Murder in the Garden of God (29 page)

The duke’s health deteriorated quickly. He had swelled to such alarming proportions that he could barely move and suffered constant pain. Worried about the harsh Paduan winter and Lodovico’s menacing proximity, on November 1, the Orsinis moved to the beautiful town of Salò, on Lake Garda, some eighty miles west of Padua, where they rented a fifth palace. Unlike the other towns surrounding the lake, Salò relinquishes its grasp on summer unwillingly. It is a subtropical sliver, where thousands of lemon and orange trees thrive in its mild climate. On warm autumn days, pomegranate flowers fall to the ground, red as blood.

It would take time to pack up the numerous wagons with the expensive furnishings the duke had bought for his Paduan palaces. Servants were instructed to bring the items to Salò as soon as possible. Their new quarters had belonged to the recently deceased Sforza Pallavicino, captain general of the republic of Venice, and sat right on the edge of the lake. The edifice was an architectural hybrid – a medieval fortress and turrets faced the narrow road that ran past it, but on the lakeside it was a Renaissance palace, with countless spacious windows. There were two main stories, with a servants’ mezzanine under the roof.

The service quarters were located on the ground floor, including an enormous kitchen with a well reaching down into the lake water. A wide staircase led to the
piano nobile
; here the central room was fifty feet wide, and twenty-five feet high, with a ceiling of unpainted wooden coffers of hexagons and rectangles, interspersed with heavy beams. A gigantic hearth adorned one end, and seven doors radiated off the three interior walls to corridors and bed chambers beyond. The floor was of brown tiles. This enormous room was designed for banquets and balls. But the Orsinis would be holding no festivities here.

The duke felt terribly unwell. It was fortunate for him that the lake was within a few yards of the palace itself, and the sound of the waves washing the shore gently lulled him to sleep, to a place without constant nagging pain. As lovely as the palace was, Vittoria urged the duke to travel further from the threats of Rome and to shake off Lodovico, who was certainly taking his time going to Corfu.

Switzerland, for instance, that bastion of heretics, would be safe from the long reach of Sixtus. And Lodovico, pretending to prepare for his journey, could hardly follow them there. In Switzerland, they would be physically safe, though the question of what they would live on was a difficult one to answer. It is likely the king of Spain would withhold all pensions, and the grand duke of Tuscany and Cardinal de Medici would make sure that all income from lands in the Papal States went to Virginio.

Another problem was the journey itself, which would require a jolting carriage ride over the Alps, along passes which by early November were already piled high with snow. How would they ever get their heavy wagons of valuable, unpaid-for furniture over the highest peaks in Europe? Moreover, a winter Alpine journey was a daunting proposition for the most robust individual. Clearly, the duke’s health was not up to it, and he wanted to spend his last few days gazing at the shimmering lake, hearing the gentle slap of its waves against the shore below.

It was a beautiful, peaceful spot to die.

Chapter 22

The Little Book of Debts Owed

I
looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named
Death, and Hades was following close behind him.

–
Revelation 6:8

I
n his first months in office, the pope had brought safety to the Papal States. He had created a fair legal system and a good bread supply. His engineers were creating reliable waterworks at record speed and building wide new roads. Due to his stringent financial measures, gold ducats were piling up in Castel Sant’Angelo to carry the country through times of need. Now Sixtus took the time to look into the old leather-bound journals he had carried around for decades, the little books of debts he must pay, and debts he was owed.

As a monk, he had had a benefactor named Capponelli who had provided him with money and advice. Sixtus sent out men to search for Capponelli, who discovered that he had been dead for some time, along with his wife, and they had had no children. But there still remained a debt to be paid. Sixtus learned that Capponelli had nephews. The oldest one was in the army, and the pope made him a captain of infantry. The younger boys he sent to the best schools, and he bought houses for their parents.

Sixtus found one notation from the 1540s, when he had been a young monk in the town of Macerata and needed to buy a pair of shoes. The shoemaker wanted seven giulios for them, but Fra Felice had had only six. He told the shoemaker that if he cut the price by one giulio, he would pay it back when he became pope. “And I promise to add interest to it,” he said. Laughing, the shoemaker replied, “I am happy to do it, seeing you so well disposed to accept the papacy.” He sold him the shoes for six, and Felice wrote the shoemaker’s name in his little book for later repayment, which made the shoemaker laugh even harder.

Forty years had passed. According to the chronicler, “Having been made pope, he checked his little book to see what he had owed and sent word to Macerata to see if the shoemaker was still alive. He had the local governor send him to Rome without telling him why.”

The shoemaker, now a venerable seventy-three, was mystified as to why Sixtus had summoned him. Word of the pope’s severity had spread throughout the Papal States, and the shoemaker must have worried that he was going to be imprisoned or even executed. As soon as he arrived in Rome, the pope commanded him to come to the Vatican for an audience. After the man nervously kissed his feet, Sixtus asked, “Do you remember seeing me in Macerata?”

The astonished shoemaker didn’t remember. He had seen the pope in Macerata? Afraid of contradicting the pope, he remained mute as a stone. The pope continued, “So, you don’t remember having sold us a pair of shoes?” The shoemaker was more shocked than before. He had sold the pope a pair of shoes?

