It had all been her fault: from defying her family by losing her virginity to Mauricio to conceiving a child who died as a punishment for her sinfulness. For the time being, she hid her unhappiness under the mask of a false smile. How long would she be able to endure this?
Lorena stroked her doll’s threadbare hair and prayed to the Virgin Mary, as she used to do when she was a child. Everything would get better. Poor Mauricio was undergoing too much pressure, worrying about Lorenzo’s uncertain future. If the papal and Neapolitan armies could be defeated, everything would return to its normal course. Her husband would calm down and they would be happy once again. For the present, she had to be sweet, loving, and patient with her husband. It occurred to her that offering him constant support was essential, for the last thing she wanted was for Mauricio to founder. Lorena prayed to the Virgin to grant her the strength to bear the weight of her sins.
46
Florence
November 15, 1479
“Yesterday Colle de Valdesa finally surrendered,” announced Pietro Manfredi.
“So now there is nothing to stop the enemy troops from reaching Florence,” said Luca.
“You are right,” confirmed Pietro Manfredi. “It is now only a question of time before the siege of Florence begins.”
“And when that happens,” Luca assured him, “there will be an internal rebellion against Lorenzo. Everyone knows that if Il Magnifico is deposed, the pope will negotiate an honorable peace with Florence. The only thing that keeps Lorenzo in power is the thirty or forty families closest to the Medici. These main families have every reason to fear the loss of their possessions should there be a change of regime. However, as soon as the troops belonging to the pope and the king of Naples are seen approaching the walls of Florence, nothing will stop the popular unrest against Lorenzo from turning into an open rebellion. When this happens, from what I have heard, very powerful clans would then request Lorenzo to give himself up voluntarily.”
“Therefore, all we have to do is wait to see the corpse of our enemy go past our front door,” said Pietro.
Luca, relishing the moment, let his gaze wander around the great hall of Pietro Manfredi’s palazzo. His eyes settled upon two bronze angels perched high on individual marble columns. Each one rested its left hand on its hip in a defiant attitude, while its right hand was raised high gripping a torch.
“They seem to want to illuminate the heavens,” Luca remarked.
“I call them the ‘Resplendent Ones.’ They are beautiful, aren’t they?” said Pietro, as he opened a small box made of blue Murano glass riveted with a silver and gold finish. He offered Luca one of the sweets nestled inside.
Luca ate it with relish. How things had changed in less than a year! Only ten months ago, during his first encounter in that very same house, he had not dared eat the honey sweetmeats for fear of being poisoned and had waited until Pietro had sampled one. Anxious, he had been afraid of becoming involved in dangerous conspiracies. However, it could not have been simpler, except perhaps having to learn the secret codes needed to write letters about what was happening in Florence. In the end, his work had centered upon trying to obtain as much information as possible from Lorenzo’s entourage without raising suspicion, which he then passed on to Pietro. Now, without having incurred any risk whatsoever, without having changed either his customs or his way of life, triumph seemed to be within his reach.
“And how goes the Maria Ginori business?” asked Pietro.
“Although a few weeks from now whatever the Medici might think will not be of the slightest importance, Bernardo Rucellai has confirmed to me that they are not averse to the union. There is no obstacle, therefore, to stop us from formalizing the engagement.”
Luca reflected on the twists and turns of fortune. Lorena Ginori had spurned him by marrying that non-entity Mauricio Coloma. That was a wound that had not yet healed, but which would soon be avenged. Fortunately, no one knew of this humiliation, as the preliminary conversations had gone no further than Lorena’s father. He was only too aware of what had happened. Therefore, imagining Lorena’s suffering, lamenting such a mistaken decision, was a pleasure he frequently wallowed in, especially over the last few months.
