The Medici Letters: The Secret Origins of the Renaissance

by Taylor Buck

  Chester nodded. “Yes, the cache housed the correspondence of various members of the Medici family—the oldest dating back to 1428 and the most recent being 1560. Nobody was quite sure how all of the letters had amassed into one area, especially considering they were meant as correspondence letters between unaffiliated recipients. But here they were, and we found ourselves literally sitting on a trove of priceless history.”

  Jack continued to listen with newfound interest.

  “Soon after the scan analysis surfaced, a member of the Medici Preservation Society by the name of Massimo Forlino approached us. Needless to say, he was very interested in the documents and keeping them secure. A bit of an eccentric, he seemed quite adamant that the findings not be exploited. As you can imagine, the site soon became a source of controversy.”

  “How so?” Jack asked.

  “Well,” Chester gave a shrug. “Because the documents belonged to the Medici family, UNESCO assumed temporary ownership and gave control to The Medici Preservation Society. The city of Florence, however, wasn’t keen in allowing the Medici Preservation Society to take control of the efforts that they had originally initiated, so they entered into another custody battle.”

  “Everyone wanted a piece of the pie?” remarked Jack.

  “It certainly appeared that way. But not for long. As of yesterday, it’s been settled.”

  “That quick?” Jack looked surprised.

  Chester paused briefly to reach down and position his black briefcase upright. “UNESCO…has…sway.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” replied Jack. “What do you expect from an agency backed by the UN?”

  Chester responded with a supportive nod. “The Medici Preservation Society, headed by Forlino, assumed exclusive rights to all the findings. They even ratified a contract with us in order to continue excavation. The MPS turned out to be very generous and quite helpful in backing the dig. Signore Forlino also seemed to take a liking to Kathleen since she had a robust knowledge of Medici history.”

  “Yes, she was fascinated by them,” Jack said, knowing full well that he was describing her actual level of intrigue rather lightly. In actuality, Kathleen was borderline obsessed with the Medici. From a young age she had been enchanted by tales of Lorenzo Medici and Lucrezia Donati, the young lovers from opposing houses (also rumored to be the subject matter for Mateo Bandello’s original Romeo and Juliet). She was mystified by the stories of love, power and mystery that occurred at the conception of the Renaissance. “Kathleen has a love for the arts as I do,” Jack said. “We owe that almost entirely to the Medici family. If it wasn’t for them, there never would have been a Renaissance.”

  Jack embraced the subjectivity of his statement with open arms. By many a historian’s viewpoint—it was factually accurate. The Medici commissioned nearly all of the famous works of art throughout the 15th and 16th centuries. They were arguably the most important figures in regards to the Renaissance. Furthermore, their humble beginnings made for an even unlikelier rags-to-riches tale. The family wasn’t of noble blood or royal marriage, they started as farmers who built a small banking business and made a few wise investments. Within a matter of years, the whole of Florence banked with the Medici and soon after—most of Europe. Their wealth grew exponentially and reached a level that hadn’t ever been achieved by anyone not seated in political statesmanship.

  “Kathleen and Foley,” Chester continued, “worked onsite in Florence throughout the entire excavation. Under their supervision, the TerraTEK team also included 4 local Italian archeologists. Last Monday, the team finally broke ground and entered the vault. Over the next few days the team carefully extracted the letters inside.”

  Chester tapped on his thin digital tablet. He pulled up a high-resolution image on the tablet that appeared to be an old letter with scrawled ink penmanship. A red smear was apparent at the top of the paper where Jack knew a candle wax seal would have resided. He had studied many ancient documents, many much older than this, so he was able to narrow down the origins fairly quickly. The material used was vellum rather than parchment, which indicated a more expensive stock. Furthermore, the ink appeared to be iron-gall, which was also more expensive and typically used by scholars in a specific time period—around the Middle Ages and Renaissance. The penmanship was elegant and stylized with a beautiful drop cap. The letter was brief and to the point. The red wax seal didn’t contain any hint of heritage, but Jack could envision in his mind the letter M delicately pressed into the wax. The letter’s mysterious author was evident in these signature characteristics. It was a letter from—

  “Cosimo,” murmured Jack.

