The Medici secret

by Michael White

  It took them only an hour to reach Fiesole, a small, ancient town that had become a possession of Florence centuries earlier. It was colder now and very dark. And it had begun to rain. The town looked lifeless. Reaching the gate, they had their first surprise. The keeper refused to open the grill and would only communicate by shouting through the oak gate.' 'What brings you here at this hour?' he yelled. 'We have travelled from Florence on business.' 'What business?' 'That is of concern only to us,' Cosimo replied.

  'You cannot enter the town tonight. We've heard of plague not an hour's ride from here. My orders are to bolt the gate and to allow no one in.'

  'We are healthy merchants from the city. We present no danger.'

  'I have my orders,' the voice boomed, hard and resolute. Cosimo turned to Niccoli. 'What now?'

  'We could ride on to Borgo San Lorenzo. We'd make it before dawn. But this is an inauspicious beginning.' 'The gatekeeper will not budge.' 'I agree.'

  'What about the old amphitheatre?' Cosimo said suddenly. 'I recall there are chambers under the auditorium. It will be dry and secure there.'

  A few minutes' ride later, they made out the sharp silhouette of the amphitheatre against the night sky. Circling the eastern side, they entered the level ground close to where performers once took the stage. It appeared to be utterly deserted and as silent as the grave. Sodden from the unrelenting rain, they dismounted and tethered the horses. Cosimo led the group into the semi-circular auditorium.

  It was an ancient and once-hallowed place built more than a thousand years earlier when Rome was basking in all its glory. Actors and showmen from across the empire had travelled here to perform. Emperors and noblemen led the audience in rapturous applause if the gods had blessed the performance. Cosimo had visited this relic when he was a child and had explored the cavernous chambers that lay beneath the stone steps of the auditorium. This was where the performers changed costumes, where circus troupes with their lions and performing monkeys had been housed. Here also slept the slaves who kept the amphitheatre running and manned the huge mechanical devices used to manoeuvre elaborate stage sets. It was a labyrinth of chambers and passageways now barren and lifeless, but with a little imagination, you could still hear the voices of a millennium past, the screams of delight from the thousands gathered on the stone steps of the auditorium, and the moans of exhaustion from the slaves. A little more imagination and you could smell the animals and the rank odour of blood.

  Cosimo pushed a creaking door inward and they entered a broad passageway. Small dark chambers opened to the left and right. He lit a small lantern dangling from the end of a pole and handed it to Niccoli. Rats scurried away into the shadows beyond the puddle of light around the travellers.

  'Well, it's not quite the comfort you're used to, Niccolo,' Cosimo joked. 'But at least it's dry.'

  The servants were sent back to the horses to feed them and to collect the bed rolls and blankets. Two of them took the first hour on watch while the rest of the party tried to get as comfortable as the hard stone floor would allow. They found an old lantern in a wall bracket, filled it with an oil-soaked rag and lit it. Cosimo had no idea what time it was when he was awakened by screams coming from the passageway. Then he heard the slither of steel close to his ear as Niccolo unsheathed his blade and sprang to his feet in a single fluid movement. In the dim brown light of the chamber he could see nothing at first, but then came the sound of heavy breathing. A bleached-white face appeared in the doorway. It was one of the watchmen.

  'Wolves,' he croaked and fell on his face. Cosimo and Niccoli crouched down; the man's back was shredded and streaked with red. Through his ripped tunic they could see the lacerated flesh.

  Before they could reach the door two black shapes appeared in the opening. Cosimo caught a flash of white teeth and a red lolling tongue. Niccoli reacted with lightning speed. There was a whoosh of tempered steel then a sickening squelch as Niccoli found the throat of the lead animal, sliced it open, withdrew his sword and slid it into the mouth of the other wolf; driving it home so hard it emerged through the back of the beast's head.

  Cosimo had his sword unsheathed and fell in behind Niccoli who edged his way to the door. 'Stay here!' he shouted to the unarmed servants. 'And bolt the door.'

  Niccoli pulled the torch from the bracket and edged into the passageway. Ahead lay a bend in the corridor which opened on to a passage leading to the outside. Niccoli took the lead, moving forward silently, his back pressed up against the cold stone wall. He peered around the corner and then dashed forward.

