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V
The countess of Forlì

Girolamo Riario and Caterina Sforza

He didn’t find Giovanni Battista waiting for him in the rooms of the protonotary but a plump cleric who invited him to go directly to the busy monsignor who was in the basilica of San Pietro, where he had been urgently summoned by the pontiff. There he found both in the midst of a serious meeting in front of the funeral monument for Roberto Malatesta, the hero of the battle of Campomorto.

Standing beside Sixtus IV was his nephew, the sinister captain general Girolamo Riario, whom Tristano already knew as having been one of the main protagonists of the failed conspiracy in Florence four years earlier, hatched against his friends Lorenzo and Giuliano de' Medici, which had cost the life of the latter.

Not satisfied with having received the Lordships of Imola and Forlì from his uncle, after failing to take possession of Florence and having failed to conquer Urbino, the insatiable Riario was now in danger of seeing his ambitions for Ferrara also fail definitively.

The Republic of Venezia, as has already been said, continued to be deaf to the pontiff's warnings and excommunications; indeed, after having withdrawn its ambassadors from Rome, every day it increasingly threatened the Milanese border and the territories of the Church in Romagna. And now the old Sixtus IV worried about this more than anything else.

Before it was hopelessly too late, it was then thought to play the Aragonese card: it was decided to send Tristano to Naples to King Ferdinando in an attempt to convince him, after Campomorto, to enter into a new coalition agreement (in which Florence and Milan would also participate) against the Serenissima. In truth, Giovanni Battista was not enthusiastic about this solution and had instead proposed dealing directly with the doge, but given the firm determination of the Holy Father, he finally had to put a good face on it and accept the assignment.

The one who was the most satisfied with the deliberate solution was obviously Girolamo, who saw in this move the last glimmer of hope for his being able to sit as a protagonist at the winners’ table and finally get his hands on the Este city.

“Monsignor Orsini” appealed to the latter before the Holy Father dismissed those present, “Please do me the courtesy, Your Magnitude and Our honorable ambassador, to accept the invitation to a sober banquet that my lady and I will hold tomorrow evening at my humble palace at Sant'Apollinare to inaugurate the period of Holy Christmas.”

Giovanni Battista accepted and thanked him with deference.

Tristano, who deliberately had not made a statement before the captain, after the meeting, at a separate venue, was also persuaded by his protector to accept the invitation without hesitation. Going down the staircase at the Constantine basilica, Orsini intimated:

“Tomorrow morning at the third hour I will be waiting for you in my office for details about Mantua, but first send a quick confirmation to the Riario. You may also decline the invitation from the pope's nephew but not that of his son!”

Soon after he climbed into the carriage and disappeared into the crowded streets of the city.

The young diplomat was exhausted and that last indiscretion, besides his extreme strength, had also caused him to lose his ability to speak; he entered the first inn that was open and, after having a bite to eat, sent Pietro and the two horses to a temporary shelter; he walked home as the sun went down.

Having reached home, however, the emotions of that day seemed not to be over yet…

From the street he glimpsed a dim candlelight that for a brief instant illuminated the upper floor of his residence.

He put his hand to his sword and climbed cautiously to the upper level where he saw that glimmer rekindle in the bedroom… Then another more intense glow and a third candle…

“Who’s there?!” He asked, removing a sword from a shield on the wall. “Come on out!” He kicked open the door to the room that was already ajar.

An impertinent laugh then broke the tension and taking shape before his eyes were the soft curves of a female body he knew well. It was his Veronica.

“Tell me, oh my hero. My ears are yearning to hear your voice,” whispered the irreplaceable confidant and priceless lover.

“Not as much as my hands are yearning to encircle your body, my dear,” retorted Tristano, placing his weapons on a chair where the young prostitute had thrown her crinoline and bloomers and, letting his ultramarine blue coat fall to the floor, manfully he went to meet her.

She smiled bringing an index finger to her mouth and shaking her head untied her curly hair. He took off his shirt and pushing her onto the bed, adding:

“You will have to earn your hero's tale.”

