The Thief Of Peace

by Jess Whitecroft

  “Strangled?” said Nicci. Brother Armando had been strangled. “Thanks, Berto. You’ve been very helpful.”

  The knife, then. That meant something. Because it had been del Campo’s dagger and it had been put there on purpose, which maybe meant that someone had had it in for the Albani long before they sent that package to old Giovanni. But who? The Ribisi? Then there was Giancarlo saying that Teo was at the centre of it all. There was something else, too. Something else Giancarlo had said, but Nicci couldn’t even remember what, and suspected that he’d been drunk when Giancarlo had said it. Oh, his head was far too full for this.

  “Wait,” said Berto, as Nicci began to walk away. “So you’re definitely not looking for any…?”

  Nicci turned and frowned. “I thought you didn’t do that anymore?”

  Berto shrugged. “Yeah, but like they say. Arm and a leg. And I’ve got a leg. Good condition. Be great for your studies. I know you’re a stickler for getting the feet right.”

  Nicci tossed him another coin. “Not today, Berto. But maybe another time. I’ve got a job, actually.”

  “What? A real job? An art job?”

  “I know,” said Nicci. “I’m as surprised as you are. We’re living in strange times, Berto. Strange times.”

  *

  On a blazing day in Florence, Teo laid his father to rest.

  Nicci had helped him with the eulogy, and he thought he’d delivered it fairly well, despite the fact that his mouth had felt like sand the entire time, and his knees had trembled behind the lectern.

  “It’s over,” he said to Vicini, as he stepped out of the church. “That’s it. That’s the last of them.”

  “No. Not the last. There’s you.”

  Teo looked back at the church, where he’d already asked Nicci to start designing the tomb. He looked out at the crowds of black clad mourners – from some of Tuscany’s oldest and most noble families – making their way to his father’s house to drink and talk and remember the dead man. No. Not his father’s house anymore. His house. How like his father to get his own way in the end.

  “I don’t…” Teo began, and shook his head. “I’m not the heir to all this. I never wanted that. You know that.”

  Vicini put a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t always have a choice about the person we become, Teodoro.”

  “We absolutely do. I am a monk. I took vows. I made that choice.”

  “So what do you propose?” said Vicini, as they followed the mourners back to the house. “You think you can just disappear? Go back to San Bendetto?”

  “No. I can’t do that.” Teo sighed. “I hate to think what they’re saying about me. I left with no explanation or warning.” Why hadn’t he heard anything about poor Brother Armando? “Did you speak to the abbot of San Bendetto?”

  “I confess,” said Vicini. “I haven’t had time.”

  “Time? Whoever killed Armando was trying to kill me.”

  “And to that end I have employed extra guards and food tasters,” said Vicini. “Believe me, signor – your safety is of paramount concern to me.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” said Teo. Without him Vicini would need to find another family to serve. The Albani had been his life for almost twice as long as Teo had been alive.

  “I realise this is difficult, but time will heal these wounds. Your family will rise again.”

  “Rise?”

  “Your children.”

  “I am a monk,” Teo said, again.

  “You realise you can no longer cling to that identity?”

  “Identity? It’s not an identity. It’s my vocation.” Except it wasn’t. Not anymore. The words rang hollow even to his own ears, because his faith had been slipping away for a while now, and the only light that made any sense was that of Nicci’s love. “I’m to just toss my vows aside in order to marry?”

  “Can you see any other way?” said Vicini. “Under the circumstances? If you go back to a monastery then the family line dies with you. What do you plan to do? Give everything away to the Church?”

  “No,” said Teo, too promptly. He was thinking of Cardinal Gatti and his rose point lace cuffs. Why was everything so complicated? Why was everyone around him – even those he thought immune, like the abbot – so easily corrupted? Why so many hidden agendas, half glimpsed and even less understood? “It’s funny, isn’t it?” he said. “My father wanted his heir, and now he has him. If you’d asked him what he had to do to get his own way, he probably wouldn’t have liked it.”

