by Ned Minkov
Chapter VI
From his heart all sanctity spurning:
Not lead by God – by the Devil caught.
The small town of Amalfi descended the steep slope of a mountain all the way down to the azure linen of the sea. For centuries since the formation of the settlement, its dwellers had lived in unity, enjoying independence of the rest of the country. Monks of the monastery, perched on top of a cliff above the houses, came to the town market daily to exchange herbs, fruits, and pottery they had made for other goods. Fishermen, whose boats plied the small bay, supplied the town with fish and oysters.
On a cool morning, an elderly fisherman who had risen before dawn was walking down the pier to prepare his boat for the day at sea. The air was carrying the scent of the early-morning coast. The rocks lining the shoreline were covered with seaweed, washed out by the nocturnal tide. The surface of the water was flat as a mirror, not a single wave disturbed its peace.
The old man was uncoiling the boat’s ropes from the moor, when something on the horizon attracted his attention. He stared intently at the line where the sea met with the still dark sky. At first he could distinguish very vaguely, but in a few seconds, his eyes getting used to the distant gloom, the silhouette of a ship outlined itself at the mouth of the bay.
Suspicion arose in the fisherman’s mind. He scanned the bay and spotted another ship further to the north. No boats were visible but following the shoreline northwards, he suddenly exclaimed with surprise. More than a dozen boats were rocking on the water, a mile away from the tiny wharf. There was no trace of movement around them, but even as the fisherman was staring in dismay, he heard shouts of alarm behind his back.
From where the town was.
The monks in the old monastery built on the cliffs above Amalfi had just left the church after the morning mass. They had heard the clamour at the port below, and had gathered in the inner courtyard, anxious about its cause. Suddenly, a man rushed in through the front gate of the monastery. He stopped to regain his breath in the middle of the yard. Everybody recognized Roberto – the hermit who lived in a wooden shed in the mountain, who was in the habit of gathering mushrooms and herbs and of exchanging them for bread and milk at the market. He was always welcome in the monastery, but now the monks felt uneasy about his presence.
‘What brings you here, Roberto?’ Abbot Pietro, the head of the monastery, asked. ‘What trouble has stirred your peace?’
‘Pirates, Father!’ the man spoke loudly, the words bursting out of his chest. ‘Pirates have attacked the town. I saw them from the hills. There’s panic among the townsfolk. The pirates are sacking their houses. They will soon be here, too.’
‘Calm down, Roberto.’ Father Pietro put his hand on the hermit’s shoulder, trying to soothe him. ‘Pirates they might be, but they wouldn’t dare come in here with blood on their hands. Pirates are a superstitious lot, and although they believe in heretic creatures and even extol the Devil himself, they nevertheless fear God’s justice.’
In the small town, below the monastery havoc was wreaked. Barns were being set on fire; houses were being rummaged by the savage men of the sea. Women and children were running down the streets screaming.
Balthasar Cossa, clad in a black shirt and leather pants, a black mantle fluttering on his back, was crossing the tidy square. His dark eyes were scanning the turmoil around. He passed by a wounded man lying on the pavement, staring in despair at a mad-eyed pirate who was raping a young woman, probably the man’s daughter. Several other local dwellers lay around either dead or bleeding.
Balthasar headed towards the far end of the town, accompanied by a dozen of his men, including Yandra – his heretical mistress. They reached a mansion erected at the foot of the mountain, where a narrow path began climbing towards the cliffs above. As the pirates approached the building, a small party of men emerged from it. They were led by a tall man in his late sixties, or so his long, wavy, silvery hair suggested. He stood in front of Balthasar, blocking his way, taking his measure. A barely noticeable smile spread on the pirate’s face.
‘Greetings, father’, he said. ‘I was just coming home, but I did not expect to meet you on my way there.’
‘And didn’t it occur to you that the town you’ve been sacking is a stone’s throw away from your homeland?’ Balthasar’s father asked in a tone demanding explanation. ‘I had that feeling that I would meet you amidst this bloody plunder, but I am still surprised you could be that disgraceful!’