  The other watchman was dead, sprawled on the floor on his back. One arm lay half-eaten a metre away. A wolf was bent over him gnawing at the man's face. As Niccoli appeared, the animal looked up. Its eyes were yellow, its fur matted with blood; a scar ran down one side of its face from eye to lower jaw. Raising its huge head, it let out a blood-curdling howl and two more wolves appeared from behind a column to their left. 'Back to back!' Niccoli yelled. 'Now!'

  Cosimo obeyed immediately. Niccoli thrust the torch forward with his left hand and swept it through the air in a great orange arc. In his right hand, his sword glinted in the light. The animal that had been devouring the servant was the first to react. It sprang straight for Niccoli's throat. Its back legs had hardly left the ground before a sword slashed down on to its head, splitting its cranium in two. The wolf fell, dead, its huge paws splayed on the stone floor.

  One of the other wolves was caught by a glancing blow from Cosimo's sword. The blade slid down the animal's cheek slicing open its left eye and cutting a deep trench into its snout. It crumpled to the floor, writhing in agony before Cosimo stepped forward and decapitated it.

  The third wolf, one of the pair to emerge from the chamber further along the corridor, had suddenly turned on Cosimo. Niccoli span round in time to see a flash of white fangs and a massive black shape flying through the air. Then he heard Cosimo scream in agony. Swinging his sword over his head, Niccoli brought it down with pinpoint accuracy slicing off the creature's head.

  Cosimo dropped to one knee, blood pouring from his arm, sweat running down his cheeks. Niccoli tore open the remainder of his friend's sleeve before ripping a length of material from his own tunic and binding the wound.

  'It's not too deep. You were lucky,' he said, helping Cosimo to his feet. 'Get the servants. I'll watch the tunnels.'

  A few moments later, Cosimo returned with the terrified men and the bags and Niccoli led the way out waving a burning torch in front of him.

  Two of the horses were dead and two others had disappeared but, within a few minutes, they had found the remaining animals and calmed them down. It was agreed that two of the surviving servants should return on foot to Florence. Cosimo's arm had stopped bleeding and neither man could see any sense in again trying to persuade the gatekeeper at Fiesole to let them in. They would press on to Borgo San Lorenzo where Cosimo might receive medical attention and they could take stock.

  Wearily, they clambered on to their horses and made their way back to the main track north, heading once more into the wilderness. Dawn was breaking as they approached the small town of Borgo San Lorenzo. There was no trouble at the gate and they tarried only long enough to have Cosimo's arm cleaned and bound properly while two servants were dispatched with a bag of coins to find fresh horses. Even before the townsfolk were starting the business of the day, the riders were back on the road, heading north-east.

  They travelled on, following the winding track road past the borders of Tuscany and into the Romagna. Cosimo felt strangely elated. The fact that he had simply shrugged off his responsibilities and abandoned the role of dutiful son did not bother him. He felt thrilled by the journey and excited by the prospect of adventure. He recalled the many times he had ridden all day with Niccolo and Ambrogio Tommasini hunting and hawking in the woods surrounding Florence.

  It was blisteringly hot, the sun dazzling in a perfect blue sky. A league beyond Borgo San Lorenzo, the road began to ascend into the hills.
At times the route became hazardous with deep ravines dropping away on either side. The day was fading and the shadows growing long when they had their first view of Brisighella, a town spread over three tall peaks. The pinnacles rose out of the treeline like the blackened bones of a vast and long-dead monster that had rolled over and perished in some ancient time. By the time they reached the inn on the edge of the town, they were exhausted. They were all boarded in one room with two straw mattresses for the noblemen, a stone floor for the servants. Cosimo and Niccoli decided to stretch their legs and take the mountain air before retiring.

  Brisighella was a small but prosperous town that had done particularly well through recent turbulent times. A century earlier, a local nobleman had built a tower on the most southerly peak and the town had grown up around it. On one of the other two pinnacles stood a fortress, while the most easterly peak was home to a Marian Sanctuary. There were few people about and as the two men crossed the main square and walked through the charming cloistered street known as Via degli Asini, they found themselves alone with only the echo of their footfall to keep them company. The moon was bright in a cloudless sky.

