Kitabı oku: «The Man Who Seduced The Mona Lisa», sayfa 2
Unfortunately, the cardinal had left nothing that concerned him. Nor did the prelate's will mention the secret he had spoken of three years earlier.
In the days following his death, Tristano fiercely and meticulously investigated the holy life of Latino, rummaging through the palace library… but nothing, he could not find anything, no relevant clue… except a single page that had been torn from an old travel diary. The document concerned an important mission of Cardinal Orsini to Barletta in AD MCDLIX. The cardinal's manuscripts were almost all written and preserved with such a maniacal perfection that the lack of a sheet, however badly cut, would have been filled and arranged promptly, if not by Latino himself, by his attentive librarians, and for a moment this attracted Tristano's suspicions; unfortunately there was nothing else that could open a trail nor a hypothesis worthy of study. He therefore decided to halt all research and return to the Curia, where he could continue his diplomatic work under the auspices of Giovanni Battista Orsini, who in the meantime had received the highly coveted appointment as apostolic protonotary.
In his first diplomatic assignments outside the confines of the Papal State, Tristano was joined by the pontifical nuncio Fra Roberto da Lecce, but soon his rare skills of diligence, prudence e discretion convinced Giovanni Battista and his advisers to entrust him with increasingly critical and delicate issues for which he necessarily enjoyed a certain independence and autonomy.
One of these was within the intricate context of the Ferrara War. Not only were the lords of the peninsula involved, for various reasons and at different levels, but also within the Church state the situation became more complicated each day and required excellent chess masters who were able to play at least two games simultaneously: one external and one, perhaps the more dangerous for the Holy See, internal; in fact two factions had been created in Rome: the Orsini and the Della Rovere, in support of the pope, against the Colonna princes, supported by the Savelli.
In short, life for our young diplomat was not at all easy: the ally reassuring and full of praise of the previous dinner could well become, overnight, the bitter and deplorable enemy of the next morning, the pawn to be removed from the chessboard to avoid stall or to give room to castling, the piece to be exchanged to launch the final attack…
Already, after the summer of that 1482, the tone of papal politics had become clear. The Holy See had decided to end the war and Tristano had, therefore, been sent to the Gonzaga court precisely to demonstrate Rome's changed will towards Ferrara and Mantua. At the same time, enjoying the utmost welcome from the proprietors and having free access to the refined rooms the palace, the handsome twenty-two year old certainly could not remain insensitive to the calls of the young courtesans who paraded before him on those cold winter evenings.
III
Alessandra Lippi
The meeting with Pietro Di Giovanni and the rest stop in Prato
At the first glimmer of the Mantuan sun, Tristano, abandoning his very young lover in the arms of Morpheus, had just returned to his room; where he attempted to indulge in well-deserved sleep, when an insistent voice under his window brought him back to reality:
“Excellence… Excellence… My Lord…”
A soldier with a small parchment in his hand urgently requested his attention.
The letter clearly had a papal seal and ordered Tristano to return to Rome as quickly as possible.
Thus, without even waiting for news from the battlefield, the pontifical officer had to leave the Virgilian city with his escort, but not before quickly penning two necessary messages: one for the Marquis Federico, apologizing for his sudden departure and the confirmations of reassurance for the newfound support of the Holy Father towards him and the Duke of Ferrara; the other for his Beatrice, thanking her for having generously shared that night and wishing her to meet that needy love that her promised one could never give her.
He rode without stopping throughout the day, pausing only in Bologna to refresh the horses, before crossing the Emilian Apennines towards Florence.
The following day, crossing a compact and silent beech forest, a shot from a crossbow swiftly crossed the path of the young pontifical trustee, raising a mixed flock of thrushes and frozen blackcaps. While instinctively Tristano and his men slowed and put their hands to their weapons, on the same trajectory, a worn out bay bleeding from the withers, madly cut across their path. It was ridden badly by a man and a young woman who held on to him around his hips. Immediately after, another four riders and then two more, evidently in pursuit of the former.
Impulsively the bold ambassador decided to join the hunt in the dense thicket of deciduous trees, forcing two of the escort to do the same.
However, as soon as the woods opened up on a slightly inclined clearing, the three slowed and, hiding in the underbrush, tried to understand what was happening while keeping at a safe distance.
The brown nag had slumped to the ground; the two youngsters, had been thrown, they tried in vain to barricade themselves into a small semi-abandoned hut, now joined and hunted by the pursuers; two of these had dismounted from their horses swords drawn, while the other four surrounded the hovel.
