Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy Page 7

  I paused to process the incredible tale that this man had just recounted. “How do you know for certain that it was Carlo?”

  “It’s one of the few things that I remember clearly, but Ugo and this usurer had a scuffle at the ganea. Carlo demanded repayment on a loan. ‘I know it’s you, you son of a whore,’ he said. Ugo lashed out at him, cursing him, calling him a liar and a fraud. Carlo even drew his blade but was pulled away by the host's lackeys. ‘You’re a dead man, Ugo,’ I heard him shout. It’s the last coherent thing I can recall from that night.”

  “Is there anything else you can remember? Any idea where this place could have been? The farm where you waited for the carriage?”

  “No, I have no idea where this place was, just that it was about an hour or more by carriage from the city. As for the farm, I do know that the meeting place is random and they never meet at the same place twice. It’s all very secret. I can’t help you any more, though, and I really must be heading back to work. Please, if you have any respect for me or my family, you must say nothing about our meeting.”

  “Very well,” I said. “Thank you for your information. We’ll do whatever we can to find Carlo.”

  “Thank you. God bless you, signori.” The man turned and disappeared into the foot traffic that flowed to and from the bridge. For safety’s sake Pietro and I waited a few minutes in the alley.

  “What do you think, Pietro?”

  “His story is hard to believe. I’ve never heard such a thing.”

  I remembered the old days, when I was a troubled boy. I had been to secret meetings before, where gang initiations were held and fights and drinking and gambling took place. There were small gatherings held all over the city each night. Though not technically illegal, they were very highly discouraged. As long as the debauchery was hidden from society there was little to be done by the authorities. A necessary evil, some called it.

  But what this man said, the gathering that he described, was something entirely different. A place outside the city, outside of all jurisdiction, where wealthy and respectable men gambled and drank and conspired with criminals and murderers. It was an absolute scandal if it was true. No one would ever believe it, and the implications if this were to be brought up publicly would be a disaster.

  “Honestly? I don’t know if it’s true or not. But if it is, it’s the surest way of finding Carlo.”

  Pietro looked at me as though I had lost my mind. “You’re not actually thinking of finding this place, are you? This is insanity.” His voice quavered as self-preservation took the place of dutiful obedience.

  He was right, of course. But the temptation was almost too much to bear. My mind was racing, and I knew it had to be done. Without realizing it I was pacing back and forth, eyes fixed to the ground.

  “Ser, what do you think? What should we do now?”

  I stopped. “Now?” I thought for a moment, and then was struck with an idea. “Now we meet with an old friend of mine. A friend from the old days, Pietro.” We left in a hurry, heading for one of the seediest and dirtiest parts of town. I wasn’t sure where I would find him, but I reckoned that he would find me first.

  7

  We arrived at the western end of Borgo Ognissanti about midday, when the heat and humidity was at its harshest. I was dripping with sweat and beginning to stink beneath the layers of clothing.

  We passed the Ponte alla Carraia for the first time since the previous morning. I tried to ignore the clammy uneasiness of the sight as best I could. Pietro remained silent as we passed through, entering the parish of Santa Lucia. Here was the westernmost district along the Arno, where the city wall abutted with the river barrier. This neighborhood housed row upon row of weaver shops, as well as the rugged tenements that housed the day laborers that were employed by them. All along the coast were warehouses of the exporters who distributed the finished goods to their clients abroad.

  “Who are we looking for?”

  “An old friend from my younger days.”

  “Family friend?”

  “Not exactly.” I was aware that I was being vague, an old habit whenever it came to dealing with ghosts from the past. “When I was young I was a part of what you might call a rough crowd. We weren’t the worst troublemakers, but we caused our share of mischief. ”

  “So this man we’re looking for, he was a part of your gang then?”

  “Yes. And he contributed largely to my short-lived life of crime.” I laughed at the thought. The comprehension registered in Pietro’s face at once. I was sure his impression would only grow worse in the next few hours.

  “Is he a dangerous man?”

  “I’m not sure, not anymore. He’s not from around here, that much is obvious as soon as you meet him. But I haven’t seen him in many years. Not since I was a teenager, in fact. He may not even be in Florence anymore.”

  We approached one of the warehouses that I recognized as one of our meeting places. A galley was moored at the jetty near the rear of the building, and men were loading it up with large skeins of processed wool fabric. The foreman barked loudly at the men, directing them with a scowl that could curdle milk.

  I rapped at the bulky wooden portal, and the hulking man turned to face me. “What do you want, sbirro.” It was not a question, but a statement grounded in menace.

  “I’m looking for a man. Liam O’Cormac is his name. Have you heard of him?”

  The titan laughed in my face. “Si, si. I know of him. Is he in trouble?”

  “He is,” I said. Pietro looked at me, puzzled. “At least, he will be if I don’t find him.”

  The man’s expression froze. “Wait.” He stepped closer. “I think I know you.” He paced in front of me, staring at me sideways. “You!” he cried in realization, then shoved me with all his strength. I flew several paces back, nearly colliding with one of the workmen. Pietro reached for his sword.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” said one of the workers, who had appeared behind him. I saw the glint of a dagger pressed against his side. “You just sit tight, boy.”