  “Precisely.” Chester scrolled down revealing the author’s signature. “This is a letter from Cosimo de’Medici to Marsilio Ficino, his colleague. In it Cosimo instructs Ficino to continue teaching the students while he is away in Venice. As you’re aware, he’s referring to the school of philosophy he founded in Florence.”

  “The Florentine Academy.”

  “You know your history well, Mr. Cullen.”

  “I should hope so. I’ve devoted my life to it,” he said.

  “So I’ve been told,” replied Chester. “I was made aware of your extensive background in ancient classicism. You may be able to shed some light on our findings.”

  Jack smiled politely and turned to Chester. “I’m here to attend to my wife. That is my sole focus while I’m here. I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Of course,” Chester blurted. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything—”

  “Not at all.” Jack nodded reassuringly. “So basically, after the discovery of the letters, they went to Switzerland?”

  “Yes, within a few days.”

  Jack wondered if that was what Kat was referring to when she said she found something amazing. Was she referring to these letters, or something else?

  “Did Kathleen and Dr. Foley find anything else in the room? Anything besides the letters?” Jack asked.

  Chester turned to his tablet. He pulled up more scans. “Not much. A few drawings, diagrams…that sort of thing.”

  A tattered page with a hand drawn symbol popped up on the screen. Jack recognized it immediately. “I know that symbol. It’s Cosimo’s tombslab,” he said visibly enthused. “This must be the sketch he made for Verrocchio.”

  Chester nodded and shrugged as if he didn’t make the connection. “As I said, mainly letters and sketches. A few empty containers but nothing of value. It seemed that the room was simply a repository built by a collector or family member.”

  “Fascinating. How many of the letters have been examined?”

  “Only about twenty so far. A quarter of what we uncovered in the scan,” Chester replied. “Most of the letters are domestic correspondences between the family, friends and colleagues. There were also a few that were addressed to members of the state and church including one from Lorenzo Medici to Pope Sixtus IV.”

  “A letter to Sixtus? The man who betrayed him,” scoffed Jack.

  Chester nodded. “The letters spanned the family’s personal matters and bank dealings, but so far they aren’t offering much more about the family than we already knew.”

  Jack looked out the window pondering the information. He watched the Swiss landscape go by; rolling green hills and quaint cottages, dairy barns and ornately decorated houses. The view from the window was like staring at a painting framed by the towering Alps reaching high into the heavens.

  “What would have caused Kathleen to go to Switzerland?” Jack asked. It was the question that had been racking his brain.

  “Yes,” sighed Chester as he sat back in his chair. He folded up his tablet and placed it in his briefcase. “That is what TerraTEK sent me here to find out.”

  CHAPTER 5

  THE MEDICI VILLA CAREGGI, FLORENCE

  1464

  THE ROOM WAS DARK and dank. The shutters were drawn to keep out the sunlight. Padre had requested the darkness, saying that the light was bothersome to his eyes. T
he scent of perfume filled the air; Neroli and roseated oil. The sweet fragrance attempted to mask the smell of death in the room. It had not come yet, but young Lorenzo knew his grandfather, Cosimo, was drawing near his end.

  Lorenzo was just coming of age, but knew the power and influence that his grandfather held in Florence. The people called him Padre. Father. To Lorenzo, he was more—a hero, luminary or character similar to the ones he read about in storybooks. However, his current state of frailty had exposed his grandfather’s mortality and shown Lorenzo that even great men succumb to death.

  “Death is a lurking beast that no man can evade,” Padre once said.

  The old man feebly gripped Lorenzo’s hand while he lay still, listening with his eyes drawn shut. The boy stood by the old man’s bed and spoke to him to keep his mind alert and active. He told him about the stories and lectures he was learning in school. Lorenzo even read his poetry to Padre. He knew that the old man was pleased to hear his writings.