  “You’re a man of significant wealth now,” said Vicini, as they approached the house. “I suggest you think about that before making any rash decisions.”

  “And I suggest you don’t presume to take that tone with me. I’m not a child.”

  “Forgive me,” said Vicini. “What I meant to say is that if you wish it, your means and your influence are tools at your disposal. You have the power to improve many lives, including your own.” Vicini lowered his head in a slight bow. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll attend to the guests.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Vicini.”

  Influence? What influence did he really have, besides the influence that only came from bearing his father’s name, a name he’d only been given because his father had found himself childless and desperate? He’d done nothing to deserve any of this, and yet somehow he found himself close to the apex of Florentine society, he whose mother could barely write a simple letter.

  “There you are,” said Nicci, stepping out of the doorway. “How are you holding up? Your eulogy was wonderful.”

  “Only thanks to your help. My voice felt like it was coming from the other end of the church, like a parrot’s.”

  Nicci ran his hand down the length of Teo’s sleeve. “I promise you, you didn’t sound anything like a parrot.” There was movement and noise at the end of the street and they both turned their heads to look. Two seggioli – covered sedan chairs – were making their way down the street. The bearers wore the ubiquitous arms of the Medici: three gold fleurs-de-lis on a blue roundel above five balls.

  “Oh my God,” said Nicci, and fled.

  The chairs stopped outside the house. The occupant of the second one stepped out first. He looked older than Teo but younger than Nicci, a tall, slender young man with wide set dark eyes, a broad forehead and cropped dark hair that looked as though it was already begin to recede back from a widow’s peak.

  Duke Cosimo stepped out of the first chair. He was older and greyer than Teo remembered, but his frame still recalled the muscular Orpheus he’d modelled for Bronzino. His large eyes, one with a slight squint, fastened on Teo.

  “My dear boy,” he said. “Please accept my apologies. We were unavoidably delayed.”

  “Not at all, your Grace,” said Teo. “Thank you for coming. I never expected…”

  The duke touched his elbow. “Your father sat on my consigliere for many years. I valued his wisdom. You know my son, of course? Francesco?”

  “I have not yet had the pleasure,” said Teo, bowing.

  Inside, Teo helped the duke and his son to the best wine. “If there’s anything I can do for you,” said the duke. “Your father was a dear friend.”

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” Teo heard himself say.

  “Oh?”

  “You heard the case of Carlo del Campo?” he said. “For the murder of my brother Giacamo.”

  “Ah, yes,” said the duke. “I heard there was some trouble with the widow?”

  “That’s right,” said Teo. “Except that I don’t believe her husband killed my brother, and I think she has been unfairly punished for it.”

  Francesco de Medici frowned. “As I understood it they found del Campo’s dagger in your brother’s back?”

  “Yes, sir. Her husband’s dagger. Not hers. She wasn’t responsible.”

  The regent snorted. “Seems to me she was responsible as soon as she opened her thighs to your brother. She inspired the jealousy that got him killed.”

 
“Nevertheless, your Grace,” said Teo. “She has been poorly served as of late, and I think there is room to believe in her husband’s innocence. And if there is, it would mean that my brother’s true killer remains unpunished.”

  Duke Cosimo nodded. “Very well. I’ll look into it.”

  “Thank you so much, your Grace.”

  “Not at all. Your family and my family have been friends for over a hundred years. I hope that bond will continue.”

  “As do I.” Teo spotted Nicci, hiding near the garden door. “Excuse me one moment. Please don’t hesitate to ask the servants for anything you desire.”

  Nicci darted out into the tiny courtyard garden, and Teo followed. “Why did you run off?” he asked.

  “Are you mad? I’m a peasant from Volpaia. What am I going to say to a duke?” They walked under the shade of the columns, going nowhere in particular but around in circles. “What did they say to you?”