Maria, Lorena’s sister, was about to turn fourteen and her body was starting to take on a womanly shape. The Ginori, like other merchants, had suffered grave setbacks in the last year, but unlike most continued to be very wealthy. The money from the dowry would be very welcome for the various business projects he was planning. Also, Maria was a beautiful young woman with a nature far sweeter and more docile than that of her sister. She was bound to be a good wife who would not cause him the slightest problem. Francesco, her father, was so enthusiastic about the interest Luca was showing that he had doubled the dowry he had first promised. He had also assured Luca that Maria was very willing to marry him.
Yet Luca still wanted more: the icing on the cake. He sought revenge in the same measure as the senseless act that Lorena had committed. What would happen if Mauricio were to die? If this were to come about, Lorena would languish in solitude, a childless widow, while he enjoyed a life overflowing with blessings with her sister. Lorena would certainly rue the day she fell into Mauricio’s arms and rejected his. Oh, what sweet revenge! The despicable shrew would feel tortured forevermore during each family gathering whenever Maria was present. Lorena would be the wicked one, growing old and sterile, alone and despised by her family and constantly remembering the tremendous error she had committed in her youth. Meanwhile, gentle and good Maria would enjoy a life of luxury surrounded by her many children.
“I see the sweets please you so much you have lost all interest in talking,” observed Pietro.
“Please forgive me,” said Luca. “I was just thinking of those black widows you told me about when we first met. According to what you said, they were experts in murdering with an imperceptible prick from one of their poisoned rings while indulging their victims in lustful pleasures.”
“Indeed, but I remember we discarded that option in Lorenzo’s case. If it was not suitable then, now it would be truly foolish to run the slightest risk.”
“I was not thinking of Lorenzo, but of Mauricio, Lorena’s husband.”
Pietro’s eyes remained cold, showing no emotion as he listened to Luca’s disclosure. With a gesture of his hand he invited him to continue talking.
“There would be no risk in this case,” he continued. “Nearly every afternoon Mauricio goes to the same tavern. All we would need is for an attractive woman to appear there, ingratiate herself with him, and invite him to go with her to one of those inns of ill repute. Intoxicated by the wine and her charms, Mauricio would be an easy prey. After a few hours he would die and the woman would leave town without a trace.”
“I shall not ask what your motives are,” Pietro said. “After all, friends are there to help each other. Today I help you, tomorrow you help me … I’ll tell you what I will do. I shall provide you with the way to get in touch with a black widow, with the one condition that you do not mention my name. Just say you are a friend of the Resplendent Ones. That will be enough. Well, that and of course a good handful of gold florins as well.”
47
Mauricio drank another goblet of wine as he waited for Lorenzo in one of the antechambers leading off the great hall of the Medici Palace. Although he had been called for an audience with Il Magnifico at the beginning of the afternoon, the fall of Colle de Valdesa took priority. For that reason Lorenzo had already spent a good many hours shut in with his advisers analyzing the situation. Unlike the great hall, which was lavishly decorated with frescoes, the walls of this room were hung with handsome tapestries imported from Flanders. Flemish woven fabrics were fashionable in Florence, not only using their designs to cover walls and doors, but also chairs, cushions, bed covers, and even canopies. Bruno, who had met a young master craftsman from Bruges, had the idea of introducing his superb tapestries interwoven with silk, silver, and gold into Fl
orence, but they had postponed the project until after the war had ended. Mauricio was just about to contemplate once again Petrarch’s Triumphs that decorated the walls, when Lorenzo entered the room accompanied by Elias Levi.
“Forgive me for having made you wait,” he apologized. “The news from the battlefield is so serious that I will soon be obliged to make decisions I would have preferred to avoid. Nevertheless, I did not ask you to come to talk about the loss of Colle de Valdesa, but to continue our inconclusive conversation of the other day as regards your origins. Precisely today, I received the report I had commissioned some months ago, concerning your past. Our men have done an excellent job and verified all the archives. Coloma is only a surname your paternal grandfather adopted when he converted to Christianity. You are in fact a direct descendant of the great master of the Kabbalah, Abraham Abulafia, and therefore our great hope.”
