Читать книгу: «The Bronze Crown», страница 5

«Good luck to you, boy. And thank you.» Matthew would have almost pulled a coin out of the bag the Duke had given them the night before, but Amilcare’s gaze made him desist from rewarding the groom any further.

Amilcare is right, said Matthew to himself. With his kindness, he could be a spy and put us on the tail of the thieves, once seen the bag with the coins. Better not to have to risk wasting time having to cut the throats of vulgar little thieves!

For Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere, expelling the Medici from Urbino and taking possession of his lands in Montefeltro was now a matter of principle, and the time had come. His father Giovanni Della Rovere, lord of Senigallia, had the architect and strategist Francesco di Giorgio Martini build a majestic fortress in Mondavio, practically halfway between Senigallia and Urbino. Francesco did not understand much about the strategic position of that sumptuous fortress, as it was entirely within their possessions, and not in a border position, where it would have been right to be. At that point they would never be attacked, and in fact the fortress had never been besieged since its construction had been completed, and almost thirty years had passed since that day. But the building was a majestic fortress and presented itself to the human eye as a frightening war machine, in which every shape and structure was designed to withstand the attacks launched both by traditional jet weapons, and by the most modern firearms, which were now becoming more and more widespread. The fortress itself was equipped with the deadliest known war machines: catapults, bombards and other deadly devils. In the armoury there were also so many rifles, pistols and arquebuses that they could arm a garrison of about a thousand armigers. The depot where the gunpowder was stored was well insulated and protected, and the keepers had hung on the walls an image of St. Barbara, to avoid, thanks to its protection, the danger of accidental bursts.

Therefore the Duke had chosen to move here, leaving the Rocca Roveresca of Senigallia, because Mondavio represented the ideal place from which to leave again to the conquest of Urbino. And he had to do so before the Malatesta arrived from Rimini or, worse, from Pesaro. The late spring of the year of the Lord 1522 was the right time to move his garrisons. Pope Leo X had died and had been replaced by Cardinal Adriano Florentz of Utrecht, who had taken the name of Adriano VI. He was a puppet, whose strings were pulled by the ecclesiastical oligarchy, and everyone was convinced that it would not last long before the Cardinal of Florence, Giulio De’ Medici, had planned something to regain the papal throne. So the moment had to be seized, anticipating the moves of both the Malatesta and the Medici. But he considered his lieutenant, Orazio Baglioni, incapable. And even if he wasn’t strategically and militarily incapable, he still considered him a Malatesta spy. Only a few months earlier, in December, Francesco was allied with the Malatesta, and together with him had driven the papal legions out of Fabriano and Camerino, restoring the power of the Dukes of Varano, and then heading with the militia united towards Perugia. They had stopped at the news of the death of Pope Leo X, returning to their territories of Senigallia and Pesaro respectively. Officially, Francesco Maria Della Rovere was still allied with the Malatesta, and proof of this was that lieutenant who continued to have him under his feet. It was necessary to eliminate him and take a valid substitute in his place, if he wanted to enter Urbino quickly, mocking his old ally. Only one name was on his mind, that of Andrea Franciolini. He had taken information about him, at the time when he had attacked the city of Jesi, some years before. The mercenaries in his pay had reduced him to dying, but he got away with it. He hadn’t really understood how he had escaped the death sentence hanging over his head, perhaps with the help of the Duke of Montacuto, at least that’s what people said. Franciolini was young, but he had a reputation for being good, both as a leader and a fighter. But at the moment it seemed that he had been detained, for some years now, at the court of Duke Berengario of Montacuto. Thanks to some spies he had at the castle of Massignano, two young servants of Senigallian origin, he had finally obtained the information he needed.

