For a moment, Cosimo saw that Bessarion’s frown had eased and his eyes – no longer lit with a grim, grave light – held a flicker of hope.
‘My dear Cosimo, your words give my heart wings. Pope Eugene IV puts great trust in your abilities and I can say what I have heard confirms his beliefs. As you may have intuited, union is possible only through a political and cultural rapprochement of our worlds. I will try to take advantage of the opportunity that has been given me and I undertake to discover as much as possible about your city while I am here. In fact, I hope that you will guide me in learning of its wonder. I cannot imagine better days than those I feel await me.’ With those words, Bessarion suddenly came over to Cosimo and embraced him, and the lord of Florence was so taken aback by this gesture of affection that it took him a few moments to reciprocate – but when he did, he did so with all of himself.
When they separated, Bessarion looked him in the eye. Cosimo saw not only friendship and indulgence but also a firmness of spirit that he knew he would never want to disappoint.
45
Council of War
‘We must wipe out Florence, your grace, we can wait no longer,’ insisted Rinaldo degli Albizzi. ‘The Medici are becoming too powerful. Bringing the ecumenical council to the city was a masterstroke. Cosimo is trying to consolidate an alliance with the Pope.’
‘Yes, your grace,’ confirmed Niccolò Piccinino, ‘and if I were you, I wouldn’t trust that snake Francesco Sforza. The man is treacherous and always ready to change sides. As God is my witness, if you continue to protect him, he will turn against you, my lord.’
‘Silence!’ cried Filippo Maria Visconti.
He rose from his wooden bench and crossed the room in great strides. He and he alone was the Duke of Milan, and he certainly did not need the advice of those who were unworthy to polish his boots. How dare they? They only existed at all because he willed it. He had only to click his fingers and they would disappear, to be replaced by others. Not to mention that that idiot Albizzi was entirely at his mercy, even if the fool did keep forgetting the fact. His eyes flashed and his gaze fell upon Reinhardt Schwartz. Now there was a man that he liked. A skilled soldier who had plenty of guts and the estimable habit of never speaking unless spoken to. He was standing in a corner, slicing an apple into segments with a large knife.
‘And you, Schwartz?’ said Filippo Maria. ‘What is your opinion?’
‘Mine?’ asked the Swiss mercenary, seemingly surprised by the question.
‘Yes, yours – do you see someone else near you? I wish to know what you think.’
As was his habit, Schwartz took his time. That it had been the duke who had asked the question made no difference to him. He chewed a piece of apple and swallowed it and then spoke.
‘My opinion, my lord, is that Rinaldo degli Albizzi speaks the truth. As does my captain. It is no secret that Francesco Sforza is considering lending his support to Venice, and we all know how close the friendship between the Serenissima and the Medici is. I believe that in life a point comes when the definitive battle, the one that ordains the victory of one side and the defeat of the other, can no longer be postponed. The moment, excellency, when one kills or is killed – when one wins or one loses.’
‘And do you think that moment has arrived?’
What was the duke asking him? How could he imagine that he had an answer to that? Filippo Maria must have completely lost his mind, thought Schwartz. And to look at him, it certainly seemed that he had.
‘That I can’t tell you with certainty.’
‘So what good are you, then, Schwartz? You’ve started to talk like my poisoner: in riddles! You’re a soldier, damn it!’
Reinhardt ate another quarter of an apple. Filippo Maria grew even more agitated, and when he glanced over at Rinaldo degli Albizzi, he realized that the man was about to start asking questions again.
‘What is it now?’ he shouted in exasperation.
‘You see, your grace...’ Albizzi began, ‘with the council of Florence, Cosimo de’ Medici is aiming to promote the unity of the Churches so he can obtain favours from Eugene IV, and despite the recent disputes with Basel and the Emperor Sigismund, the pontiff is rapidly regaining power and prestige. The day will come when that man will sit once more in the Eternal City; it is only a matter of time. And when he does, that bond of friendship with the Medici will be even more disadvantageous for you. What I would like to suggest is that we strike now, before they reach that position of strength.’
Rinaldo had spoken carefully, with circumspection. Over the years, he had learned to measure his words. His life was now that of an exile and conspirator, and as such he could not allow himself to appear impertinent. The years of waiting had not yet bent him, but his bravado was muted and his demands now resembled more the supplications of a desperate man. He had not abandoned his dream of returning to Florence, but weaving his plans with the calm of the spider waiting for its prey had tested him to the limit. He was tired, and the more he tried to grasp his dream, the more it seemed to slip away from him, leaving his fingers closing on empty air. Even his eyes, once hard and brash, were now shadowed with gloom.