  Cosimo had taken an interest in Lorenzo at a young age and always made an effort to spend time with him. To young Lorenzo, there was simply pleasure in spending time with his grandfather. But to Cosimo it was much more. He saw strong potential in young Lorenzo so intentionally groomed him to take over the family business. Cosimo saw that Lorenzo was quick with his studies and excelled in school. He was outgoing and charismatic and above all, Lorenzo had a love for the arts. Cosimo knew the path he started to lay would continue with Lorenzo and wanted to make sure the young man was equipped to carry on the family legacy.

  “Come close,” Padre whispered.

  Lorenzo brought his face near to the old man’s. He saw the gray skin sagging over cheekbones and wondered what Padre had looked like when he was younger. The old man breathed in deeply then continued with several short breaths. “I want to give you something,” he whispered and slowly lifted a shaking hand. He pointed crookedly across the room. Lorenzo hesitantly got up and walked the direction in which the knobby finger led. He stopped at a set of shelves on which 3 boxes rested. Lorenzo looked back at the old man, then he reached for the box in the middle.

  “Si, si…” the old man wheezed. Lorenzo held the box with both hands and brought it to the side of the bed. “Open,” he commanded.

  Lorenzo reached down and unclasped the lock. He placed his thumbs beneath the ridge of the lid and lifted it, revealing an object inside. The candles in the room reflected off a long silver blade. Supporting the blade was an ornate handle with a shimmering silver crucifix expertly crafted into the metal. It was beautiful and dangerous and Lorenzo was fascinated by it. His eyes grew wide as he admired the elegant form.

  “Take it…hold it,” Padre whispered. Lorenzo saw life in the old man’s eyes as he spoke, almost as if the object emanated virility. Lorenzo reached inside and drew forth the dagger, then held it firmly in his hand.

  “Mi stiletto,” Padre said with new strength in his voice. “This family has its secrets…secrets you may need to defend…one day,” he said between breaths.

  “Padre,” marveled Lorenzo. “What secrets must I defend?”

  The old man breathed out slowly and winced as if there were much he needed to say but didn’t have the time or strength to do so. “Riches, my son. Riches…more than any man could fathom.” The old man reached down and grabbed the stiletto. He gripped Lorenzo’s hand around it with surprising strength and rested the dagger in front of Lorenzo’s heart.

  “Use this. Protect our family—it is key. You must carry this burden, little Lorenzo…for you alone…are worthy of its contents.” Then with a struggle to gather a breath he exhaled the words that were inscribed along the handle of the dagger—

  “Semper…paratus…”

  It was Latin which the old man preferred to use when discussing any matters relating to philosophy. A phrase Lorenzo had heard Padre speak many times before. So often that he attached it to his grandfather’s character…a family motto.

  Always ready.

  The old man’s breathing steadily slowed as the candles flickered and danced in the shadows above the bed. Padre’s grip loosened until his hand fell limp beside him. Death had finally come. Lorenzo looked down at the dagger and vowed to remember his grandfather’s dying words.

  Always ready.

  “I will be ready,” he whispered and remained by his grandfather’s side until the flames of the candles dimmed.

  CHAPTER 6

  LUCERNE, SWITZERLAND

  SEPTEMBER 6

  THE BLACK AUDI PULLED into the parking lot at Klinik St. Anna. Jack Cullen eagerly stepped out of the car to stretch his legs. He slung his bag over his shoulder and took a deep breath of the fresh Alpine air, filling his lungs with a generous helping of oxygen, then exhaled slowly. Across the parking lot, the massive hospital loomed high above—a somber reminder of why he had come.

  The drive to the hospital had been productive for Jack. It allowed him to be brought up to speed. He was actually taking a liking to Chester Allen and welcoming his assistance. They discussed details of the TerraTEK project and mapped out particulars that might be pertinent to the accident. It was a start. There were still many holes in their timeline, including the absence of Kat’s data log from the prior week’s dig; but by mapping it out into a timeline, they were able to identify many the missing factors.

  Chester walked briskly across the parking lot. Jack followed close behind. He took in the vast white exterior of the hospital which overlooked glassy Lake Lucerne. Instead of going in the front doors, Chester led him to a smaller structure across the parking lot from the main building. The front doors were unmarked. The brunette receptionist behind the counter didn’t seem to bother checking them in; she just motioned them straight to the elevator.

