The Medici Letters: The Secret Origins of the Renaissance

by Taylor Buck

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” the man offered in a smoky, baritone voice.

  “Not at all!” Forlino said jauntily walking over to place a friendly arm around the visitor. “Mr. Cullen, meet Signore Valente. He is the head financier of the Medici Preservation Society.”

  Valente moved in to shake Jack’s hand. “An honor to meet you, Mr. Cullen. My deepest sympathies to you and your family regarding your wife.”

  “Thank you. Very kind of you,” Jack said.

  Valente kept eye contact. “Of course… I hope you know how brilliant your wife is. Kathleen has a special gift. This city owes her a debt of gratitude.”

  Jack nodded. It was obvious that Kathleen had made quite an impression on the members involved with the project. He was accustomed to hearing high praise about Kat’s achievements and like any proud spouse… he never tired of it. Jack was always first to applaud her brilliance.

  “It’s not often that people in our field come across such an expert on the Medici. Kathleen, Massimo and myself had quite a good time discussing Medici history.” He cocked his head curiously at Jack. “I understand that you’re a studied man on the family as well. Is that true?”

  “As I was telling Signore Forlino here, Kathleen was by far the expert. I know of them through my curricular studies. I teach, well… taught, a course entitled The Origins of the Renaissance. You can’t teach that course without knowing the Medici family tree quite well.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” Valente chuckled. “Speaking of your studies… I want you to know, I read your book.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes!” Valente’s face lit up. “I found it absolutely fascinating. Your research was methodical and your theories were precisely constructed… it was as if you stripped down the issue to its most raw form, and in the end… only truth remained. I found myself questioning everything I had ever known about ancient deities.”

  Jack was taken aback by his adulation. “I’m flattered, Mr. Valente. As you’re aware, the issue is an impassioned one. Many varying opinions. I’m happy to hear you’re on the approving end.”

  “I’m honored to have read it,” Valente said. “As an admirer of ancient literature myself, I found it nothing short of revolutionary.”

  Suddenly Jack got the feeling that Forlino and Valente were deliberately feeding his ego. They either felt responsible for Kathleen’s situation or they were attempting to recruit him for something. Either way, Jack had already offered to help continue the dig. He couldn’t help but be impressed by the professionalism of the two men.

  “Even though we are both investors of the Medici Preservation Society, Valente here is really the one behind the funding. I’m more involved with the actual hands-on supervising,” Forlino said.

  “Yes, it seems somebody needs to bankroll your infinite exploits,” Valente said lightheartedly. They all joined in a laugh.

  “Chester here has offered access to his excavation machinery to finish the dig! We have this coming week to finalize the dig,” Forlino said.

  Valente looked astonishingly over at Chester, who was standing with his arms crossed. “I was under the impression that TerraTEK pulled funding?”

  “We did. The equipment is on loan for the week. That is all,” Chester answered.

  “Well, then I thank you, Mr. Allen. We are indebted to your hospitality as well. Shall we return your favor with… say… dinner in the city? I could also arrange something here.”

  “Jack was just mentioning how he would enjoy a tour of the dig,” Forlino interjected.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind I’d like to see what Kathleen’s been working on,” Jack said.

  “But of course,” Valente replied, straightening his perfectly pressed collar. “Let us be sure to treat you at some point during your stay in Florence.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  Jack caught Valente’s gaze which lingered awkwardly for a moment as if he wanted to say more. Jack nearly prompted him to ask what was on his mind when Chester chimed in.

  “Jack, we should be going now,” he said. “We still need to check in at our hotel.”

  “Nonsense!” Forlino snapped. “You are my guests. I invited you here to get you away from the chaos. I insist you lodge here with us. The villa transcends time and places our hearts close to the brilliant philosophers that roamed the halls. Please. You need solace, Mr. Cullen.”

