The Medici Letters: The Secret Origins of the Renaissance

by Taylor Buck

  He ducked under an arched threshold and began ascending the steps of the Campanile—the freestanding, four-sided structure nearly as high as Brunelleschi’s dome beside it. Lorenzo knew the dangers of placing himself in an enclosed area with no exit, but he had no other option. Besides, the lengthy ascent would wear any attackers down. He knew his well-conditioned stamina could withstand the climb.

  Shouts echoed behind him, along with footsteps—they were coming.

  Lorenzo continued up the dark steps, lit only by the portals allowing shafts of daylight to dart in around every turn. He reached the top of the second level and paused… he was out of breath. Why? He looked behind him to see if his attackers were approaching and noticed a trail of blood down the steps. He felt a pain in his shoulder and placed his hand upon the flesh under his jerkin. His hand withdrew, dripping with blood. The tear across his shoulder, accompanied by the multiple perforations along his back were dripping blood and draining him of strength.

  Keep moving Lorenzo. These men want to kill you.

  They had successfully murdered his little brother. They wanted to destroy the bloodline. Lorenzo suppressed waves of emotions and continued.

  He ascended the fifth flight of stairs and entered the mezzanine split by massive curving Gothic columns. A few pigeons fluttered from their high perches and flew away. The white daylight shone in from the 4 large windows around. The fresh air was welcoming and Lorenzo gasped for oxygen. He steadied himself on a column and looked out over the city below—his city.

  He heard footsteps approaching the top flight. Suddenly, a dark figure emerged from the staircase behind him, poised with a dagger and ready to engage in combat.

  “Francesco de’Pazzi!” seethed Lorenzo. “You Philistine swine!”

  He walked around the column and slowly made his way toward Francesco. Lorenzo fought back the urge to rush him. He knew he had to be tactical. He was not armed… separated from his precious stiletto—the very weapon his grandfather had told him never to be without.

  “You have your wish, Francesco. The name… Pazzi, will be remembered this day,” Lorenzo growled. “For you have sealed your own fate and now you will die. You will hang at the gallows until you’re eyes bulge from their sockets and the crows eat away your—”

  “Where is the treasure?” Francesco roared angrily.

  Lorenzo erupted in a pained laughter. He grabbed onto the column again to stabilize himself. His strength was draining.

  “The… treasure,” he said mockingly, “is nothing but lore. But you and your brothers have been so busy seeking it, you’ve neglected to attend to your business affairs.”

  Lorenzo could feel the blood seeping down his back and wetting his waistline. Soon he would lose consciousness.

  “I know it’s real,” said Francesco. “Kings have tried to defame your name, yet your family’s power continues to grow. The rumors are true. Speak or die!”

  Lorenzo’s fury rose in him like a boiling cauldron. He stumbled toward Francesco, using his remaining strength to keep upright.

  “My name,” he graveled hoarsely, “will live for eternity. No matter how many of my family members you try to claim.”

  Francesco tightened the grip on his dagger and prepared for his attack. His eyes were drawn to the pool of blood on the ground, trailing behind Lorenzo. He could see his opponent’s face growing pallid.

  “So be it,” Francesco said. “If you won’t speak of the treasure, I shall take this city without it.” He charged at Lorenzo with his dagger drawn.

  Lorenzo continued to hold himself up by leaning against the column. He felt weak. At the last second, he stepped away from the column. Francesco thrust the dagger downward as Lorenzo moved forward quickly. He reached his left arm across Francesco’s body and grabbed ahold of his wrist. The dagger dangled loosely as Lorenzo applied pressure to the wrist, using techniques he had perfected in the grappling ring. He thrust his left palm into Francesco’s sternum and heard the air release from his lungs. The dagger fell to the ground into a pool of Lorenzo’s blood.

