The Medici secret

by Michael White

  'He tries to tell me what to do. He thinks he's my dad.' She stared intently at the water.

  'Well, he's a sort of stepfather now, and I'm sure he has your best interests at heart.'

  'We did have some fun, though, didn't we, Daddy? I used to love coming here for long weekends and holidays – you, me and Mum. You'd both pick me up from school and we would go straight to the airport. I could never concentrate on work those days. When we got here we'd catch a water taxi from Marco Polo; that first glimpse of San Marco as we came across the lagoon was always so exciting.'

  She didn't look at him, and continued to stare at the water. Finally, she said. 'Do you remember the hidey-hole?' 'Of course.'

  When Rose was five, he and Imogen had remodelled the interior of the apartment on San Marco. The builders had put in a 'secret' little room especially for Rose. Hidden away at one end of the apartment, it could only be reached by a concealed door in the smallest bedroom. She had loved it. 'It's still there,' Jeff added. 'I will always keep it.' Suddenly Rose burst into tears and threw her arms around her father's neck. He let her cry and gently stroked her hair.

  A few moments later, she pulled away, looking embarrassed, tears still streaming down her face. He put a finger under her chin and kissed her forehead. Then he wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. She forced a smile. 'I know exactly what we need right now,' Jeff said, pulling Rose to her feet. 'What?'

  'A super-duper, triple-decker chocolate chip gelato with all the extras. And I know just where to get them.' They had just stepped out of the ice-cream parlour when Jeff's mobile rang.

  'Hi, Edie,' he said, recognising the number on the screen.

  'Jeff,' she sounded hyped up. 'You have to come here as soon as you can.' 'I'm out with Rose, Edie. Remember?' 'I know.' 'Where are you anyway?' 'Mario Sporani's hotel room. Please come now… alone.' He looked at Rose who mouthed, 'It's OK.'

  'All right,' he said wearily into the phone. 'I'll be there in fifteen minutes.' Jeff dropped Rose at the apartment then raced to Sporani's hotel. The Becher in Campo San Fantin was a mid-price hotel, rough around the edges and claustrophobic. The front door was ajar. There were six uniformed policemen in the reception area. One was talking to the receptionist and taking copious notes in a small leather book. Two others were going through papers piled on to shelves on the rear wall behind the desk, a fourth stood at the entrance to the lift and two others were pacing at the foot of a narrow staircase. Jeff approached one of the officers at the stairs. 'What's going on?' 'And you are?'

  'Jeff Martin. I had a call on my mobile to meet some friends here.' 'I'm afraid no one is allowed beyond this point, sir.'

  Jeff was about to protest when he heard a voice booming down from the first floor landing. 'Let him up.'

  Jeff took the stairs two at a time. Aldo Candotti met him just outside Room 6. The door opened on to a narrow, dark corridor leading to the room beyond. 'What's happened?' he asked Candotti.

  'I was hoping you and your friends might enlighten me on that matter, Signor Martin,' he replied and placed his palm in the small of Jeffs back, gently guiding him inside.

  A mean light seeped from the narrow window that looked out on to a rear yard dominated by a wall of grey plasterwork stained with water from a broken gutter. The room was packed with people. Close to the window stood Edie and Roberto, talking to two men in uniform. Next to the narrow bed was a hospital trolley. A body lay on it, covered by a sheet. But Jeff could see long white hair exposed above the sheet. Then he noticed a length of frayed rope dangling from a large hook high up on the wall above the bathroom door. On the floor close to the bed there was an upended chair.

  Jeff felt his stomach turn. He stepped back as a paramedic almost ran over his toes with the trolley. The man eased it around the tight corner into the short corridor leading to the landing and quickly disappeared from view.

  Edie came over, took Jeff's hand and led him across the room. He caught abrief glimpse of himself in the mirror of a cheap dressing table against the wall. His skin looked almost drained of blood. The floor was strewn with clothes and papers, Sporani's suitcase had been upended, everything ripped from the wardrobes. A bar of soap lay at the end of the bed and a bottle of brandy had been smashed, the shards scattered over the worn, heavily patterned carpet. The whole place stank.

  'They think Sporani's been dead for at least twenty-four hours/ Edie said quietly. 'Roberto and I had come to see him. The concierge told us there'd been no sign of him since early yesterday. He brought us up here. When there was no reply, he used the house key. We called the police straight away.'