  “If it’s no hassle—”

  “Not at all. I’ll show you to your rooms. Once you’re settled, I will arrange transportation to the city.” He slipped his arm over Jack’s shoulder. “You’ll get to see our dig site and get a firsthand account of your wife’s hard work.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Jack said. “Hopefully we can find some clues there.”

  Forlino nodded. “You know, I was impressed with her disregard to customary rank. Kathleen was always digging around, getting her hands dirty. I don’t know of any other chief executives who would do such a thing.”

  Jack smiled warmly. “ Well…there’s no one else like Kathleen.”

  “There certainly isn’t, Mr. Cullen,” Forlino said, chuckling lightly as he ushered Jack into the house.

  CHAPTER 13

  SANT’ANTONIO DEL VESCOVO, NORTH OF FLORENCE

  1466

  LORENZO SCANNED THE ROAD ahead of him. The path snaked across a valley and disappeared behind a row of Cypress trees to the left. The sun’s sweltering heat seemed to hover along the distant horizon and blur the foliage. The repetitive thumping of hooves upon the dry earth was rhythmic and lulling forcing Lorenzo to struggle to stay alert. He stopped and rested momentarily beneath a cool patch of shade. Directly overhead, the large olive trees provided a protective canopy as the Medici lorry passed noisily underneath.

  Lorenzo’s horse, Morello di Vento (black horse of the wind) tensed suddenly as they exited the trees and entered the clearing. Lorenzo eased back on the reins. “Shh. Calm down.” He stroked the horse’s mane to ease his nerves. The muscular animal responded immediately, relaxing his frame and slowing to a walk. Lorenzo studied the surrounding tree line keenly, shaking off his weariness and focusing his eyes.

  Stay alert, Lorenzo.

  He ran his fingers over the handle of the stiletto fixed at his side. His grandfather’s gift was always close by. Padre’s voice echoed daily through Lorenzo’s mind.

  Always ready.

  The Medici family was enroute to their retreat in Careggi. They had gone shopping in town and were transporting newly purchased furniture to their country villa. Seventeen year old Lorenzo and his younger brother, Giuliano, led the group which included their father and servants.

  Lorenzo heard his father’s sigh of relief as they paused beneath the shady covering.

  He knew Piero wasn’t taking well to the heat, especially in his condition. In order to travel long distances, he needed to be carried in a horse-drawn lorry to keep the pressure off his legs. He rode in a covered coach with an elevated chair that Lorenzo had built himself.

  As the eldest son, Lorenzo had assumed the role of protector. It was a responsibility his grandfather had tasked to him. Now a young man, Lorenzo had fulfilled this role aptly. He mastered many of the responsibilities and duties that came along with being an esteemed Florentine man—education, gracefulness and good manners. He trained as an athlete and excelled among his peers in sporting events—which included jousting and fighting. He was also an acclaimed hunter and a master of hawking. But most of all, he loved his horses, especially Morello di Vento. Ever since he was a young boy, he raised the young steed and looked after him faithfully. The two had become inseparable. Whenever Lorenzo needed to get away from the city he would escape with Morello to the rolling hills and quiet pastures of Tuscany.

  Today, his beloved horse was helping him guide the lorry safely home.

  Lorenzo rode ahead, distancing himself from the caravan. A raven flew low along the path beside him before it swooped back into the sky. It joined fo
rmation with the congress above. How Lorenzo wished he could fly with them—to see everything from the heavens—to soar high above the hills and caress the clouds.

  He tugged on the reins and paused to take in his surroundings. Something was wrong. The positioning of the road ahead was troubling. The terrain was densely overgrown by grapevines and the lack of peripheral visibility raised concerns. Should any attack come, they would be at a severe disadvantage. He stooped low to scan the open valley around him, breathing in heavily—ingesting his surroundings. He had learned to read the land and listen to the wind. His many hunts had made him keen on tracking and hunting, as well as listening to the cues nature provided. Even the most basic logic, such as how to move stealthily and knowing when to take high ground, could make the difference in avoiding an ambush.

