Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy (16 page)

“Number forty two, can I have a look at that one?”

“Forty two? It’s over here.” Bruni went over the dies one by one until he found the die that was clearly stamped '42' on both the upper and lower halves. “Here it is.” It was fairly well kept, its faces still clean and hardly dulled like many of the older dies.

“That’s odd.”

“What’s that?” he said nervously.

“Well I’m hardly an expert in these matters, but it doesn’t seem to look as weathered as many of these others.”

“No, not at all!” insisted Bruni.

“But look at this one here, thirty six, isn’t even as old and it looks ready to be retired.” I pointed to one nearby that had been in use for merely three weeks. The top of the die was mashed into a flattened stub from repeated blows, and its raised surfaces on its face were dulled and rounded where on the newer ones they were sharper and better defined.

“Wait a minute.” He grabbed the ledger from my hand and started rifling through pages. “Oh dear,” he said. His voice was grave. “No, there must be some mistake.” He picked up the die and inspected it closely.

“What is it, ser Bruni?”

For a moment he was without words. “No, that’s not possible.” Fear was written clearly across his face now, beads of cold sweat collecting on his neck and brow. “This die, the one you pointed out. It wasn’t made here, it isn’t the same material. And these dates are all wrong, some of them have been scratched out and written over.” The page had scoring over the date of the entry where the ink had been scraped off, probably with the tip of a knife. A small hole gave away where the instrument had poked clean through the page, and the numbers that were scrawled in its place were from a different hand.

What happened next was pure chaos. The entire mint was shut down completely. Equipment was returned to the storeroom in preparation for a full audit. The workers were separated into groups and forced to stay put until each man could be questioned individually. Guards were brought in to watch everyone, and I saw Andrea barking orders at his men and at the workers he was detaining.

Meanwhile, Bruni was having his own version of a meltdown before our eyes. I felt for the man. There would be hell to pay.

“Is there anything we can do for you here?” I asked.

He just shook his head. “No. No, just go if you would. We’re going to have a very long night. It may take weeks but we’ll find out what happened.”

“Very well,” I said. “I don’t believe I have any more questions for you. Thank you for all your help, Ser Bruni.”

He stood still, clearly stunned, as we left the Zecca. By his stony appearance, he had not even heard a word I had said.

That evening I headed home to enjoy supper with the family. Pietro and I had spent the remainder of the afternoon going over what we’d seen at the zecca. How long that counterfeit die had gone unnoticed was anybody’s guess, though if the material was as poor as it seemed then it shouldn’t have been long at all. I wondered if the interrogations of the workers would yield useful information, or if the thief had already disappeared long ago.

I entered my family home and was greeted with the usual frenzy of activity. There was barely a moment after I had removed my cloak that I heard a light knocking at the door behind us.

“Are you expecting company, Mercurio?”

I shook my head. “None that I’m aware of.” I crept up to the door apprehensively. “Who is it?”

A petite voice said, “I have a message for ser Mercurio from ser Liam.”

I opened up to see a small boy of no more than ten huddled on the stoop. “What is it?”

“He says to meet him at the Crow and the Cardinal, he has information on your man.”

Il corvo e il cardinale
. It was on the opposite edge of town near the Borgo San Lorenzo, out of the way for both of us. He would have wanted to avoid the usual meeting places if he’d decided on this one.

I thanked the boy.

“Where are you going now?” my mother asked.

“Sorry, something has come up again. Please leave a plate out.”

She shrugged with disapproval. I wasn’t really looking forward to cold leftovers yet again either. Liam must have something important to say, I thought, reaching for my cloak.

It was nearly dark by the time I arrived at the tavern. Its faded wooden sign was only the first indication of what kind of place this was. The building looked like it had formerly been a stable, and I wondered what animals were waiting inside. Fortunately it was quiet when I entered, with the exception of the rattle of dies and the hushed conversation of the few regulars that were present. Liam sat alone, huddled over a glass.

“Mercurio, glad you’re here,” he said as I sat down.

“Liam. To your health.”

“Aye, that’s what I’ve been a bit worried about lately.”

I took a sip of my drink. “Go on.”

“I was never one for superstition but it’s like there’s something hovering over me, constantly. I just have a bad feeling. These are dangerous men we’re after. Dangerous men with dangerous connections.”

I watched his face. I had never seen Liam this rattled before.

“What have you found, Liam?”

“Your man, the Spaniard. Some soldiers recognized his description. It turns out he has a very nasty reputation. His name is Rodrigo Vasquez, an employee of the condottiere Erasmo da Narni.”

