by Mary Hoffman
‘I am indeed,’ he said and I could hear he had decided to trust her. ‘Visdomini’s is where you go to pose for the painter, isn’t it?’
I nodded. It was still hard to speak.
‘I will put word out across the city to all the frateschi that you are on our side,’ said Gianbattista. ‘You will not be set upon again.’
‘I was thinking that I might be able to use the misunderstanding to my advantage,’ I said as best I could.
‘Yes?’ said Gianbattista.
Grazia, quick to grasp the possibilities in any situation, said, ‘I could tell my lord that you had been set upon for your support of the de’ Medici. He need not know where you had been or how the mistake arose.’
‘You would do that for us?’ said Gianbattista.
‘I can do it for Gabriele,’ said Grazia and though I couldn’t see him I knew that the fratesco must see how it stood with us.
And it appeared that Grazia had forgiven me my jealous outburst the last time we had been alone together. I had not been back to her room since. She was tending me so gently and had not even questioned why I had been at de’ Altobiondi’s palazzo. After Gianbattista had left, I launched into an account of what I had learned while hiding there.
Not one but two artists wanted to draw my battered face. First Angelo, after his day’s work. And later, Leone himself came to see me. The two men got on surprisingly well. Leone had a deep respect for my brother’s work and showed himself well informed and intelligent in his appreciation. Angelo was not one for flattery but he liked a fellow artist who could speak knowledgeably about techniques and themes in painting and sculpture.
‘Do I mind if I draw you, Gabriele?’ Leone asked at last. ‘I see Ser Buonarroti has been sketching.’
‘No,’ I muttered. ‘Will it count? Will you tell Visdomini I still posed for you?’
‘Always thinking of the money,’ said Leone, which was a bit harsh, but that was what I had meant. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure that I will be able to make use of a battered face in a painting one day. It is really interesting the way the bruises round your eyes have so many colours too. I will make a note of them.’
So the two men drew and I think I must have nodded off again because when I was next aware of my surroundings, they had gone. Leone had left a bag of money which he said his master had sent for me. I was glad to add it to my savings but struck again by how much largesse Visdomini could afford to dispense.
My next visitor in the evening was old Lodovico. Gismondo had told him what had happened and he came to bring me soup and a little pasta. It was painful to eat but I was very hungry, in spite of not having worked all day.
‘My poor boy,’ said Lodovico. ‘How distressed your poor mother would be if she could see you!’
And Rosalia, I thought.
‘This is a wicked city,’ the old man said, shaking his head. ‘But my sons tell me you did nothing to provoke the attack? They say you were just set upon in the street when walking home?’
They obviously had kept the de’ Medici connection from him.
‘That’s right, sir,’ I said. ‘But I’ll be all right. There is nothing broken – only bruised.’
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose,’ he said. He lowered himself into an armchair. ‘Eat, boy, eat,’ he said. ‘I’ve promised the cook to see you get it all down you. My word, but those eyes of yours will be all the colours of the rainbow in a few days.’
‘Thank you, sir, I will eat,’ I said.
‘And to think the Republic can do nothing to stop such violence,’ he went on, talking to himself as much as to me. ‘We should be able to make the streets safe for citizens or what’s the point of having rule by elected representatives? We might as well go back to the bad old days under Piero. But don’t tell anyone I said so, heh, Gabriele? Walls have ears and I must not be denounced as a traitor to the Republic. That would not be fair.’
Any more than it was fair for me to get beaten up as a de’ Medici supporter, I thought. But I promised not to tell anyone.
Next day, when I felt rested, I got up and sat for a while in the courtyard garden. It was good to feel the warmth of the late September sunshine on my skin.
There was a slight commotion and Lodovico came bustling out into the courtyard looking very flustered (I could open my eyes a bit better by then).
‘Come indoors into the salone,’ he said. ‘Your master is here.’
‘From my bottega?’ I asked. It seemed most unlikely.
‘No, no,’ said Lodovico testily. ‘Your patron – Andrea Visdomini. He wants to speak to you. Get inside while I order up some decent wine from the cellar.’