And between laughter and the usual erotic games to which the two were accustomed, his fatigue suddenly disappeared.

In the aftermath, having recovered his strength and the elegant black wool overcoat that he had commissioned from the good Ludovico before leaving for Mantua, the young diplomat went, ob torto collo, to the Riario feast.

The brand new building, which stood on the ruins of an ancient temple of Apollo, was gorgeous. It was designed by the master from Forlì, Melozzo di Giuliano degli Ambrosi, to please Girolamo's lust for greatness and the refined taste of his young and beautiful lady: Caterina Sforza, the natural daughter of the late Duke of Milan, Galeazzo, and his lover, Lucrezia Landriani.

The amiable, nonchalant hostess welcomed him with her consort, twenty years older, the most prized invited into the admirable courtyard, despite the particularly harsh air of that evening. She wore a long, tightly fitting gamurra, sensually edged with black lace that created a contrast with the paleness of her skin. The robe was closed with back ties and completed with separate sleeves embroidered with gold threads, formed by variegated fabrics and artfully cut and held together with laces, and from whose cuts the white blouse puffed out. Her hair was gathered in a very sensual veil embellished with pearls and golden coronet.

As soon as his turn came, the Riario obsequiously presented the welcome guest to his wife:

“His Excellency Tristano de' Ginni, the one whom His Holiness places his total trust and blessing,” as if stressing that he was precisely the man on whom the success of the next venture depended and the fortunes of his family.

“An extraordinary fame precedes you, sir,” stressed Caterina, addressing the handsome guest.

“The workmanship of your magnificent pendant is extraordinary, engraved using the superlative technique of the French masters of lost-wax casting, madam,” the young diplomat replied promptly, staring at her long neck and looking up into her eyes, deep, proud to belong to a line of glorious but at the same time melancholy warriors, resigned portals of a dissatisfied soul, faithful indicators of the typical unhappiness of ostentatious joy.

Tristano found them captivating, could not look away for a moment throughout the evening and, taking advantage of the temporary absence of her husband, who had been retained by cardinals and politicians outside the room, he dared to invite the lady to a “bassa danza”.

She, since the Milanese period, used to practice various activities, also considered inconvenient for her sex and rank: she was a skilled hunter, she had a real passion for weaponry and a strong propensity for command inherited from her mother, loved to conduct experiments in botany and alchemy. She was reckless and loved risk-takers.

Despite everyone's eyes being on her, she couldn't refuse.

“I love the Greek sculpture of Polykleitos and Phidias. And you, ma’am?” asked Tristano as the dance moves allowed his mouth to near her ear.

“Yes, sublime. I love it too,” answered Caterina smiling.

“Have you ever seen the art collection at Palazzo Orsini? There are priceless marble Herculean bodies,” added the bold knight.

“Oh,” the noblewoman pretended to be surprised and disturbed, “I imagine… You too, sir, should see the paintings of my Melozzo, which I jealously guard at my palace,” she said voluptuously before the music separated them.

For the rest of the evening, the refined hostess ignored the attentions of the young seducer who, on the contrary, saw and felt nothing but the light and smell of that barely touched skin.

The dinner ended and one after another the diners left the successful banquet.

Tristano was already in the courtyard when a page came to him with a folded leaflet…

“The works of my Melozzo are in the loggia on the noble floor.”

And just as he had not been able to decline the invitation of the pope's son, in the same way he absolutely could not decline the invitation of his esteemed daughter-in-law. He went back inside and followed the servant upstairs, where he waited impatiently for the moment when he could finally untie that long blond hair, under which he discovered the intensity of her lips, scarlet like the wounds of the countless sufferings experienced.

Caterina had a complex psyche… and a good seducer manages to observe the complexity of a woman's psyche best during two very particular situations: in the game and between the sheets.

Until the dawn of the new day, he did not spare himself, not even when she confided to Tristano in tears of the violence she had suffered since she was a child.