While the one he protected was trying to open that battered door with all his strength, the young man, unus sed leo, was preparing to face the two smirking thugs with a bident. Despite the evident numerical inferiority, the man managed to parry the lunge on the right and hitting the first assailant with a kick to the lower abdomen, he turned towards the second to his left, dodging the blow and skewering his side. Thus obtaining a sword, he glanced quickly at the woman, meanwhile surrounded by the rest of the brutes, and resumed scuffling with the first thug; with a few blows he managed to disarm him and hold him, despite his size, by pinning his shoulders to the ground. At the same time, however, his companion's desperate cry for help drew his attention; turning to the woman, he threw his sword javelin-like into the chest of the brute who had pounced on him, in turn he received a crossbow bolt on the shoulder from the last rider who had remained in the saddle; he could do nothing when two others came up behind him and ensnared him with a metal mesh similar to that used in hunting, he was knocked to the ground and his limbs were immediately tied with a belt.
“No, Pietro…” shouted the desperate young woman bursting into tears, “Leave him! It's me you want”.
“Stop,” shouted what seemed to be the boss. “Don't finish it right away,” and pointing at the poor young woman, he continued: “First let's have some fun.”
“Bastards,” cried the one on the ground, trying in vain to wriggle free, “Thugs, cowards, sons of a bitch!”
The beast grasped the terrified girl by the hair and tearing her clothes off forced her against the shed wall, he held her arms, and while two others tied her legs with a rope, he began to take off his breeches while putting a rag in her mouth to block her screams.
At that point, Tristano, not being able to remain impassive in the face of such repulsive violence, finally decided to intervene: he came out into the open with his men and burst onto the scene as he heroically pounced on that heinous pack of lusting hyenas. The rapists, although reduced in number, still held the upper hand and were not to be subdued: the tension increased again. While, however, when one of the thugs pulled up his breeches, Tristano recognized the Medici lily on the frieze of the hood and even before the crossbowman began to stretch the bow against one of his own, he raised his fist to the sky, ordered them:
“Stop, I order you in the name of Sire Lorenzo de' Medici “; and he stretched his arm forward and then on the right and left again, against each of the four henchmen. “I have twenty-five men behind me ready to arrest you and hand you over to the jail of my friend Lorenzo,” he added.
The largest, then, recognizing the insignia of his lord on the ring and therefore fearing serious repercussions to his detriment, immediately ordered his men to drop their weapons; he also tried to justify what had happened but Tristano stopped him immediately:
“Go, go, felons.”
The four, undoubtedly ranting, mounted their horses and disappeared into the beech forest.
The papal soldiers, still incredulous as to the way the young official had solved the matter, quickly freed the two young people and, dressing their wounds as best they could, loaded them onto the back of a horse.
So he resumed his journey as the sun began to set on their right.
In the evening he arrived in Prato, where Tristano knew someone who perhaps could take care of the two wretches, allowing him to continue the ride to Rome quickly.
Near the Cathedral square, two girls had just given a piece of bread to a poor, cold beggar and were preparing to return home. Tristano suddenly jumped from his horse and pointing at the two young people exclaimed:
“Alessandra!”
The slimmer of the two turned abruptly, looked for a moment at the one who had dared to call out her name at that late hour and, receiving confirmation by seeing how much that sound had just aroused in her casket of memories, replied:
“Tristano”
In an instant she was running towards him and without convention or inhibition, as between young people who had already shared more than a little, she threw her arms around his neck, gently closing her eyes and resting her head on the chest of the unexpected stranger.
Alessandra was the lovely daughter of Madonna Lucrezia Buti and the late Florentine painter Filippo Lippi. Her mother, formerly Sister Lucrezia, had been a nun at the monastery of Santa Caterina, constrained by the family, forced to be a nun. Her father, chaplain of the convent at the same monastery in Prato, was already recognized as one of the best painters of his time and, therefore, ecclesiastical hierarchies and the wealthiest families commissioned him to paint very important works, especially having a biblical and hagiographic subject. It was during one of these works that the two had met. The attraction was inevitable and irrepressible… she very beautiful and sensual, he very charismatic and sensitive: the two religious people fell madly in love. The sinful relationship within the sacred walls of the convent lasted for some time, during which Sister Lucrezia willingly lent herself as a model for some paintings by Fra' Filippo, until the latter, on the occasion of the procession of the Holy Belt, decided to kidnap his beloved and start a new life with her as concubine, regardless of the sensation, scandal and general disapproval. Obviously the Church strongly opposed the bond between the two, labeling it as lustful and even diabolical; only years later, thanks to the intercession of Lippi's protector, Cosimo de' Medici, with the Holy Father, the two were finally reformed and obtained the dissolution of the vows. So a few years later the beautiful Alessandra was born.