Gattamalata. This was indeed very troubling news.

“Do you think that Erasmo is a part of this conspiracy?” If one of our most revered defenders was involved in a plot to harm the city it could be devastating. Liam would not have known about the counterfeit currency and I was not about to tell him. He had enough to worry about.

“I couldn’t be sure, but I doubt it. Vasquez seems more of a bull than a fox. He’s a drinker and a brawler. Also good with a sword. It wouldn’t be a stretch for a man like him to get mixed up in a bad crowd. Gattamelata is a professional and he isn’t about to risk his neck and his commission for a mere bag of coins.”

He raised a good point. Once condottieri agreed to their contracts they were bound to serve their client loyally for the duration. Of course not all of them did, but they didn’t last long in the mercenary business. Most of the top soldiers came from military families, and even those that didn’t, like Erasmo, would have been compelled by the closely knit structure of that industry. Still, whoever Vasquez was running errands for had means, and how could I tell if Erasmo wasn’t looking for a quick and easy opportunity to retire to a quieter life on his farm?

“So what’s on your mind then?” There was clearly something Liam wasn’t saying. I watched him stare at his drink wearily.

“Vasquez has killed many men already. And he’s been insanely lucky. I don’t believe in luck, Mercurio.”

“What is it then?”

“A bit of the devil, perhaps. Or he just has an uncanny knack for getting away with terrible deeds. The soldiers say he’s been gone for weeks. They didn’t want to say much other than that.”

“So he could be anywhere.” Even if I didn't have a location I at least had a name, and that was progress.

“Exactly. That’s why I’m leaving town for a few months. If you’d seen the worried looks of those men then you’d understand. I’ve got business I can occupy myself with until they forget my beautiful face.”

The news took me as a bit of a shock but I would have considered the same in his position. There was only so much I could do to protect him and he had a legitimate business to manage. “Once again, you’re the smart one, Liam.”

He finished his drink and stood. “It’s been good revisiting with you, Mercurio. I expect to see you again when I get back. Just don’t go doing anything foolish ‘til then.”

My old friend shook my hand and then left me to my thoughts and my drink. The fire was the only warmth I felt at that moment. A worn out musician stood far to the side, tuning his citole. I realized that at that moment I felt more alone than I had in a long while.

I stepped out into the dark, narrow street that led from the forlorn tavern. The shadows were thick so I clung to the sparse light given off by the street lamps. Burning fat sizzled as flames danced beside me.

Liam was long gone. Something had spooked him today and he wasn’t wasting any time. The thought had always occupied a spot in the back of my mind, but it was at that point that I really wondered if I could trust him. It was possible that he had ventured into something treacherous. There was also the chance that he was being blackmailed or, worse yet, had struck a more lucrative deal than the one that we had. If that was so, then it was a possibility that I was even then walking into a trap.

I stopped for a moment. Movement in the shadows. My hand instinctively moved to the grip of my sword. I could hear my own breathing coming in short gulps. An uncomfortable shiver tickled my spine.

Nothing.

An embarrassed sigh escaped me. What a fool I was. Liam’s words had sprung my imagination and now the demons of my own mind were beginning to torment me. I raised my eyes to see a comically ominous statue of a satyr staring down upon me from atop a nearby parapet. It grinned mockingly. I stuck out my tongue.

Tomorrow would be an important day. First thing, I would arrange a meeting with the comandatore. The business at the zecca was a major matter, and any fears that the trail had gone cold would immediately be put aside. What once was a simple murder investigation had spun into a complete scandal.

To make matters worse, an important local figure was implicated. I wondered how Jacopo would handle both of those revelations. For once I felt fear and it wasn’t just corporeal fear. I was worried about the future and what would come next. The haunted towers surrounding me only served as a manifestation of my confusion, and suddenly I felt like Dante struggling to find his way through the twisted wood.

I neared my stoop at last. So much for imaginary monsters, I thought. Still, once inside I could not bolt the door behind me fast enough.

Jacopo was eager to meet me when I arrived at the Bargello the next morning. In fact, he’d pushed all his other appointments aside. When I passed beneath the cold stone gateway into the courtyard he was waiting at the foot of the steps.

“Mercurio! I’ve heard some impressive reports but I wanted to hear directly from you. What exactly happened at the zecca?”

I explained in detail how I had spotted the counterfeit die and its suspicious entry in the ledger. As I spoke we made way through the offices and corridors of the headquarters until we emerged from the second floor to a quiet spot overlooking the street.

