Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy Page 20

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  The young man before us bade me forward with hand graciously held aloft. He was still young, in his early 30s, with the vitality and charm that accompanied his age. The look on his face, the piercing gaze, revealed a glimpse of the sharp intelligence lurking within. This was in stark contrast to the ailing old man, Medici the father, whose health and his intellect were clearly dulled with age and illness.

  “Welcome,” said Giovanni cordially. “I’ve asked that you join our little gathering at the insistence of my son, Cosimo. Please, join us for food, wine, and discussion.”

  Cosimo swept his arm. “Please messeri, be seated.” I solemnly took my place beside Giovanni, across from Cosimo. There were other guests already present, a few of whom I, as would almost any Florentine would have, recognized instantly without need of introduction. Our young host played his role dutifully though, and made his way around the table.

  Beside me to my right was Goro Dati, a wealthy silk merchant who had served as the consul of the silk guild and had held numerous political positions within Florence. Dati was also an outspoken defender of the people and was one of the most beloved figures in the city, perhaps even moreso than Giovanni. Throughout his public career he had denounced any obligation to favors and decried ambition, instead making clear his deference to the position and his debt to the public that he served. And like Cosimo, he was responsible for a number of civic works being funded and built including the public foundling hospital, the Ospedale degli innocenti, among other massive, popular projects, many of which were constructed by the man directly across from him at the table.

  Filippo Brunelleschi was known formally as one of the finest goldsmiths in the commune but his talents extended vastly into other fields such as engineering and architecture. Many of the more prominent buildings and other civic structures could be attributed to him directly, including the dome of the Santa Maria del Fiore which was still under construction. He was also passionate about history, and had famously spent many years after his failure to secure commission for the baptistery doors to stay in Rome and study the great ancient ruins that lay strewn throughout. Many believed him mad, that is until he returned to Florence after deciphering the secrets of the dome of the Pantheon and won the commission for building the great dome that would cap the great church.

  Finally, between Cosimo and Brunelleschi, sat Leonardi Bruni. Bruni was also a prominent politician and like Brunelleschi had spent time in Rome studying ancient artifacts. However, Bruni’s emphasis was on Greek texts and their translation into Latin. He was also a well-known historian, and had recently published a widely celebrated history of Florence. In his fight for liberty he played a central role in the humanist movement that embraced ancient ethical values and translated them into more contemporary principles of government and social responsibility.

  Cosimo smiled courteously. “Now that we are all friends, let us break bread and enjoy fine refreshments before getting to more serious matters.”

  A retinue of servants entered and prepared the table with plates, cups and utensils of the finest quality I had ever seen, and I marveled at all the vast array of shapes and complexity of tools being laid before us. It was my first real banquet, and I was bewildered by the amount of detail being put forth by Cosimo’s staff who all seemed very pleased to be serving us. The room glittered with excitement and finery. I shifted in my seat, my injuries aching but I was too entranced to pay them any mind.

  We embarked on our quest first with a light wine served with a pastry called a pinochiatti. At the behest of our host, a young lady appeared bearing a flute from which she played a whimsical tune. The setting reminded me distinctly of the ganea but without any of the lurid connotations. The girl was chaste and virginal, the men seated around us spoke of virtue and beauty instead of power. And instead of hiding our identities we sat candidly discussing personal observations and events. It felt disarmingly odd for Cosimo, a man of near mythical status just hours before, to be speaking and making toasts so informally before me and the others present at that table.

  “Mercurio,” he said, dissecting his pastry, “you’ve earned yourself quite the reputation as something of a problem solver. You’ve been an investigatore for how long now?”

  “Thank you, ser. I’ve worked with the Bargello for three years now.”

  “Really?” said Cosimo. “For such a short career you’ve earned considerable accolades. And one so young as well!”

  “Well, I’ve had a fine mentor. Jacopo has taught me many things.”

  “Aye, I’m sure this is true. But not all things can be taught. Tell us, what’s been the most unusual case you’ve come across?”

  I thought about it briefly. So many came to mind, but I quickly seized upon the first one I could. “There once was a case involving a stolen bell belonging to a church in the borgo of Santo Spirito.

  “Ah! I remember that one,” said Brunelleschi, arching forward with attention. He smiled mischievously as the details came back to him. I continued.

  “The bell had been completed the week before and was awaiting delivery to the church in a warehouse on the riverfront. However, once the men arrived to transport it to its destination it was discovered to be missing. Immediately all sorts of allegations began being thrown about. The patron blamed the master of the bottega. The master blamed his foreman. The foreman blamed everyone else, the workers, the gang of youths he claimed to have seen scavenging the neighborhood lately, and even his brother-in-law for trying to ruin his good name.”

  Cosimo smiled. “So it just vanished?”

  “Yes!” I said. “Without a trace.”

  “Anyway, I was called upon to investigate. So I arrived to question each person, and I quickly realized how much everyone absolutely hated one another. More men needed to be called in just to keep the peace. Once things were settled down I got to work, asking the usual questions to get an understanding of each one. What do you do? Where were you during the week? When was the last time you saw the commission?”

