“Beware of taking on the entirety of Florence. It is . . . a large and unruly place for those who are not on the inside. And no one is more inside than Lorenzo de’ Medici.”
Salviati wrinkled his nose in disgust, exaggerating his rodent face. “You dare to challenge me on the affairs of Florence? I am the archbishop of Pisa! A Tuscan! I know Florence better than any man in Rome, and I speak for the people when I say I am certain they will view us as liberators if we destroy the Medici.”
Montesecco nodded but said nothing. He would bide his time now until they were called in to the papal chambers for their meeting with Sixtus. At the end of the day, he was the pope’s mercenary, and he would carry out the will of the Curia. If Sixtus told him to kill Lorenzo, then Lorenzo was as good as dead. However, given the caliber of men in this chamber who would acquire power if the Medici were destroyed . . . well, God help the Florentines.
The three men were escorted into the papal chambers, where Montesecco was exceedingly happy to stretch his legs and settle onto a more comfortable, and certainly wider, upholstered bench. Girolamo Riario sat in the chair closest to his uncle, slumped in his typically petulant posture, while the archbishop Salviati took the bench adjacent to Montesecco. Pope Sixtus IV sat behind a gilded desk, pulling apart a pomegranate, which he ate throughout the interview, spitting the seeds into a silver dish between sentences.
“And so, gentlemen, on to this affair of Florence. Montesecco, I am exceedingly anxious that we should find a way to . . . shall we say . . . neutralize the terrible threat that the pernicious heretic Lorenzo de’ Medici has made to me and to my holy office.”
Pomegranate juice dripped from his chin as he turned to Salviati. “Archbishop, what say you?”
“I say, Holy Father, that there is only one way to neutralize the Medici family and that is through the death of both brothers.”
Pope Sixtus IV dropped his pomegranate and pounded his chest dramatically with his open hand. “I cannot condone murder, Archbishop. It does not become my sacred office. And while Lorenzo is a terrible villain, and his family are all heretics, I cannot ask for anyone’s death. I ask only for a change in the government of Florence.”
Girolamo, sitting up in his chair now, chimed in with his high-pitched whine. “Of course, Uncle, we realize that you are not telling us to kill Lorenzo. Don’t we, gentlemen?” He waited for the obligatory nodding of heads before continuing. “But we’re just asking, really, that if such a thing were to happen—accidentally, in the course of attempting to change the government in Florence—would you pardon anyone who was directly or indirectly involved in Medici
death?”
Pope Sixtus IV looked across at the man who looked a little too much like a younger version of himself. The expression on his face was one of absolute disgust, as if he wanted nothing more than to hurl the remainder of the pomegranate at Girolamo Riario.
“You are a fool, and I will insist that you do not say another word about this in the presence of my holy person.” He turned his gaze to Salviati and Montesecco. “You gentlemen have heard me clearly. Under no circumstances have I, the heir to the throne of Saint Peter, condoned murder. I have only said that a change in government to remove the poisonous Medici family from power would be extremely pleasing to your Holy Mother Church. Montesecco, I have great faith in your abilities to make that happen, and will leave those details in your capable hands. I will provide all the troops you may require to back up such an endeavor. That is all. Now out with you.” He glared pointedly at Girolamo. “All of you!”
The three conspirators moved to the apartments of Archbishop Salviati to begin planning the attack on the Medici in earnest. All three agreed that they had heard the same thing in the papal chambers: kill Lorenzo and the necessary members of his family if you must, just as long as that blood never leads to the back door of the Vatican.
Montesecco was dispatched to the Romagna region to begin assembling troops to back up their attack on Florence, in the event that Salviati wasn’t entirely accurate in his assessment that the citizens of the republic would enthusiastically support the cold-blooded assassination of their favored prince. In his desire to gain the measure of the man he was to murder, Montesecco would carry a letter to Lorenzo from Girolamo Riario, extending his hand in friendship and forgiveness as the lord of Imola. This would give the condottiere the opportunity to see Lorenzo in his home and sum up the character of his target while taking stock of his potential weaknesses.