«The Montacuto has agreed with the Malatesta to send young Franciolini to his service. On the 22nd of May, Andrea Franciolini, with an escort man, will pass through the parts of Senigallia, to reach the Malatesta in Pesaro and join his army», the young cook Giuliano had told him, one day he had returned to Senigallia with the excuse of visiting his mother. «But he will never get there because it is a trap. In fact, the Duke of Montacuto has already made arrangements in secret with the new Pope to “sell” the Marca Anconitana to the Papal States for a few thousand gold florins. And so now Franciolini is an inconvenient character. He’ll have him killed by two assassins at the Tower of Montignano. It doesn’t matter at this point if the one who has so far considered his right-hand man, Gesualdo, known as The Mancino, will also be involved. The Duke of Montacuto needs money, a lot of money, he is indebted to the bone to build a huge and useless fortification to defend the port of Ancona. And he can no longer justify his expenses to the Council of Elders. So...»

«I get it», said Della Rovere, slipping some silver coins into the boy’s hands. «So he decided to sell the city, fortress, port and territories to the highest bidder, eliminating the inconvenient characters. I believe that any day now they will find all the members of the Council of Elders of the city of Ancona dead. Who knows, perhaps an epidemic, as sudden as it is providential!»

The same evening, Duke Francesco Maria Della Rovere returned to Mondavio. The next morning, the servants of Orazio Baglioni found the lieutenant lying on his bed with his eyes barred and the foam coming out of his lips. On the cabinet beside the bed was found a glass still containing residues of poisoned liquid.

«He killed himself», the Duke said as soon as he was told the news. «He confided to me a few days ago that he was suffering from love pains. He was in love, but the bridesmaid who was the object of his desires had twice refused him. Pity, he was a good soldier. Now I’ll have to find a worthy replacement.»

The spring day was already heralding the arrival of a hot summer, and Francesco Maria wore a light yellow doublet and comfortable stockings. He was thirty-two years old at the time, but he proved to be much older. He was a man not very tall, but robust, his physique tempered by the countless battles, always fought on the field. Even as a warlord, he had never backed down in front of the towel. And the enemies he had killed were no longer even counted. The long dark beard, the ruffled hair and the squinting of the Montefeltro family, inherited from his mother’s side, made him a treacherous man, who was fearful of anyone who came before him. It was uncommon for him to wear light clothes like that day. Often, even in his apartments, he wore studded jackets and reinforced stockings. And he never abandoned his sword, always placed in its sheath on his right side. For political reasons, he had married very young, only fifteen years old, to the beautiful Eleonora Gonzaga, with whom he had had a son, Guidobaldo, who was now eight years old. Wife and son were far from him and his battlefields, and enjoyed the luxury and comfort of the court of Mantua. But when Urbino was under his power again, he would see to it that Eleonora and Guidobaldo joined him at the Ducal Palace of Urbino, which was no less beautiful than the Gonzaga castle. And the fact of having Eleonora again beside him, would have allowed him to start thinking about some other children. Of course, his descendants were assured, but a gentleman who respects himself must have a host of children, to be shown in public and to be directed, at the appropriate time, to hold important positions of power, worthy of the name they would bear.

Thinking of his faraway wife had tickled his desires and instincts from too much repressed, and he already felt his own sex rising. But how could he satisfy in that place instincts that emerged in all their power?

He called a trusted armiger, the one who in the absence of the lieutenant commanded his garrisons stationed in Mondavio, Captain of Arms Lorenzo Ubaldi.

«Now that the trusted Baglioni is gone, I’d like to review the fortress to see what strength we have. Guide me, now, through the meanders and ramparts of the castle.»

But the Duke’s intent was to be led into the dungeons, where he knew young women were also imprisoned. Therefore he was interested, but superficially, in the St. Barbara’s, the soldiers’ quarters, the arms yard and the guard walkways. Instead, he dwelt on a small study, which had belonged to his father, in the main body of the castle, where a solid wood desk dominated in the centre and three walls out of four were occupied by shelves full of books. Although it did not seem so, the Duke was still passionate about culture and literature, as well as art and architecture, and therefore decided in his heart that he would spend a good deal of time in that room. While he thought he could make it his personal study, another blaze from his lower abdomen reminded him of the urgency he had. He nodded his head to the soldier who was accompanying him and, still under his guidance, walked down the stairs, went out into the gun yard, passed by a modern gunpowder, stroking the cold metal barrel with his hand, then pointed to a vaulted opening closed by a mighty iron gate.