  “I asked about the del Campo thing.” Teo gave a snort of self-disgust. “Not five minutes after I told Vicini that I wasn’t prepared to use my father’s name for influence.” His throat ached and his eyes burned, and he was sure that didn’t speak well of him, that he was crying for himself at his father’s funeral. “I don’t know who I am any more. I’m clinging to the vows I’ve broken…”

  “You didn’t break—”

  “—I did,” said Teo, because if thought were deed he would already be Nicci’s lover. “I’ve entertained lust…”

  He swayed, overcome by the strength of his feelings. Somehow they stumbled together through the nearest doorway, into a tiny room used to store laundry equipment. The small space smelled strongly of lye soap, but even that wasn’t enough to remind Teo of who he was supposed to be. Instead he wrapped both arms around Nicci and clung in a long embrace, hip to hip, heart to heart, his face pressed against the side of Nicci’s neck, his lips parted against the hot skin.

  “Please,” he whispered, his whole body seeming to vibrate with the thundering beat of his heart. “Please. I can’t stand it anymore. Just touch me.”

  Nicci turned his head. His lips found the corner of Teo’s, mouthing clumsy kisses. His tongue darted out, parting Teo’s lips, and Teo opened his mouth – more in surprise than anything else. For a long split second he hung there, baffled and open mouthed, and Nicci’s lips somehow sealed over his and they fit together, moving in a way that he would never have imagined in a million years could feel this good. When Nicci’s tongue curled into his mouth, Teo felt an answering curl of fire deep in his belly. He pushed with his own tongue, licking, tasting, and the response was beyond his wildest dreams. Nicci’s hands swept over him, from hips to jaw, cradling his face as they kissed and kissed.

  Teo broke off to snatch a breath. His back was up against the wall, his flesh in full revolt. “Ask me to come to you,” he said. “Tonight. Ask me to come to you, and I will.”

  Nicci moaned softly and claimed his mouth again. This was really happening. Vows or no vows, Heaven or Hell, certain damnation – none of it mattered any longer, because the sun would set and the night would come and it would finally happen. He would lie in the arms of his love.

  “I can’t,” Nicci said, puncturing Teo’s fantasy in two words.

  “What? Why?”

  Nicci smoothed the corners of Teo’s eyes with his thumbs. He was flushed, his lips red against the black of his beard. “People talk, Teo,” he said. “I can’t let you ruin yourself in this way. Expose you to scandal. You need to keep me at arm’s length.”

  “If you’re going to reject me, do so,” said Teo, stung. “Don’t couch it in terms you think I would find more palatable.”

  “I’m not.” Nicci leaned in again, soothing him with kisses. “Believe me, the last thing I want to do is reject you, but…”

  Teo stopped his lips with his own. He’d tasted too much already and the hunger was now unmanageable, impossible, consuming him even as he devoured Nicci’s mouth. Their tongues made quiet, liquid sounds in the tiny, lye scented room, and every kiss seemed deeper and sweeter and more delicious than the last.

  Footsteps approached. Nicci froze, his hand still on Teo’s cheek. They stood in heart-thrumming silence as the steps passed. It was just a servant on her way to the kitchen, but Nicci had turned pale.

  “You see?” he said. “This is what I’m talking about. We’re in the middle of a city that eats, sleeps and breathes gossip.” He dried Teo’s wet lips with the pad of his thumb, and for a second looked as though he might disregard his own advice and kiss him again. “Calm yourself. And leave it a moment before you slip out of here. Do you understand me?”

  Teo gave a reluctant nod.

  “Please don’t be angry with me,” said Nicci. “The world is the way it is, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  I could, thought Teo, realising that whether he liked it or not he was rich now. He was the sole heir to this house, to the estate at Prato and the hunting lodge. He had enough money to do whatever he liked, and to shut the mouths of those who might spread rumours.

  Nicci kissed him one last time and checked that the coast was clear before leaving. Teo stood with his back to the wall, his lips burning, his cock aching and his stomach turning at the thought of what he might become. Or was already becoming. Strange that he was more appalled by the notion of becoming a glittery creature of money and influence more than he was by the idea of spreading his legs for another man, but right now that sin felt like sanctuary.