Tristano had known and visited the uninhibited girl during his stays as an adolescent in Florence at the house of the Medici and had immediately been impressed and attracted, even before the appearance of her gentle features, open-mindedness, extroversion and her intellectual independence, characteristics that she had certainly inherited from both parents, of which she intrinsically embodied the modus cogitandi et operandi.
Now, after almost five years, he saw her again. She was even more beautiful, even more a woman.
The two entered the house, while the rest of the company waited outside.
There was just enough time to tell the owner of the house what had happened a few hours earlier and the two friends went back outside, inviting the others to make themselves comfortable in the house. Despite the late hour, Alessandra sent for a doctor, arranged the rooms for the guests and assured Tristano generously that she would take care of them, together with her mother, until the wounded had recovered completely.
Thus, while a sincere glass of wine accompanied the convivial tales of the welcome guest and accentuated the blush on the cheeks of the graceful landlady, Ipno and his Oneiroi slowly descended on the city of Prato.
The following day, immediately after the morning praises, the young envoy, duly thanking for the hospitality, resumed his journey to Rome with his escort, where his protector was eagerly awaiting him… and with this last another compelling mission to accomplish.
It was therefore necessary to make up for a few hours of travel, possibly avoiding other unexpected occurrences.
No more than a hundred feet outside the inhabited area, on the dusty road to Florence, the three papal knights had just begun to increase their speed when they were joined by a man on horseback with a showy bandage between his arm and shoulder.
“Sir… Sir, please. Stop…”
The breathless man was the same one Tristano had just saved and had a short while before entrusted, together with his woman, to the care of the Lippi house. The papal officer had to stop again.
“Please, my lord, listen to me,” continued the imploring supplicant, “What you have done and demonstrated is more noble than any coat of arms that adorns your breast and any crown that dominates your family coat of arms.”
Then, getting off his horse, he prostrated himself before the diplomat:
“Allow me to show you my eternal gratitude and offer you my services only as a partial restoration of the unquenchable debt that I contracted when Your Excellency stole me and even more my woman from the murderous ferocity of those brutes. This entire night I could not help but think about what happened and decided, if you accept, I offer you, without asking for anything in return, my humble sword and I swear my loyalty to you as long as you permit me to serve you.”
Tristano, for the high office he held, was certainly not short of protection and frankly until then he had always managed on his own… but he saw in the eyes of that man, who almost implored him, a particular light and a sense of sincere gratitude, loyalty, disinterest, something out of the ordinary. So much so that, without the humble person being able to add anything else, he asked:
“What's your name, brave man?”
“Pietro Di Giovanni, my lord,” he replied, raising his head.
“Get up Pietro. Given the delay that I am augmenting because of you, alas, your protection against the wrath of my lord will not be sufficient… I have no blazons or coats of arms to display, but I appreciate your gratitude and accept your services. But now, if you care so much, before I think any more about it, get on your horse and let's move on without further delay.”
And so the group resumed their race towards the Eternal City.
IV
The Magnificent’s ring
Giuliano de' Medici and Simonetta Vespucci
Pietro, a mature man, uncouth, scruffy in appearance but not that rough, was very skilled with the sword (with what he had inherited from his father he had attended the Bolognese school of Lippo Bartolomeo Dardi); he was endowed with an excellent technique and, although no longer young, he was physically well prepared; he did not like to call himself a mercenary, but, like many others, he had hitherto earned a living in the pay of one or other noble, taking part in the many battles and brawls that in those years animated the entire peninsula.
During the journey, at a time they had slowed their pace, the swordsman came up beside Tristano and, being careful never to let the muzzle of his horse go in front of that of his new lord, he dared ask:
“Will you allow me, a question Your Excellency?”
“Of course Pietro, ask me,” replied the distinguished official, turning his head a few degrees towards his daring assistant.
“How did you get that ring, sir? Is it really the Magnificent’s ring?”