“Sometimes secrets can only be confided to a stranger,” he said. Immediately afterwards her moving story began:

“I was not the bride promised to Girolamo Riario but everything had been planned so that it would be my cousin Costanza, at the age of eleven, who would unite with that angry animal before God and men. On the eve of the wedding, however, my aunt, Gabriella Gonzaga, demanded that the consummation of the legitimate union take place only after three years, when Costanza reached the legal age. With this condition, Girolamo, in all his fury, canceled the marriage and threatened terrible repercussions on the whole family for the serious shame he had suffered. So it was that, as is done with a chipped ring, my relatives replaced me with the refused cousin, agreeing to all the claims of the despotic bridegroom. I was only ten years old.”

Tristano, stunned, only sensed that he should hold her tightly and wipe away the tears that streamed down her face.

VI
The siege of Otranto

Ahmet Pascià and the league against the Turks

After a few days, having finalized the last details, as planned, the tireless papal trustee left for Naples.

To accompany him on his secret mission was the brave Pietro , who had now fully recovered and was impatient to see the Neapolitan city that his father had spoken about so much when he was a child.

For Tristano, however, it was not the first time and following the usual impertinent insistence of his footman began to tell what happened to him almost three years before:

“I was as excited and curious as you are now. To think that I knew Naples only from an old Benedictine map my late grandfather had showed me to indicate the court my mother had served at when she was young. I joined Fra Roberto, my teacher and guide, who was well known at the time as Fra Roberto Caracciolo da Lecce, in the wonderful royal chapel of Naples and together we rushed to warn King Ferdinando d’Aragona of the imminent danger from the Turks on the eastern coast.

Shortly before a heartfelt letter from the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller had, in fact, informed the pontiff of the attempts of the Republic of Venice to impel the Ottoman Empire to mount an expedition against the Italian peninsula and specifically the Kingdom of Naples. This obviously raised unspeakable concerns not only for the Aragonese, but for the whole of Christianity.

However, Ferrante (the name his subjects gave to King Ferdinando), not only remained deaf to the warnings about the Turks but shortly thereafter, irresponsibly, instead, ordered the removal of 200 infantrymen from Otranto to use against Florence.

Thus, the grand vizier Gedik Ahmet Pascià, after a failed attempt at snatching Rhodes from the Knights of San Giovanni, landed undisturbed on the Brindisi coast with his fleet, where he turned his attention to the city of Otranto. Immediately he sent his legate to those white walls, guaranteeing that he would save the lives of the inhabitants of Otranto in exchange for their immediate and unconditional surrender. The latter, however, not only refused the conditions of the Turkish messenger but unfortunately killed him, sparking the foreseeable wrath of the fierce Ahmet Pascià.

During the summer the Turks burst into the city like bloodthirsty beasts and in a few minutes they overwhelmed all who opposed them.

The cathedral was the ultimate refuge for women, children, the elderly, the disabled, terrified inhabitants, the last bastion where they could barricade themselves when all other defenses had already fallen: the men reinforced the gates, the women with their little ones in their arms, lined up along the cosmogonic tree of life, the religious offered the last holy Eucharist… and like the first Christians they raised a sad liturgical song to God awaiting martyrdom; the cavalry broke through the door, the demons rushed in, raged over the crowd without distinction; in vain the archbishop ordered the infidels to stop but unheeding he himself was wounded and beheaded together with his own; neither women nor children were spared from their blind and murderous fury. Noblewomen were plundered and rendered naked, the youngest were raped repeatedly in the presence of their fathers and husbands held by the neck, their honor and spirit murdered before their body. The most cruel and heinous violence spread from the cathedral to the entire city. At first 800 men managed to escape to a hill but, also blocked by the Janissaries of the barbarian chief, they were passed one by one under the blade of a scimitar. The population was exterminated abominably. At day's end, the five thousand inhabitants were reduced to only a few dozen living, saved in exchange for their conversion to the Koran and the resounding payment of three hundred golden ducats.

Only when this wretched news reached court, did Ferrante understand the enormous sin he had committed of undervaluation and then he decided to entrust reconquest of those lands to his son Alfonso.