“Great hope?” repeated Mauricio, highly confused and somewhat fearful that one of his ancestors had dedicated himself to the dubious study of the Kabbalah. One thing was an eagerness for knowledge and another, quite different, the desire to cross through the door that might lead to hell.
“So as to decipher the meaning of the ring, of course. I do not believe in coincidences. Your family had the precious stone that issued from Lucifer’s forehead within its power and now it turns out that ‘coincidentally’ you are descendants of one of the greatest Kabbalists of all times. I do not know how it came into his possession and what secret it conceals, but I shall discover it with your help.”
“I did not even know him,” protested Mauricio. “Why should I be more qualified than anyone else to unravel such a mystery?”
“His blood runs through your veins,” answered Elias. “The experiences of Abraham Abulafia are engraved within your body. It would be enough if you could just remember … ”
Mauricio felt dizzy. It might have been the wine, which recently no longer provided him with the clarity or happiness it had before. Nowadays it only afforded him a relief similar to that of the soporific sponges impregnated with mandrake and henbane used by certain doctors. This conversation however, far from making him feel drowsy, was only provoking vertigo that made him feel he was on the edge of an abyss.
“I am not sure I understand what you are saying, Elias, but in any case I am now filled with dread just thinking about that ring. If it really does contain the gem belonging to Lucifer, it would not be surprising if the stone were cursed … !”
“Keep calm, Mauricio,” Lorenzo reassured him. “Far from being cursed, the stone would be sacred. A Persian tradition, which Abraham Abulafia was bound to know, talks of a great emerald of unsurpassable brilliance, detaching itself from Lucifer during his fall. Its custodians knew of its magic virtues and considered it capable of endowing its bearer with an interior light. It was perhaps for that reason that Lucifer cast it away, incapable of accepting the truth about himself. We are talking of an object so holy that even the troubadour Wolfram von Eschenbach, in his famous poem ‘Parzifal,’ identifies the grail with this precious stone fallen from the sky, probably the very same emerald guarded by your family. And though we are mere pawns in this cosmic chess game, perhaps with the help of the ring we can transform ourselves into kings?”
“Cosmic chess games? What are you referring to exactly?” asked Mauricio.
“Seeing as you are in the middle of the chessboard, you have a right to know,” continued Il Magnifico. “In the Apocalypse of Saint John there is a description of how the followers of Lucifer are defeated in the heavens and chained on earth until Judgment Day. No one knows when the end of time will come, but meanwhile the forces of Lucifer have the freedom to continue interacting with our world. They are doing this from dimensions that make them invisible to the human eye, encouraging us to sin in every possible way. Men also exist whose evil nature is far different from them, but who are swept away by base passions. Were you to know them, your blood would run cold. They are not bad because they hurl themselves into the abyss driven by lust, anger, or stupidity. On the contrary, they have perfect mastery over themselves and have embraced the cause of evil in an utterly conscious manner with the same detachment with which an experienced banker analyses a financial transaction. These people are the followers of Lucifer, whom they regard as the bearer of the light. It is for that reason they call themselves the Resplendent Ones.”
“Lucifer, the angel whose light shone most intensely,” whispered Mauricio. “And what do we know of his earthly followers?” he asked, his eyes wide open and his heart gripped as if in a vice.
“My many spies have thrown themselves body and soul into investigating the Resplendent Ones but have found nothing but shadows. They recognize one another but are such a closed society that it is impossible to unmask them. They prefer to act indirectly, using people who are ignorant of their true motives. The assassination attempt on me took place inside the cathedral, at the precise moment the holy chalice was being raised within sight of everyone, as part of a satanic ritual without its material executors even being aware of its true nature. We shall talk about this at some other time. I am weary and you, confused. Be it enough for you to know that we count on you and that you are protected. Although it might seem incredible to you, I am convinced that destiny has placed you here for a very special reason.”