When I arrived in the salone, Visdomini jumped to his feet and turned so pale I thought he was going to faint.
‘My poor Gabriele!’ he said. ‘They told me it was bad but this is awful! Your beautiful face.’
‘It looks worse than it is,’ I said.
‘Leone showed me his sketches,’ he said. ‘But it’s so much worse seeing it in reality.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t come and pose for him just yet but later in the week I could still come and model for Mars’s body. He doesn’t have to paint the bruises.’
‘Your body too!’ said Visdomini, his hand to his mouth. He held a scented handkerchief, as if he was trying not to be sick.
It was quite clear to me that he knew nothing about street fights; he had never been in one or witnessed one. And he seemed such a milksop I couldn’t help hoping he never did.
‘Show me,’ he said.
I was reluctant but he was looking at me very intensely and he was the man who gave me the money.
So it was that when Lodovico came back in with a couple of dusty bottles of wine followed by a servant with a tray of glasses, he found me with my shirt off and Visdomini looking at the array of colours around my ribs.
‘Ah, Ser Lodovico,’ he said easily. ‘I was examining the damage to my poor model. That was a bad beating he got.’
I had the curious feeling this was not the first time he had smoothed over the discovery of himself with a half-naked young man.
‘Indeed, indeed,’ said Lodovico, fussing round with the bottles. ‘It has come to something when a boy can’t walk home from his work unmolested.’
‘The time is coming,’ said Visdomini, ‘when Florence will again know peace in her streets.’
‘Again?’ said Lodovico. ‘When did she last know peace like that? Not in my lifetime.’
‘Well, under the de’ Medici, of course,’ said Visdomini stiffly. ‘Only with a rich and powerful family at the helm will we know such times again.’
I was willing Lodovico not to say anything more but he pulled himself together, remembering the allegiance of his guest.
‘Well, this wine is from Lorenzo’s time,’ he said, pouring a large glass for Visdomini and a smaller amount for me. ‘We can drink to his memory.’
That we could all do. Even Angelo would have joined in that toast. But I saw Visdomini eyeing me up as I scrambled back into my shirt and I wondered if Grazia had already told him I had been set upon as a de’ Medici supporter.
After another day spent idling in the sun, I was so bored that I took my hooded winter cloak and headed up to San Marco. The frateschi were pleased to see me and crowded round to examine my face. It had gone from purple to yellow and I still looked a fright but the swelling was going down. Still, Simonetta gave a little cry when she saw me, which was gratifying.
Her brother and his friends were more interested in what I had heard at Altobiondi’s than in the attack.
‘Pope Alexander sick?’ said Gianbattista. ‘That is good news. With him out of the way, Cesare Borgia’s plans will be held in check.’
‘Not if the cardinal they want – Piccolomini – gets elected,’ I said. ‘He’s another Borgia supporter.’
‘And that’s what the de’ Medici Cardinal will connive for,’ said Daniele. ‘You can be sure he thinks his choice will help get Pi
ero or one of his other relatives back into Florence.’
‘But wait,’ said Fra Paolo. ‘You said you were beaten as a follower of the de’ Medici?’
‘Yes, because I was leaving Altobiondi’s house after spying on the compagnacci,’ I said.
‘It’s all right,’ said Gianbattista. ‘I have put word out through the brotherhood that you are one of us. I can promise it won’t happen again.’
‘But this is just what we have been waiting for,’ said Fra Paolo.
I, for one, certainly had not.
‘Now that Gabriele has been attacked as a de’ Medici supporter, the compagnacci will accept him as one of them, even though he isn’t of noble birth. We can go back to our plan of infiltrating him into Altobiondi’s house as a conspirator.’
‘I have already planted the idea in Ser Visdomini’s head that I am of their persuasion,’ I said.
Fra Paolo looked at me approvingly for the first time in our association.
‘That’s perfect then,’ he said. ‘You can spy for us from inside the movement. So much better than skulking behind curtains.’