Summoning up all his courage, the trembling man replied, “Holy Sainted Father, I do not have such a memory.”

“Well, we know ourselves to be your debtor, and we have sent for you to satisfy this debt.”

The shoemaker didn’t know what to do except stand stock still gaping at the pope.

Sixtus said, “You sold us a pair of shoes for a giulio less than you wanted for them because we agreed to pay you the giulio with all its interest when we became pope. Now that we are pope, we want to satisfy you and abide by our word.”

The shoemaker suddenly remembered the funny monk who had haggled over a pair of shoes forty years earlier. “Good,” the pope said. “Now we will satisfy the debt.” Sixtus called his majordomo and asked him to figure the interest on one giulio for forty years. It came to three giulios, which the pope handed him as he bid him farewell.

In the waiting room, the shoemaker, having recovered his power of speech, complained bitterly to his friends that he had spent fifteen giulios to get to Rome, and would spend another fifteen to go home. But this was one of Sixtus’s jokes. He had the man brought back and reunited him with his son, a monk, to whom he gave a wealthy bishopric in the kingdom of Naples. “The pope asked the shoemaker if he had paid enough interest on the giulio, and the delighted shoemaker went back home blessing him.”
¹

Leafing through his pages for 1564, the pope saw an entry for an Augustinian monk named Father Saluti. Fra Felice had been making a journey on foot to preach in a certain city and had stopped along the way at an Augustinian monastery, where he had been warmly received by Saluti. Felice borrowed four scudi from him and wrote an IOU. He had never paid it back, and now was the time for all paybacks. He commanded the general of the Augustinian order in Rome to find out if Saluti was still alive, and if so, to bring him into his presence.

At the time Father Saluti, now in his forties, was involved in a dispute with his bishop. Having heard of the pope’s strictness, when four burly guards barged into his cell and told him he they had orders to bring him to Sixtus in Rome, he feared he was going to his execution. He was ushered trembling into the pope’s presence, where he began to sputter out his defense. Sixtus, who was unaware of the dispute, waved it away.

“That is not the reason we called you to Rome,” the pope said, “but to accuse you of having wasted the money of your monastery, and we are resolved to make you render an account, but first we want to hear a confession from your own mouth.”

Now Father Saluti began to pluck up his courage because he was extremely careful with the monastery’s finances and had never pocketed a penny. He said he would gladly show the pope his account books and submit to any punishment if it could be proved that he had poorly administered the finances.

With a disdainful voice the pope said, “Think well on what you say because we have sufficient proof to convince us. Is it not true that in 1564 a monk passed by of our order, to whom you loaned four scudi, without getting it back? Isn’t that throwing away the income of your monastery?”

Father Saluti remembered this occasion twenty-one years in the past. “It is true, holy father, that I gave that monk four scudi, and I would have given him more if he had asked for it because he seemed to be a father of esteem, virtue, and worthy of every service, but then I found out he was a rascal, because he had made me an IOU in a phony name, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t find him.”

“Oh, good, don’t search for him any further,” the pope said, laughing hard, “because you will certainly not find him. And we can tell you that he is no rogue who remembers his old debts, and you should be happy that we will pay you his old debt for him.”

The pope asked him what the monk looked like. Saluti looked closely at Sixtus and seemed to recall that the monk had looked rather similar. He started shaking from head to toe because he had just called the pope a rascal. Trembling, Father Saluti said, “Your Holiness, I have to say that he bore a certain resemblance to you.”

The pope replied, “Since we bear a resemblance to that monk who benefited so from your generosity, it is high time that we begin to give you proof of our gratitude. You received that monk with so much courtesy that we want to receive you with the same courtesy.”
²
Sixtus ordered Saluti to be lodged in the luxurious apartments of young Cardinal Montalto. He stayed there a month while the pope tried to discover what position would please him most. He finally made him a bishop with considerable revenues in the kingdom of Naples. And Pasquino cried that bishoprics in Rome were being sold at a good price, four scudi apiece.

Sixtus had done his best to balance the books in terms of debts he owed and debts owed to him, except, of course, for the elephant in the living room no one was mentioning. Yet when it came to punishing Francesco’s murderers, he was in a bit of a bind. He had repeatedly and publicly declared his pardon and chalked the whole unfortunate episode up to God’s will. But he firmly believed that a pontiff was required by God to render justice for old wrongs.

As eager as Sixtus was for vengeance, there was a part of him that unwillingly returned to that particular place of pain. He complained to Gregory’s nephew, Cardinal San Sisto, that the murder had been committed during his uncle’s reign and, despite his protests of pardon, the pope should have done something about it. “If your uncle had punished it, he would have saved me the pain and embarrassment of pursuing its authors, and I would not cry a second time over the death of a nephew whom I loved with such great tenderness.”
³

Camilla, who had been pushing her brother for vengeance for four years, was delighted when he finally agreed. Though the former laundress was now a princess, living in a palace, with one grandson a cardinal and the other a prince, there was always someone missing at the dinner table. Paolo Giordano, Vittoria, Tarquinia, Marcello, and their gang of murderers must pay.

