Mauricio checked himself but was gripped with anxiety.
Only last night he had been awakened by a terrifying nightmare that he could not manage to recall. His heart had been racing like a runaway horse no rider could ever rein in.
“When did the contractions start?” he asked.
“About three hours ago,” replied Francesco.
“But she only just started screaming like a woman possessed,” added Alessandro. “The child is probably about to be born.”
For the first time ever, Mauricio realized that he detected no trace of disdain or affected distance in either his father or brother-in-law. Probably the arrival of a new member of the Ginori family, combined with Lorena’s suffering, evoked such profound emotions in them that any other consideration was of no importance at that moment. Lorena’s cries suddenly turned into a terrifying howl.
Incapable of waiting outside any longer, Mauricio ran to open the door. Francesco no longer tried to stop him, but on the contrary followed him inside. Alessandro stayed outside, restraining Maria who was crying as if she were the one in the grip of painful contractions.
On entering the room, Mauricio stopped dead, paralyzed by the impact of the scene: his first thought was that they were killing his wife. She lay on the bed with her legs splayed, her arms and feet gripped by two sturdy women. The midwife was wrestling between Lorena’s thighs, trying to extract a shapeless fetus covered in a whitish, greasy liquid. The bed was so drenched in blood that it resembled more a red-lined coffin than a comfortable resting place. Lorena seemed to be drawing her last breath. With her eyes tightly shut, his wife’s head lay back on the pillow, incapable even of crying she was so exhausted. Only a feeble moan showed she was still alive.
The midwife asked Flavia to help her push the child out. They both tugged at the baby’s legs energetically but the head refused to emerge. Lorena by now was silent and motionless, although her face showed signs of great suffering. When at last the baby’s head finally appeared, a blood-soaked fleshy cord was knotted around its neck. The midwife and Flavia hurried to unravel it, an operation that seemed to Mauricio to last an eternity.
As soon as they had finished, the midwife clutched the baby roughly. Holding him head down, she smacked his bottom a few times. The newborn child did not burst into tears or show any signs of concern.
“He is dead,” declared the midwife after a careful examination. “He was born strangled by his mother’s umbilical cord.”
Mauricio snatched the baby from the midwife’s hands and covered his tiny body with kisses as he sobbed. The baby remained as still and inexpressive as before. Mauricio handed him back to the midwife and went toward the bedhead to console his wife. Lorena half opened her eyes.
“Was it a boy or a girl?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.
“A boy, but it was God’s will that he should not have a long life,” said Mauricio unable to contain his tears.
“I understand,” murmured Lorena and closing her eyes she sank into unconsciousness.
Mauricio embraced her and rested his head upon hers.
“It would be better if she were left to rest, if you want your wife to continue among us,” advised the midwife.
Once they were out of the room, Francesco brought him a bottle of Garnacha, one of the wines he held in most esteem.
“Life does not always bring us what we want,” said Alessandro. “Here, this will help.”
Mauricio sat silently, his head bowed, and helped himself to a goblet of wine. As soon as he had drained it, he served himself another and one more after that. The pain was so intense, so difficult to come to terms with … All he wanted was to stop suffering, for his head to stop functioning … When the bottle was empty, through the fumes of alcohol, Mauricio remembered his dream: a beautiful young woman lay dying on her bed as she gave birth. His mind went blank as he sank into merciful oblivion.
41
Lorena felt very weak and depressed. Over two weeks had passed since the birth and she still felt just as disheartened as the first day. The pains she had suffered in her battered body had not totally disappeared, and often, for no apparent reason, she would burst into tears at the most unexpected times. Fortunately, a couple of days ago, she had moved back to Florence to live with her husband. After the dramatic delivery of her stillborn son, memories made it impossible for her to remain in the Villa Ginori. Furthermore, the plague had spread to the countryside to such an extent that there were no safe hiding places left to dodge from the murderous scythe. If anyone else had to die for their sins, they had to accept it, and Lorena prayed to God that she be the scapegoat and not an innocent newborn child.