48
Lorena could not stop crying. Cateruccia was hugging her as if she were still a little girl. She was incredibly happy when her father had finally given in, two weeks before, and allowed Cateruccia to come back into her service. Nevertheless, the presence of her childhood nanny had provoked an increase in her unpredictable weeping attacks.
“Be calm, my child, everything will be all right,” said Cateruccia gently, as she stroked her hair.
Lorena loved looking at Cateruccia’s ruddy-cheeked face lit up by her clear blue eyes. Her generous form reassured Lorena and gave her the earthly security she found lacking in herself. The way Lorena sobbed when she saw her, she suspected, was because she reminded her so much of happier times.
“What will be all right, Cateruccia? The plague? The war?”
“Your heart, my dearest,” she answered. “You cannot fool me. Remember, I brought you up, from the day you were born. The plague is a worry to us all, but it is not like the one last century that wiped out nearly the entire population, it is just one of those epidemics that crop up once in a while. Yes, it is true, every week a handful of people die, but it is not that provoking your tears. The war also frightens us, but the worst that could happen is that Lorenzo de Medici ends up hanging at the end of a rope like a common thief. We are all agitated, but you are suffering from something quite different: your heart has not yet recovered from your first childbirth. Death forms part of life. With the next pregnancy your happiness will return.”
Lorena was unwilling to confess to Cateruccia that her worries were far greater. Although she still found Mauricio very attractive, she no longer desired him. She suspected he felt the same. Nowadays they only made love when her husband, intoxicated with wine and the lust men are prone to, was unable to contain himself. It was a brutish, painful act, heavy with guilt. Her body remained rigid and Mauricio, without looking her in the face, would explode in a wave as ephemeral as the foam upon the sea. Afterwards, without saying a word, they would turn their backs upon each other. Her husband snored and she pretended to sleep.
“As for your husband,” said Cateruccia, as if she were reading her thoughts, “you should not worry too much. Men are like that, although I do admit Mauricio does have something special. If only he did not drink so much … ”
“He does not drink that much,” Lorena defended him. “You should be ashamed of yourself talking about him like that.”
She could not accept that anyone else but herself should criticize her husband. Although Cateruccia was partly right, some things were better left unsaid. Hopefully one day the black clouds darkening the future would dissipate and her husband would stop finding
refuge from his anguish in wine.
“Forgive me, Lorena,” Cateruccia corrected herself. “At times I talk thoughtlessly and say things I do not mean to say.”
“Do not worry,” said Lorena, playing down the importance of her words, “another subject is worrying me. My mother informed me yesterday that they are considering the possibility of a marriage between my sister Maria and Luca Albizzi. Do you know anything about this?”
“Oh I don’t know, dear. What can a humble servant say? Your father is certain to give his blessing to the union. If Lorenzo is overthrown, which is more than probable, the marriage with Luca will bring great benefits to the house of Ginori. As for Maria, you know her better than I do. She’s so good! She will be delighted to make her parents happy and her future husband too, who is not only young and from a noble family, but is also handsome and gallant.”
Lorena said nothing. Yes, it was true she felt a dislike for Luca as intuitive as it was inexplicable. He, also sparked off by the wine, had made a coarse comment in bad taste at the country villa. As Cateruccia assured her, maybe ‘all men are like that’ and perhaps they all had strange impulses, just like women did. Mauricio had hardly turned out to be the Prince Charming described in the fairy tales her mother used to read to her.
“Lorena, something is happening to you and I do not know what it is,” Cateruccia said. “Had I not taken care of you since you were born and did not love you so much, I would not dare talk to you like this. Yet I prefer you get annoyed with me rather than keep a conspiratorial and guilty silence. Look, I do not want you to tell me your secrets, but please follow the advice I am about to give you. Go and visit my friend Sofia Plethon one day. She will help you. She is possibly the wisest woman in Florence. Listen now and I shall tell you her story. I can assure you that you will not regret it.”
The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring Page 19