  Lorenzo looked back down the road to Giuliano. He nodded at him to stay put, then Lorenzo went ahead of the group to scout out the path. Something curious pulled at him… an itch in his senses. He trotted through the field and approached the Cypress trees lining the path like sentinels. After examining the tree line he dismounted and stood by his horse, peering down the path. He ducked low and slowly moved off to the side of the road. The tall grass in the field concealed him and allowed him to crawl along the path unnoticed. Lorenzo reached the middle of the path and crept forward to the gnarled trunk of a Cypress tree. He slowly surveyed the path from its widest point to where it became narrow further down. His eyes scanned the bushes and trees until something grabbed his attention… a glimmer, the reflection of sunlight on metal. Next to it, a wooded bow protruded from a bush—harnessing a razor-sharp arrow.

  Troops!

  From the Modena and Reggio districts to the north, based on their dress. To the left, he noticed others, partially concealed by the surrounding laurel hedges. Lorenzo’s blood boiled and his adrenaline raged inside. He knew they were there for him. They wanted to assassinate him and bring annihilation on the family… The fate of today resided in his hands. Lorenzo imagined himself sneaking up and killing them one by one; holding his hand over their mouths as he slowly ran his stiletto across their soft throats.

  Pitti, he thought. I curse the name.

  The Pitti family were Florentine bankers, notorious in their rivalry with the Medici for power over Florence. Lately, rumors had spread around the city of a clash between the two powerful families. Lorenzo knew it was only a matter of time before they attempted to remove his father from power, especially the older and weaker he became. The Pitti were ruthless… savage, like wild dogs circling a wounded animal. They wanted blood, and now they could smell it. But so did Lorenzo. After all, they were here to take his father’s life. His grandfather warned of this.

  I am ready.

  Lorenzo slowly backed away from the path. He disappeared into the fields and emerged beside his horse. Slowly, he guided his horse back to the lorry. His younger brother ran forward, eager to hear a report, but Lorenzo went straight to his father.

  “Father, there are men waiting along the road. I spotted them from a distance. Behind the trees. At least 6 men, maybe more.”

  Piero’s eyes narrowed. He gazed down the path before him.

  “Troops from the north,” Lorenzo explained, “Modena and Reggio. They bore the black and white symbols of Ferrara.”

  “d’Este,” rasped Piero.

  “Yes, they are Ercole’s men, but Father…we both know they were sent by Pitti.”

  Lorenzo was also aware of the d’Este brothers, Ercole and Borso, who ruled the northern state of Modena and Reggio. Borso was Duke of Ferrara and Ercole commanded the troops. The duke was threatened by Florence’s expanding territorial lines which bordered his land to the north. There had been whispers of a coup to overthrow the Medici and remove them from control of Florence. It made sense that the Pitti and d’Este families would collaborate on a takeover. The d’Este brothers would subsequently have assurance of their territorial borders and the Pitti would assume Florentine rule. It seemed everyone was jealous of the tremendous power the Medici held. In a time where land was in constant jeopardy, influence was king.

  Piero placed his hand upon Lorenzo’s shoulder. “You are the eldest son. It is your place to decide what we should do.”

  Lorenzo looked up at his father knowing that his next decision held that fate of the family. It was a moment he wouldn’t take for granted. He knew it was his responsibility to defend their name…a duty he embraced.

  “I have an idea,” he said smirking mischievously.

  The lorry lumbered down the dusty path, wooden wheels squeaking with every rotation. They approached the Cypress groves and continued forward. Giuliano led the group while the caravan followed close behind. The curtains of the cabin were drawn, blocking out the intense sun and making it difficult to see inside the coach. The caravan rolled down the middle of the road until it came to a stop directly in front of the troops. Suddenly, Giuliano’s horse reared up and the rider yelled loudly. He revealed himself as a Medici man-servant dressed in Giuliano’s clothes. After he sounded the call he took off down the path leaving the lorry behind. The troops bordering the road emerged one by one, confused and unaware of what was taking place. They poked their heads up, giving away their position. Suddenly the curtains on the lorry were pulled back and blinding light poured into the trees. Large mirrors hung out of the cabin—mirrors that Lorenzo had purchased in town to transport to the villa. The blinding light sent the troops into disarray.

