The Medici Letters: The Secret Origins of the Renaissance

by Taylor Buck

  “Jack! We’ve got to go now!” Forbes commanded as he grabbed under Jack’s arm to pull him.

  Jack shook him off. Forbes didn’t press it further, he ran toward the shed to find cover.

  Why? Jack kept asking himself. Such a waste… Jack knew he needed to move, but he found it hard to think straight. He picked up his feet and started to run when something caught his eye. A shiny object in the gravel was sticking up from the ground. The dagger he had grabbed off the wall now rested in the gravel—split into two halves. But something had fallen out from inside the dagger.

  Something shiny.

  Jack walked over to the item and snatched it up. He turned it over and realized he was holding a key of some kind.

  This came from inside the dagger?

  Using his thumb and index finger to grip the shank, he held the key above his head. He placed it directly in front of the glowing moon so the key shape was silhouetted. A gasp escaped Jack’s lips as he realized what he was holding. The moon shown through the bow revealing detailed geometric shapes—circles, squares…

  The pattern on Cosimo’s tombslab.

  Jack realized immediately what he was holding… the second key—Cosimo’s key. Un’icona. It must have been concealed inside the dagger. Jack was beside himself. The dagger he had grabbed off the wall belonged to Cosimo de’Medici himself. This was the dagger that both Cosimo and Lorenzo carried throughout their lives. He recalled the words written over 500 years ago by Cosimo to Marsilio Ficino. His stiletto guides and protects him… “His compass to locate the truth,” Jack said aloud.

  It was the very key that would get them inside the treasure vault.

  This was almost too easy…

  Across the courtyard, Forbes reached the shed and turned around, expecting to see Jack behind him. But Jack wasn’t there. He took a few steps back and spotted him across the courtyard holding something… an object up to the sky. He whistled sharply to get his attention.

  WHOOSH, WHOOSH, WHOOSH—

  Jack heard a pained groan from the direction where Forbes was. He looked up to see Forbes suddenly stumbled forward awkwardly grabbing his shoulder before coiling to the ground.

  “Forbes!” Jack yelled. He quickly darted across the courtyard to help. Just before he reached the lemonaia, he heard a sound—like a boomerang whipping through the air.

  Whoosh, Whoosh, WHOOSH—THWACK!

  Only an arm’s length away a hefty throwing knife split an exterior post on the lemonaia. The sheer force of the pitch wedged the blade deep into the wood. Jack swung his head around and saw another hooded figure through the hedges… this one wielding some kind of medieval battle-axe. Unlike the previous surreptitiously swift assassins, the approaching figure moved like a dozer—plowing its way straight toward them.

  Forbes was still down, writhing and moaning in pain. Jack had no time to think. He clutched Forbes underneath the arms and dragged him inside the shed. Once Forbes’ feet were clear, Jack whipped the sliding metal door shut. The sound of the gravel crunching outside grew louder. The figure was approaching fast. Jack scoured the interior quickly. A dim light bulb swayed above the door providing just enough light to barely see the inside of the room. Hurry up, Jack. Move! Next to the door, a variety of landscaping tools hung along the wall. He grabbed a shovel and wedged it between the handle.

  KACHANK!

  The force to the door knocked Jack backward. He saw the shovel fly out of the handle and clatter onto the ground. The door was open. Jack scrambled to his feet and lodged the shovel between the handle before the assassin could charge again.

  KACHANK!

  The door rattled back and forth but held this time. The shovel wouldn’t last long—maybe one or two more hits. He looked around… There. At the table beside him… at his feet… a stud chain.

  He pulled the heavy links from their resting place on the floor and wrapped them through the door handle.

  KACHANK!

  The door trembled again violently, but the chain kept it firmly shut.

  CLANK! CLANK!

  The assassin had given up on the metal door and was now trying to axe his way through the wood siding. A small hole appeared between panels and began to grow in size with each swing. Jack shifted focus to Forbes. He kneeled down beside him, noticing a thick pool of blood forming underneath his shoulder.