  He heard voices in the courtyard.

  “…there’s no family any longer. There’s only him.”

  “He’s a young man. Once he finds a bride there will be more.”

  Teo edged away from the door. It was the duke.

  “…I thought he’d taken holy orders?”

  “Circumstances change. I’d like to think that if you were in the same situation you’d do the necessary to prevent the extinction of our family. Or if anything happened to you, your brother would turn his back on the Church and marry. Family is everything, Francesco. It’s a large part of how we came to rule this city. That and the other families who were loyal to us.”

  “Father, I know that, but times change. Old loyalties are one thing, but what of forging new ones. There are other families, ones that could mean a great—”

  “—no,” said the duke, in a voice like a slap. “I told you. I will not have them on the consigliere.”

  Their footsteps and voices were receding now. Teo strained his ears to listen.

  “…this is nothing but an old prejudice…”

  “…you may do as you please when I’m dead, Francesco. In the meantime, I will handle all appointments to the consigliere.”

  13

  The dining room was covered in drawings. Beautiful things, studies of hands and feet and doves with their wings outstretched. On the floor lay a huge sheet of paper with the beginnings of a sketch, of Christ standing in the river beside the Baptist. Teo knelt beside Nicci, enraptured and in love. “Here,” Nicci said, pointing with charcoal smudged fingertips. “These panels here, at the sides of the lattice wall, I thought these could be further depictions of the saints – Saint Lorenzo, perhaps. Or Theodore…”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes to all of it. Whatever you say will be marvellous.”

  Nicci laughed, creasing the corners of his eyes. “Your father had a very different reaction to my work, you know.”

  “My father only understood art in terms of what it cost,” said Teo, kneeling beside him. “But it’s not about money. It’s about beautifying the church. For everyone. Not just cardinals with Venetian lace cuffs.”

  “Cardinal Cats,” said Nicci, sitting back on his heels. “He really got to you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. Do you know what he said to me?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “The poor you will have with you always,” Teo said. “It’s what Jesus said when the woman anointed his feet with precious ointment. And it’s not the first time I�
�ve heard someone quote that in the same way, as if it were a kind of resignation. A dismissal. The poor you will have with you always, so why worry about them?” He gazed down at the half-formed cartoon before him. “Imagine a cardinal saying that. Imagine him not knowing that when Christ said that he was quoting the scriptures Himself. Non deerunt pauperes in terra habitationis tuae. Idcirco ego praecipio tibi ut aperias manum fratri tuo egeno et pauperi qui tecum versatur in terra. ‘There will always be poor people in your land. Therefore I command you to open your hand to your poor and needy in the land.’”

  Nicci gave a soft laugh and smudged out a line he didn’t like. “You were right not to follow him to Rome. You’d make a wretched cardinal. Thinking of the poor, knowing your scriptures…” He clicked his tongue. “You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

  “Well, I don’t think his motives in asking me were entirely pure.”

  Nicci sat back, swayed on his heels and pressed his cheek against Teo’s shoulder, rubbing like an interested cat. “Would you hate me if I told you that I thought the same thing as he did the first time I saw you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you were a peach,” Nicci said, his breath fanning the inside of Teo’s ear. “A peach in haircloth.”

  Teo tilted his head, offering the bare side of his neck. So wrong, but he couldn’t resist. Nicci’s beard brushed against the soft skin behind his ear, Nicci’s fingers lacing into the gaps between his own as they knelt side by side on the floor. Lust swelled, loosening the insides of Teo’s thighs, making him rise and ache and burn. Teo turned his head and his lips found Nicci’s, kissing with little close-mouthed presses and serpentine flickers of the tip of his tongue.

  He opened his mouth and heard the soft, wet click echo in his head as Nicci’s tongue sought his own. He was already there, in that forbidden place where the dark spaces in his mind took on the texture of velvet and all was flesh and desire, and a slow, urgent sensuality that he already knew would never let him rest until it was answered.