  The men became intertwined in a bizarre weave of limbs and clothing. Lorenzo, upon hearing the dagger hit the ground, released his grasp and reached for the blade. Francesco made for it at the same time. Both hands slipped across the wet surface, causing the men to collide again, this time sending both men dangerously close to the chasm that ran down to the fourth floor of the bell tower. Francesco gathered his balance and dove again for the dagger. Lorenzo grabbed ahold of Francesco’s doublet and pulled him close, gripping him in a strong embrace. He leaned in close to Francesco’s ear and whispered, “The tale is true, Francesco Pazzi. The treasure is real…but it will never be yours…”

  Then he heaved Francesco through the inner chasm and sent him screaming to the floors far below. His cry of terror was abruptly subdued. CRACK! The sound of his body hitting the hard surface echoed through the bell tower interior.

  Lorenzo gathered what strength he had left and made his way to the open window facing the Piazza. He looked out upon the square and saw the townspeople running frantically to and fro. The chants still resounded—

  Palle! Palle! Palle!

  Grabbing the thick rope along the wall, Lorenzo pulled mightily—using his remaining strength to summon the city residents. He heaved until the bells turned and clanged loudly within the tower. Soon the toll resounded throughout the city, drawing the attention of the public upward.

  Poliziano looked up from below. He covered his eyes to block the midday sun. Giuliano Medici had just been assassinated and Lorenzo was nowhere to be seen. The people below stared up to the bell tower in confusion. The screams and panicked cries subsided as the entire city fixed on the bell tower above. There, standing in the arched window high atop the tower, was Lorenzo Medici—he was alive.

  Florence was still under Medici control.

  The town began spreading the news and a chant began to emanate through the streets. The chant soon roared throughout the city.

  Vive Lorenzo il Magnifico, Morte Pazzi.

  CHAPTER 38

  FLORENCE, ARNO RIVER

  SEPTEMBER 10

  THE LIGHTS OF THE CITY cast a reflection along the water’s edge. Cheerful couples lined the boardwalk and walked hand-in-hand enroute to catch their dinner reservations. A man stood on the corner selling flowers to passersby.

  Florence was undeniably at its most beautiful in the evening.

  Jack was reminded of when he brought Kat here ten years ago—before kids, before he had landed his job at the university… It was a time of closeness between the two of them. Their entire world was based around each other and they shared every possible moment together. Jack’s love for her had never changed throughout their marriage. Sure, they had experienced their share of arguments and disagreements, but life was never perfect. Thankfully so. Kat always found positivity in life, even when times were hard. Jack remembered how she had cared for Annie through her asthma attacks as a toddler. Staying up all night at times…

  Their lives were different now. More distractions. Less time to focus on each other and seemingly less time for anything at all. However, with Jack out of work, he actually had more time to focus on getting the family in order… just in time for Kat to disappear into this project and Annie’s asthma to return. It seemed that normalcy was a dangling carrot that mocked any truly caring or loving parent. It certainly wasn’t easy—being a father—but Jack tried to always hold to his principles. It was his duty as a father to make the best life possible for his wife and daughters, which was why it was so difficult not having a steady job. He felt like he wasn’t contributing or that he was not fulfilling the expectations of his family to provide. Over the last few months, that notion seemed to stick in his side, like a thorn. Festering. As of late, he had actually felt somewhat depressed.

  Depressed… geez.

  It seemed almost comical. What did he have to be depressed about? He knew it was merely his confidence being tested. Then Kat’s accide
nt; he was forced to shift focus, but this tragic misfortune had stirred something in him, woke him up. For the first time in a while, he actually felt oriented… driven… purposeful… alive. He desperately wanted to find out what happened to Kat. So much so that he realized he had put himself in harm’s way. He needed to be careful—for his daughters… for Kat. They needed each other.

  Jack retrieved his phone and looked at the screen to check the time. He noticed the date—Thursday, September 10. A chuckle escaped him. What a way to spend a birthday...

