyes.
‘Really?’ asked Lorenzo. He pretended incredulity though in truth he knew perfectly well that the presence of the Medici could not have gone unnoticed. What he could not understand was how the man could have recognized him from behind his mask.
‘Oh yes,’ added the other. ‘And if you will permit me, I am Ludovico Mocenigo, lieutenant in the army of the Republic of Venice.’ He removed his bautta as he spoke. ‘If you are wondering how we recognized you, you should know that here in Venice even the streets have eyes. We knew that you were on your way here and how you were dressed as soon as you left your home. For your safety, of course – Venice is full of the worst kind of spies and assassins. I am honoured to meet you, Messer Lorenzo. I have heard so much about you and your being exiled. I think what you have endured is shameful.’
‘It certainly is,’ said Lorenzo, raising his mask in turn but unable to stop his face darkening.
Mocenigo must have noticed, because he immediately added, ‘But I am sure it will not be for long.’
‘I thank you for your concern, but please, don’t feel compelled to sweeten the pill. I am managing to tolerate the situation quite well.’
‘I have no doubt of it,’ said Mocenigo, ‘but I also believe that there is truth in what I say. Our informants tell us that Rinaldo degli Albizzi’s regime is collapsing in upon itself. I wouldn’t be surprised if in a few months you’ll be able to return to your magnificent city, to be welcomed in triumph.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ said Lorenzo, smiling at the thought.
‘Do you miss Florence?’ Dandolo asked him.
‘Immensely.’
‘I can imagine. It is a marvellous city.’
‘Do you know it?’
‘I have been there on business.’
‘And, moreover, the alliance between our republics is growing stronger,’ added Mocenigo. ‘By now, we even share the captains of our armies.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Sorry, I’m not being clear – the captain of the Florentine army, Erasmo da Narni, has just resigned from his post and enthusiastically accepted the command of the Venetian army. I’m enjoying my last day of peace and quiet before resuming service.’
‘Erasmo da Narni... Are you referring to Gattamelata?’ asked Dandolo.
‘The very same,’ confirmed Mocenigo. ‘What a curious nickname “Gattamelata” is. They say it comes from the way he speaks: persuasive yet ruthless – some say it reminds them of a speckled cat.’
‘That’s an odd theory,’ said Dandolo. ‘I’d heard that it derived from the crest on his helmet – honey-coloured, with a cat.’
‘Be that as it may,’ said Mocenigo, his green eyes flashing. ‘What matters is that he is known for his skill in battle.’
‘I find Venice wonderful,’ cut in Lorenzo, in an attempt to change the subject. ‘A city built entirely upon water – simply incredible. And trade has made it such a melting pot of cultures that it has become a cradle of the arts and of all manner of wonders.’
‘Well, I think our cities have a lot in common. And it is thanks to you Medici that the bond between them grows stronger,’ said Dandolo. ‘I know that Donatello stopped in Padua recently.’
‘Another extraordinary city. I am sorry that my brother, who is more sensitive than I to the beauties of sculpture and painting, is not here at this moment. He left something at home and—’
‘But he is coming, isn’t he?’
‘Of course.’
While the conversation proceeded in its polite and diverting way, Lorenzo noticed a woman approaching him. Her coquettish manner contained a hint of mystery.
‘Do you wish to spend the whole evening chattering with these delightful gentlemen or are you seeking something more stimulating than conversation?’ she asked him in a deep voice which promised delights to come. Lorenzo was shocked by her directness, but at the same time found it inviting.
‘Ah,’ exclaimed Mocenigo, ‘do not let us not be the ones to deprive you of such pleasures.’ So saying, he nodded to Dandolo, who vanished. ‘Good luck, my friend,’ he added. ‘I do believe that you have caught the eye of the most beautiful woman at the party.’
36
The Red-Headed Lady
‘You seem to be the busiest man here,’ continued the lady in the magnificent aquamarine dress.
Lorenzo felt almost blinded by her dazzling beauty, which, along with the wine, had completely entranced him. There was a strange light in those magnificent eyes of hers, and for a moment Lorenzo seemed to recognize her, but then shook his head – he couldn’t remember whom he was thinking of, he must simply have confused her with someone else. After all, he thought, he certainly wouldn’t have forgotten a woman like that.
‘Not at all, my lady,’ he answered hastily. ‘I am at your complete disposal.’
‘Are you mocking me?’ she asked, her beautiful lips curling into an irresistible pout as she fluttered her long eyelashes playfully.
‘How could I?’ he asked. ‘Only a madman would dare. Your beauty blinds me.’
The woman could not hold back a disarming smile. ‘You are too generous.’