‘My dear Albizzi,’ said the duke, suddenly calm, ‘whether you believe it or not, I share your concerns, and you will be happy to learn that your time has finally come. You will have your revenge, you can be sure of it, but you must never forget to whom you owe your loyalty and gratitude. In these years you have learned temperance. I remember when you first came here with your tail between your legs, passing judgement on all and sundry, and I must confess that I much prefer this new manner of yours. That said, if you – and you too, Piccinino – believe that you can tell me when and how to attack, you are wrong. That decision is mine and mine alone. What I can tell you is that we must leave nothing to chance. Now,’ he continued, ‘my soldier of fortune and Gian Francesco Gonzaga will go to Veneto to attack Gattamelata and Bartolomeo Colleoni, in order to halt the progress of Venice. The Serenissima is moving too far inland. And immediately afterwards, Captain, I order you to cross the Po and descend upon Florence, and I want you and Albizzi and the men that he assembles to take the city. This, of course, also concerns you, my dear Schwartz. I realize that all this will take some time, but it is for this reason that I want you to set off now.’
The Swiss mercenary nodded.
‘I will need money, my lord,’ said Piccinino.
‘As regards money, Captain, you are well equipped. Feed your men with what you loot. Loot, rape, kill – I want your name to sow terror. Some time ago, it was suggested to me that I be merciful to the vanquished, but I think that an unwise strategy. I would rather be feared than pitied.’
Piccinino didn’t like the answer – he had hoped to get a few ducats from Filippo Maria. He pressed his case.
‘You are right, of course, my lord. But the men are tired. This bitter winter has frozen fields and rivers, and the condition of the roads makes the transport of supplies for the troops uncertain and often impossible. My men are devoured by disease and the hardships of the winter encampments on the Salò riviera, but are nevertheless fighting to hinder the movements of the Venetian fleet. I need to offer them something to give them a reason to continue. Unfortunately, staying still kills even more of them than the cold. So I beg you, help me. Otherwise I cannot answer for their loyalty.’
Filippo Maria snorted with irritation. His men were becoming increasingly greedy and continued to plunder his already depleted resources. But he also knew that if there ever was a man hungry for the spoils of war, it was Piccinino, and so his request must be sincere. It was not impossible to believe that the situation was exactly as he had described.
He turned to Schwartz.
‘You, Reinhardt... Can you confirm what my valiant captain says?’
Of course, it was absurd that the duke did not trust Piccinino, who fought for him under his insignia, but on the other hand, Filippo Maria was notoriously consumed by suspicion and the fear of betray
al. He lived practically barricaded inside the fortress of Porta Giovia, which he rarely left, and had set up such a dense network of spies to watch over his men that on several occasions it had emerged that two men were each spying upon the other. Everyone informed on everyone else, and one of the duke’s favourite occupations was sitting in the tower listening to his spies telling him what those in his employ were up to. It was no easy task to climb the steep staircase of his favours, which were few and secretive, yet all tried to show themselves loyal and accommodating towards him. And those who did were the ones Filippo Maria mistrusted most.
Schwartz had learned that the best way to navigate his web of obsessions was to say exactly what he thought in as simple and direct a way as possible, since there was no point trying to deceive the man.
‘What my captain says is damnably true, your grace. I do not remember a harsher winter than this and those men who were not injured or killed in the recent clashes with the Venetians are now falling victim to the frost and snow. They are soldiers, and knew what they were signing up for, but this forced inactivity caused by the winter and the cold, together with the lack of booty that results from it, is putting a strain upon their spirits. The fear is that many of them may abandon your grace’s armies, despite the powerful sway the captain holds over them.’
‘By God, Reinhardt, they are nothing but mercenaries!’ shouted the Duke of Milan in exasperation. ‘We can replace them!’
‘Of course, your excellency, but do not imagine that substituting the men would be straightforward: a company has its own rules and codes, and when that breaks down it is almost impossible to heal the fracture by adding new men. I believe that giving them something today would be a good way to receive much more in exchange tomorrow.’
‘Then so be it, damn it. I will let you have five thousand ducats to cure this rampant despair, and not one ducat more! But mark you, snow or not, I want you to leave as soon as possible for Verona and Soave to drive those damned Venetians back to their lagoon, after which you will head for Florence. Have I made myself clear? And take Rinaldo degli Albizzi with you! Since he is so keen to leave this castle, I think that a taste of the fray while he waits to enter his city can only be of benefit to him. And now off with you!’ thundered the duke, eager to be free of the three bloodsuckers.
Without daring to answer, Albizzi, Piccinino and Schwartz lowered their heads and left in silence. And while his captain and his previous master huddled together in discussion outside the door of the chamber, Schwartz set off towards Laura Ricci’s apartments.
As he walked down the stairs leading to the central courtyard and then proceeded to the eastern wing where the woman lived, Reinhardt’s thoughts grew gloomy.
The times he spent with the duke’s personal poisoner had become more infrequent and melancholy since they had been in the pay of Filippo Maria Visconti. Reinhardt had long harboured a secret that now often seemed to be on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t have said why it was happening in that moment – perhaps because he had kept it inside him for too long and because, although he didn’t want to admit it, he truly cared for Laura.