Tristano was silent for a few moments giving a half smile but then, certain that he could trust this man, whom he had known for a few days but who he valued already, let go of his reserve and began his story:
“Seven years have passed since Cardinal Orsini took me with him to Florence for the first time, following a medical delegation that had been created specifically to provide assistance to His Most Reverend Excellency, Rinaldo Orsini, archbishop of Florence, he had been ill for two weeks with no sign of remission. Once I arrived in the city, while the physicus with his apprentices – among whom was my friend Jacopo – were immediately sent to the diocese to be at the bedside of the suffering prelate, the cardinal took me with him to Madonna Clarice, his granddaughter and wife of Lorenzo de' Medici, the Magnificent.
I still remember the sweet and maternal gaze with which Donna Clarice welcomed me, holding out her hand. She introduced me to her family and friends and immediately put every comfort in the edifice at my disposal. Every evening the banquets were attended by writers, humanists, artists, superfine courtiers and… most of all by beautiful women.
The most beautiful of all, the one who still today is unable to match and oust from the throne of my ideal, was Simonetta Cattaneo Vespucci.
The evening I saw her for the first time, she was wearing a brocade lined in red velvet, which left a generous neckline clearly visible, preciously bordered by a black gamurra, which clung perfectly to her turgid breast and fell to her feet holding the soft form of that admired and desired body. She let most of her blond curls fall lose on her shoulders, while only a small part was expertly gathered in a long braid enriched with cords and very small pearls. A few rebellious locks framed that harmonious, fresh, radiant, ethereal face. Her eyes were large and melancholy, very sensual, at least as far as could be seen from the faint smile on her velvety, parted red lips, highlighted by the a small dimple on her chin, the same red color as the day.
If I had not had the disastrous news of her death shortly after, I would still believe she was a goddess embodied in a perfect feminine shell.
Everyone held that she had only one flaw: she already had a husband… rightly jealous. At only sixteen she had married the banker Marco Vespucci, in Genoa in the presence of the doge and all the aristocracy of the maritime republic.
She was very much loved by society (and at the same time envied); in those years she had become the favorite muse of many writers and artists, among them the painter Sandro Botticelli, a longtime friend of the Medici family, who had fallen in love with her platonically and painted her portraits everywhere: even on the banner that he had made for the carousel of that year, epically won by Giuliano de' Medici, portrayed her ethereal face.
The following day we were invited to a banquet at the Villa di Careggi that the Magnificent had organized in honor of the Borromeo family with the implicit intent of introducing their daughter to his brother Giuliano, who, however, like and perhaps more than many, had clearly lost his head for Cattaneo. After the first pleasantries, in fact, Giuliano left the room and the guests, secluding himself in the garden, where Vespucci's wife was waiting for him, took advantage of the absence of her husband, who had been traveling on business since that morning.
Between one course and the next, Lorenzo delighted his guests by proclaiming precious sonnets that he had composed. On the other hand, if necessary, some of the distinguished guests answered in rhyme, pleasantly enlivening the symposium. In addition to noble friends and family, esteemed neo-Platonic academics were seated at the table such as Marsilio Ficino, Agnolo Ambrogini and Pico della Mirandola, as well as several members of the Florentine Council.
Although he was the affirmed head of the richest and most powerful family in Florence and was increasingly becoming the undisputed arbiter of the political balance on the peninsula, Lorenzo was only twenty-six years old and had the undoubted merit of having been able to build a young court around him, brilliant but at the same time wise and capable. In a few days of knowing him, he had become my model to strive for, a concentration of values to which I should aspire. However, what made us objectively different and that I could have never equaled, apart from the eleven years of age, was his being able to count on a solid and closely-knit family: his mother, Donna Lucrezia, was, even more so since the death of her relative Piero, his omnipresent accomplice and councilor; Bianca, sweet and beloved sister, doted on her elder brother, never missed a chance to praise him and every time she publicly pronounced his name her eyes shone; Giuliano, a disorderly younger brother, despite his venial disagreements and impertinences, however, was always at his side and involved in every political success or failure; Clarice, despite having learned of a few marital betrayals, had never ceased to love her husband and would always have supported him against anyone, even against, if necessary, her own family of origin. It was pleasant to watch that family court around which the city, clustered, elegantly subservient and reverent, at every celebration, every banquet. And it was a typical occasion, which like others I was privileged to attend.
Before, however, the confectioner made his scenograpic entrance into the dining room, I heard a dog barking repeatedly outside the villa and instinctively decided to go and see why the animal wanted to attract the attention of the owners. Entering the garden I discovered incredulously Giuliano and Simonetta rolling on the ground without being able to control their limbs: Vespucci, red in the face, with eyes and mouth wide open, trembled like a leaf; her lover, on the other hand, tried to tear his clothes off, alternating spasmodic laughter with hallucinations… I returned to the house without delay and, taking advantage of a break, with utmost discretion asked Lorenzo to follow me.