  'How are you feeling, Cosi?' Niccoli asked as they paced slowly across the uneven pathway with the stone roof of the cloister curving low over their heads.

  Cosimo turned to him studying his face in the moon-glow. 'Why do you ask?' 'I have left nothing behind. But you…'

  'It was my idea, remember Niccolo?' He paused watching a young mother shooing her small child into a house ahead of them. 'For my father, money and commerce are all there is. Not for me. But then, maybe it goes deeper than this. Maybe this need is a way in which I can negate death.'

  'Acquiring knowledge is a noble aspiration, but no one can avoid the inevitable.' 'Maybe not. But it's like love. My love for Contessina is my way of defying death. I know that one day all must turn to dust, our lovers leave us and forget us, and they die as we will. But by loving another we are making a stand. The seeking of knowledge, the unravelling of a mystery is the same, it allows me to say: I'm a man, I have some value in this world.' 'Sounds blasphemous to me.' 'Perhaps it is, but there you have it.'

  They decided to follow the cloistered road back to the inn when they heard a sound behind them. Turning, they saw a young man approach. He was wearing a leather gilet and riding boots. On his left breast was the Medici coat of arms, five red balls on a gold shield with a pair of crossed keys in the background. Cosimo sighed.

  The young man gave a cursory bow and held out a rolled-up scroll. 'Master Cosimo. My name is Captain Vincent Oratore from your father's guard. I apologise for disturbing you at this hour. At your father's bidding I have ridden long and hard from Florence. My master sends you this message. He would like an immediate reply.' Cosimo broke the seal and read the letter. My son. I am deeply saddened by your actions. First you decided to run off to pursue your muse, but worse, you did not deem it necessary to speak to me of your decision. Your mother and I are in great fear for your safety. If you return home now I will forget this aberration ever occurred. Please, for your mother's sake, do not disappoint us. Leaning on the stone wall of the cloister, Cosimo looked out across the tops of hundreds of olive trees, shadows in the dark. The sky had filled with stars. Staring up at the overarching firmament he suddenly remembered a text he had read, a heretical piece of writing, composed by a madman for sure. The author had spoken of infinity, of space tumbling on and on endlessly, of how stars were suns like our own, suns so far distant they appeared to us as mere pinpricks of light, an endless, infinite universe. Perversely, he liked that idea. He wanted to be a small fish in a big pond, it gave him room to grow. He turned to Captain Oratore knowing exactly what reply he would send to his father.

  Chapter 15

  Venice, present day Edie and Jeff were having a late breakfast at Jeff's apartment. Maria was off-duty for the day and Rose had refused to leave her room all morning. Jeff had barely seen her since returning from Roberto's. As they were polishing off the remnants of a full English breakfast the phone rang.

  'It struck me early this morning,' Roberto said, 'we need to broaden our horizons a bit. Whoever killed Antonio and tried to abduct us is on the same trail as we are. We have to get a fresh perspective. That chap who came to see you…?'

  'Mario Sporani? I'd forgotten about him, and I promised to call at his hotel. He's staying at The Becher.' Edie looked up at the mention of the name Sporani and gave Jeff a questioning look. 'Shall we meet there?'

  'No, I really can't this morning, Roberto. I promised Rose…'

  'Of course you did, Jeff, and I don't want to come between a father and his daughter. Is Edie up?' 'She is. I'll put her on.' 'Hi.' 'Good morning. You are well rested, I trust?' She laughed. 'I slept like the dead of San Michele.'

  'We almost ended up there for real,' Roberto replied. 'So, what do you fancy? Traipsing around museums and galleries with Jeff or following leads with me? Plus lunch at the Gritti thrown in when we've had enough sleuthing?'

  'I'll have to think about that,' Edie said and pulled a face at Jeff who was rolling his eyes. Rose's mood of the previous afternoon had not lightened. As they crossed St Mark's Square, Jeff could feel the weight of her silent resentment, but he had no idea how to get her to talk. Their first stop was the Basilica of St Mark, a short walk from the apartment. Rose had been there before but she had been too young to really appreciate it. Now, things were different. Rose seemed to have matured ten years in the past two, and not for the first time, Jeff winced at the thought of what damage her parents' acrimonious break-up might have caused. Looking at her as she gazed sulkily at the tombs and the splendid domed ceiling, it began to dawn on him what her black mood was all about. She had been okay until Edie had turned up; but surely Rose couldn't think…? It was so easy to believe that everything was fine with his daughter and that she had managed to cope brilliantly with the trauma of recent years, but how was he to really know? Everyone locked away some secret pain. Why should Rose be any different?