  “And what did you find out?” asked Bruni.

  “Well, the workers were very eager to talk. It turns out that the master owed them several weeks of back pay. I confronted the master who fervently denied the charges, insisting that his son was in charge of paying the men. When I asked where his son was, the master said that he was arranging another delivery across the city and would return forthwith. Sure enough, moments later he appeared and I had my men hold him securely while I questioned him.”

  “At first it seemed clear that he was a dishonest man and he had committed not one but many great thefts, but after only a few questions I realized that he was not very bright at all. Rather than stealing the money owed to the workers he had simply forgotten that he was in charge of that responsibility. When we asked him about the bell he denied any knowledge of it. And when asked about where he’d just been he claimed that he had gone to deliver the cannon to the shipping crew as he’d been instructed, and that he had been successful and the boat had just departed.”

  “Aghast, the master tore open a carefully packaged chest, revealing the largest cast-iron cannon I’d ever seen all bound and ready for delivery to Naples. ‘This one, you fool?’ he cried to his son, but then realized to his horror that he’d just unwittingly revealed his part in a conspiracy to agents of the republic. So, on that day we captured a traitor and the Kingdom of Naples received a new, beautiful bell instead of an instrument of war.”

  The table erupted in laughter. Giovanni clapped loudly.

  “Fantastic!” said Cosimo. “Well done, Mercurio. And look! The prima piatta has arrived just in time.”

  In swept the cooks and their pages carrying large platters of steaming food that smelled divine.

  We tucked in for a few moments before Cosimo spoke again. “Mercurio, I believe your wit and powers of observation have earned you a place at our table. Typically we use this as an opportunity to discuss lighthearted matters while we dine. So, I would like to change
the subject now and focus on a subject that I think we can all relate to in a diverse myriad of ways: beauty. Goro, friend, you’ve been quiet this evening. Will you commence the discussion?”

  Signore Dati put down the cup he had been gingerly sipping from and cleared his throat. “I’d be delighted, Ser Cosimo. What can honestly be said of beauty that hasn’t been by men more eloquent than I? But if you’re looking for beauty’s personal significance to me then I will tell you: beauty, in one word, is virtue.”

  “Ah!” Giovanni exclaimed, but Dati held a finger aloft to request silence.

  “Virtue comes in many forms, as I’m sure you all know. Men such as us have an obligation to uphold what is called civic virtue, in which we must use the favors that God has chosen to give us in order to help our fellow man. Verily, we are duty bound to God to pass these gifts to those that serve us in the physical world, lest we find ourselves owing to Him what He has given us in this world when inevitably we make our voyage to the next.

  “Knowledge is another source of virtue, and we must contain and preserve the knowledge of the ages so that we can teach the value of virtue to our children. Through the study of history we may learn many lessons and actually see the rewards that are given to those that live virtuously as well as the punishments dealt to those that do not. And just as it applies to men in history so too does it apply to nations, and a virtuous nation run by virtuous men will always rise above those that do not, as God has deigned the order of the world to be while wielding Fortune to steer it thusly.”

  “Well spoken, Goro,” said Cosimo. He turned to Brunelleschi. “Filippo, do you have anything to add?”

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, I do. Like our friend, I too find beauty in virtue. But in my profession and in my own observations I see virtue in the expression of the harmony of the universe that God has created so elegantly. This can be seen in the lifelike sculpture of, for instance, my dear friend Donato di Nicollo Bardi, which if gazed upon in just the right light can appear to shift and breathe before your eyes. But this virtue extends beyond the physical to the divine realm of numbers and dimensions and how they mingle. It is the relationship of light and shadow, of time and space, and the various forces that exert themselves to hold this world together. To appreciate these celestial mechanics is to appreciate the will of He who created everything, and I find great beauty in the study of divine knowledge.”

  At the beckoning of the group, Bruni began: “To me, beauty can be found in liberty, honor, and dignity. What is a man without these things? I tell you he is not a man at all! But if he does have these things, he can build glorious things. And when an assembly of men who possess these qualities come together in mutual agreement then there is nothing they cannot achieve. Free from the bonds of sloth and cowardice, they can build empires to rival the Hellenists or the ancient Romans which harnessed them to become the great civilizations that we know today. This is proof of their ultimate importance to humanity, but to the individual they are essential to the development of the self, or what Aristotle calls the psuche. And what is the grand desire of the self but happiness, which cannot be achieved without liberty, honor, and dignity.”

  I was so caught up in listening to the other men speak that I did not even notice when it was my turn. “Mercurio? I think we’d all like to hear your thoughts.”

  “I think that, to me, beauty is not necessarily a quality so much that it might be more an activity. For instance, I appreciate nature and poetry and knowledge like all of you and I agree that they are all expressions of the beauty of the world and of God. But I believe that the quest for knowledge, the creative act of writing poetry, and the study of nature are all things that themselves are capable of beauty. How can one appreciate such things if they are just given out freely to be taken for granted like some common thing? In order to find beauty one must spend time and energy searching for that thing that is precious and rare and that also inspires others to do great things. But doesn’t this process contain beauty in itself?”

