Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy (14 page)

“As you wish,” said the attendant. “This way, please.” Fiorella stood and looked at me silently. I nodded in encouragement. The two of them then disappeared down a corridor that led deep into the monastery’s inner bowels.

“Brother, are you all right?” Lisbetta looked straight through me. Perceptive, as always. “Whenever I see you you look so anxious. I fear your head will be covered in gray while you are still a young man.”

“I just –“ I stuttered. “I’ve seen a lot of death recently. But there is hope. That girl has given me a direction to start looking again. So, I feel that I owe her for that.”

Lisbetta raised her hand and touched the screen with her fingertips. “You always were a noble man. You’ll do what is right, Mercurio. Pappa would be proud.”

As I left I thought once more of Fiorella. Maybe there was hope for her. At least, I reassured myself, I could help one person in all of this.

My thoughts returned to the Spaniard. My next step would be to find Liam right away. I wondered what had happened to him since the night of Tino’s death. Hopefully he would still be around. I depended upon him now more than ever.

When I reached the warehouse all was as it had been the last time I had visited it. Giovanino was supervising the workers while they unloaded a fresh load of supplies from a merchant boat.

“Is Liam around?” I said, his back to me as he directed the men.

He turned to face me. “No. But he’ll be back.”

“Can you tell me when?”

“When he gets here,” he said. There was the same twisted smile that I remembered.

I was not kept waiting for long.

“Look who it is! I wasn’t sure if I would be seeing you again, Mercurio. Were you able to catch this killer?” Liam was as jovial as ever.

“No, we were too late. And Carlo is dead.”

“I take it that he was not the killer of Ugo after all.”

“I wouldn’t rule it out quite yet, but that's how it's starting to look. I do have an important favor to ask of you.”

“Well let’s not stand around here, come up with me and we can discuss this over a drink.”

Liam and I headed up to the privacy of his office and he opened a bottle of wine. “We’ll enjoy a product from your homeland this time. To your health. ” He raised his glass.

“I don't know the identity of Carlo's killer but I'm very close. This is why I need your help.”

He looked puzzled. “Mercurio, you put a lot of faith in me. I'm honored, but what makes you think I can be of any help?”

“Because you’ve already met the killer. That night at the ganea. The Spaniard that nearly decapitated you.”

Liam let out an audible laugh. “That beast of a man? I could tell he was trouble but I had no idea how much. What convinced you that it was him?”

“I found a witness to Carlo’s murder. Or rather, she found me.”

“Now I know that you’re full of shit, Mercurio.” He laughed loudly. "Was she beautiful?"

I ignored the barb as best I could. “I need you to locate this man. At the least, find out who he is and maybe I can do the rest. Even if he’s left town, which I expect that he has, I need to know more about what he was been after. Not all of the pieces are adding up.”

“How so?”

I described the confusing situation of the cash and how the murderer had left all the other valuables behind. While I was talking to Liam the memory of the mysterious slash found underneath Ugo’s bedding at the Neri house struck me. Could that have been more of this mysterious Spaniard's work?

“And you’re confused because you think this man went to great lengths to reclaim what amounts to a small pittance. I can see how you would be skeptical in this matter.”

“Exactly.”

He paused and looked at me carefully. “You’re not in your fancy attire. So you’re doing this on your own time?”

“For now. I should be at home clearing my head of the hellish week I’ve had. But right now I can’t think of any place I’d less like to go.” If Vera had told my mother about Fiorella I knew well that there would be consequences. Had any of the neighbors seen me leaving with the girl then there would be all sorts of scandal and family drama.

“Mercurio, you need to meet a nice girl.”

“Liam, that is the last thing that I need at this point.”

“Fine then, you’re always welcome here. Or you can always visit me at my home, I’ve recently moved into some money and have found a new house that properly reflects my, uh, upward mobility.”

“I believe that,” I said. “Perhaps when this is over. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Going to brave the dragon, are we?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, say hello to your ma for me. I don’t think I’ve seen her since we were lads.”

I laughed. “I will. And be careful, Liam.”

I spent the remainder of the day at home catching up on sleep. Vera stayed true to her word. When I saw my mother she'd still seemed to be no wiser of the illicit guest. There was a chance I would get through this unscathed.

That night I dined with the family. Cortesia had been studying Latin with her mentor earlier in the afternoon, and she spoke excitedly of her lesson on Cicero’s De Re Publica. When I asked for a small demonstration she obliged without hesitation.