Lorenzo was at his villa in Caffagiolo with members of the Orsini family, as one of Clarice’s brothers had passed away suddenly. Despite the somber mood in the household, Lorenzo welcomed this unexpected visitor and was a most gracious and hospitable host. He invited Montesecco to join him for dinner and engaged the man in long and interested conversation about his military history. In doing so, Lorenzo was just being himself: his interest in human nature was one of the great qualities of both a poet and a prince. For as long as he lived, his philosophy was that every single human being one encountered presented an opportunity to learn something unique through the eyes of that person. Lorenzo, like his grandfather before him, collected people and their experiences.
Montesecco was completely taken aback by his unexpected reaction to Lorenzo de’ Medici. Hardened soldiers who killed for a living were not easily charmed. But this man, this Florentine prince, was unlike any other he had ever encountered. None of the so-called holy men he had ever worked for in the Curia had such elegance, grace, and impeccable hospitality. During his evening in Caffagiolo, Montesecco watched Lorenzo play with his children, show affection to his beloved brother, treat his mother with extraordinary love and respect, and handle an entire household of guests and servants seemingly without effort. Throughout the course of the evening, the condottiere had to remind himself repeatedly: this man is the enemy. His weakness is his family. He has no weapons at hand and is relaxed and comfortable in his own environment. Clearly, killing him—and the shy, kind younger brother, Giuliano—would be best accomplished within the false security of their own home. He could easily get weapons into a Medici dinner party, given what he had witnessed here tonight.
And yet for all the plotting, Montesecco could not release himself from the regret that he had been chosen to kill a man such as this. Lorenzo was full of humor, approachable, and a brilliant conversationalist; when he spoke of the people of Florence, there was no hauteur or scorn, there was only true concern—even love. He was, in short, worthy of the title his people gave him.
Lorenzo was magnificent.
Montesecco was a soldier and a mercenary, and that combination of obedience and materialism moved him through his uncharacteristically emotional state of regret about murdering Lorenzo. He had to push on and do what he had been charged by his pope to do, which was bring about a change in Florentine government. That could only happen through the elimination of Lorenzo de’ Medici and his brother.
A series of meetings was carried out in the Pazzi household, with the old patriarch Jacopo in attendance. He had continued to resist the idea of murder for the personal gain of his family, until Montesecco convinced him that the endeavor had the blessing of the pope. This fact was given evidence by the number of troops that were being moved toward Florence in anticipation of containing the expected rioting that was sure to erupt in the early stages of chaos as the coup was staged in the republic.
Jacopo de Pazzi finally gave in and threw his hat in with the conspirators. While he wasn’t precisely enthusiastic about the idea of murder, he was opportunistic enough to go along with the plot if it was indeed sanctioned by the pope. The deaths of Lorenzo and Giuliano would enable the Pazzi family to take over the majority of important banking in Italy and establish themselves as the first family of Florence under the guise of “liberators.” He even allowed his nephew Francesco to convince him that they might deserve that title. Surely the people of Florence would realize that they had been under the heel of a despot once they had been relea
sed?
Jacopo recommended the first of several failed plans to kill the Medici brothers. He was of the opinion that murdering Lorenzo in Rome was far more efficient and less likely to inspire rioting in the streets of Florence. Also, in separating the brothers and using two teams of assassins, there might be less chance of missing one of them. Unfortunately for this idea, Lorenzo declined all invitations to go to Rome. There was too much pressing business at home, and the last thing he needed was to trek south to a place he more often than not found tedious.
Following the implosion of this divide-and-assassinate approach, Montesecco reiterated his observations that the Medici family were completely unprotected on their home territory, and he recommended that both brothers be taken out simultaneously in the middle of some grand entertainment at one of the villas. Knowing Lorenzo’s reputation for hospitality and having experienced it firsthand, he recommended creating a scenario that would require the Medici to play host to a significant crowd.