I bit my lip and the pain stopped me from retorting that I had brought them useful information from my hidden alcove.
‘But won’t it be very dangerous?’ said Simonetta. ‘Look at him now. Won’t it be much worse if the compagnacci discover he’s a spy? Surely they will kill him?’
The men looked at her as if they had forgotten she was there.
‘You’re right,’ said Daniele. ‘We can’t just assume he is willing to take this role on for us.’
‘Gabriele,’ said Gianbattista, ‘it must be your decision. We won’t think any less of you if you say you are not willing to take up this dangerous burden.’
They were all looking at me. I was a stupid, vain child, I see, looking back now. These men were my friends and I wanted them to like me. I wanted Fra Paolo to approve of me. And most of all I wanted to impress Simonetta; I wanted her to fear for my safety and care about me. I wondered if her brother had told her about my relations with Grazia.
‘I’ll do it,’ I said.
But the moment of backslapping and cheers was rather ruined by the entry of Donato, flushed and excited.
‘Have you heard what’s happened?’ he asked, downing a goblet of wine in almost one gulp. ‘They’ve made Soderini a permanent gonfaloniere.’
‘What?’ asked Gianbattista. ‘A permanent gonfaloniere?’
‘The permanent gonfaloniere,’ said Donato. ‘Ruler of the city for life.’
‘They can’t do that!’ protested his brother Giulio. ‘Florence has always had a new gonfaloniere every two months.’
‘Not since the de’ Medici was driven out,’ said Daniele.
‘But a permanent one! What does that mean?’ asked Giulio.
‘It means that Piero Soderini is ruler for the rest of his life,’ said Daniele. ‘It doesn’t mean he will have a long life.’ He touched the dagger at his belt.
My heart sank; just when I was beginning to understand Florentine politics, here was a republican threatening to kill the head of the Republic.
And I had just volunteered to pretend to be a de’ Medici supporter! It seemed to me that I would have to steer a very careful path to get through the coming months. I would either get caught up in an assassination attempt on the city’s ruler or be unmasked as a fratesco spy in the de’ Medici camp.
There was only the slimmest of chances that I would survive unscathed.
But my companions were discussing this development in great detail.
‘It certainly means the end of any chance of de’ Medici rule,’ said Fra Paolo, rubbing his hands.
‘But a permanent gonfaloniere, even if a republican, might be no better that a de’ Medici tyrant,’ said Daniele. ‘Soderini’s not a bad man but power will go to his head – it always does.’
‘Perhaps we should give him a chance?’ said Giulio.
‘Yes, and he has a brother who was a follower of our leader,’ said Donato.
‘But there was another candidate closer to us,’ said Fra Paolo. ‘Giocchino Guasconi was a true Savonarolan.’
‘You knew about this plan?’ asked Gianbattista. He was clearly shocked that Fra Paolo had withheld such a piece of information.
The Dominican shrugged. ‘Our leader himself said he approved of one elected ruler for life – provided he had no sons,’ he said.
‘Does Soderini have any sons?’ I asked.
‘Let us hope not,’ said Daniele.
But whether he meant because they would become claimants to their father’s title or because their lives would now be in danger, I did not then know.
Chapter Twelve
The Mouth of Truth
My bruises faded and my ribs healed and I was soon back at work. I was Mars again in the evenings and Grazia was my Venus, in the studio and elsewhere. Angelo was making the model for his bronze David and the marble one was being a bit neglected. It was so near to completion but he still had most of a year left on his contract to finish it and the bronze commission had been sanctioned by the Operai del Duomo, so there was no problem in working on two Davids at the same time.
And now I had a new role: spy in the Medici camp.
It happened so easily I didn’t have to do anything about it. The first night that I went back to pose for Leone, still with a multi-coloured face but no longer a swollen one, Visdomini made a point of coming to see me.
‘I’m glad to see you looking better,’ he said. ‘Your eyes have not been damaged?’
‘Not at all, my lord. I am quite well, thank you. It will take a while for the discoloration to go but your painter does not need to portray that.’