“Lorenzo de Medici has been kind to let this palazzo to us at such a low rent,” said Lorena, trying to find some relief from her pain in conversation.
“Indeed,” agreed Mauricio, swallowing a hearty portion of quail with truffles. “Tommaso Pazzi’s old mansion no less. It was lucky for us that the courts cancelled Tommaso’s debt to one of Il Magnifico’s companies by handing over this wonderful palazzo. Thanks to this, we can enjoy the privilege of living here and, God willing, in the future we might have enough money to buy it.”
Lorena could not help thinking how paradoxical it was that they should be living under the roof of relatives of Galeotto Pazzi, the person whose wife she would have been had it not been for the failed conspiracy. Not being key members of the Pazzi family, both Galeotto and Tommaso had been condemned to the least cruel of all punishments: exile. So much the better. Too much blood had already been spilled.
“How sad that after the Pazzi conspiracy, the mob came here, mindless with fury, and ransacked the mansion,” lamented Lorena.
“This was not the only one,” said Mauricio, as he poured himself a glass of Chianti. “All the family properties of the Pazzi clan between Borgo di San Pier Maggiore and Via dei Balestri were assaulted, until the forces of law and order managed to placate the mob’s anger. In spite of this, and thanks to your family’s generosity, we do not lack any of the objects that were stolen. Your trousseau contained everything we could ever need.”
Lorena was not sure whether Mauricio was being ironic or not. Her father had only included the most essential furniture and household utensils in her matrimonial dowry. Any family of a certain prestige would have considered such a poor offering a premeditated insult to the honor of the husband to be. Yet Mauricio had been so overjoyed by the matrimonial consent that anything that came in addition had seemed like an unexpected gift handed down from heaven. Therefore it was probable that Mauricio was quite content with the furniture they had received, even though the dowry did not even include the restoration of the wall frescoes that had been badly damaged during the looting. There would be time enough for renovation work to the palazzo when the pope’s and king of Naples’ armies were defeated.
“What are the latest reports from the battlefield?” asked Lorena hopefully.
“They are bad,” answered Mauricio. “The Duke of Ferrara and the Marquess of Mantua have become such bitter enemies that it has been necessary to divide the Florentine troops into roughly two equal parts. And as the papal and Neapolitan armies have united into one, it now seems that although our forces are far superior in number, divided in half they are inferior to the enemy.”
“And is this absurd splitting of the army serious enough to put our victory in jeopardy?”
Mauricio remained silent as a maidservant removed the dishes while another served the desserts accompanied by a new pitcher of wine. Lorena wished that her faithful Cateruccia could have lived with them, but her parents preferred her to stay and look after her younger sister.
“Divide and conquer,” said Mauricio, paraphrasing Julius Caesar. “The enemy troops have now positioned themselves between the territory of Siena and that of Valdichiana, exactly halfway from where the two Florentine armies are located. Using such a simple tactic, our forces remain immobilized, for if they were to emerge from their strongholds, the co
mbined papal and Neapolitan forces could surprise them in the open. As each one of the Florentine armies is inferior on its own, they could end up getting massacred if they were to leave their defensive positions.”
However bad the news, Lorena preferred to talk about the war or the plague rather than the loss of their little one. In some way, it was a reminder to both of them that their marriage, forged in sin, had not been blessed by God after all. It was perhaps for that reason that neither of them had ever talked of the birth since Lorena’s arrival in Florence. Nor had they started making love again.
“It seems unbelievable that our own army remains divided instead of uniting to defeat the enemy,” observed Lorena.
Sadly, it was now easier for them to talk about political issues rather than all those little things that used to make them laugh so much together in a not too distant past. Mauricio no longer sang or told tales or made jokes, and all those little private looks and expressions they used to delight in so much in the past were now only reminders of a great sadness. It was perhaps for that reason that her husband no longer wrote poetry or played the lute, which was now firmly confined to a cupboard, together with his smile.