Paternally, the Holy Father wrote to all the lords of Italy, asking them to set aside their internal rivalries and to face the Ottoman threat together and, in exchange, granted plenary indulgence to the members of the newly formed Christian League. Given the seriousness and how critical the situation was, the Curia allocated 100,000 ducats for the construction of a fleet of 25 galleys and the equipping of 4,000 infantrymen.

In addition to the king of Naples, the appeal of Sixtus IV was answered by the king of Hungary, the Dukes of Milan and Ferrara, the Republics of Geneva and Florence. As expected, instead, no support came from Venice, which had signed a peace treaty with the Turks only the previous year and could not afford to block trade routes with the East again.

Despite the late but impressive Christian mobilization, the Ottomans, not only managed to hold the Land of Otranto and part of the Land of Bari and Basilicata firmly in their hands, they were ready to direct their army to the north on the Capitanata and to the west on Naples.

It was only thanks to our diplomacy that we managed to intercept a message from Muhammad II in Anatolia; which was then suitably modified and packaged and delivered to Ahmet Pascià with one of our spies. The Turkish captain swallowed the bait: he left Otranto temporarily with two-thirds of his men to embark for Valona; during the crossing he was surrounded by the ships that had been prepared by the Christian League and finally, after months of conquests and victories, suffered a devastating defeat, so heavy, so much so that he was forced to flee to Albania in a small boat.

The news of the naval victory and even more so of the fearful escape of the barbarian chief raised the morale of the Neapolitans and their allies… Duke Alfonso managed to reorganize a discreet army of mercenaries finally also supported operationally by the other Catholic nobles, who then perceived the possibility of winning back Otranto and Puglia. Spain sent 20 ships and Hungary 500 choice soldiers.

It was one of the most impressive naval sieges recalled by history: the colossal siege of Otranto.”

Meanwhile the horses were starting to become tired and needed clean water. Tristano then looked around and suspended his epic narrative.

Pietro was, as always, bewitched and dumbfounded, pensive, in the same way as children who have heard the Homeric or Virgilian poems told for the first time.

“And then? What happened? How did it end, sir?”

“Well, the rest is fairly recent: after the death of Muhammad II, the new sultan actually forbade Ahmet Pascià from returning to Italy. At the end of last summer, exhausted by hunger, thirst and the plague, the Ottomans surrendered and the Aragonese finally regained control of the city. According to some, the infamous Turkish leader is in prison or was even executed by his own men at Edirne. “O quam cito transit gloria mundi”, concluded Tristano.

“What, Excellence?”

“Nothing Pietro, nothing. Let's hurry up now. The generous and abundant breasts of the Parthenope siren await us… “

And spurring his steed forward, he quickened his pace, dragging an even more confused Pietro behind him.

VII
Don Ferrante and the reason for Naples

The ambush and the maid

After a couple of days they came to a sunny and busy capital, in the midst of a colorful market, anything could make one leap to the wildest fantasy: from fruit to furniture, from fish to hemp ropes, from music to sculptures, from sweets to livestock, from relics to prostitutes.

“Anyone who goes on a trip to Naples must prepare to get to know at least three divinities: pasta, mozza and struffoli”, said Tristano amusedly to his companion.

“I hope I get to know them all soon, sir”, replied Pietro.

They left the horses in a small, narrow stable and proceeded on foot through the lanes and alleys that divided the confusing exhibition district.

Soon, however, the two strangers realized they were being followed. So they tried to blend into the crowd, between the tents of the stalls, making their way through the intrusive merchants, but that ugly face seemed to know that environment better than anyone else and he certainly had no problem in maintaining his sinister close stalking. Pietro then decided to face him; he signaled to Tristano to turn through a narrow secondary alley and, as soon as the man emerged from the corner, he pulled his sword out to the side, trying to dissuade the pursuer.

To these were added immediately two others, moreover well equipped.