«What's there?» he asked, pretending not to know.

«The prisons, Excellency!»

«I want to visit the prisoners. Do you have the keys to the locks?»

«Yes, but I advise against it, Your Excellency. It’s not a pretty sight. Most of them are condemned to death and...»

«I’ll decide what’s good and what’s bad for me!» he turned to his soldier, looking at him sideways, with a cross-eyed eye that he didn’t know which direction he was facing. «Open!»

When he crossed the gate, he was met by the prison guard, a man with a hunched back, soaked teeth and pestilential breath. Attached to his waist, the bunch of keys used to open the cells. The two men accompanied Francesco Maria along a dark corridor, with a dirt floor, which went downhill to the basement of the fortress. Having reached a cavern illuminated by some torches, where the smell of excrement was unbearable, the Duke realized that the cells occupied by the prisoners were all on the same side, so that they could not see each other and could in no way communicate with each other.

«What have they done?» he asked.

The jailer approached the first cell and spat in the direction of the man in it.

«He is a murderer. In the worst category. He killed his wife and wounded his daughter to death. He’ll end up hanging by a rope! I can’t wait to see him dangle.»

The prisoner, at first, looked down, then, in a sudden fury, began to scream.

«I didn’t do it! How can I tell you?»

They moved on and, in short, the man shut up. In another cell there was a young girl, a girl who must have been about 14 years old. She had her arms chained to the wall and she was squatting on the floor. A filthy dress, which once must have been white, could not properly cover her breasts, which, though immature, overflowed from her untied neckline. Even her legs were completely uncovered. Dirty with dirt and mud. The jailer winked at the Duke.

«She is a witch. She was caught in the woods picking herbs. We should hang her, or burn her at the stake, but we still wait for some priest from the Holy Inquisition to come here and give her a fair trial. We’ve had to chain her up, because we’re afraid that, thanks to some magic, she might escape by taking flight. But she’s good, and she’s learned my lessons well. Would you like to try, Your Excellency?»

The henchman, caring nothing of his Lord’s lineage, elbowed the Duke, then tinkered with the padlocks and opened the bars of the cell. Then he freed the girl’s wrists too, slapped her with a loud slap and stared at her with a grim and threatening look.

«You know your duty! Do it well and you’ll be safe this time too. The inquisitor will not come and your trial will be postponed.»

Without even realizing it, Francesco Maria, he found himself alone in the cell with the young witch. Not that it pleased him too much, he felt disgusted to want to take advantage of such a young and defenceless girl. What if someone found out and told his wife Eleonora? But when he heard her stockings slipping off and noticed that the little witch had delicate skin and two lips that knew how to kiss his most sensitive points, he understood that her jailer had instructed her more than well. He allowed himself guided by the young woman, who after kissing him and stimulating him for a long time, brought his turgid sex inside her, until he reached the coveted intercourse. Francesco Maria enjoyed, as he had not enjoyed for so long, but he could not free his mind from a single thought: how to restore freedom to that poor girl?

«What’s your name?» he asked her, still gasping for breath, beginning to caress her neck, making her kneel before him and guiding her so that her mouth approached his whitish liquid dripping sex.

«Ubalda», replied the girl, beginning to lick his moods, and then welcoming the Duke’s member, who had regained strength and turgidity, between her lips.

Francesco Maria let her do it for a long time, until he reached a second moment of pleasure. At that point he squeezed his hands around the witch’s neck. He heard her make a brief groan, then her young body, deprived of the possibility of taking on air, sagged, slowly collapsing on the ground floor. He had restored her freedom. Forever and ever.