  Roberto looked intently at Candotti. 'Deputy Prefect, do you have any idea who could have done this?'

  Candotti signalled to the two officers to leavef. When they were gone, he began to pace in the small space between the bed and the wall, hands clasped behind his back.

  'Signor Armatovani, Roberto,' he began. 'I am beginning to worry about you and your friends here. Death seems to be stalking you. I have heard from colleagues in Florence that Dr Granger may be a witness to a murder in the Medici Chapel.'

  'I'm not a witness…' Edie began, but Candotti raised his hand.

  'Please, I'm not accusing anyone. I am simply commenting that wherever you go, people keep dying.' 'The murder victim in Florence was my uncle.' 'I'm well aware of that.'

  'So what are you driving at exactly?' Roberto said, his voice uncharacteristically hard.

  'I do not have the manpower to interrogate you or your friends,' Candotti said, 'and I have no evidence to implicate any of you in any of the sudden deaths that now occupy all my waking hours. I have known you, Roberto, for very many years, and I knew your father very well, but please do not abuse our relationship. If there is anything to link the deaths of Professor Mackenzie, your driver Antonio Chatonni, and Mario Sporani I will find it and I think it would be better for all of us if you, or your friends,' and he flicked his eyes towards Edie and Jeff, 'decided to pay me a visit first. You know where to find me.' He turned on his heel and left the room.

  A moment later, the two uniformed officers returned to escort them out of the room to the stairs. Roberto sat down between Jeff and Edie at a wooden table at the back of Bar Fenice, a small and quite empty wine bar close to The Becher. He slid a glass of red towards Edie and one of two Pinot Grigios to Jeff. 'I really wouldn't advise telling Candotti anything,' he said. 'God no,' Edie said quickly. 'He might be an old friend of your family, Roberto, but he gives me the creeps.'

  'I suspected Sporani knew a great deal more about this whole thing than he let on to me.' Jeff took a sip of wine.

  'And the state of the room,' Roberto said. 'Why would he wreck the place before hanging himself? Candotti's forensics team will probably come up with some useful clues, but we won't hear about them, that's for sure. But we have one little advantage over the police.' Roberto pulled something from his pocket and placed it on the table. 'I liberated this before Candotti's boys got there.'

  It was a Polaroid. Taken in the hotel room, Sporani was holding in his left hand a rectangle of white card approximately the size of a photograph. In his right hand was a strange pen-like object, which he was pointing at the card.

  Edie clapped her hands together. 'How did you…?'

  'When you went out with the concierge and called Jeff, I had a couple of minutes to myself. I put on my gloves and had a quick poke around. This was in Sporani's jacket pocket. Whoever killed him missed it'

  'What's that thing in his right hand?' Jeff picked up the Polaroid. 'Do you see what it says along the side?'

  'Penna Ultra Violetto? It's a kid's toy. I remember Rose had something like this years ago. But what…?'

  'He's telling us to use ultraviolet light. Those toy pens show up invisible ink, don't they?' Edie said.

  Roberto drained his glass and stood up. 'I'll be back in five.'

  It actually took him twenty minutes. Striding into the bar, he slapped a garish purple and pink object on the ta
ble. 'I had to go to four different toy shops to track down that bloody thing!'

  It looked like a fat pen for a ten-year-old girl, but, when Edie picked it up and twisted its base, a puddle of purple light appeared on the surface of the table. 'Cool,' she said. 'Can I have the Polaroid, Jeff? ' Roberto asked.

  Jeff took it out of his pocket and placed it face down on the table. Holding the pen a few centimetres above the surface of the photo, Roberto flicked it on and there, in tiny writing in the middle of the picture, they could see two lines of handwriting: msporani.com.it Thethreeofus On the way back to Roberto's palazzo, they stopped to pick up Rose. They were taking no chances. Someone had tried to kill them. It was obvious Mario Sporani had been murdered, perhaps by the same person. Rose was happy to watch TV in the drawing room while the three adults gathered in the library.