“Quis verò divitiorem quemquam putet, quàm eu, cui nihil desit, quod quidem natura desideret? Aut potentiorem, quàm illm, qui omnia, quae exspectat, consequatur? Aut beatiorem, quàm qui sit omni perturbation animi liberates? Aut firmiore fortuná, quàm qui ea possideat, quae secum, ut aiunt, vel e naufragio posit effere?”

Who, verily, can divine any man to be richer than he who has no wants beyond the calls of nature? Or, more potently, he who has achieved all that he would desire? Or he who is free of all vexation of the mind? Or what better fortune to have than he who possesses only, as they say, that which could be carried from a shipwreck?

Her voice was spritely and eloquent, and I could scarcely believe it was Cortesia. I did not remember the last time I had listened to her speak Latin. My own was passable but I was exceedingly out of practice.

“Beautiful,” my mother said. “You’re progressing very well. Your inflection has much improved.”

“If only life was as simple as Cicero’s words,” said Antonello. “But I doubt it would be much fun to put them to the test.”

“I think that’s the point,” I said. “Those things that lure us to pursue things that complicate our lives are in fact not doing us any favors at all.”

“Life is already complicated, Mercurio.” My brother took a sip of wine. “Besides that, you must take the pain with the pleasure. It is what gives pleasure value. What would be the point of anything if it was just given to you?”

“I don’t know. Ask Visconti.”

My mother laughed. Antonello smiled.

“Very true, brother. You know why he vies for an empire? Because it’s a challenge. It’s the only challenge left for a man like him.”

Cortesia said, “But it sounds more like he is a slave to this challenge. Surely a person who is fighting so hard for power could not be happy. I think that is what Cicero was saying.”

“Exactly. He has had everything given to him, so he is unable to feel content. In reality, pain is what gives us the ability to feel. Perhaps that is what one who is driven by power really wants more than anything.”

I added, “I imagine this to be like a dog that chases everything that moves, and does not know what to do when it catches the object of its desire.”

“Like a dog he would try to chew it to bits before moving on to the next hunt.”

My mother was weary of the discussion. “Please! Must everything be about politics?”

“But mother, the war is on everyone’s lips! The talk around the city is that the Ten of War are already negotiating with several condottieri. They have interest in Braccio da Montone but he is already committed to Napoli.”

“It’s a shame. Erasmo da Narni is beloved in Firenze but he is allied so closely with Braccio,” I said. Erasmo, also known by his nom de guerre Gattamelata, the “honeyed cat”, because of his impeccable leadership in battle and his charm, was a true man of the people, born the son of a baker but had risen to become a powerful warrior.

“Perhaps he thinks he still has a thing or two to learn from his Genoese marshal. But his home is Tuscany. He will be back.”

“Now mother, they’re still in Tuscany now. But yes, they will be heading down to l’Aquila very soon to fight Attendolo Sforza.”

Gattamelata owned a large country estate southeast of Pisa, a prize he had earned from one of this many successful campaigns with Braccio. He would, on occasion, make an appearance in Florence and was much beloved by the populace.

“It would appear that Piccinino has the endorsement of the council at this rate. He is another fine warrior, one of the best in fact.”

“Well I hope this battle is over soon and we can do business again with Genoa. This embargo is beginning to hurt our profits.” Antonello looked rather grim, I had noticed. Now I knew why.

“Our suppliers are unable to fill our orders?”

His expression turned grave. “Yes. We’re having to deal through Bologna and the Veneto for everything now. Plus, there is something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

"Something serious?”

He shrugged. “It’s an annoyance more than anything. But, you would be the expert on matters such as this. I’ll tell you what – why don’t you come with me in the morning and I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”

I had not been to the family business in quite a while, and it would be good to spend time with my brother. Thinking back, Nello and I used to work there when we were young boys, my father overseeing the finances while we weighed and counted the goods. We had fun though, and it wasn’t all hard work.

“I’d be happy to join you,” I said.

Vera brought out dessert then, a sugary pastry. My mother turned to me.

“Mercurio, how is your investigation going? I’ve been meaning to ask but I’ve been so preoccupied!”

I carefully omitted all reference to Fiorella aside from the fact that I had met a witness.

“A Spaniard?” my sister said. “He sounds so mysterious. And you said that you saw him where again?”

“Hush! He’s a ruthless killer. We spotted him at a private gathering in the hills of Fiesole shortly before he ended another man’s life. I don’t think you would have liked to have been there.”