  I said, “Pietro, do as the man says. I have this under control anyway.”

  “Ha!” The large man stooped over me, then grabbed me by the collar. “I remember a boy by the name of Mercurio. Mouthy little shit. Never knew when to leave things be, didn’t have a hint of fear or respect.”

  There was a wave of a feeling I hadn’t experienced in years, that old sense of daring that I had been addicted to during my youth. Like a beast suddenly let from its cage, I was sprung with a forgotten vigor that exploded into my fists and feet and tongue.

  I laughed. “I remember a giant of a boy named Giovanino, who try as he might could never fit into his pantaloni. His mother tried to put him on a diet, but he cried so hard that after a while she decided she’d rather he be fat than listen to his constant wailing.”

  He threw me again, and this time I landed amongst a mountain of wool. Dust exploded around me as cloth fabric tumbled from shelves and piled at my feet.

  “It took balls coming back here, Mercurio. I don’t know why you did it, but you were never as smart as you thought you were.”

  “It’s nice to see you’re still here, Gio. I imagined you wouldn’t have gone far, and it appears I was right. In fact, I’d say you have moved three steps from whence I last saw you.” I swung hard and connected with his midsection which absorbed the impact entirely. There was no reaction; it was like hitting a slab of meat.

  Giovanino towered over me now, a look of hatred distorting his face. “That’s it, Mercurio. I’m going to kill you now.” The man bent down and was about to grab me by the throat when I heard the sound of laughter coming from the rear of the room. Instead of choking me, the colossus grabbed my hand and yanked me upright to my feet.

  The source of the laughter stepped into the dusty light, and I immediately recognized that face. Although the almond colored hair and beard were longer than I remembered, Liam looked almost exactly the same as he did years ago.

/>   “Mercurio. Look at you!” Liam smiled coolly.

  “Look at you, Liam,” I said. “It’s been a while. It appears that you’re in charge of this operation now?”

  “Aye. I’m a businessman now. Did you really think I’d stay a young thug forever? You’re not the only one with talents.” My old friend stood still, painting us with his eyes. “This is an unexpected visit. I mean, I had a feeling you’d come poking around here one day. But I didn’t expect it would be today. I hope Giovanino didn’t hurt you too badly. I’m sure that it was all in good fun.”

  “Of course not,” I said. My shoulder was already aching, and I predicted that tomorrow it would be swollen.

  Giovanino laughed heartily. “One day, Mercurio, that mouth of yours is gonna get you killed.”

  I cracked a smile, then realized that probably wasn’t the only thing that was cracked. “Judging by your size, I’d say the same to you old friend.”

  Liam looked at me soberly. “But all jesting aside, why have you come? And who is this lad?”

  “This is my associate, Pietro. We’re investigating a case of murder and I thought I’d come to you for help, Liam.”

  “Me? I’m honored that you’d think of me, but I’m still not sure how you expect me to help you. But let’s not stand around here in the dust and the cobwebs, we need to have a drink and discuss! Gio, have the men finish loading, we’ll be upstairs.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Giovanino. He turned to me and gave me a chilling grin. I tipped my head, then followed Liam into an upstairs room with a table and some chairs. He motioned for us to have a seat.

  “I hope you don’t mind a little acquavitae.” He poured us each a small cup of amber liquid. He looked at Pietro. “A taste from my homeland, God bless it. Over there we call it uisce beatha. I have a few casks that I had shipped personally from the isles.”

  We raised our glasses and drank. I had had whiskey a couple of times with foreign associates, but was never acclimated to the flavor or the sensation. Pietro choked right away.

  Liam laughed.

  “Jesus! What is this?”

  “You Italians, so delicate. You just wait, one day I’ll buy a farm and I’ll be making this stuff by the barrel. And you barbarians will love me for it.”

  We poured another round. I explained the details of the murder investigation to Liam, and of how our leads were pointing to the usurer. He seemed most intrigued when I recalled our conversation with the worker near the ponte.

  “What did he call this gathering again?”

  “He called it the ganea.”

  “A Latin brothel?”

  “How do you know Latin?” Pietro asked smugly.

  Liam set down his cup. “Son, when you’ve travelled as much as I have you pick up a great number of dialects. Been a sailor and shipper since I was a boy. Seen my share of brothels, harems, and dens of lechery in many lands, so I have.”

  Pietro laughed. “Where do you come from, Liam?”

  “Ireland was where I grew up, Dublin to be specific. I worked on trade ships between there and Bristol, then London and Valencia. Somehow I wound up here.”

  “Couldn’t get away from the climate, could you?” I teased.

  “Or the terrifically genteel people.” He drained his cup and then turned to face me directly.

  “Now then, about this little club you were describing. It sounds very hush-hush, and if there’s anything I’ve learned about you fiorentini it’s that everything is political. I’ll see what I can find out about it but I want you, and especially the boy, to know that it’s probably going to be very dangerous. I reckon that’s why you came to see me of all people though.”

  “You see right through me, Liam,” I said with a grin.