  Edie and Jeff stood either side of Roberto, who sat at his Mac, typing in the web address from the back of the photograph. A moment later, a password request appeared. He keyed in 'Thethreeofus' and two folders appeared, labelled simply T and '2'. Clicking on T a file named 'notes' was displayed. Opening this produced a page of Italian text. Roberto translated as he read: NOTES: COSIMO DE' MEDICI: I've learned very little from journal. I know Cosimo travelled east in 1410. Destination: Greece, or perhaps Macedonia. I know he found something of great significance there. What exactly, remains a mystery. CONTESSINA DE' MEDICI: Cosimo's wife. Visited San Michele soon after her husband's death. I think it was to speak with Father Mauro's disciples and to arrange for a map to be designed. GIORDANO BRUNO: The great mystic and occultist spent some time in Venice and Padua during 1592. He had been travelling throughout Europe and must have heard something important about Cosimo de' Medici and his circle. I think he formed a group in Venice to conceal this information, this 'Medici Secret'. Bruno's group was somehow connected with the early Rosicrucians, an occult group well known in Europe by this time. I'm quite sure Bruno tampered with Contessina's clue and planted a second. It's in the city archives and makes illuminating reading. THE MEDICI CHAPEL: The nexus. I believe there is something there, but I don't know what it is. The secrets of Venice lead to the secrets of Florence which lead to the secrets of where? Macedonia? It is something very important – important enough to kill for. 'You were right, Jeff, he was several steps ahead of us,' Edie said. 'He knew something about the secret the clues are protecting.'

  'Which makes sense. Finding the Medici journal in the crypt forty-odd years ago was the pivotal moment in Sporani's life. It was obvious whatever he had found was important; why else would anyone send a couple of thugs after him and threaten to kill his family?' 'So you think he's been trying to unravel this mystery all these years?' 'Why not?'

  'I think Sporani was following a similar trail to us,' said Roberto. 'He didn't have the clue on the tablet found in Florence; in fact he didn't even know about that, but he somehow knew something about the Mauro map.' 'How could he have?'

  Roberto shrugged. 'As you said yourself Jeff, Sporani's discovery in the crypt, Cosimo's journal, was a pivotal moment in the man's life. He obviously did his research, and followed a trail that convinced him that Cosimo's wife came to Venice and called in on Mauro's apprentices in 1464. He must have inferred from this that she planted a clue on San Michele to keep hidden what he calls the "Medici Secret".'

  Jeff nodded. 'Yeah, but hold on. Cosimo died in 1464, and the clue refers to the Rialto Bridge, finished in 1591.'

  'So,' Edie responded, 'either we have the clue all wrong, or the version we read in the library on San Michele is not the original.'

  'I don't think we have the clue wrong,' Roberto said. 'It's just that the story isn't as straightforward as it seemed to be at first. Contessina may well have visited Mauro's disciples and she may have left a clue, but years later, Giordano Bruno learned of a mystery surrounding Cosimo de' Medici. He formed a group to protect whatever this secret might be. For some reason, he took it upon himself to replace the clue Contessina left, and according to Sporani at least, Bruno's clue leads to another created deliberately by him too.'

  'Why would Bruno do that? Why change the clue?' Edie asked.

  'It's typical of the man. Giordano Bruno Was an egomaniac. He thought he was some sort of prophet, fancied himself as the founder of a new religion. He was planning to set one up when he was captured in Venice. It doesn't surprise me at all that he would interfere, he probably loved the idea he had gone one better than a Medici.' 'So what exactly is Sporani telling us?' Jeff asked.

  'It's there in the section about Bruno. If Sporani knew about the clue on San Michele, he would have the same verse as us. He says Giordano Bruno tampered with it and planted the second. Clearly the clue on San Michele was Bruno's because of the timeframe. As we know, the Rialto was completed in 1591, not long before Bruno was in Venice. We know that's true because he was arrested here in May 1592 and tried by the Inquisition.'

  'So, we were barking up the wrong tree going to the bridge itself,' Jeff interjected. 'The clue is in the city archives.'

  '"It is hidden there with the lines, beyond the water, behind the hand of the architect",' Edie quoted. 'It must mean the architect's drawings. How cunning!'

  'And the plaque in the wall of the bridge was a red herring.' Jeff looked at his watch. 'Will the archives still be open?'

