The Medici Letters: The Secret Origins of the Renaissance

by Taylor Buck

  “Attacked?” Valente asked with concern. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m okay but—”

  “Who attacked you?”

  Good question. A medieval ninja with an impressive sword collection. It seemed nothing sounded too far-fetched, Jack thought. “I don’t know… some hooded assassin, or group of assassins.”

  “Il fantasma?”

  “Yes,” answered Jack. “It’s the same people that attacked Kathleen. Listen, I found the room but I’m trapped under the villa and I need your help.”

  “You actually found it?” Valente asked inquisitively.

  “Yes. It’s all here. Frankly, it’s… amazing.” Jack realized he was echoing his wife’s exact words. “But I need your help. Morgan Forbes is also here but he was attacked. I’m not sure if he made it out or not.”

  “Oh my… of course. I will call the authorities at once.”

  No, thought Jack. The last thing he wanted was to have the Carabinieri barge onto the site. This whole place would turn into a media frenzy in a matter of minutes if news got out as to what they found there. He pictured the miniature Ovetti cars, the loud sirens—the men tromping through the tunnels and rifling through the manuscripts.

  “Is there any way you could be more discreet?”

  A pause. “Yes, of course. If you’re worried about the attention it may draw… I’ll come myself.”

  “No…” Jack cut in. “No. That’s not what I meant. It’s too dangerous here. I can’t put you at risk too.”

  “What about Mr. Allen? Is he with you as well?”

  Chester... “No. I have reason to believe Mr. Allen was working against me from the start.”

  “I see…” said Valente. He grew quiet as if contemplating the information. “Are you armed?”

  Jack’s focus was pulled momentarily as he noticed a small gap between the hutch and the back wall. He ducked down and scanned the back wall for an exit, running his fingers along the groove where the wood met the hard wall. He followed the length of the hutch, searching for any signs of a secret doorway.

  “Mr. Cullen?”

  “Sorry, what was that?”

  “Are you armed? Do you have anything to protect yourself with?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, try to find something to use as a weapon. I’m coming over right now. I have just the people in mind who can help with this kind of thing. Forlino and I will—”

  “No,” Jack cut in. “We have to keep Forlino out of this for the moment. I can’t explain right now but it’s best if we don’t involve him.”

  “Mr. Cullen, I—”

  “Please,” Jack said. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  “Okay,” replied Valente. “Where exactly are you right now?”

  “I’m in a hidden chamber, underneath the—”

  BEEP, BEEP

  Jack was cut off by a chime on his phone. The familiar sound indicated he had received a message. It appeared on his screen—short and vague, displaying only two letters side by side.

  IV

  However, it wasn’t the message that took Jack by surprise… it was the sender of the message. The message had come from Kat’s phone.

  Is this actually from Kat? Is she awake? Maybe the message was from before she had the accident. It was possible. Sometimes text messages get held up for various reasons. Maybe she texted him prior to the accident. Maybe the nurse had just plugged the phone in, which in turn activated the outgoing messages…

  Jack looked at the message again—IV.

  It hit him. She is trying to tell me something. Kat must have known about the inscription on the bust. Maybe she even knew about the key inside. He needed to call back immediately to see if she was okay. As he went to dial, he realized Valente was still on the phone.

  “Valente?”

  “Mr. Cullen? I’m sorry but I can’t help you unless I know exactly where I can find you.”

  “Yes. Sorry,” Jack said now feeling very overwhelmed. “On the estate there is a lemonaia at the main entrance—a small shed. Along the back wall is an opening in the floorboards that will drop you into a tunnel. Follow the main tunnel until it forks. There will be a staircase to the left. You will find a small opening beneath those steps that will lead you to the chamber.”

  “Understood,” replied Valente. “I’m on my way.”

  “And Valente,” Jack said, “Be careful.”

  “Of course.”

  Jack hung up. He immediately dialed Kathleen’s number. It rang 3 times before a woman answered it. He hoped to hear Kat’s voice, but the voice was not his wife’s.

  “Mr. Cullen?”

  “Is she awake?” Jack blurted.