‘Not at all. Perhaps all Venetian ladies are as beautiful as you, though I can scarce believe it.’
‘That I do not know, but Venice is steeped
in magic and its women are famous for their talents at bewitching men. I am trying to learn the art, as far as I am able.’
‘And may I know the name of the woman who displays so much beauty?’
Laura raised her index finger to her lips. ‘Only if you know how to keep a secret,’ she whispered.
‘I swear it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘As sure as I am that my heart beats in my chest. Tell me, I beg you.’
‘Not here,’ she replied. ‘Let us go somewhere less crowded.’
And without another word, she set off towards another room with a great rustling of clothes. Her bearing was so regal and seductive that Lorenzo could do nothing but follow her.
The woman seemed to know the palazzo well. She walked through it confidently and after passing through more salons – these too decorated in the most sumptuous way imaginable – where delicious foods and exquisite wines were being served, the woman reached the foot of a large staircase. She proceeded without pausing and when she reached the first floor, turned right, walked down a long corridor and opened a door.
Lorenzo followed her inside, closing the door behind him, and found himself in a library. Lining the walls were wooden bookcases, their shelves crammed with treasures: rare and precious manuscripts of Greek and Latin classics, the result of a boundless love for humanistic studies. The Grimani family must possess an extraordinary passion for literature and philosophy.
‘Incredible, is it not?’ asked the beautiful lady, as though she had read his mind. She was perching against a wooden desk, finely carved and decorated with friezes and inlays, and leaned forward slightly, giving Lorenzo a view of her chest, which rose and fell with her breath.
‘Have you lost your tongue, sir?’ she said.
‘N-no. No, truly,’ he said hesitantly. In reality, though, despite the confidence he affected, he now felt trapped, as though the fumes of the wine had suddenly evaporated and he had found himself in that room with her without understanding quite what was happening. He realized that the game risked going too far.
But the woman seemed to have no intention of stopping.
‘May I ask you a favour?’
‘Of course.’
‘Would you approach me a moment? Or are you afraid of me?’
Without saying anything, and almost against his will, Lorenzo found himself joining her.
‘Oh...’ she said, as a gold bracelet slipped from her wrist.
Turning his back to her, Lorenzo bent down to retrieve it from the soft oriental carpet on to which it had fallen, and in that moment, the woman took off her mask and pulled the dagger from her bodice. She raised it above Lorenzo’s back, but just as she was about to deliver the fatal blow, the library door burst open.
*
When Cosimo had arrived at the party, he had greeted friends and dignitaries curtly – there was no time to waste: he had to find his brother.
Cavaliere Grimani had no idea where Lorenzo might be, and nor did Jacopo Tron, avogador de comùn, who was also a guest at the party, but when Cosimo encountered Ludovico Mocenigo, the lieutenant was able to show him to the stairs and offered to accompany him. He had seen Lorenzo following a lady of particular beauty with flowing red hair to the first floor.
‘I would be grateful if you would be so kind as to come with me,’ said Cosimo. ‘I’m afraid that his life may be in danger.’
Ludovico nodded. He called over a pair of Sestiere guards who were mingling with the guests in order to oversee security and together they raced up the staircase. After what had happened to Rebecca, Cosimo wouldn’t have bet a bent florin on finding his brother alive – and having witnessed the servant girl’s agony as she died, the thought tormented him.
When they arrived at the first floor, they found a large empty hall in front of them from which two corridors branched. They split up, the two guards going left and Cosimo and Ludovico going right, and soon found the door which led to the library.
Cosimo immediately recognized the man on guard outside: it was that accursed Swiss mercenary. The one he had seen outside the church of Santa Lucia de’ Magnoli at the funeral of Niccolò da Uzzano!
‘You,’ he said. ‘Where is my brother?’
In response, Reinhardt Schwartz drew his sword and dagger and prepared to fight.
‘I will deal with him,’ said Ludovico Mocenigo. ‘You go in and help Lorenzo.’
And so saying, he drew sword and dagger in turn.
‘En garde, sir,’ he cried, adding, ‘Men, to me!’ to the two Sestiere guards who were now returning from the other corridor.
While Mocenigo and Schwartz engaged one another, the blades of their swords clanging, Cosimo turned the handle – but the door would not open.
He threw himself at it shoulder first, smashing it open, and the scene that appeared before his eyes would remain etched in his memory forever.
He saw his brother intent on picking up something from the floor, and above him a woman of incredible beauty holding a dagger which she was about to bring down on Lorenzo’s back.
Cosimo didn’t have time to think. He simply cried out with all the breath he had in his lungs and launched himself at his brother, unsheathing the dagger that he always carried with him.