How else to explain his having gone to save her? He still didn’t understand why he hadn’t run away with her then. In a way, he almost felt as though he was imprisoned by what he had become. He had grown to hate being a professional soldier, and yet it was all he knew how to do, and Laura had not penetrated his soul deeply enough to make him abandon all of them and devote himself to her.
Perhaps he was just a coward?
Or perhaps, in his heart of hearts, he felt that he didn’t deserve to be happy. Because he had no doubt that it was only with her that he felt a real sense of peace and joy.
He didn’t want to wound her with the secret that he kept locked inside the deepest part of him, but the struggle between the need to tell her and the fear of hurting her was so violent that he took refuge from it in battle, fighting for the sole purpose of having an excuse to see her as little as possible, however much it tore at his heart. Once, he had been convinced that he had managed to erase those memories, but the violence of the recent battles had made them emerge anew, as though regurgitated from deep within him and rubbing the broken edges of his soul in his face.
And so the days had become ever grimmer and their rare meetings and moments of passion had become imbued with sadness.
In a way, it seemed as if time itself had simply been waiting for that moment which, sooner or later, would arrive. Perhaps even that day.
Since she had arrived in the Visconti court and had learned her destiny, Laura had accepted without demur what life had reserved for her. As far as she was concerned, it was nothing new. And yet, even though life grew grimmer and darker with the passing of the days, she had clung to him almost suffocatingly.
And now when he saw her, the violent part of him, the part he had never been able to keep under control, came back overpoweringly, just like that night many years ago.
He suddenly decided not to go to her apartments. He would see her another time. He wasn’t ready for it yet.
Would he ever be? Of course he would be; he must be. But not that day. He turned around and retraced his steps. He would go to his men and bury his thoughts in the ice of the camp.
July 1439
46
The Meeting of the Churches
The cathedral was crowded. On the right side were the Catholic cardinals and bishops, on the left, the high priests and monks of the Greek Church. All wore long robes, the first of red and gold and the second of black and silver.
Clad in his papal habit, Pope Eugene IV stood at the main altar beneath Brunelleschi’s dome. Before his eyes, written upon the finest parchment, was the text of the reconciliation and union of the two Churches: Western and Eastern.
At his side, Cardinal Giuliano Cesarini read the decree, drawn up by common agreement, which sanctified the reunification. It sealed an alliance that could pave the way to a political and military agreement aimed at protecting the Christian world from the fury of the Ottomans, while breaking down the last walls which still separated Byzantium from the Western kingdoms.
Cosimo, who had been allowed to attend the solemn occasion, listened. He had managed to obtain himself a place in one of the front pews. Eugene IV’s words sounded grateful and unequivocal. They were the result of negotiations which – even the final part held in Florence – had taken months, in addition to the years previously, first in Basel and then in Ferrara.
‘The Greeks state that by claiming that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father they had no intention of excluding the Son; the Latins, on the other hand, reiterate that by claiming that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father and the Son they in no way wish to deny that the Father is the source and principle of any divinity, and therefore of the Son and of the Holy Spirit; nor do they believe that there are two principles or two spirations for this. The Holy Spirit has one principle and one spiration. From this derives a single and identical sense of truth, so that the following formula of a holy union pleasing to God is clear and unassailable.’
All present were aware just how crucial that passage was, especially Cosimo, who recognized it as both opportune and magnificent – particularly in the light of what Giovanni Bessarion had confessed to him a few months earlier.
A plan began to take shape in his mind, and it was so vast that he almost feared to give voice to it, though, after hearing those words, he knew that anything was possible.
He was aware that he had great responsibilities and knew that, at this point, expectations were running very high. And from such heights, one risked a terrible fall. Yet the league against the Duke of Milan could easily become the secular body that guaranteed that union.
Was he just a crazed idealist? Lorenzo, who had been at his side in this, didn’t seem to think as he did, and had repeatedly stated that the alliance was so fragile that it would fall apart with the first gust of wind.
And yet dreaming had never hurt anyon
e. Cosimo knew that it was from the most grandiose visions that the most extraordinary achievements were realized.
‘In the name of the Holy Trinity, the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit, with the approval of this sacred and universal Florentine council, we ordain that this truth of the faith must be believed and accepted by all Christians; and so all must profess that the Holy Spirit descends eternally from the Father and the Son, and has ever done so, as from a single principle and from a single spiration; and we declare that the holy teachers’ claim that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father through the Son tends to affirm that the Son, like the Father, is cause, according to the Greeks, and principle according to the Latins, of the subsistence of the Holy Spirit...’
As he listened to those words, Cosimo closed his eyes. The miracle of the union of the two Churches had been accomplished, and now all the hard work carried out over all those months would bear fruit. He smiled at the thought that, once again, such an important event had taken place in Santa Maria del Fiore.
Perhaps its wonderful architecture would become a temple of achievements and success. He sat for a few moments with his eyes closed, letting himself be lulled by the closing words of Cardinal Giuliano Cesarini.
*
‘Is it true what people are saying?’
Medici ~ Ascendancy Page 21