“And then what happened?”

“Production ceased completely and an investigation was held immediately.”

“You wouldn’t have heard anything more then?”

“No, comandatore. We left as soon as they shut down.”

“Doubtful they’d find anything so soon, or at all. Things like this are rare but they happen. When they do the investigations are meticulous. Nobody is going to want news of this to spread beyond those walls, and yet the people will notice the absence of smoke coming from those great big chimneys.” He laughed sardonically. “What a catastrophe.”

“You don’t seem so sad.”

“No, not at all. I’m very pleased, in fact.” His cold eyes swept the street below, then flicked back to me. “Of course, heaven forbid that I appear jubilant that this crime has befallen us. I’m just shocked that you were able to discover it based on a few leads from a careless vagrant’s death.”

I raised my hand in protest. “That’s a bit of a simplification.”

Jacopo brushed it off. “Qualunque! This is the damnedest bit of investigation I’ve ever seen. If you keep this up they’ll be casting statues of you in the piazza. That said, do not let this get to your head and do not utter a word to anyone that I told you so.” His expression returned to its typically rigid juridical composure but the flash of boyish excitement reminded me that he was a man like any other.

“Ser, I have some other news to bring you.” I was hesitant, but his mood couldn’t have been better.

“Please, let’s hear it.”

“I met with one of my informants last night. I’ve found the identity of the killer at the brothel. It’s complicated, especially if these two events are indeed related but appears that he is a mercenary in the service of Gattamelata.”

It seemed as though he hadn’t heard me but I knew he was processing the words. I understood well, the direction of the possibilities my work was suggesting was worrying. I’d spent the better part of the night thinking about it and the better part of that morning dreading having to report it.

“You believe it?”

“My informant has been reliable thus far. He came across this information straight from some of Gattamelata’s soldiers. I have no reason to doubt him.” I really hoped this was true.

“Then I think we had better make an audience with him at once. I believe he would want to know what kind of trouble his subordinates have been up to.”

“Come again, ser?” The din of the street below was loud and my ears must surely have been playing tricks.

“We leave this morning.” His pronouncement was delivered forcefully and with little room for question.

“That’s very bold, comandatore.”

“Do you have a better idea, Mercurio? Obviously we will leave out any hint of the counterfeit florins. At this point, we treat this the same as any ordinary murder investigation.” He looked me seriously in the eye. “Summon your men to join us. I will arrange for horses to be prepared. It is early so we still have plenty of time. Avanti!”

I bowed and immediately headed straight to my bureau. My heart was in my throat as I hastily threw some essential supplies for the trip into a leather satchel. Moments later I found Pietro and informed him that we would be travelling that morning.

“We?”

“Si. You are accompanying me to the estate of Erasmo da Narni. I have a few questions for the esteemed captain.”

Pietro struggled to keep up with me as I hustled towards the stairs and into the courtyard.

“What the hell happened last night?”

“Liam delivered as promised, that’s what. Make of it what you will.”

“And like that we’re off to meet Gattamelata?”

“That’s correct,” I said shortly. “Lauro, Francesco!” I greeted them downstairs. They were collecting their equipment for their morning rounds.

“Ah, good morning capo!” Lauro said. “You’ve been such a stranger. We were wondering how your holiday was going!”

I snorted. “Save it for later. You and Francesco are coming with us. We’re going on a little trip with the comandatore. I’ll explain on the way.”

The stables were a short walk uphill from the Bargello. Jacopo was already negotiating with the stable master while his young laborers organized the supplies and prepared the riding equipment. Moments later we were hoisted atop our ponies and were following Jacopo’s lead up the Via Romana towards the Porta San Gallo.

We were to head northeast towards Prato, explained Jacopo. Erasmo’s estate was at the foot of the Appepine mountains amongst the olive groves of the northern Arno valley. It would be an easy trip, I thought, since the weather was cool and conditions seemed favorable.

Shortly thereafter we exited the gates and were on our way. My pony was gentle enough, a dark brown steed with a white patch on its back and on its forehead. We passed through some of the surrounding village beyond the city walls and soon found the countryside opening up before us.

“It’s a beautiful day to be out,” Francesco said.

The clear, smoke free air felt sweet to my lungs. The usual scents I was so accustomed to in the city, the decay of meat, the sulfur and soot, the shit and the rot, were gone and my palette was overcome by earth and grass and little else.