  The woman on the other line paused. “Mr. Cullen—Yes. You’re wife has gained consciousness. She’s alert and coherent but resting right now. Within a few hours she should be able to speak to you.”

  “She’s awake!” Jack shouted elatedly.

  “Yes, Mr. Cullen,” the nurse said, “I suggest you come to the hospital as soon as possible. She’ll want to see you.”

  Trust me, lady. I would love to get out of here.

  “Yes! Thank you. I will be there as quickly as I can,” Jack said and hung up.

  He sank to the ground. A feeling of utter jubilation overtook him. He couldn’t move—he was paralyzed with joy. Kat is awake. He would be able to see her… the girls would have their mother back. He felt tears of happiness well in his eyes and a smile spread across his face. With shaking hands he began to dial his daughters back home to tell them the good news… their mom was coming home. He pulled up the number and placed his thumb on the SEND button. Suddenly, a noise sounded from the door to the chamber. He turned around to look. The massive door in which he had entered seemed to be clicking.

  Someone was coming in.

  How? Then he quickly realized…. The other key! The assassins stole the bust in Siena. The second key is still in their possession.

  Click…

  Jack ran toward the door but didn’t get there in time. The bronze slab swung wide and a dark figure emerged from the shadows. Jack found himself stumbling back in surprise. The figure was cloaked from head to toe in medieval warrior regalia. A thick hooded cloak enclosed the man’s head and draped over his muscular form like a wet curtain. The glow from the candle in his hands emitted just enough light to faintly trace over his muscular jawline and strong cheekbones. His eyes sparkled sinisterly as the flame from the candle danced across his pupils. The leather straps across his boots squeaked as he stepped forward into the room.

  “My god…” Jack gasped. “It can’t be.”

  The person who entered the room was no one Jack had ever seen before—at least not like this. The figure before him was a villainous specter… an apparition… a manifestation of evil in an alternate façade.

  “Il Drago,” Jack whispered.

  “In the flesh,” the distinct voice thundered back.

  Jack found himself battling over the identity his eyes were projecting to his mind. It couldn’t be right. The person before him was not a killer—he refused to believe it.

  “Who… What are you?” Jack asked.

  “You know the answer to that question,” the man said. “But it’s evident you don’t know everything. Very few do.”

  The assassin stepped forward and stopped just beneath the light. The only barrier between the two men now was the manuscript casing in the center. The man lifted the hood from off his shaved head revealing dark skin and a familiar face. The crescent-shaped scar below his left eye was now evident and instantly unmistakable. Jack was standing face-to-face with Ignazio Valente.

  It was the man he had just spoken to not more than a minute ago—the only man he had trusted. Jack had given away his exact position. It made sense now… He felt outright foolish that he hadn’t realized immediately when the text came through. Kathleen wasn’t referring to the number 4 as he thought… she was trying to warn him to who the killer was. She had tol
d him, clear as day, in two letters—

  IV … Ignazio Valente

  Valente stood across the room staring at Jack with a peculiar expression—stern and focused but otherwise emotionless. There was no other way to explain it… it was as if a switch had been flicked off. A lever of sanity. The kind, generous man who had once dwelled inside this imposing beastly figure was surely a separate being now. The polite financier to whom Jack had been introduced was but a fleeting trace of this present character—a soul that now seemed formless and counterfeit. Yet the man standing a few feet away was still very real, a fact difficult to absorb and comprehend. Jack was in utter shock. Most of all he felt utterly naïve. How could he not have seen this? His mind raced, parsing details from the events that occurred over the past week to try and find evidence that would have indicated Valente’s involvement. Piecing the clues together now, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. It all made sense… A sense of rage grew inside.

  “It was you?” Jack seethed. “You’re the one who tried to kill my wife?”

  Valente looked around the room inquisitively, disregarding Jack as if he wasn’t a concern. He was seemingly less interested in Jack’s question and more focused on the contents of the room.

  “Her accident was a result of her own negligence,” Valente finally responded as his eyes floated over the objects beneath the casing in the table. “But in the end, it was her stubbornness that did her in. You see—it could have been avoided. She should’ve left when she was warned.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jack snarled. “Are you saying she knew all this? About you?”