‘You do not seem happy to see your son, father?’ the young Cossa parried the question affectedly.
‘For God’s sake, Balthasar, aren’t the shores of Africa and Europe enough to satiate your hunger for looting? Last night I was guest to my dear friend Rossi’s, the bailiff of this town, only to wake up to find you pillaging the place this morning! Just across the bay from your home!’
‘The town is of no interest to me, father. I left my men take a rest after the long voyage we’ve had. And it is exactly for God’s sake, and the sake of our family, that I’ve come back here. For I’ve come not to steal, but to claim what rightfully belongs to the Cossas. Namely, the monastery.’
‘What are you talking about? What has the monastery got to do with it?’
‘I think you know that only too well, father.’ Cossa shifted his eyes to the cliffs above. ‘Four hundred years ago, our forefather Tadius donated fifty pounds of gold to the monks. They traveled round the region, raising money for the new church they were building inside. Tadius gave them the gold, in exchange of which he requested from the then-abbot to send one of the monks to Ischia to be the island’s pastor, for there was none at the time. The abbot pledged his word – a promise he never kept. That’s the story you used to tell me, when I was a little boy. Now, I’m here to avenge our family, and restore the gold to its rightful owners.’
‘You are mad, Balthasar’ his father’s eyes flickered with anger. ‘This story is just a legend. There had been rumours about the amount of gold Tadius had donated, but no proof of it whatsoever. He is said to have been a very pious man. He donated gold because of his faith, willing that it be preserved in these lands.’
‘And so he died before faith was brought to his homeland,’ Balthasar kept his tone down, his words coming out firmly. ‘As for the gold, I have come to see for myself, father. I met this man, Giovanni, who had served in the monastery for years. He says our family’s gold is everywhere to be seen inside the church. It covers the altars, the apse, even the candlesticks are molded out of it.’ As he spoke, his pupils widened. His father recognized the flame of greed on his son’s face. Balthasar went on: ‘One day Giovanni managed to sneak into the monastery cellar. Usually locked, with only the abbot having a key, he somehow found an opportunity to follow the old man. He swore to me he saw a chest full of gold – old Roman solidi – the remnant of Tadius’s donation, stashed there, used not for the righteous purpose. Giovanni was expelled from the monastery later that day for what he saw.’
His father’s anger was growing into a fury:
‘And you believe the words of some petty scoundrel?’ he yelled at Balthasar. ‘You will dare profane the place out of greed?’
‘No, father, I seek justice for our family,’ Balthasar replied. ‘Even if it comes four centuries late. I’ll see you at home, father.’
Balthasar waved to his companions and the group paced towards the dusty road, meandering uphill between the rocks.
In a little while the pirates reached the flat top of the cliff where the monastery stood. They approached the entrance leading to the inner courtyard of the cloister silently and with caution.
‘Do you think they might be armed?’ Yandra asked Balthasar. He snorted at the suggestion and then added:
‘These are not the Inquisition, my dear.’ Yet he remained on his guard. It proved to have been needless, for, as they stepped inside, they faced the monks huddled together in front of the church at the far end of the yard with Abbot Pietro at the head of the gr
oup. Balthasar realized their arrival had been anticipated. However, he did not let this perplex him at all.
‘Good day, Father’, he spoke aloud. ‘How is God doing with his faithful servants in this savage place?’ His words were followed by the laughter of his men. The abbot did not seem to be offended by the outrageous blasphemy.
‘What do you want from us, signor…’ he asked, waiting for the man in black apparel to introduce himself and explain the purpose of his intrusion.
‘Captain Balthasar Cossa, ad limina apostolorum,’ the pirate answered, slightly bowing his head. On the threshold of the apostles, the line in Latin he added was usually used to suggest a visit to a place of worship, for example, before the Pope in Rome. In a pirate’s mouth, however, it came more as ridicule.
‘I doubt it that you’ve come here to seek God’s blessings, signor Cossa,’ the abbot said. Confusion was growing in his mind. How could a pirate speak those words in Latin, typical of the clergy rather than of scoundrels of his kind?