Threatening mockingly, they began to approach, lowering and coiling like loins on their prey. After a circling around, the scuffle began: the one with the dark feathered cap parried Pietro’s double attack, from right and from above, suddenly slashing at the height of his waist making the latter leap backwards. The other, wearing a more lively doublet, had a showy octagonal pomolo, a wide-bladed sword set with precious lapis lazuli; turned and raised his sword to heaven, inviting Tristano to do the same; he then charged the blow on the cinquedea, a short-bladed sword of the young pontiff, promptly blocked the blow, countering with the long iron and with a kick to the opponent's thigh. Meanwhile, the third, with the striped codpiece, pulled out a rapier and rushed to assist the first, alternating with this against the Bolognese swordsman; he sliced down the length of a man’s body, which was blocked by Di Giovanni who raised his arm and turned his sword upside down; then he scored a wide arc in the air and responded to the blow, forcing the opponent to change guard.

As the air heated with the sparks from the blades and the clashing of the blows on the helmets, they unwittingly went into the semi-dark alleys of the old city.

Pietro then made a wise backtrack and a small step forward accompanied by a threatening lunge; then after another hesitation he launched into the attack: he drew his sword very quickly from the bottom upwards and with a masterful twist of his wrist he sliced from right to left forcing the thug to open his arm leaving his body exposed; then he locked the blade with the buckler, and relentlessly struck the weapon in his chest.

On the other front, Tristano was in serious difficulty, as he struggled with a well-trained opponent, he quickly advanced with his left knee, hit to the right and vice versa, to simulate circling with his body, to enable a change in rhythm and guard, he sought any hesitation in the wavering defense of the diplomat. Pietro tried for a moment to help him and would have been able to if he hadn't had a hard bone to pick.

Suddenly from overhead, two huge white sheets that had been patched and weighted on the sides fell over the heads of the two Neapolitans, who became temporarily entangled. A whistle from a street urchin providentially showed Tristano and his assistant an escape route, and when the thugs were able to resume their pursuit, a door into a hypogean cellar had already swallowed up the two strangers, keeping them safe for a while.

Having escaped the danger, the latter were finally able to return to the alley that in the meantime had revived with a few poor folk, but they were unable to see or thank those little street urchins to whom they probably owed their lives; incredibly they had disappeared, as had the good Pietro's money bag!

In short, after spontaneous and dutiful curses, the two had a great laugh and in mid afternoon they reached Castel Nuovo.

There the elderly sovereign immediately welcomed them with finest tributes and considerations who, although at odds with the Pope, retained a particular sense of gratitude towards Tristano and a respect that went beyond their respective public roles: he probably saw in him his friend Latino.

Indeed, it was Cardinal Orsini, then apostolic legated a latere, who, bearing the bull of investiture granted by Pope Pius II and assisted by Cardinal Trevisan, by the archbishop of Nazareth in Barletta, Giacomo de Aurilia, by the archbishop of Taranto and by other numerous prelates, on February 4 AD 1459, during a sumptuous ceremony in the square in front of the castle of Barletta, crowned Ferdinando I of Naples blessing him with the triple title of king of Sicily, Jerusalem and Hungary. Latino had noted the episode and the events of the following days of the coronation on that diary page that had been strangely torn and had disappeared mysteriously from the cardinal's personal archive.

Don Ferrante and Don Tristano were closed in conclave for over two hours.

Before their departure, the pontifical official personally took care of removing the main diplomatic obstruction hindering any relationship between the Holy See and the Neapolitan court: he ensured that the royal secretariat became aware of a few secret missives, obviously false, that the Venetian ambassador to Naples had sent to his doge. In such dispatches the Neapolitan ruler was described as inept, vain, and a libertine. The reaction was immediate.

Thanks to the consequent repatriation of the man from Serenissima and the king's personal esteem, the interview was extremely cordial and, in the end, although Don Ferrante had not come to any decision, it seemed to Tristano that the sovereign was well disposed to considering the reasons set out and to analyze the scenario that had been proposed to him.

And in fact, he was right: two days later he recalled the young pupil of the defunct Cardinal Orsini and verbally informed him that the Kingdom of Naples would take part in the new alliance against Venice. The command would be entrusted to his son Alfonso, the Duke of Calabria, who would also take on the role of captain of the league. The agreement was later formalized and made official on Christmas day.