‘No, indeed. Gabriele, will you come to see me after your supper? I have something I wish to discuss with you.’
So after my modelling session, Grazia led me, not to her own chamber, but to the master’s small office. More wine was brought and he invited me to sit in a comfortable chair. I must have winced a bit as I settled down.
‘You are still in pain?’ he asked, full of concern.
‘Only a little,’ I said. ‘It will pass.’
‘I’m so sorry about what happened,’ he said. ‘But Grazia told me why they did it.’
I kept quiet, drinking my wine.
‘I didn’t know you were a supporter of the de’ Medici,’ he said. ‘You must have guessed that I and my family are of the same opinion?’
I nodded, though I was agreeing only with the second half.
‘Would you like to join us?’ he asked. ‘I mean, be a more active member of the compagnacci? We don’t meet regularly, only as needed. Antonello de’ Altobiondi is our leader so when we do gather it is usually at his palazzo, though sometimes here. You may remember that he and our companions came down to see you in Leone’s studio once.’
He was gabbling a bit, as if nervous of what I might say. In all my relations with him, he had never behaved as a lord to his dependent; he always seemed to be asking me for a favour.
‘I do remember, my lord,’ I said. ‘They were very gracious.’
I could feel a pulse beating in my neck; what he was offering was very dangerous but it was what my real friends had been hoping for.
‘I would like to give you some more suitable clothes,’ said Visdomini. ‘I would not want you to feel awkward among the nobles.’
‘But do they not know what I am and what I do?’ I asked. ‘I should not want to deceive them.’
It’s a wonder I didn’t blush, since that was exactly what I was planning to do.
‘Of course,’ said Visdomini. ‘There is no shame in being a working man – especially when, if I may say so, you are such a magnificent example of one, but when you are in their saloni, amid men richly dressed, I should not want you to feel uncomfortable.’
He rang the bell and a servant brought in a bundle. I saw the colours purple and green; he wanted me to wear de’ Altobiondi’s livery, to be seen as one of de�
� Altobiondi’s men. It made my gorge rise.
‘I took the liberty of hoping you would say yes,’ said Visdomini. ‘Will you try them on?’
I knew he had seen me naked, and I had no need to strip right off to try these clothes on, so I did as he asked.
‘Wonderful!’ he said, walking round me to see me from all sides. ‘At last I see you dressed in a manner that is in keeping with your looks.’
He stroked the purple velvet of the jerkin and patted my arm. It was clear he liked me even better as a Medici man than as a painter’s model.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ I said. ‘I will . . . do my best to merit your good opinion.’
I extricated myself and bade him goodnight.
Gandini the baker kept me up to date with what was going on in the world at large.
‘You’ll never guess what’s happened,’ he said one day in October. ‘Cesare Borgia’s condottieri all rose up in rebellion against him!’
I wondered what Gismondo would make of this – the supreme war leader overthrown by ordinary generals.
‘But he had them all thrown into prison and murdered!’ said the baker.
This was bloodcurdling news; the man was even more ruthless than I had guessed. He would kill all his military chiefs to show his strength and the terrible consequences of crossing him.
‘He’s worse than the de’ Medici,’ said the baker, lowering his voice.
Well, at least none of my regular contacts thought I’d be on the side of the city’s old rulers.
At my first meeting with the pro-Medici plotters, I wore my purple and green velvet, which came with a very fancy hat, and I did feel rather self-conscious as I set out. If I were set on and attacked now, it would have been my own fault but I had to trust Gianbattista that all the frateschi in the city now knew that I was playing a double game.
It felt very peculiar to pull the bell at the palazzo on Via Tornabuoni and for the first time be admitted as de’ Altobiondi’s guest. On their marriage, Clarice’s household had combined with her husband’s and it was just my luck that, as well as her maid, Vanna, they had retained that sour-faced manservant who clearly remembered me from a year and a half ago. He saw right through my new clothes to the stonecutter beneath and looked pointedly at my hands.