The road was broad and straight for several hours. We experienced the usual traffic of travelling merchants, pilgrims and mercenary patrols. Bandits would not have been much of a problem since our bright red cloaks would have been visible far and wide. Our appearance would have likely been welcome by most travelers anyway, a reminder that the safety of civilization was not far away.

We maintained our quiet vigil during the trip. Jacopo’s presence kept us from falling into our normal chatter.

Halfway from Prato we turned north and began to move towards the mountains. We stopped at one point near a grove of elms and snacked in the shade. It was almost midday and we still had about another hour to ride. All around us was farmland as far as we could see, great golden fields of wheat alternating with rows of grapes and groves of olives. Workers tilled the soil, plying it in preparation for the new crops that would soon be planted. We stood in the breadbasket of Florence, an institution as vital to our nourishment as all the banks and bottegas in the city.

Even though city dwellers tended to frown upon the more menial lifestyle of farming, there was still a glimmer of that ancient agrarian passion that stirred even the most gentrified among us Italians. In fact it was Scipio Africanus, the great defender of Rome who defeated Hannibal not far from where we were, who later retired to his villa so he could work the land with his hands like his father and his father’s father.

“We’ll be arriving before long,” said Jacopo. “Keep your wits about you, and above all stay aloof. Show this man your utmost respect, he is a hero and a friend to the republic.”

The condottiere was, in every way, the defender of the commune and its surrounding territories. Professional soldiers that they were, these captains and their companies of mercenaries came from all parts of the world and contracted with the various civic regions of Italy to represent them in war. They collected salaries levied on the backs of the ordinary citizen and on the commerce of the city, but they were a necessary expense because of the generally small size of local militias and constabulary.

Many of the more decorated mercenary leaders were given huge bonuses and land. Some of them even married into the wealthy patrician families or were given political appointments over the lands that they helped to subdue. Castruccio Castracani, a young warrior who worked for the lord of Pisa, Uguccione della Faggiuola, in the 1300s and was longtime adversary of Florence, would later become the consul of Lucca. John Hawkwood, of Brittania, and his White Company defended first Milan and then Florence for many years, earning a fortune and purchasing estates in Romagna and Tuscany. Not bad for the son of a tanner.

It was early spring, so campaign season was soon approaching. Gattamelata’s contract with Florence had already expired but he was in a sort of grace period still under which he was obligated to remain faithful to the republic. Despite the recent events between Florence and Milan, there were also troubles to the south that, as rumor had it, Erasmo’s forces would soon be dispatched to assist Braccio da Montone in his efforts to defeat the Angevine armies for King Alfonso of Aragon.

In the meantime, the mercenary captain and his men would be training and preparing their arms and bodies for the next round of battle wherever it may have brought them. I envisioned a city of tents and dirt, with beaten earth avenues and soot stained fabric. I had never been this close to a real army before and I was anxious to see the encampment and all the real life heroes that occupied it.

It was not much later after we resumed our ride that we came across the great estate of Erasmo da Narni. The property was lush with verdant trees and vast fields. The road beneath us was paved with a well-maintained stone surface. A great villa hovered above us in the distance, timeless and magnificent. Scattered around the property were cottages and storage buildings for harvested food and equipment.

“This man lives like a prince,” said Lauro. We looked at each other.

“He lives like the champion that he is,” said Jacopo. “Perhaps if one of you is lucky, you’ll one day live in a house half as grand as this.”

We approached the villa and as we did we heard the shouts of men from some obscure place beyond eyeshot. They echoed in unison, the cries of warriors sparring, training, preparing for feats of strength and courage. Nearer to us there were workers of the more common variety, farmers and groomsmen. Leather and metalworkers were preparing all the gear needed for an army to wage a prolonged conflict in faraway lands.

“Ho! Who is there?” a voice called out. Several men approached from a stone bunker beside the road.

Jacopo halted his horse and waved. “We are officers of the commune of Florence. We’re here to speak with your captain.”

The men looked at one another. “May we enquire as to what you wish to speak with him about?”

The comandatore remained impassive. “We merely wish to question him about an individual under his employ. It would be most helpful if you would summon him at once. Tell him that Jacopo Orsini, Comandatore to the Bargello and the Otto di Guardia e Balia and his men have travelled from the city to meet with him.”

The message was relayed and before long we were directed towards the villa. As we dismounted a man in a dazzling blue velvet giornea trimmed with fur along the cusps and collar stepped out to meet us. His proud features and decadent clothing gave him the appearance of one of noble birth. I could hardly imagine that this could be the great warrior that Jacopo had been describing on the way here.