It was the once reluctant Jacopo de Pazzi who created a new scenario. He suggested inviting the pope’s youngest nephew, seventeen-year-old Raffaelo Riario, to Florence to celebrate the fact that he had just been made a cardinal. The title was ridiculous for one so young, but apparently it was impossible to be a nephew of Sixtus IV and not possess it. Raffaelo was studying at the University of Pisa, so he was conveniently located in Tuscany. He was also too young and innocent to understand that he was the bait for a poisonous trap. The youngest Riario came to Florence gladly, excited to be the center of such esteemed attention. Once comfortably installed in Jacopo de Pazzi’s home, he sent a letter of introduction to Lorenzo de’ Medici.
True to form, Lorenzo immediately invited Raffaelo to the villa in Fiesole, where he was staying with Giuliano for a few days, at his brother’s request. The plot to murder the Medici was now in place. All the conspirators had to do was determine the means of murder: arsenic, or daggers to the heart?
The Medici villa at Fiesole
1478
LORENZO WAS WORRIED about his brother. Giuliano had been acting strangely and for the first time in their lives together would not confide in him. He had begged Lorenzo to come to Fiesole, promising to explain once they were both in the house there together and away from the gossips in Florence. But so far, Giuliano hadn’t revealed anything. In fact, strangely, he had disappeared at dawn without a word to anyone but the head groom, who had prepared his horse.
Lorenzo would wait patiently for a day or two and enjoy the air of tranquility—and the unparalleled views of Florence, with its magnificent Duomo in the distance. Cosimo had been the primary force behind financing the masterpiece of architecture that brought nobility from all over Europe to view its magnificence. Indeed, the great works of art in the center of the city were all tributes to Cosimo’s vision. The massive bronze doors of the Baptistery, the expansion of the cathedral, and the unprecedented dome, which was the largest and highest ever built, had all been instigated and at least partially financed by Medici money.
Lorenzo, happy to leave Clarice and the children in town with his mother, brought Angelo along for further company. Perhaps they would find time to work through his latest pieces of poetry. Lorenzo’s poetry was suffering of late as a result of the complex politics he was forced to navigate, and he longed for the time to focus on his own art form. And while Lorenzo had also hoped to find a way to get Colombina out to Fiesole for a day, he had not been successful in that venture. He was missing her desperately, but it had become nearly impossible to get her away from Florence now. She was committed to her work with the Master, who was living in the city near her, in addition to the duties she had with her son.
He felt the catch in his throat each time he thought of the little boy with the dark eyes who was now three, and by all accounts precociously intelligent. Lorenzo had little time to consider the great sadness of his personal life, on this day or any other, but it hung as a constant haze that covered his otherwise privileged existence.
He was in search of Angelo when he first heard the commotion in the stable yard. Yelling, lots of it, and the whinnying of horses.
Running out toward the commotion, Lorenzo’s heart skipped several beats as he saw Giuliano being carried on a litter, perfectly still, by two of the stable hands and another man he did not know.
“What has happened?” he yelled at anyone and everyone.
“He fell from his horse,” said the unknown man, who then introduced himself as the majordomo of a neighboring family. “I was out inspecting the lands and I found him. He is breathing, and nothing appears to be broken, but he must have hit his head quite hard, as he has been unconscious all the while. There is a doctor in the village who has already been summoned, but I suspect you will want to call in your own.”
Lorenzo began shouting orders to send for the best physician in Florence, to get a message to his mother, and to prepare the house for Giuliano’s comfort. Once his brother was settled into bed, Lorenzo sat beside him, wiping his head with a damp cloth and speaking to him gently. Giuliano began to stir, groaning with pain as his consciousness began to return.