  Today was his 42nd birthday. He had literally forgotten it altogether. As he reflected on it, the emptiness grew. He longed to be at home, close to his family. Jack reached for his phone and dialed the Klinik. The head nurse answered. She politely informed him that Kathleen was still resting. No new activity and nothing to report. Jack informed her that he was in Florence and to reach him on his mobile phone if anything new came up. He hung up.

  Jack cut through the city and continued along the Via Lungo l’Affrico. The road began to rise out of the city and climb the foothills of Fiesole. In his rearview mirror, Florence became a blanket of lights as the sun lowered to the west and cast a purple hue across the skyline. He saw the Duomo towering above the horizon along with the dome of the Basilica of San Lorenzo. He turned up Via Vecchia Fiesolana and wound through the suffocatingly narrow street therein. The road was a single lane pathway lined with crumbling walls and thick, creeping ivy. Jack could just imagine the Medici caravan ambling along the ancient road on its way to their country retreat. Some of the greatest men of the Renaissance had taken this exact route from the city… Botticelli, Michelangelo, Poliziano, Da Vinci… most likely sharing textbooks and manuscripts that Ficino pulled from the ground’s library nearby.

  It was here… he knew it.

  Jack’s phone rang. The caller I.D. showed it was Forlino.

  He quickly debated on whether to answer it or not…

  “This is Jack.”

  “Mr. Cullen,” Forlino said. Jack noticed he was whispering. “It appears we are not alone. Someone else is sharing our common interest in these estates.”

  “How so?”

  “I discovered tracks surrounding the property at Careggi… tracks that match up identically with the MOTSU devices that we are deploying. I spoke with the villa groundskeeper and he mentioned a possible break-in early this morning.”

  “Why does he think it was a break-in? Did he see anything?”

  “Not exactly,” replied Forlino. “He said he heard… noises. However, there was no sign of entry. He had written it off until I pointed out the prints in the garden.”

  Prints? Forbes, Jack thought. He’s sending out his own bots.

  “Did you deploy the MOTSU yet?” Jack asked.

  “Yes,” Forlino replied. Jack thought he heard hesitation in his voice.

  “The MOTSU has been scanning for about 40 minutes.”

  “Okay, keep me updated if anything else comes up,” Jack said and hung up the phone. He didn’t want to continue a discussion with Forlino and he certainly didn’t want him to know that he was already at Fiesole.

  The villa came into view as he rounded a corner. It was positioned behind a large concrete rampart blocking it from the west. Upon first impression, it was rather unassuming…hardly a competitor to the other, more elaborate Medici villas. However, once Jack parked along the street and approached the garden, his perception quickly changed.

  An old man came to greet him at a side gate; he had the air of a lifelong laborer—wiry, weathered and slightly hunched. If Jack had to guess, he thought him most likely to be the caretaker. The man stared at Jack sideways, as if he was sizing him up.

  “Hello. I’m Jack Cullen,” Jack said, attempting to make this awkward intrusion less so. “I believe Signore Forlino and Signore Valente made prior arrangements for my visit?”

  The man looked long and studiously at Jack. Finally he spoke. “Si, si. Entra.”

  Jack nodded appreciatively and walked through the west gate. This unquestionably was not the main entrance to the villa grounds, but it appeared the caretaker was not interested in offering Jack the grand tour. Furthermore, he soon realized the man didn’t speak a lick of English as he continued to mumble directions to Jack in Italian, of which only certain words or phrases came through. Don’t interrupt the plants, stay on the paths.

  On the way past the gate, Jack discreetly placed Chester’s hummingbird atop the post, aimed for covering the street from which he had entered. The caretaker didn’t seem to notice, let alone care. Jack came to the realization that any attempt to converse with the caretaker to extract any knowledge of the grounds would be taxing. Jack’s capacity in the Italian language was limited—a shortcoming he regretted not addressing over the years. He would have to fend for himself in surveying the grounds for the location of the vault.