“It is completely ignominious,” complained Mauricio as he drank another goblet of wine, ignoring the rice pudding the servants had brought as dessert. “Especially taking into account the deadlock that will guarantee our defeat. The crops are going to waste due to continuous plundering, commerce is suffering because of the high risk involved in transporting merchandise to or from Florence, and taxes are constantly rising in order to pay the soldiers … There are many humble citizens who do not even know if they will have enough to eat in a week’s time. And worst of all is that the pope and the king of Naples claim that it is not Florence they are against, but Lorenzo, and were he to be deposed they would immediately sign a peace treaty.”
Lorena knew perfectly well how that would affect their lives.
“Would it not be possible for the Duke of Ferrara and the Marquess of Mantua to forget their differences for the good of Florence?”
“No. After the defeat of the papal army at the hands of Carlo de Montone, sent by the Venetians, our superiority became evident. Nevertheless, after taking Peruggia and occupying Cásoli, disaster occurred. During the pillaging, arguments concerning the spoils sprang up between the armies led by the Duke of Ferrara and the Marquess of Mantua, so violent that they were not far off annihilating each other. Therefore, it is important they both keep their distances in order to avoid an even more ridiculous confrontation.”
“What does Lorenzo think he should do?”
“He is desperately trying to increase the number of men in our two armies so that, even separately, they could be superior to the enemy. I doubt he can achieve this. There is no money left to hire more mercenaries and the Milanese and Venetian allies are resisting sending us more reinforcements.”
Lorena was pensive as she watched Mauricio enjoying another goblet of wine. The news was not very hopeful, but at least tonight she would feel her husband’s warm presence comforting her as she slept.
“Why don’t we go and rest together, my love?”
“Let me finish my last drink.”
Lorena had already finished her delicious rice pudding and did not feel like drinking. He, on the other hand, had not even touched the dessert, although he had not stinted on the wine that had been recently served. She could not remember ever having seen Mauricio drink so much. Since living together in Florence, the wine pitchers were empty long before the ones filled with water. Lorena attached little importance to this. It was her fault that the baby had been born dead and Mauricio was taking too much upon his shoulders. Perhaps the wine was doing him good. Lorena drew comfort from the thought that today she would be sleeping in the arms of her loved one.
42
Mauricio woke up with a dull, painful head. He clumsily splashed cold water from the washbasin on his face, drew on his breeches, donned a white cotton shirt, and headed toward the pantry without having finished dressing. He felt an overwhelming sense of unease and going to work would be an uphill struggle. Truth be known, he had no desire to see anybody. So, picking up some bread and pork drippings, he also took a jug of wine with him to the table of the main drawing room in the hope of raising his spirits.
He had no wish to think of anything whatsoever, but life seemed to be doing it for him. Although it had been a long time now since he had given away the ring, his destiny was still bound up with the emerald and with the secret for which his family had been cursed. The fine thread that links all things somehow caused him to clumsily knock over a delicate porcelain vase, elaborately decorated with jasper and ivory, with his right hand. This rare object, brought from the distant lands of Cathay, shattered into hundreds of pieces as it hit the ground, revealing its hidden contents: an ancient parchment bound by a garnet-colored satin ribbon. Taken aback, Mauricio hurried to examine it. He could not have been more amazed had he seen a ghost.
On the vellum scroll, someone had drawn a ring that was identical to the one he had sold to Lorenzo, and had transcribed some enigmatic quotations from the book of Genesis. One passage, illuminated in gold letters, caught his attention.
It was chapter 3, verse 22, in which Yahweh, perceiving that Adam and Eve have tasted the fruit from the tree of Good and Evil exclaims in alarm, “Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever.”
Who had illustrated the strange parchment and why? Did the authors perhaps want to give some credit to the devil when he seduced Eve by assuring her that if they ate from the forbidden tree they would become “like gods”? And what should he make of Genesis chapter six, picked out in scarlet letters, which spoke of how the children of God would unite with the daughters of men and conceive a race of giants?