  “What the hell happened?” Jack shouted.

  “I don’t know,” Forbes grunted. “He stabbed me!”

  Jack tried to inspect the wound in the darkness. He felt something protruding from Forbes’ shoulder. It was cold steel, thick and long, buried deep into the flesh. From the feel of the blunt handle Jack knew what it was.

  Forbes reached his fingers over the handle and started to pull.

  “No, no. Stop!” Jack said. “Don’t pull it out. It’ll start gushing. You’ll bleed out in seconds. You’re going to have to leave it in.”

  “I can’t leave it in!”

  CLANG!

  The metal door shook again.

  “How bad is the pain?” Jack asked, his eyes fixed on the door.

  “It feels like I have a damn knife in my shoulder!” Forbes snarled.

  “Okay, okay. Can you move?”

  CRACK! A jagged splinter of wood whipped past Forbes’ head and stuck in the back wall. “Yeah…” he said sitting up wide-eyed. “I can move.”

  “Good,” Jack said. “We’ve got to go now.”

  Jack stood up and walked to the back of the shed. Using his boot he tapped on the wooden floorboards beneath him. “We only have one option,” he said dourly. “Down.”

  CRACK! The small fracture in the siding was now the size of a football.

  “Here. Take this,” Forbes said tossing his shoulder bag over to Jack.

  Jack caught it and withdrew the nanopaper.

  “Find where the entry point is.”

  The pixels instantly came to life, showing a rendering of the room they were in. In the far left corner, a short stairway appeared. Jack glanced in the direction of the stairs, seeing nothing but wheelbarrows and bags of fertilizer.

  CLANG!

  The shovel wedged between the door handles cracked, and then exploded apart.

  “It’s right here!” Jack called out as he stepped into the shadows. He tried to use the nanopaper’s glowing surface to guide his way, but it wasn’t bright enough to do much good. Jack looked around the maintenance shed for something to use as a light. His eyes drifted across the tools and drawers on the workbench until he spotted an old kerosene lamp—cherry red, slightly rusted, but looked to be a working flat-wick, cold blast lamp. He picked it up and shook it, hearing a small amount of kerosene slosh around inside. After quickly searching through the small drawers, he found a box of matches. He lit the lamp and watched the warm glow slowly illuminate the back of the shed.

  Jack stood directly over the area where the staircase should be. He paused, realizing something… It was quiet. The pounding had stopped. He glanced at the door inquisitively. The assassin had moved on.

  “He’s gone,” Jack whispered.

  “Maybe he gave up,” Forbes replied.

  “Or maybe he’s getting a bigger axe.”

  Jack surveyed the few tiny, dirty windows around the shed, trying to get a glimpse outside. He couldn’t see anything. Darkness. He moved aside two large bags of fertilizer and kneeled low to the ground, casting the light of the lamp over the aged wooden planks. He rapped on the board with his knuckles and listened to the pitch.

  It sounded hollow. A good sign.

  The wood flooring was visibly antiquated but still well intact. It would take some prying to get the boards off. Luckily, they were surrounded with a surplus of landscaping tools. He hung the lamp from a rusted nail and grabbed a pickaxe out of a thickly cobwebbed nook. He raised the axe high above his head and thrust the sharp point deep into the floorboards. Instantly the board cracked and splintered, leaving a small hole behind. It only took 3 swings to loosen the boards enough to
pull them away. Jack placed the axe against the workbench and hung the lamp over the dark hole beneath. He peered into the space below.

  “What do you see?” Forbes called out.

  “There’s a crawlspace,” Jack replied. “Enough to stand up. I’m going down.”

  Forbes hobbled over to see for himself. He walked slowly, clenching his arm tight. Jack could see blood dripping off his hands and trailing along the boards below.

  “You’ve got to stop that bleeding,” Jack said.