  Valente stepped in front of the casing and peered inside at the ancient documents. He reached inside and carefully handled Solomon’s diary, his eyes showing the fascination he was experiencing. “Shelomoh… Naturalmente,” he mumbled to himself. His demeanor was calm and collected, not threatened at all by Jack’s presence. “I’m saying Kathleen was brilliant, but tenacious to her own detriment. I’m sure you won’t believe me… and I don’t expect you to… but it was not my intention to harm her. I really did enjoy our stimulating conversation.” A sneer crept over his lips.

  Jack clenched his fists tightly. “Then why? Why did you try to hurt her?”

  Valente finally looked up. He seemed irritated. “It was never about her.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked.

  “Foley!” Valente spat angrily as if the name was cursed. “It was that arrogant Brit that ruined everything. He used your wife to track down the treasure. But after he found the letter from Lorenzo he disappeared and brought your wife along with him to St. Moritz to find it for himself. She should’ve stayed out of it. I tried to warn her in Florence… but she didn’t heed any warnings. Foley turned and tried to do it without us. That coward… I should’ve known he couldn’t be trusted.” Valente cocked his head to the side and locked eyes with Jack. “I had to put a stop to it. I had no choice. He was after that which is rightfully mine.”

  Jack looked taken back by the remark. “You think this treasure is yours?”

  “Oh, it is mine, Jack,” Valente blurted. “My lineage may be riddled with controversies of the utmost degree—greed… corruption… murder,” he dragged one eyebrow up as the word rolled off his tongue. “However, there is no denying my entitlement to this treasure.”

  “Entitlement?” Jack scoffed. “Just because you’re preserving the Medici name doesn’t mean you can profit from their possessions. The only way you would be entitled is if…” Jack paused.

  “That’s right,” Valente interjected. The flame of his candle flickered brightly. “I am… Medici.”

  Jack stayed quiet. He was trying to process the flood of events taking place. His wife’s attacker was standing before him admitting it and now claiming he was a descendant of the Medici bloodline. He watched his opponent studying the treasures behind Jack. He had to think quickly. Get out! Through the door! The door was open. He now had an exit.

  “This…” Valente motioned around the room eagerly, “is all mine.”

  Jack let out a mocking laugh. “You’re a descendant of the Medici?”

  Valente fixed his gaze on Jack. His demeanor was stoic and unwavering as if choosing his responses carefully. “My family ancestry is complicated. Blood lineage is often hard to determine; however, I have traced my family history quite meticulously. I am a direct descendant of Medici—a brother to Lorenzo the Magnificent.”

  “You’re related to Lorenzo?”

  “His brother… Lenihanio. Piero’s firstborn son. The man intended to inherit the family treasure and resume the family trade. But as you’re quite aware, it was complicated. Especially then…” Valente looked away. “A child born out of wedlock—forced to live a life shrouded in secrecy—a disguised existence to keep the elite from having to bear the burden of their shameful deeds. Much like a shadow… or better yet… un fantasma,” he growled, his eyes searing back at Jack.

  “You’re wrong,” Jack said. “Lenihanio died alone. What you’re claiming is impossible.”

  “Again, you should consult more with your wife, Jack. She is clearly the smarter of the two. Kathleen was completely aware of Lenihanio’s bloodline. She knew, just as I, that the family had secretly joined with another noble name, a name the Medici actually despised… Pazzi.”

  “Pazzi?” said Jack defiantly. It was an unlikely claim. He knew that the family lineage did factually cross over and that Medici-Pazzi intermarriage had occurred, but he had never heard of Lenihanio’s affairs with the opposing house.

  “Yes,” said Valente excitedly. “It was a member of the Pazzi family that Lenihanio had relations with before he fled. A predetermined effort that begat the rivalry between the families and cemented the hate between them. He constructed the conspiracy that ended with the life of Giuliano.”

  “You’re insane,” Jack said. “You’re saying that Lenihanio is responsible for the Pazzi Conspiracy?”