  The caretaker led Jack through a small garden on the western edge of the grounds. Knee-high boxwood hedges lined the gravel paths, carving geometric shapes within the garden that equated a cross pattern with a small water fountain in the center. A grove of Magnolia grandiflora trees provided shady patches to rest beneath for would-be visitors strolling the pathways. To the right was the Medici villa, standing tall with jade shudders contrasting vibrantly against the bone-white building. They crossed the garden and strode through a pedestrian walkway separating the main villa from the caretaker’s quarters below. Because the villa was built on a cliff, the various levels appeared to stair-step down the mountainside as opposed to being built vertically in floors. The villa sat atop the upper terrace and was held in place by a retaining wall. The pedestrian walkway separated the villa from the lower terrace, which housed the caretaker’s residence and the lower garden. A final retaining wall, complete with buttresses, held the entire residence in place—and had held strong for over 500 years.

  They approached the west gate—a rectangular opening cut into a concrete median. The scene through the opening was like setting eyes upon a framed landscape painting. The estate stretched far along the green hillside and was aptly lined with tall cypress trees all around. From the square-shaped small courtyard in the middle lined with potted red flowers, Jack could see much of the lower terrace. Grapevines crawled up the face of the large wall to the left and blooming rose bushes weaved across the pergola below. The concrete walls and tiles below Jack’s feet were heavily aged, only adding to the illustrious and ancient appeal that the villa held. As he walked across the threshold of the west gate, Jack noticed a bas-relief sculpture positioned on the wall—the Medici family crest. Two angels flanked the crest, while the coat or arms with 6 palles was being watched over by a cherub. The sculpture looked to be a recent addition, judging by its condition. Jack wondered how many palles Cosimo had chosen to include in its original rendition…

  The caretaker continued muttering directions to Jack while pointing out various objects along the path. He stopped in front of the two doors which granted access to the main villa. He stood there holding out a pair of keys for Jack.

  “Ritorna,” the man said pointing at the keys and then himself. He then motioned to his residence below.

  Jack nodded. “Si, capisco. Grazie.”

  And with that, the caretaker ducked into his small doorway and disappeared into his house.

  Jack didn’t waste any time at all. He swung the large duffle bag from his shoulder and placed it on the ground. He unzipped the bag and pulled out 3 MOTSU bots from their casing. He took a moment to marvel at the craftsmanship of these odd looking robots. Roughly the size of the disc-shaped vacuum cleaners that scour household floors, the MOTSUs were similarly shaped, but with retractable legs. From what Jack had picked up, they were meticulously designed by the TerraTEK GPR research team and had gone through over 55 variations of MODs (mobile operated design) including tank treads, carbon paddles and curved gaits. Eventually they landed on a mobility system that operated through a combination of sequences to function. The robot was a hexapo
d—using 6 legs that relied on curved gaits to move and retractable micro-claws to climb. Independent motors powered each leg while an onboard computer controlled the various motions, sensory and brainpower. The “brain” also managed communication by gathering intel and broadcasting findings in real time. The robot itself had an unorthodox appearance compared to standard GPR scanners, which were typically large units that resembled a lawn mower. This model, however, had the appearance of a disc-shaped arachnid. Like a household Roomba that sprouted legs.

  Jack placed a MOTSU on the ground and pulled open the small casing underneath. He flicked the power button on and the indicator light began glowing green. Immediately, the bot lurched forward and began trekking steadily across the tiles. The motor whined rhythmically as the legs turned in cyclical motions.

  Well, I guess that’s that. Hopefully the bot wouldn’t take long to transmit its findings. He planned to place the other two bots inside. Running 3 MOTSU bots simultaneously offered the advantage of not only tripling efficiency, but it also allowed the bots to cross check each other’s findings and use the most accurate readings from each to construct the underground map. It was state-of-the-art technology that was intrinsically based on swarm behavioral patterns. The robots communicated with each other and actually worked together to gather results. This kind of programming required an astounding degree of complex engineering from which Kathleen had written the book. And with TEKSCAN fully operational… the possibilities were limitless. The world of subsurface data mining was on the cusp of a technological revolution and Kat was leading the charge.