“Giuliano, are you in there?” Lorenzo teased him gently as he saw his brother’s eyelids flicker. Even though Giuliano had been twenty-five years on earth, he would always be Lorenzo’s baby brother.
“Hmm . . . I fell. I was riding too fast and it was . . . not full light. Ow, my head!’
Giuliano clutched his head in pain and squirmed in the bed.
“What else hurts?”
“My leg. Left. I fell on it.” Giuliano, coming to full consciousness now, reached down to feel around his left thigh to his knee. “I can bend it, and I don’t think it’s broken, but it is well twisted.”
“Well, you won’t be riding anywhere for a few days, so you better get comfortable. And maybe now that you have nothing better to do, you can tell me why you are acting in such an odd way.”
“Fioretta,” Giuliano said simply.
Ah. A woman. Lorenzo had suspected as much but had been unsure. While Giuliano was the object of desire of all Florentine girls, he had never shown any real interest toward one in particular and had resisted all attempts to marry him off. Again, he was blessed with the privileges of the second-born: all the benefits and none of the responsibilities. Giuliano was free to play, and play he did. His was a carefree life compared to Lorenzo’s, and yet there was no envy on either side. Both brothers were living the lives they were created for, and they were content to do so.
“Fioretta Gorini. She lives just up the hill. Daughter of a shepherd, Lorenzo. Penniless. Little education. I could never be with her. But she is sweet beyond words. Innocent, lovely . . . like an angel. She has eyes the color of amber . . .” He drifted off for a moment, and Lorenzo wasn’t sure if it was the fall or if Giuliano was actually in the throes of real love.
“At first, I thought it was just passing fancy. But it is not. When I am not with her, I think of nothing else. After I have been with her, it is worse.” Giuliano tried to sit up as he described the feeling, but his brother’s strong hands returned him to a supine position. “Oh Lorenzo, I never understood entirely about Colombina, but I do now. And I am sorry for all that you have been kept from, my brother.”
Lorenzo nodded, surprised at the tears burning behind his eyes as his brother talked about experiencing real love for the first time.
“Do you know that feeling, Lorenzo, after you have been with the woman you love? You can still feel her on your body; she is present in every pore. You can smell her skin on yours and feel the silky creaminess of her still beneath you . . .” He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in the magic of love, before continuing.
“That’s Fioretta. And I came here . . . I brought you here . . . because she is with child. My child. And she went into her birthing pangs last night, and I was riding at first light to see if she was delivered safely. Lorenzo, you must send someone to her immediately. Please. I must know if she is safe, and I must kno
w if my child is born.”
The doctor from Fiesole arrived as Giuliano completed his revelation. Lorenzo brought the physician to his brother, and as he left the room, he offered, “I am sending someone now to gather the news that you require, dear brother. Try to sleep and do not give the doctor any trouble.”
Lorenzo knew exactly whom he was going to send, but first he had an errand to run.
The Gorini home was small and certainly modest, but it was beautifully kept, showing touches of love. Carefully planted spring flowers absorbed what was left of the afternoon sun. Lorenzo’s errand had taken longer than anticipated, but he was satisfied that he had been able to attain what he was searching for.
A child played in the garden, a little girl about ten years of age. She smiled at Lorenzo as he dismounted.
“Is your horse nice?” She was just bold enough to speak to him.
“He is particularly nice if you rub his nose.” Lorenzo smiled at the girl. “Here, I will hold his reins and you can pet him very gently, right there. His name is Argo.”
The girl, who was fine-boned and delicate, like a tiny bird with long black hair, approached Argo carefully. She reached out to touch the stallion’s velvety nose as Lorenzo steadied him. After a moment she turned dark eyes to Lorenzo.
“Have you come to see the baby?”
Lorenzo nodded. “Has the baby arrived?”
The girl smiled, excited to discuss the new arrival. “He came this morning. I have only seen him for a moment. He was covered with blood and sticky, but he cried very loud and Mother said that is good. Fioretta was sleeping, so I came out here.”