  The group was silent for a moment. “Very compelling, young Mercurio.” Cosimo looked proud if not a bit amused.

  “Now Cosimo, what of you? You’ve waited this long!” Bruni was growing impatient, probably in small part due to the amount of wine he had already consumed.

  Our host held up a defensive hand. “Fine, you’re right. I believe that beauty is derived from the development and appreciation of culture. These must come from learning, and not just understanding of business or politics but of poetry, painting, sculpture, architecture, history. And not just those that originated here and now but from throughout the world, from the time of the pharaohs to the present day.

  “I discuss at length the merits of the visual arts in expressing beauty, but enough can’t be said of the values of texts. It has always been my wish to build a library to rival that of Alexendria, and one day I may yet live to see it. The thoughts of our predecessors, encapsulated by the written word within the vessel of the page, is our link to their lives and their cultures. Therefore, I believe that literary knowledge is among the things that embody the meaning of beauty.”

  This pleased all members of the group. There was a lull in conversation as the servants cleared the plates and delivered the secondo piatto.

  I turned to the elder Medici and asked, “Signore, what is beauty to you then?”

  He laughed. “I am a very simple man, Mercurio. Beauty to me is the love I have for my children and God. I have lived my life as humbly and honestly as I could and I have been well rewarded. Never letting the love of power cloud my judgment I have avoided public life and extravagance as much as possible and here I am, now, the simplest and happiest man in Florence.”

  Shortly thereafter when we finished our course, Cosimo stood and announced, “Now that supper is concluded we should all make our way to the drawing room to continue our discussion.” We shuffled out of the dining room, our bellies full to the brink and swaying from the wine, and made our way to the more comfortable, and discreet, drawing room down the corridor.

  Cosimo closed the door behind us and we all settled in. Giovanni had parted ways and bid us a good night, leaving just the five of us to our intimate meeting.

  “Mercurio, the comandatore has told me many things about your investigation. I would like to tell you that I have been doing some research of my own.” He indicated each of the other men joining us in the room. “As you now know, I am a member of a brotherhood of artists and philosophers. What you may not yet know is that these men also have certain talents that extend well beyond those realms. I think that even you would be impressed with what their inquiries have uncovered.”

  “And what have they uncovered, ser?” I asked.

  “That there is a plot to against the Medici Bank, and in fact against the entire commune of Florence.” His gaze was steadfast, his voice grave.

  “But who would conspire against you, and what would they gain?”

  Cosimo sighed. “You would be surprised, Mercurio. The world, with all of its dynamic forces, can harbor such resistance to change. I have no doubt that it is one or more among the old families. The Guicciardini. The Ricci. The Strozzi. The Albizzi.” He emphasized the final name. “Do you remember what happened to the Alberti family, for example? I suppose not, it occurred sometime around your birth I suspect.”

  The Alberti had been prosecuted for conspiracy against the commune in the first year of the 1400s. I had heard much about the trial and the sentence of exile during my childhood, especially since my father had had some relations with them. When the committee in charge of sentencing, led by Bernardo Guadagni who had been hand-chosen by Maso degli Albizzi himself, had decided the fate of the Alberti it also made its decision of the punishment of my own family.

  “I have heard of this, yes,” I said, trying to conceal my emotions.

  “So you have some idea of what the Albizzi, first the father Maso and now his son Rinaldo, are capable of when they feel imposed upon. And while they ma
y make grand claims of doing what is best for the commune, rest assured that they really only care about what is best for their position within the Signoria. Taking that into account, are you aware that the Albizzi faction has agents that rally the populace into a frenzy for war?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I am,” I said. I stopped cold, unsure of whether to mention the ganea.

  “And you know of my father’s and my rejection of this war on the basis that it is unnecessary and costly to the people of this city? I believe that is public knowledge.”

  “I do. I also understand that that has put you into a rather unpopular position among certain parties,” I said.

  Cosimo continued. “The reason for that should be very clear. Right now Rinaldo is attempting to do exactly what his father could not and he is using this war with Milan as the perfect opportunity to execute his plan. He is attempting to rally the people into giving him full authority of the commune by using the auspice of encroaching war. And his goal is to do to my family what his father has already done to the Alberti.”

  His words were shocking but rational, especially after all that I learned and seen firsthand. “I must confess to you, ser Cosimo, that what you are telling me exceeds my worst suspicions but I have no doubt that it is true. You see, in my investigation of a recent murder I found myself in a very unusual and secretive meeting in which I heard the most horrible rumors, but those rumors all confirm what you have told me.”

  Cosimo leaned back and smiled. “Interesting. And did this meeting place have a name?”

  “It was merely called the ‘ganea.’”

  Our host let out a shrill laugh. “Aha! You see, Leonardo? I told you it was real! Was there anything else you learned in there, Mercurio? What was it like? I don’t get invited to these things, for reasons you might suspect.”