‘Lorenzo!’
At the sound of his cry, the woman looked up in shock.
She only hesitated a moment but it was long enough. Immediately afterwards, she brought the knife down on Lorenzo, who, by pure instinct, rolled awkwardly out of the way. He was not quite fast enough to prevent the red-haired fury from injuring him, but the blade of the stiletto struck him only a glancing blow on the shoulder.
His doublet tore open like butter and a crimson arc appeared on his flesh. Lorenzo cried out and Cosimo faced the woman, stretching out his dagger towards her.
There was something familiar about her, though he could not immediately say what it was. The eyes, those green eyes lit by that feverish light – where had he seen them before? The hair... the hair was different... But now that he looked carefully, he could see it was a wig... And at that moment he understood... It was that damn perfume girl! What was she called? He couldn’t remember her name, but he knew that she had been tormenting them for far too long!
Laura Ricci. That was it... Why she hated them so much, Cosimo had no idea, but he was sure now that she was in the pay of Albizzi.
Her eyes were filled with rage.
‘You, you bastard!’ she hissed scornfully. ‘I’ll kill you like a dog!’
And without another word she brought her blade down.
Cosimo was faster, though. He dodged to the side and brought up his left hand, blocking the wrist that held the dagger. He squeezed it as hard as he could, forcing the blade of the dagger up to her face.
The beautiful fingers opened and the knife fell to the floor with a clink.
Meanwhile, Lorenzo had climbed to his feet and was holding his shoulder as blood dripped between his fingers. He picked up the stiletto.
‘Enough!’ cried Cosimo. ‘Stop! Or so help me God I will ruin that beautiful face of yours forever.’
‘Do it,’ she said, and her voice was hoarse and dripping with hatred. ‘Isn’t that what you Medici always do? Ruin everything? You disgust me, messer!’
Cosimo stared at her in uncomprehending disbelief but also with a hint of admiration: the woman was dazzling. But he mustn’t allow himself to be influenced by her beauty – she had just tried to kill his brother.
‘You wretch,’ said Lorenzo, ‘you’ve been on our backs since our father died.’
As he spoke, there was a sound of shattering glass from outside the door.
‘What the hell is going on?’ asked Lorenzo.
‘I have no idea,’ replied Cosimo.
A moment later, Ludovico Mocenigo entered the library, a bloody scratch on his cheek.
Laura could not hold back a smirk of triumph and her green eyes flashed with bloodthirsty satisfaction.
‘I see Schw
artz left you a gift, my lord.’
Ludovico didn’t understand. ‘And who are you, my lady?’
‘Despite the wig, I can tell you that the person who stands before you is Laura Ricci, a spy in the service of Rinaldo degli Albizzi,’ said Cosimo, his voice soft with exhaustion.
A surprised ‘Ah’ was all Ludovico could manage.
‘And almost certainly responsible for the death of Rebecca, our maid. It was you who sent us the poisoned wine, was it not?’
‘Poisoned wine?’ asked a shocked Lorenzo.
‘That’s right. And if I hadn’t returned home we would never have noticed it in time. It’s a miracle we are alive at all. Have you anything to say, my lady?’ he asked, turning to Laura.
‘You have no proof,’ she replied, spitting out the words.
‘That will be decided by the Ten!’ announced Ludovico Mocenigo. ‘My lady, you are under arrest. I myself will ensure that you are brought to justice and thrown into the dungeons of the Doge’s Palace.’
‘What happened to the man?’ asked Cosimo.
‘That devil...’ said Mocenigo. ‘He killed one of the guards and wounded the other. Not to mention that he gave me this scratch. Then he jumped out of the window. He won’t be bothering us again.’
‘That’s what you think,’ replied Laura with a cruel smile.
‘Before he fell sixty feet into the canal, I made sure to put my sword into his chest. So if he hasn’t already bled to death, he will have been killed by the cold of the waters.’
Momentarily, a shadow seemed to cloud Laura’s gaze, but immediately afterwards that strange and disturbing light returned to her eyes.
‘You will pay for this dearly,’ she said. ‘In this life or in the next.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Mocenigo. ‘People tend not to come back from the prisons of the Palazzo Ducale.’
September 1434
37
Piazza di San Pulinari
Rinaldo was waiting for him.
The situation had come to a head. Paradoxically, the exile which had been intended to marginalize Cosimo had ended up working in his favour, thought Palla Strozzi as he trotted towards Piazza di San Pulinari at the head of his men. He had chosen a small escort, since he had no intention of staying to fight. All he wanted was to extricate himself from the situation with the least possible trouble.
Medici ~ Ascendancy Page 15