  Another cry broke the silence as a black horse burst through the trees immediately trampling two men facing the caravan. Lorenzo jumped off his horse with incredible agility and ran at the remaining attackers with his dagger drawn. On the other side of the road, Giuliano burst through on horseback knocking an assailant into the road. The trooper rolled down under the left wheel of the lorry. Lorenzo’s servant, seeing the attacker at the base of the wheels, grabbed the reins and whipped the horses forward. The trooper attempted to claw away from the path of the caravan but wasn’t quick enough. He was crushed under the wheel, armor splitting apart under the weight of the cart.

  WHOOSH.

  Giuliano heard an arrow fly past his right ear. He turned and looked in the direction as another arrow rushed by, missing his head by a hair’s length. From across the road he saw a soldier loading another arrow into his bow. There was not time to counter. The soldier turned to fire again but before he could release the line, an arrow skewered his eye socket, impaling him into a nearby olive tree.

  Giuliano looked across the road. He spotted Lorenzo, his bow drawn firmly with another arrow resting across his fingers, scanning the trees for any remaining men.

  The bushes parted. A horse leapt out from down the road.

  A trooper. Escaping.

  Lorenzo pulled the line back to his cheek and focused down the long arrow. Grapevines and bushes obstructed the fleeing man. The shot wasn’t certain… but Lorenzo released. The arrow soared in a straight line, splitting through the air and traveling steady. It entered flesh, piercing through the man’s left arm cleanly.

  He jerked forward but continued on.

  Lorenzo quickly mounted his horse. In one swift movement he swung the bow across his back and galloped down the path after the trooper. The man was almost out of sight. Lorenzo rode fast and began drawing nearer, closing the gap. He knew he needed to move quickly. His thoughts went to his father. Lorenzo had sent Piero ahead on horseback through a different route. He had circumvented the attack, but his clever efforts would be worthless if he didn’t catch the last rider. Lorenzo dug his heels in and screamed for Morello to run faster. The horse dropped his head and charged forward at a blinding pace.

  Distance was closing. The man was nearer now.

  They rounded a corner approaching a bridge. Up ahead, Lorenzo spotted his father waiting at the bridge on the side of the road. His father, seeing two riders closing in on horses, stood up and stared back with a look of confusion. The enemy trooper realized Piero was defensele
ss and seized the opportunity. He drew his dagger and prepared to strike.

  Lorenzo saw the scene unfolding. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to reach his father in time to prevent an attack he reacted instantly, dropping the reins and reaching along his saddle to grab the last arrow. In a single, fluid movement, he raised the bow and inserted the arrow. Then he stood in the stirrups, using all his muscles to stand steady while drawing the bow backward in a swift action. Everything around him slowed down—like time itself was stopping. All was silent. Lorenzo’s eyes grew wide as he calculated the distance and honed in his senses. For a moment he felt as if he was watching from above, soaring over the trees… the eyes of the raven guiding his arrow. He had his prey in his sights now. Lorenzo exhaled and let the arrow fly.

  The attacker, with his dagger raised, suddenly lurched forward. The arrow entered through his spine and lifted him off the horse. He tumbled violently across the bridge and landed face first, dashing his head against the sharp rocks along the water’s edge. Bright crimson blood poured into the clear, fresh water. The horse scampered off down the road. The rider remained slumped across the water’s edge, no longer moving.

  Lorenzo came to a halt next to his father. He dismounted and helped Piero sit down. “Are you hurt, Father?”

  “No—just humbled. I lack the strength to stand and fight anymore. My disease has claimed my masculinity.”

  “You need not fight, Father. That is my responsibility now.”

  Piero grabbed Lorenzo’s hand and pulled him down. “Sit with me,” he said.

  Lorenzo knelt beside his father.