  He turned to Pietro. “You seem like a smart lad. I don’t know what you did to get mixed up with this rascal. You’d do well to remember one thing: as dangerous as I may seem to you, true as it may be, I wouldn’t hold a candle to your dear old mentor here.” He punctuated this with a secretive wink, even though I was privy to the entire statement.

  I groaned. “Enough, Liam.” I stood. “You know where to reach me if you find anything useful. Please, time is of the essence. And if you do happen to find something I can use, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded appropriately.”

  Liam led us downstairs, to the exit. He bid us farewell in his melodic voice as we walked away from the warehouse, and with a slam the doors shut tight.

  The sky had changed from a bright, pale blue to a pinkish hue during out encounter with Liam. The hours were dwindling, and it was time to meet with Lauro and Francesco again.

  On our journey back to the House of Figs we walked mostly in silent contemplation. My thoughts were focused on the ganea and on the hope that Liam might find some sprig of a clue of how to find it. As officers of justice, we used informants all the time. It was essential part of finding out what was going on in the city. Never before had I depended on an informant for finding out what was going on outside the city.

  “Pietro, I think it would be best if we didn’t discuss the ganea or anything to do with Liam with Lauro or Francesco. The tighter we keep this information the better.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I don’t know where this investigation will lead. At this point, my plan is to infiltrate this place and then try to entrap Carlo. Maybe take out a loan, make myself indebted to him. Then we can make him come to us.”

  “Why not just capture him there? Surely if we got some more men together we could storm the place, capture him, and close it down for good.”

  I paused. “Because, we need that venue. If we can get in there, we can ensnare Carlo and collect information for other purposes. You should know that information is the most valuable thing we can have, and the more that we can collect the better. Information can mean the difference between life or death, peace or rebellion.”

  “But why not tell the others about it?”

  “Because we don’t know who we’ll run into when we get there. Remember, traitors by definition are never strangers. Traitors are always those who you least expect, those who you trust. Sometimes they are leaders, men who are entrusted to lead but who abuse that power for their own gain. Besides, the fewer of us are there the less attention we’ll arouse.”

  We reached the House of Figs without another word. A while later Lauro and Francesco accompanied us at our usual nook.

  “Gentlemen, how went the investigation?” The looks that the two of them gave me told me before they even opened their mouths.

  “Not well, signore,” said Lauro. “This Carlo is a ghost. I’m wondering if that isn’t even his real name or maybe just an alias. From what we’ve learned, he comes and goes as he pleases. We couldn’t even get a reliable description of him.”

  I grunted in discouragement. This wasn’t going to be easy, especially if his victims were too afraid to come forth. “That’s a shame. Anything else?”

  “The fact that the city has been in disarray all day hasn’t helped us in our investigation.”

  “Pietro and I witnessed one of the riots right near the Ponte Vecchio.”

  “Well, that wasn’t the only riot today,” Lauro said. “Francesco and I saw three others ourselves. No doubt there were more, especially in the Oltrarno.”

  I said, “It’s unfortunate. I’ve got to report to Jacopo tomorrow morning. Being as we don’t have much to go on anymore, I expect we’ll be assigned to riot duty.”

  “So you didn’t find much either then?” Lauro asked.

  “We spoke to Bartolomeo’s wife. Very cold but nonthreatening woman. Ran into a neighbor as well, but she was of little use other than to say that she just never liked Ugo or his gang. Evidently he was involved with the – “

  “Albizzi militia?” Francesco interrupted. “We did make that little discovery on our own. Here’s something else: a man by the name of Michele di Pandolfo was killed in a brawl a week ago. Guess which faction he belonged to.”


  “The Ricci?” The Ricci and the Albizzi were historically enemies, and had been for generations. In fact at one point the Ricci had attempted to legally block any Albizzi from holding political office, citing the Albizzi’s Ghibelline ancestry.

  “Yes!” Lauro’s eyebrow raised. “The most likely explanation at this point is that the Ricci killed Ugo in retaliation for Michele.”

  I sighed. “If that’s the case then the odds of identifying this perpetrator is practically nil. Not unless one of their group ratted them out, and we all know the likelihood of that. This investigation would be over.” I stared at my wine. “No, I don’t think Ugo was killed for that reason. I’m still convinced that Carlo was the killer.”

  “You seem pretty convinced, Mercurio,” said Francesco. “Any reason for that?”

  “We investigated Ugo’s quarters. Everything was a mess, and someone had obviously been digging around.”

  “Any clue what they were after?”

  “No. Whatever it was, they either found it or it was already gone, if ever it was there to begin with. “

  “Anything else?”

  “No. But we did check on Bartolomeo at his studio. Got an interesting demonstration on the art of metalworking, but nothing of any practical value.”

  “Great,” said Lauro. “Sounds like we’re officially out of leads. Until something falls in our laps, there’s nothing else we can do.”

  I feigned a resigned sigh. “Very well. Good work to everyone. You two should take the rest of the evening off and get some rest. Pietro, that goes for you as well. We’ll meet tomorrow at the Bargello.”

  Lauro and Francesco finished their drinks and then left morosely.

  It was mid-evening when I returned to my home. Supper was already served, and a plate was laid out for me with a helping of herbed chicken and rice. When I took a bite it was already cold.