Mauricio could not remember any priest ever explaining such matters to him. Perhaps Enoch, the antediluvian patriarch who disappeared into thin air, taken away by God, could provide the answer, as his was the only name picked out in illuminated script from that particular passage of Genesis. Unfortunately, there was little probability of Enoch coming down from the heavens to clear up Mauricio’s doubts …
Mauricio very much wanted answers, because those passages had to have some connection with the ring kept by his family for generations. The answers, if there were any, had to be found in Florence, a prodigious city containing many more secrets than its voluptuous beauty showed. Just as the mist coming off the Arno was capable of hiding under its shroud the boats on the river, the bridges that crossed it, and even the decorated marble church fronts, Mauricio was convinced that behind the noble walls of certain palaces powerful secrets lay hidden, capable of shaping the course of history.
Nothing in Florence was what it seemed at first sight. Externally, the enormous Medici Palace presented an austere and robust appearance because Cosimo, Lorenzo’s grandfather, had discarded Brunelleschi’s sumptuous architectural plan to avoid provoking the envy of his compatriots. Nevertheless, the chosen few who were invited to cross through the large front door found themselves plunged into the most exquisite luxury, intoxicating to the senses, which even kings, emperors, and caliphs would find difficult to surpass.
Mauricio suspected that the secrets of the most illustrious Florentine families pointed toward the heavens. The church of San Lorenzo, the oldest in the city, contained its own window giving onto the firmament, in the Medici private chapel designed by Brunelleschi. Buried beneath its flagstones, the father of Cosimo, founder of the dynasty, had made sure that the vaulted ceilings of the chapel should contain an exact representation of the constellations and planets that loomed over Florence on July 4, 1442. The Pazzi had their own star-studded sky in the chapel of a church near Santa Croce. Andrea Pazzi, not wanting to be outdone by the Medici, also commissioned Brunelleschi to design a family mausoleum and its ceilings looked remarkably similar t
o those of the old chapel of San Lorenzo.
The stars seemed far away, but their designs governed human destiny; they were not to be taken lightly. The Pazzi had found this out too late, much to their chagrin. Mauricio contemplated the parchment he held with fear. Maybe it would be better to hand it over to Lorenzo. He prayed he would not make a mistake, for there was a high price to pay for playing with chance in Florence. Another goblet of wine suffused his body with warmth in a hollow attempt to alleviate his anxiety. In some way, that strange find had contributed to increase the irrational unease he had been plunged into since Lorena’s tragic childbirth.
43
Lorena was already half asleep when Mauricio climbed into bed. She had felt slightly indisposed all day and had preferred not to accompany him to a dinner organized in the house of the Castellani. The banquets held in their mansion were famous for the abundance of food and drink with which they entertained their guests. It was precisely for this reason that she decided to excuse herself from going. Her insides were still painful and for many days now she had been experiencing sharp cramps. In truth, even if she had felt well she would not have been tempted to go to any social gathering.
As Mauricio approached she noticed that, unlike his usual custom, he was coming to bed naked. His breath smelled strongly of wine. For weeks he had been having more drinks than she could count, but he had undoubtedly surpassed himself this time at the Castellani banquet. Mauricio slipped into their matrimonial bed and as he embraced her from behind, Lorena noticed he was already erect.
Lorena had no desire to make love. Her sexual appetite had disappeared since her tragic delivery. Apparently her husband had felt the same. Until today. Lorena’s body, succumbing to the commands of Mauricio’s hands, half turned toward his embrace as he began caressing her while removing her night gown.
She put up no resistance. Although she felt no desire, this chore formed part of her duties as a wife. Furthermore, it was obviously the only way to conceive another child. “I only wish his breath were sweeter,” she thought as Mauricio’s lips sought hers. What had changed in so short a time? Lorena wondered. In the past she had always longed for her husband. Not today though. Her body remained rigid and cold and the only desire she felt was for it all to finish as soon as possible.
The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring Page 17