  Valente nodded. “There’s only one thing that can cause blood to turn against blood…” his eyes flashed sinisterly, “Envy… deep-rooted resentment. Lenihanio was a secret that cost the family a considerable fortune.”

  Jack shook his head in disagreement. “Even if what you’re saying is true, the Pazzi Conspiracy had no effect on this treasure. It would have gone missing either way.”

  “No?” Valente remarked, jerking his head around. “Remember, Jack, there were two keys made. One was with Lorenzo and the other with Lenihanio. Lorenzo was too daft to realize he had it in his possession all along. Lenihanio, on the other hand, knew exactly what he possessed. Why do you think he never attempted to find the treasure for himself?”

  “Because Lenihanio was a coward,” Jack said.

  “Wrong!” Valente growled. “Because he would rather bury the family name than take the treasure for himself. Lenihanio was not a coward, he was a martyr… a revolutionary.”

  “You’re delusional,” Jack said shaking his head. “You’ve fabricated your own interpretation of history, just like you’ve fabricated this… false persona,” he motioned to him disdainfully. “You’re an act… a charlatan.”

  Valente appeared unaffected by the accusation. “Call me what you like. Your insults are meaningless.” Valente looked around. “All of this is meaningless.”

  Jack found the irony in Valente’s remarks astoundingly apropos. His words were nearly identical to those of the author they had stumbled upon not ten minutes prior. King Solomon’s similar sentiment on the meaning of life was noted in the Book of Ecclesiastes. Meaningless, meaningless. Everything is meaningless…

  “Then why are you here?” Jack asked. “And why are you sending assassins to kill innocent people if it all means nothing to you.”

  “Ghosts,” he said proudly in a low graveled tone. “They are my devout disciples. Not just assassins but highly trained warriors. Painstakingly chosen. Educated in the ancient art of ninjitsu and fervently dedicated to our order. Many of them I trai
ned myself,” he said smugly. “Even a few ex-Vatican guards. All exceptionally loyal, as you witnessed, and ready to give their life if required.”

  “And Gabriela?” Jack said. “You obviously had her sold on your delusions of grandeur as well? It’s a shame you would destroy such a beautiful—”

  “Enough!” Valente slammed his dagger down upon the casing, shattering the glass and rustling the scrolls inside. The dust on the table blew into Jack’s lungs, making him cough. He had ventured out too brazenly and clearly struck a chord. Once Gabriela’s name was spoken, hatred seemed to rise like a fire in Valente.

  “I have been waiting for this moment throughout my existence,” he said staring at Solomon’s book. “Those lives were a small price to pay to get here.”

  Valente looked around. He seemed fixated on the treasure inside the room. Jack began slowly edging toward the open door. If he were to escape, he knew he was going to have to attempt it now. Valente walked to the wooden hutch along the back wall and began opening the doors one by one. He was focusing on the manuscripts—his eyes off Jack. Slowly, Jack inched his way closer and closer to the door. He was within a few feet when—

  “Hold it!” Valente growled as he reached out his razor sharp dagger, pointing it. “Jack, you’re an intelligent man. Don’t do anything you may regret.” Valente circled the casing and moved closer. “I trust you’ve already come to the realization that only one of us is going to leave this room with the treasure.”

  As Valente stepped closer, the leather straps across his boots squeaked under his large frame. “She was my best disciple... and you took her away from me.” A blank, emotionless expression dulled his face. “I’m not going to kill you Mr. Cullen, you have my word on that.” He reached into his vest and withdrew a knife with a curved blade roughly 8 inches in length. The bowed shape gave the appearance that the knife was some sort of carving utensil. “But I will inflict my retribution… in my own creative way.” His eyes reflected the glint of the metal blade.

  A fearful shiver trembled down Jack’s spine as Valente approached. What the hell does that mean? Jack felt as if he was hearing the devil himself speaking his name and delivering his fate. He felt suddenly nauseated. The walls felt closer than when he had first entered, as if they were moving inward, and he thought he heard an electrical whirring sound coming from somewhere, but he wasn’t sure. It could just be in his head. His eyes darted around the room.