  Forbes was in danger of hypovolemic shock. Jack knew he wouldn’t last long without attending to the blood flow. He hopped out of the hole and scavenged a cinch cord from a crate beneath the workbench then wrapped it around Forbes’ shoulder. With his left hand securing the loop above the wound, Jack pulled the cord tight. Forbes winced in pain and let out a muffled groan. The cord held tightly and Jack used the remaining slack to tie it around Forbes’ chest, disbursing the load off the hurt shoulder.

  “There,” Jack said. “That should slow down the bleeding.”

  “Thanks,” Forbes said weakly. His face was covered in tiny beads of sweat and his usually ruddy complexion was already growing pale. He needed medical treatment, but they had no way of getting out.

  “You good?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. Let’s go in.”

  Outside, a cloaked figure watched from the window as the two men inside unearthed an ancient passage that had been closed off for hundreds of years.

  This underground passage leads to a trove of riches.

  The events taking place were going according to plan. The two men inside had succeeded in locating the precise location of the Thēsauros. It was only a matter of time before the treasure was revealed.

  It was so close now… I can feel it.

  He clenched his fists and felt a surge of excitement tingle across his neck and spread down the follicles of his back. The scarred skin beneath the cloak tensed as the sensation passed.

  Soon it will be mine, he thought as he watched through the window, concealed within the dark shadows of the night.

  CHAPTER 44

  FLORENCE

  1485

  THE APPLAUSE ROSE FROM the narrow street as the speech ended.

  Marsilio Ficino watched as the enigmatic figure drew his hood and descended the steps of the stage then disappeared into the alleyway like a snake retreating to its hole. The crowd that had gathered to hear this mysterious man speak slowly disbursed back to their affairs—not quite sure what to think of it all. A few men lingered to discuss what they had just heard. Whispers began to grow and word started to spread of a prophet taking the city of Florence by storm.

  A young man, no older then 15 or 16, donning a black tunic and red cuffing emerged from the crowd and approached Ficino. “Father. Surely you know. Pray tell, what is that man’s name?”

  Ficino looked the young man up and down, noticing at once his honest eyes and determined tone.

  “He speaks with such conviction, dare I say… prophetic,” the young man continued. “Do you really believe he converses with God as he claims?”

  Ficino chuckled. “My son, you need not be a prophet to converse with God. Any man may speak to God should he choose to.”

  “Yes, I understand,” the young man said considering how to rephrase his inquiry. “But he is different. He is not just any man.”

  Ficino sighed and adjusted his red cap. “No… he’s certainly not.”

  “What do they call him?”

  “From what I’ve heard he is a member of the Dominican Order. The people call him, Savanarola.”

  “Savanarola?” the young man echoed. “He is a member of the church?”

  “No, no… A friar—a wandering nomad only passing through. At least I anticipate so,” Ficino added under his breath.

  “You don’t agree with his ideals?” the young man asked curiously.

  Ficino smiled warmly. “My boy, I have no interest in heeding the brazen opinions of a drifter.” He looked up to the sky. “I am held accountable by a much worthier source.”

  “But do you not agree that we must change our ways in order to receive absolution?”

  “Change our ways?” Ficino remarked jeeringly. “Certainly not. Look around you.” He grabbed the young man by the shoulder and turned him to face the city skyline. “This city is a thriving symbol of what God is capable of. The grand basilicas, the tall campaniles, the graceful statues and vibrant frescoes along the streets… everything crafted in this fine city is proof that God exists. We have been bestowed with abilities to make divine works that will last the ages. These gifts were handed to us. Why should we be ashamed of them?”

  The young man seemed to light up. “It is a joy to hear you sanction them so openly. I too enjoy these works.” He looked at Ficino with blue penetrating eyes. “And I believe you are correct about the vast abilities that we humans are able to accomplish. It would be a travesty to deprive anyone, especially artisans, of their God-given talents.”

  Ficino nodded and turned to him. “By your observations, I take it you are an artisan yourself? Or a student of philosophy, per chance?”

  “Not quite,” the young man replied. “My passion lies in politics.”

  “Politics? Well I suppose there is always need for a man of principle to represent the people. What is your name, young master?”

  “Niccolò, my lord.”