  At the altar, they studied the ornate stonework and the remarkable mosaics depicting how, in the ninth century the body of St Mark had been stolen from Alexandria by Venetian merchants and brought to the city. 'This basilica was built especially to house the bones of the saint,' Jeff said, trying to spark some interest.

  Rose shrugged her shoulders. 'What's so special about a bunch of old bones?'

  Jeff smiled. 'Yeah, I know what you mean. It does seem daft to us, but a thousand years ago people placed great significance in such things.'

  'I don't see how they could have known they were the bones of St Mark anyway.'

  'Well actually, they didn't, but they wanted to believe that they were. Besides, there was no way it could be disproved, was there?' She shrugged again.

  'Most relics were fakes. Indeed, there was a roaring trade in the bones of saints and other holy men. There used to be auctions in Byzantium. Sort of an eBay of the first millennium.' Rose cracked a faint smile. Jeff sighed. 'Come on. I think we need to talk.'

  Following the crowds, they turned right outside the basilica and entered the maze of streets to the north of San Marco, past the designer clothes stores and shops selling souvenirs and trinkets mass-produced on Murano. From there they took a route back towards the Riva degli Schiavoni, the waterfront to the lagoon close to the Ducal 'Palace. Reaching the water, they sat down on the high wall with the canal lapping under their feet and watched the gondolas bob on the tide.

  'OK,' Jeff said softly. 'So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?' 'What?' 'Rose, please.' She looked up suddenly. 'That woman.' Jeff looked confused. 'Your girlfriend, Edie.' 'My? Oh, so that's it'

  'Oh Dad, please don't insult my intelligence. I know all about you and her. I've known about it for a long time.' Jeff shook his head and smiled. 'Don't patronise me!' Rose exclaimed angrily.

  'Rose stop, just stop. You've got it all wrong.' He grabbed her shoulder and she turned on him, her face distorted with fury. 'Oh real
ly.'

  'Yes, really. Edie and I, we're friends. That's all we've ever been.' 'That's not what I've heard.' 'From whom? Oh, I see…' 'She told me everything.'

  'Look, whatever your mother has told you, it's simply not true.'

  'She told me you wrecked the marriage, that you had an affair with Edie.'

  Jeff didn't know what to say. He simply stared at his daughter and suddenly she knew with absolute certainty that she had been strung a line.

  'Oh Dad,' and she reached for him. Jeff pulled her close and for a moment he was transported back in time to when Rose was a toddler weeping into his shoulder after a fall from her bike or having been scared by the neighbour's dog. He drew back and looked at her face, the large moist eyes and full lips. He felt incredibly angry, furious with his deceitful bitch of a wife, his ex-wife. The woman had absolutely no scruples. She had lied and cheated in their marriage and now… But he had to suppress the bitterness, at least for the moment. He put his arm around Rose and they sat for a moment silently watching the vaporetti. 'Why would Mum lie like that?' Rose asked.

  It was an impossible question to answer. Jeff looked at his daughter and made a conscious effort to choose his words very carefully. 'I guess, well, I suppose Mum couldn't face the guilt she felt. We're all human, Rose. Your mother and I, we were under a lot of pressure. It was painful for us and painful for you. Maybe she just thought it would be the easiest thing to do. I don't really know…' His answer petered out.

  'Why did you and Mummy ever have to break up?'

  Jeff took a deep breath. 'You have to understand that it's hard to cope with infidelity. A relationship can never be quite the same after that.' He fixed her with a hard stare. 'Is everything all right? At home I mean?'

  'With Mum? Yeah, of course. But, well, it's not like old times.' 'No. I'm sorry, darling.'

  They fell silent again. Then Rose said, 'Do you miss her?' 'I miss some of the old times. Like you.' 'I don't care for Caspian much.' 'Oh?'