“So there is no sign of this metalworker, this Neri brother?” my mother asked.

“He has completely vanished, his family too.”

“And the house?”

“It had been abandoned by the time we reached it. Most of the possessions were still there and it looked like very little was taken with them.”

“That’s terrible,” said my mother. “He just took his wife and children and fled? Where would they have gone?”

I had been straining my mind to come up with an answer to that question. Bartolomeo and his wife had mentioned that they were not from Florence but had never been clear as to where in fact they were from. Could they have fled to the home of a friend or family member in another city?

“They are a wealthy family, I’m sure that wherever they are they have enough to survive.”

“But why do you think he tried to burn those ledgers?”

“Obviously, he was trying to hide his business activities,” I said. “For whatever reason, he thought that it was worthwhile to destroy those shipping records.”

“But maybe,” Antonello said, “it isn’t just the shipments that he is hiding but the origins of those shipments? Where were they coming from?”

I poked at my dessert. “He used a method of shorthand to conceal that, but Pietro and I were able to decipher most of them. There were some that were more difficult to decipher and I didn’t recognize the initials. These were where the majority of the later silver shipments were originating from.”

“I think, brother, that those ledgers may hold more clues than simply what was received. I’m sure there was a reason he decided to burn them.”

The next morning I awoke to the sound of Antonello’s footsteps outside my door. He tapped lightly.

“Brother, are you awake?”

I splashed some water in my face from a small bowl my night table. The coldness jarred my senses. “Yes, Antonello. Ever the early riser, even now?”

Before long I was dressed and ready to join my brother. Together we left the house and began the journey to the family shop. I couldn’t remember the last time we had made this trip together.

“So what is it you wished to show me?”

“It’s something funny, that’s all. It could be serious, but I haven’t seen any more of them. I received it in a payment from a local buyer. I’m not sure if it’s remarkable or just a fluke.”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that,” I grumbled. There were times when Nello could be direct and then, sometimes, it seemed as though he loved to play games. Buried deep down he had a flair for the melodramatic.

We entered the shop from the back entrance. It had recently been renovated and enlarged. Business was better now than it had in the past. My family was finally becoming successful.

My brother approached the old oak desk that once belonged to our father and removed a small sack from the top drawer.

“This is it,” he said, then dropped the contents into my hand.

“A gold florin?”

“Yes. At first glance. Look at the face.”

On the front was a relief of San Giovanni, the patron saint of Florence. In letters that created a semicircle around the top perimeter of the coin was the word “FIORENTIA”. I flipped the coin over and the fleur de lis was crisp and clear. There was very little wear on this coin.

“I don’t understand. Are you saying this coin is counterfeit?”

“I wasn’t sure at first,” said Antonello. “Until I compared it to another coin.” He reached into another pouch that contained many dozens of florins. “These I know are real. Take one.”

I picked one up and compared it to the other coin. Sure enough, their weights were noticeably different though it was only slightly perceptible. The false one was lighter.

“But it looks so genuine!” I could not believe the quality of the forgery. I had seen amateur examples of counterfeit coins before. They paled in the stunning sophistication of this coin.

As I scrutinized it I was struck by a disturbing thought.

“Could it be?” I thought out loud.

“What?” said Antonello.

I reached into my tunic, hoping that the coins I had found in Carlo’s hand were still there. I found them in a pouch I had kept in the inner lining.

“What are those?”

“Evidence,” I said, tossing one coin to him. The other I held in my hand, closing my eyes to focus on the weight. The two coins, the counterfeit and the one I had found in Carlo’s room, felt exactly the same.

“This is incredible.” My brother ducked into the storeroom for a moment and reappeared with a simple scale. We weighed both of Carlo’s coins as well as the coin he had found. All were exactly the same weight and quality of engraving, as though they had all been struck at the same time. When I dropped a few of the random coins onto the scale, the balance tipped towards those every time.

“These are very special coins. How on earth did you notice this?”

“Brother, we handle a lot of cash daily. I know when something does not feel right.”

“If you don’t mind, I want to take these to Jacopo at once.”

He nodded. “Be my guest, Mercurio.”

I said farewell and left in a hurry. Jacopo would want to know about this as soon as possible. Carlo had not been murdered over a vendetta, or information, or anything of obvious value. His fate had been sealed by the counterfeit coins he’d seized from a lowly vagrant who owed him gambling debts.