  “I have an academy, Niccolò, that you may find apposite. You are welcome to sit in on a debate. Who knows? It may be of intrigue to you. We could always use more Humanists to represent our voice among state affairs.”

  Niccolò appeared pleased at the invitation. “It is only happenstance that this meeting should have occurred. I assure you rightly.”

  “Please. Make no excuses for this engagement. You are welcomed to interpret this introduction as you choose; however, I believe all encounters are predestined… written in the stars.”

  Niccolò nodded. “I have heard of your school. Its reputation is well esteemed. I will come. You have my word.”

  “Very well. Until then. Good day.”

  “Good day.”

  With a wave, Niccolò disappeared into the crowd.

  CHAPTER 45

  FLORENCE, THE LEMONAIA

  SEPTEMBER 10

  JACK LOWERED HIMSELF CAREFULLY through the floorboards. A 5 foot drop touched him down on the soft earth below. It was cool and damp below the lemonaia. The small kerosene lamp easily lit up the surroundings. Around him, old concrete footings and rickety support beams spanned the vertical distance to the floorboards above. Jack scanned the crawlspace for any sign of an entrance. He saw no obvious doorway.

  “What do you see?” yelled Forbes from above.

  “Not much,” answered Jack. “Dirt and rotting wood.”

  Besides the teeming insect life, Jack couldn’t find signs of inhabitance or activity. It was clear nobody had been under the shed for years. But had it been hundreds of years? Jack knew that was really the question.

  “It should be in the far west corner,” Forbes said as his face appeared above the hole in the floorboards. “About 5 feet to your left.”

  Jack walked in the suggested direction and stopped directly over the area that the map pointed out. He was standing exactly where the entrance to the tunnel should start. The problem was…there was no such tunnel. He gazed down at the soil, pushing aside the dirt using the heel of his boot. The ground was soft and thick.

  “Here,” Forbes grunted, lowering down a flathead shovel with a wood handle through the opening. Jack grabbed it and sunk it into the soft earth. He scooped aside a few piles of soil and began to carve out a circle about 4 feet in diameter. He quickly skimmed off a good 6 inches and then began to put his weight into it. Using his right boot to apply his bodyweight, he sunk the shovel almost a foot into the hole before he hit something hard.

  “What was that?” Forbes asked, hearing the heavy clunk from the shovel. />
  “There’s something down there,” Jack said as he scooped another shovelful to the side. Fueled by wishful expectation, he made quick work of the hole, flinging dirt to the side with ease. A minute later, he had uncovered a concrete cylindrical disc. It looked almost like a manhole cover, at roughly 3-4 feet wide. There were no markings on top, nothing displaying the significance of what the disc represented. But whatever lay beneath seemed to have been closed off purposefully.

  “I need something sturdy to pry this open.”

  Forbes disappeared and reemerged a moment later lugging a thick, iron pry bar over the side of the opening. “Try this,” he said.

  Jack positioned the pry bar under the beveled lip of the cover. The pointed end rested perfectly under the covering. Jack took a breath and pushed down, heaving his bodyweight onto the iron bar. Immediately, the corner above the bar gave to the pressure and crumbled away, leaving behind a small hole in the cover. Jack positioned the bar inside the hole then he pried again. This time, the entire disc split in half and crumbled into the opening below, leaving behind a gaping black void to the subterranean depths.

  “Bingo,” Jack said.

  “That’s our tunnel,” said Forbes. “My scan was right.”

  Jack lowered the lamp inside the hole and noticed a set of concrete stairs descending deeper into the cold earth. The air coming from the opening had a strange scent… like fertilizer or potting soil… damp and very potent.

  “You go ahead,” said Forbes. “I’ll watch your back from here.” He looked down and checked the mag of his handgun.

  Jack looked up. “Are you sure?”

  The slide clicked as Forbes prepped a round into the chamber. “Yeah. I’m better off standing guard here anyway. That thing is coming back and when he does… I’ve got a present for him.” Forbes gripped the gun tightly with his good arm, knowing that he needed to make the most of the one bullet.