Rushing to the spot, we saw the two lifeless bodies. Lorenzo ordered me to call the doctor immediately; although he tried to shake his younger brother's head and torso, he did not react in the slightest, neither to slaps or to his voice. After a while seizures began.
The situation was critical and very delicate. After a few moments, excitement and bewilderment on the Magnificent’s face turned to panic and helplessness. Although he wanted to ask anyone present at his home for help, he knew well that the public discovery of the two young people in such conditions, in addition to creating an enormous scandal would certainly mean, for himself and his family, the loss of the significant political support of Marco Vespucci, at that moment a needle in the balance of a Council that was already mined by de’ Pazzi (the noble Jacopo de' Pazzi, without a shadow of a doubt, would have taken advantage of the situation to claim control of the city).
Lorenzo was not reassured even by the sudden arrival of the doctor and the apothecary, who kept asking me what I had seen before he came. The great doctors in fact, immediately theorized a case of poisoning, they were unable to identify the substance responsible and consequently indicated a possible remedy. In the meantime, Agnolo Ambrogini arrived on the spot, the only one, besides his mother, whom Lorenzo blindly trusted; he was entrusted with the task of fabricating a necessary excuse for the guests, who rightly began to discern and accuse the absence of the landlord. With the help of Agnolo the bodies were quickly and secretly transported to a nearby shelter.
I noticed then that where Simonetta's body had recently lain there was a small basket of apples and berries, all apparently edible and harmless. I grabbed a blueberry between two fingers and crushed it. In a flash I remembered that a few months earlier Jacopo in Rome had shown me a very poisonous plant, called “atropa”, also known as “Satan’s cherry”, the fruits of which were easily confused with the berries of the common blueberry but unlike this the latter could be lethal in small quantities. Young women often used a marinate of atropa leaves to cause their eyes to shine and to dilate the pupil so as to appear more seductive. The doctor accepted my theory as possible and confirmed that both the young people dying had bluish spots on their lips. However, the scientist ruled that if that were the case there was no known cure, throwing the landlord into the most desperate resignation.
The dynamic was clarified days later: someone, in the pay of Francesco de' Pazzi, had not replaced the blueberries accidentally with the atropa in that fruit basket that Donna Vespucci had then shared with her lover. Giuliano had therefore poisoned himself by tearing the poisonous berries, in an erotic game, directly from the mouth of the beautiful Simonetta. And so, after a few minutes, the powerful drug took effect.
Still stunned at what had taken place in such a short time, I dared to intrude a second time and proposed to the Honorable Lorenzo to make an extreme attempt, and to consult the pontifical delegation hosted in the diocese. The Magnificent, making me promise maximum reserve, consented and hurriedly made me escort him to Jacopo, with whom I returned shortly thereafter. My Benedictine analyzed the fruits of the solanaceous and administered an antidote to the sufferers from the unknown lands of Africa. After about an hour the symptoms subsided, their body temperature began to fall and within eight days the two young people recovered completely.
Together with fate any suspicion was removed, inside and outside the walls. In fact, when Marco Vespucci returned to the city with his bankers, he didn't notice anything: he was even richer, Simonetta was even more beautiful, Giuliano even more in love… but, most of all, Florence was even more Medici.
Even the archbishop, slowly, seemed to recover; therefore we prepared to return to Rome. First, however, the Magnificent, in sign of his affection and esteem as well as thanks and gratitude, wanted to pay homage to me for what everyone considered to be one of the highest awards of the republic: the gold ring bearing six balls, a universal pass within the city territories… and not only.
Since then I carry it with me always, as a precious testimony to Lorenzo's friendship and to the imperishable memory of those two unfortunate lovers who, like Paris and Helen, who had several times risked turning Florence into Ilium.
Throughout the narration, Pietro, fascinated and enraptured by the extraordinary nature of the facts, by the skilled narration of the speaker and by the abundance of details, dared not speak.
He waited a few seconds after the happy ending to be sure not to desecrate that incredible story and, giving a tight squeeze on his bandage, finally said proudly:
“Thank you sir. Serving you will not only be just an honor for me, it will be a pleasure.”
After two days of further journey, the Via Cassia revealed the magnificence of Rome and although men and animals were very tired, at the mere sight spirits regained their force and bodies their strength. Tristano urged on his horse and increased the speed.