  'We don't need them,' Roberto said. 'I think Mario Sporani is our guardian angel and has already done the leg work.' He flicked back to the original screen and opened the folder marked '2'. Two more documents appeared. They were scanned-in pages of parchment covered in tightly written text. Beneath these they could see a typed version in Italian and English. The first document began: Friday, 2 May, The Year of Our Lord 1592. Palazzo Mocenigo, Campo San Samuele. I am Giordano Bruno, who some men refer to as 'The Nolan'. This is for my brothers of I Seguicamme, and this is my story.

  I am now in the house of the nobleman Giovanni Mocenigo, a most loathsome man. Against my better judgement, Mocenigo persuaded me to return to Italy. I have been hounded by the Roman Inquisition for many years. Mocenigo, my patron of noble blood, promised me protection, but I know the forces against me are moving in for the kill, and my days of freedom are numbered. I fear I shall not leave Venice alive. Mocenigo wished to learn the Secret Arts of which I am an Adept (as I have proven in my many acclaimed works). But now, this man, who it transpires has no mind for the Hermetic Arts and is a fraud, has trapped me here in his palazzo and all the borders of this city are watched. My enemies are waiting for me to attempt an escape.

  This then is a message to the future, a message of hope.

  Twenty years ago I came by a most intriguing document. The details of how I acquired it do little for my reputation but I must confess all. I won the treasure playing cards in the backroom of a tavern in Verona. My card-playing adversary had lost all his money and insisted the parchment he was offering me was a genuine antique and that it had been handwritten by no less a figure than Contessina de' Medici, the wife of the great Florentine ruler, Cosimo the Elder. At first, I believed that the parchment was entirely without value. I almost threw it back at him, but when I looked a little closer I became intrigued and accepted his token.

  Later, I managed to study the document in great detail. It was a fragment of a personal letter which alluded to the presence of a great treasure. At the end there were two lines of a riddle. At first, the clue made little sense, but gradually I managed to fathom some of its meaning and this revelation took me to Venice; more specifically, it took me to the home of the monks of San Michele, the Island of the Dead. There I found a map revered by the monks of the island, and again, after exhaustive effort and employing all my scholarship, I found another clue, a verse that led me to the next stage.

  But all my efforts were in vain. The document, although genuine, led only to a blind alley. The clue in the letter and the others I unearthed on San Michele directed me to a tomb at the exact centre of the island. There, with the aid of my trusted servant Albertus, I uneart
hed a large leather casket. Inside lay just one thing, a metal plate on which had been etched the words: ALL MEN ARE TREACHEROUS.

  At first, I assumed that this was some sort of elaborate hoax. But as time passed and I learned more (about which I dare not speak even now). I came to understand that although I had failed in my efforts, Contessina de' Medici really had hidden a great secret. Quite simply, I had not been wise enough to find it. For twenty long years I have continued my search. I have learned much, but not the core truth. My failure causes me so much pain I am barely able to countenance the thought of anyone else succeeding in the quest. To this end, I will hide the letter of Contessina de' Medici. Only the most determined may discover the hidden truth. I have just sufficient humility to say that whosoever does succeed in discovering the nature of the Medici Secret is a truly great man. May he also be honest and wise. The second document was shorter. It read: Thursday, 28 February, The Year of Our Lord 1593, Venice. I am Albertus Jacobi. My master, the great scholar Giordano Bruno has been transported to Rome in chains and I fear that soon he will die. My master entrusted me with many documents and papers, including a manuscript of his latest work. Most valued however is a document he discovered some two decades ago, about the time I began my association with him. Only the great shall be able to see this thing, and only the great will unlock its secrets. The twins, the founding fathers. In the street where they dispose of men like me, Five windows over a balcony. The point that touches the sky; a hemisphere above, and a hemisphere below. Edie, Jeff and Rose stayed the night at Roberto's. Rose had fallen asleep in front of the TV. Jeff woke her gently and escorted her to a room prepared for her on the first floor. Vincent then led Jeff and Edie to their rooms along the corridor, a grand galleried area at the top of a broad flight of marble stairs. Roberto stayed in the library to see what he could unearth.

  From the windows of her room Edie had a magnificent view along the Grand Canal, The water looked like treacle. On her left, the canal curved away to the south. A gondola lit up with lanterns slid silently into the shadows. A fog was descending on the scene. Soon, she thought, Venice would be enveloped in a damp shroud, contorting light and quickening sounds.