Brother Geremia of Udine, a spy of Grand Duke Francesco’s in Rome, wrote his boss, “The pope’s sister doesn’t do anything except spur him on to vengeance for her son that was killed… This sister of the pope is an old woman with a vindictive character who never forgets anything.”
⁴

The Venetian ambassador wrote, “The pope is in great thought about what he must do because on the one hand he pardoned them when he was cardinal. On the other hand, he is moved by justice, and by the offices of his sister, who often cries over the death of her son.”
⁵

Two of Paolo Giordano’s servants had been abandoned in Rome when he and Vittoria thundered out in April. One of them, the wardrobe master, was arrested in June for committing a crime. Another, a bottler, was found hanging around the duke’s Roman palace. Both were questioned about the murder of Francesco Peretti, and both spilled the beans about Paolo Giordano ordering the murder. The Venetian ambassador to Rome informed his Senate that they must plan how to respond if the pope sent them a request for Paolo Giordano’s extradition.

The pope wanted to read the interrogation records of the two servants; every word they uttered had been recorded by a court reporter. As soon as Sixtus started reading, he began to sob bitterly at his papal desk, tears running like rivers down his homely face. He read how Paolo Giordano Orsini had callously planned to ambush and murder Francesco. Relying on Francesco’s affection for him, Vittoria’s brother Marcello would summon him to the murder spot with a note asking for help. Had it never occurred to the revolting duke, to selfish Marcello, that this person to be so brutally butchered had a family who loved him, whose hearts would be broken forever?

Sixtus had not allowed himself to show grief immediately after the murder, perhaps not even in the privacy of his own bedroom, as he steeled himself for his convincing theatrical role of forgiving Christian. But now, reading the words before him, all the pain repressed for more than four years tumbled out. It was too much for him. His gnarled hands pushed the papers away, and he cried out that he didn’t want to read any more, and he never wanted to hear another word about it. But Francesco’s murder was like a virus thriving inside him; it would never really go away.

Courtiers hoping to win the pope’s favor asked him why he gave justice to other families but not to his own. They pointed out that Paolo Giordano Orsini had been guilty of many other crimes, including murders. While the pope could issue a pardon in the name of the Perettis, he could not issue it in the name of other bereaved families. It was a clever stratagem – personal revenge served up without technically being revenge. The pope decided to charge the duke in absentia for having aided Lodovico in killing Pope Gregory’s advisor, Vincenzo Vitelli. Witnesses were called; charges were filed; and the trial began.

In October, the pope’s guards rode to Bracciano and arrested a group of the duke’s friends and servants who had just arrived from Padua. According to an
avvisi
of October 30, these men were “very intimate favorites of Signor Paolo Giordano and served His Excellency as secretaries in all languages. It is the opinion that now a terrible edict is being created against that signor.”
⁶
Three others were extradited from the republic of Lucca at the pope’s request, “among whom one person of account who knows all the secrets of Signor Paolo Giordano.”
⁷

The gossip mill in Rome whispered that Cardinal de Medici and his brother the grand duke encouraged the pope to take the duchy of Bracciano away from Paolo Giordano as punishment for his crimes – especially the crime of marrying beneath him – and give it to his son, Virginio. The grand duke’s spy at the Vatican wrote, “The pope with secret thoughts… wants to deprive Signor Paolo Giordano of his duchy, and many say that the pope consults your Highness in this cause to invest Signor Virginio with the duchy.”
⁸

In a cruel thrust aimed directly at Vittoria, the de Medicis further hoped to win the good graces of the pope by proposing a marriage between Virginio and Sixtus’s grandniece, Flavia Peretti, the child of Camilla’s deceased daughter Maria. The granddaughter of Camilla, whom Vittoria had scorned, would be the new duchess of Bracciano. Vittoria, the former duchess, would be exiled and insolvent. Having fought so hard and endured so much for four years, Vittoria risked being butted off her privileged perch by a twelve-year-old. But Sixtus was revolted at the idea of having Paolo Giordano as an in-law. He waved away the suggestion. Flavia, he said, was too young.

Cardinal de Medici began to fear that once the pope took possession of Bracciano, he would give it not to Virginio, but to his own grandnephew, Michele. Sixtus had carefully planned the future of Camilla’s two grandsons. Usually in a family with two boys, the elder would marry, and the younger go into the Church. But Sixtus knew that an eight-year-old cardinal nephew would be far more ridiculous than a fourteen-year-old cardinal nephew, so the older boy donned the scarlet robes. While many pontiffs cleaned out the papal treasury to buy duchies for their relatives, Sixtus used his own salary to purchase small principalities for Prince Michele to allow him to live honorably after the pope’s death.

But the large, wealthy duchy of Bracciano was worth far more than all the other lands of little Michele put together. If the pope gave it to his grandnephew, Michele would instantly become one of the most important barons in Italy. Cardinal de Medici was on pins and needles lest the duchy go out of the family. On November 10, 1585, he staged a large hunt around Bracciano, a ruse to introduce a hundred well-armed soldiers to defend the castle from papal forces if necessary.