‘I have come here to seek justice for a misdeed done by a predecessor of yours,’ Cossa answered, his mockery suddenly turning into accusation.
‘And what misdeed could a dead monk have done to you, could I ask?’
‘Not to me, but to my entire kin, rather. Are you aware of how Tadius Cossa has contributed to this monastery?’
‘Of course, I am aware of that,’ Father Pietro answered, still unaware of the pirates’ intentions. ‘Tadius Cossa’s name is carved on the eastern wall of the church, as it was his generosity that helped its building.’
‘That is correct.’ Balthasar continued. ‘And it was the ingratitude of the monks in this cloister that stained my family’s honor. Now I am here to correct this injustice by claiming back the gold on behalf of my home.’
The abbot was dumbfounded. He knew only too well that no good would come out of arguing with a pirate.
‘I do not know what injustice you mean, but I will not let you desecrate this place. Have you got no fear of God?’
‘God has had many chances to punish me,’ Balthasar answered with an audacious smile. ‘Unlike him, however, I take mine when I get them.’ Then, he turned towards his men and ordered:
‘Shatter the doors to every room in the monastery and find the cellar!’
The pirates dispersed in all directions to search the building. Balthasar and Yandra remained in the courtyard with the monks, still keeping behind the abbot, watching the raid in silent dismay. None could muster the courage to vent his protest to those savages of pirates. After a while, one of Balthasar’s men came back to his leader.
‘Captain Cossa, we have searched the cellar out,’ he said. By his fluster, Balthasar understood that something was wrong.
‘Have you found the gold?’ he snapped, making the pirate take a step back. ‘Speak, Guindaccio, where is it?’
‘There was nothing in the cellar apart from some stocked food and wine. The door was not even locked.’
Balthasar closed his eyes in an attempt to contain the anger seething inside him. He looked to the abbot and uttered threateningly:
‘Where have you hidden the gold, Father?’ he asked. ‘Tell me before I have lost my patience!’
The abbot remained calm, an act of bravery, while the pirates ran back to their captain, empty-handed.
‘I have no idea what gold you are seeking in the cellar of our humble monastery.’ he said. ‘All the gold your forefather Tadius donated is built into the church, decorating this temple of God, according to Tadius’s wish.’
‘You are lying,’ Balthasar spoke with contempt. ‘I spoke to a former lay brother of yours – Giovanni. He swore to me he had seen the gold stashed in the cellar. That is why you expelled him.’
Abbot Pietro answered, this time more confidently:
‘Then he is the one lying to you, signor Cossa. Giovanni was a thief, we found him sneaking into the cellar and stealing food. That is the reason why he was banished from this place.’
‘Liar!’ Balthasar cried and reached to unsheathe his sword. Yandra stopped him, placing her hands on his chest.
‘Balthasar, don’t do this!’ she urged him. ‘Can’t you see he is telling the truth? I saw this man, Giovanni; there was nothing honest or trustworthy about him. Don’t do something you will regret all your life.’
Cossa released the grasp of his hand on the handle of his weapon. He looked at Yandra’s face for reassurance. She was his guardian angel; also his conscience, for his own had been lost years ago. He moved his gaze to the abbot and the monks, then to the church behind them. No, he was not going to leave empty-handed.
‘I still want my family’s gold back,’ he spoke below his breath. He turned towards his men and gave them orders:
‘Take everything from the church that has gold on it – everything!’
The pirates did not even look at each other. They could recognize when their leader was enraged, so they knew better than to raise questions or objections.
The monks, on the other hand, had reached the point of desperation. They lined in front of the church, blocking the intruders’ way. Abbot Pietro tried to talk sense into Cossa:
‘Have you got no conscience, signor’, he asked. ‘Call back your men before any blood is spilt on God’s land.’