  “She’s being held in the ICU on the fourth floor,” Chester said as he pressed the elevator button. The doors closed and the elevator seemed to chug up all 4 floors as if it were a strenuous chore. Eventually they reached the fourth level and both men strolled past a series of empty rooms to the left. Jack shuddered and continued down the hallway. He was not fond of hospitals. Of course, most people weren’t. It was because they usually involved sickness or death. Furthermore, it seemed the air inside tasted of illness. It was the ever-present smell of urine and antiseptic solution that he found nauseating. He had lost both his parents to cancer and, therefore, spent a good amount of time tending to them at the hospital in Boston. Being here stirred up feelings of loss.

  “Just down here, Jack,” Chester said ushering him down the hallway. They walked past a number of open doors, many of which had their lights on but curtains drawn. The knot in the pit of Jack’s stomach seemed to wrench tighter and tighter as he neared Kathleen’s room. He was anxious to see her but also fearful—almost as if he didn’t want to confront the fact that she was in a coma. It was a brutally unnerving blend of emotions. She wouldn’t be able to greet him. He wouldn’t see her smile when he walked in the door…that beautiful smile… the way she scrunched her nose adorably when she beamed with joy.

  She would be quiescent, unresponsive. Handle it, Jack.

  He reached the end of the hall and entered the small room on the left. The site before him seemed unreal; as if he were watching events unfold in a movie onscreen. But sure enough, it was real. He stood there in the doorway, studying her. Sunshine filtered through the blinds and cast beams of light down upon Kat, asleep in the bed. She looked peaceful, as if she were simply taking a nap. Jack immediately found himself taken with emotion. He walked close and gently cupped her hand in his. He bent down next to her and watched her breathe. It was quiet inside the room. Jack studied his wife adoringly as she lay still. Kat’s dark amber hair fell softly around her strong cheekbones. Even in her current state, she was strikingly beautiful. She looked surprisingly vibrant and strong—like she would open her eyes at any moment and wrap her arms around him. There were no visible signs of injury—no wounds or cuts of any kind. She appeared unhurt, which made it all the more strange th
at she wouldn’t open her eyes.

  Wake up Kathleen. I’m here now.

  Everything’s okay…

  He sat by her side, holding her hand and talking about the girls. After a while Jack called the girls back home to make sure they were okay. They were happy to hear from their dad and asked to see a picture of their mom. He sent them a picture from his phone to which the girls texted back, She looks like an angel.

  He stood beside her—watching and praying. She was everything to him. More than anything in the world, he wanted her to wake up.

  CHAPTER 7

  LUCERNE, SWITZERLAND

  SEPTEMBER 6

  DR. GESSNER ENTERED THE room smiling. “Mr. Cullen?” he inquired.

  “Yes. I’m Jack, Kathleen’s husband.” The two men shook hands.

  “Well Mr. Cullen, your wife is a very strong woman,” Dr. Gessner said smiling.

  “Yes,” Jack said. “Kathleen has always been a fighter.”

  “That makes a big difference. Especially with patients in this condition,” the doctor said, his smile never faltering.

  Doctor Gessner was somewhere in his late fifties. His English was superb and hardly revealed a trace of a Swiss accent. He was fairly short with thin brown hair partially covering the top part of his head. His nose was rather prominent with eyes that seemed to disappear into the lines of his face when he smiled. Upon first impression, Jack found the doctor to be unexpectedly jovial about Kathleen’s condition.

  “Mr. Cullen, Kathleen is stable and resting right now. Her mind is working through some major recalibrations which can take some time to complete. Just like a computer when you power off and reboot, it takes a while to load everything back up.”

  “So you feel that she’s working her way back to recovery?” Jack asked.

  The doctor nodded. “I do, Mr. Cullen. Her brain activity is vigorous and constant. That is the most crucial factor at this stage. It’s not common, but I have seen cases like this before. There have been instances when an individual experiences extreme shock… Enough to shut down the body completely. It’s a defense mechanism—but the mind remains active—almost like a form of hibernation. Many times, patients with this level of brain activity wake up within 3 to 5 days.”