Tristano was extremely satisfied.

After a rich dinner based on Christmas pastries and sweets, certainly not disdained by the barons and the most courteous representatives of the Neapolitan nobility, the young man decided to retire to his apartment perhaps to try to relax by soaking in a warm tub the His Majesty had generously requested to be prepared.

The elderly woman, who had so thoughtfully set up the bathroom for him, while arranging the last linens in a closet, stared at him persistently. But the numb official paid no mind to her, as he was immersed in his thoughts and unsolved questions at least as far as he was in that steaming tub.

“You have the same eyes. Your mother was a saintly woman,” said the woman before disappearing behind the door of the room.

The one who had been caught dreaming spun around. Those words brought him back to reality like the tone of a bell.

“ Wait,” he shouted in vain.

How did that maidservant known his mother? Had she had the chance to meet her or work with her during the period when the young woman had served at that court? Tristano had to know… He leaped out of the tub and, dried himself as best he could, quickly he put on his shirt, breeches, and boots and rushed to look for her in the palace.

When he reached the service floor, he heard unmistakable human moans, separated by more high pitched grunts mixed with regular squeaks from wooden planks, coming from the room at the bottom of the staircase.

The pastry chef, the sublime architect of those gluttonous sugar architectures that reigned over the tables of the palace banquets, as well as the almond desserts, was as usual filling the young eager servants who tidied up the kitchen at the end of the day. At that moment, however, the young ambassador did not have time for that type of display and casting a fleeting glance, he passed on determinedly.

Beyond the kitchens, in a narrow corridor, he glimpsed a good half of the corpulent profile of a woman, lying on the floor, supine, from the wide-open door of the room, the light from the fireplace lit her face, as if someone had tried to carry the body after felling it. It was the long-sought woman Tristano had been searching for.

Rushing in, the servant was wide-eyed her mouth half-open, she no longer breathed. On the floor of the room he noticed a small deep blue stone, probably part of a lapis lazuli gem similar to those set into the handle of the pursuer's weapon of a few days before.

However, he was warned by the noises coming from the entrance hall and decided to leave before someone noticed his presence, which was hardly justifiable, in that inconvenient place.

The next morning, together with his assistant, he left the castle. In the shadow of a tower, Pietro recognized, among the Duke of Calabria’s henchmen, one of the men who had made the attempt on their safety the day they had arrived and whispering he informed his lord. The latter, however, given the diplomatic result achieved and the still murky situation, decided not to say a word and moved away among the salutations.

Finally, before letting the curtain fall on that mission, at the exit of the inn, where the horses had rested, Tristano noticed a small battered body dragging itself along the street. It was the boy who had hidden them the day before from the threat of Alfonso's thugs; he did not speak, he was filthy and had been beaten, he had a bad wound from a cut on his leg. It was very cold; Tristano took him inside and paid a woman to take care of at least the most obvious injury. The next day he took him to his family and returned him to his elder brother who was waiting for him at the door. The latter, grateful, invited the young diplomat to enter the house (or at least into that hovel that remotely resembled a home): a man, who could have been his father, arranged the provisions of wheat in a small pantry, the mother spun wool, while with one hand she cradled the littlest one, an older woman told stories to the rest of the family who were sitting on an old settle made of chestnut. Before this image of misery, Tristano took advantage of the sudden crackling from the pot on the fire, which attracted the woman's attention, to leave a golden florin under the straw cushion of that pitted mattress of dry leaves on which a rosy girl slept, still with her cloth shoes on her feet. He said goodbye and left.

He returned to Rome, with the images of that mission still vivid in his mind, he found on his bed a beautiful wide-brimmed felt hat adorned with pheasant feathers; surely it was a gift from his friend Ludovico.

The mission had gone very well but had significantly increased the questions that had crowded his mind for an eternity: what did that woman have to do really with Latino, Ferrante… Naples… with his mother?