Balthasar’s response to the old man’s appeal was to draw his sword and pace towards the monks. He aimed a blow at one of them. The weapon struck the man’s shoulder and he dropped on the ground. The rest of the monks watched the scene in terror. However, having fallen, their brother clutched his shoulder with his other hand. He seemed to be in pain, but was not seriously wounded. The strike had been with the flat side of Balthasar’s sword.
‘Next time I will draw blood!’ the pirates’ captain warned them.
Meanwhile his men had entered the church. Clanks and rattles were coming from inside. After a few minutes, the pirates came out one by one, each of them holding golden and gold-plated items – candlesticks, ornaments from the apse, goblets, even the gold-laced altar cloth.
Balthasar, who had been overseeing the whole operation silently, waved to his men to follow him, walking towards the gate leading out of the monastery.
Father Pietro and his monks watched the procession with pained expressions. Some of them were weeping.
Father Pietro could not help making a few steps in the wake of the looters, clenching his fists and shouting after them.
‘May this gold you now take away decorate the walls of your grave, Balthasar Cossa!’
The Director looked at me while uttering the abbot’s words.
‘Now, that is truly a sinful crime, if you ask me,’ was all I could say.
‘Still, it’s not Balthasar’s worst,’ the professor answered. ‘The gold he steals from the monastery is to help him achieve his ambitions, and they are not righteous, either, to say the least. The irony is that after his death, Balthasar Cossa is buried in a tomb plated with sheets of gold, made by Donatello himself.’
‘The famous sculptor from Florence?’ I could not conceal my disbelief.
‘Well, I think you are the one writing a dissertation on the Italian Renaissance, aren’t you?’ the Director answered laughing. ‘How many Donatellos do you know?’
My eyes moved onto the sonnet. I read the corresponding lines aloud:
For his faith he turned into mortal sin,
He shall rest in his golden restraint.
‘His golden restraint,’ I muttered, and then asked, ‘but how come a mere pirate became so important that one of the most significant artists of the Renaissance decorates his tomb?’
‘You are well on your way to find out. But let us first see what figures next in Cossa’s agenda. With enough riches at his disposal, he makes land and pays a visit to Pope Boniface – you already know how they know each other. Boniface keeps his promise and grants Balthasar an Episcopal dignity or, in other words, Balthasar Cossa becomes the new Bishop of Bologna. It sounds like fiction, but it is not. Yo
u see, Boniface is a man who can assess people – he recognizes Cossa’s makings and sends him to Bologna for two reasons: first, this is the city Balthasar prefers himself, and secondly, but more importantly, it is one of the major cities that is still reluctant to support Boniface in his opposition to the Avignon Papacy.’
‘And the pirates’ captain is supposed to win the desired support?’ I asked, this time with honest skepticism.
‘Of course, he is. The clerical intrigues at that time were played out by fair means or foul – at times drawing more blood than wars. Is not a cut-throat the perfect choice for the job?’
‘Alright, maybe he is.’ I yielded to his arguments. ‘But what about the people in Bologna – as we know, Cossa already has enemies there.’
‘That is true,’ the Director agreed. ‘However, with all the gold he has, along with the fact that he is the new bishop, people know better than to speak against him. But the Episcopal dignity is not the end of Balthasar’s ambitions. Once he strengthens his position in the Bolognese society, he considers the time has come for him to move further on. He goes to Florence to meet an old friend of his father’s – the patriarch of a rising prosperous family.’
The professor looked again at me. He was urging me to guess.
‘The Medici?’ that was my first thought.
‘That’s right,’ the Director nodded. ‘Giovanni di Bicci de’ Medici is a banker and therefore the wealthiest and most powerful man in Florence. He wants to expand his influence outside the city, especially to Rome. Although he supports Boniface, he understands the fragile situation in the Vatican and wants to place a strong figure, faithful to him only, to promote his own interests in the Papacy. Balthasar Cossa appears to be the right man for the task. He is determined, cunning, and financially backed by di Bicci – a candidate for the Cardinal’s garb loyal to the House of Medici.’
I could not think of anything else to ask. I eagerly expected the professor to continue his story of this depraved, yet remarkable man.