CHAPTER 8

All it takes is one rejection, one measure, one syllable,

one breath, to propose a new round...

(Giusi Verbaro: “Summer Solstice”)

The sun was rising fast and another day full of sultriness and humidity was already foreboding. Lucia drove all the dismay she felt for Mira back to the depths of her bowels and made her way to the Government Palace, trying to bring to mind thoughts that were pleasing and that would help her face the Council of Best. Only a couple of weeks before, on the occasion of the summer solstice, she had gone to Apiro to celebrate the event with her lifelong friends. She had spent two wonderful days up on Colle del Giogo. The pure mountain air had ensured that the plague epidemic had by no means touched that small community, based on agriculture and pastoralism, and always in harmony with nature. When Alberto and Ornella had welcomed the young “witch”, by now official guardian of the community’s secrets and respected by all the inhabitants of Apiro and the surrounding area as their spiritual guide, Lucia had realised how, despite the years had passed, her two guests had not changed their appearance at all. Their features were as they had been when she had met them, that she was still a child. And every time she went up to Apiro, the couple always managed to surprise her by proposing something new, which could be a potion, like an invocation, or a talisman, or simply a proverb or some phrases. Things that always remained imprinted in Lucia’s memory, all to be considered as pearls of wisdom. Even that time had been, in short, two days full of magic, full of that subtle power that Mother Earth gives. Symbols, signs, dances, parties, fire and... magic, magic, magic, magic. At a certain point Ornella had sung a lullaby, a prayer that proclaimed the power of the Earth, and whose words had deeply touched the young woman’s heart.

The earth teaches me immobility, like the grass that soothes with light.

The earth teaches me suffering, like the old stones that suffer for memories.

The earth teaches me humility, like the buds that are humble in the beginning.

The earth teaches me solicitude, like the mother who protects her offspring.

The earth teaches me courage, like the tree that stands alone.

The earth teaches me the limit, like the ant crawling on the ground.

The earth teaches me freedom, like the eagle that hovers in the sky.

The earth teaches me resignation, like the leaves that die in autumn.

The earth teaches me regeneration, like the seed that germinates in spring.

The earth teaches me to forget myself, like the melted snow that forgets its life.

The earth teaches me to remember kindness, like the dry fields that cry for rain.

Then Ornella had turned her gaze upwards, towards the sun that was reaching its zenith on what was considered the longest day of the year, and she had passed to talk about another element, the air.

All it took was a gap, a measure, a syllable, a breath, to propose a new round. It is the solstice that now makes the difference and the wind presents itself as an element of rupture and truth.

It is the living wind, the wind that drags memories!

In front of the portal of the Government Palace, Lucia’s soul had calmed down. She looked up above the large doorway and carefully observed the effigy of the city, depicting the rampant lion carved on a splendid marble slab. The artist who had executed the work at the time had decorated the lion’s head with a crown, an imperial symbol, to remind everyone of the status of Royal City attributed to Jesi by Frederick II. Recently the city had been almost completely succumbing to the ecclesiastical authorities, who had had a stonemason climb up to remove the crown from the effigy. It was also decided to remove all the swallow-tailed merlons that adorned the city walls, but this decision had not yet been followed up.

Luckily the uncle died and the political air that is blowing has definitely changed in the last few days, Lucia thought to herself. Otherwise we would already have the bricklayers on the guard’s walkways intent on removing the Ghibelline merlons, or working to make them rectangular! But I swear on my name, as true as it is that my name is Lucia Baldeschi, that I will put a crown back on our lion’s head. Ah, if I can get it back!

Absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed that a crowd of onlookers was gradually gathering in the square. More than curious people, her convinced supporters. Until a round of applause of encouragement came out. Someone had shouted: For Lucia! For our Captain of the People!, and this was followed by the clap that now rang in Lucia’s ears and gave her that little bit of courage she still lacked to cross the austere doorway of the Palace. She slowly turned back on herself, nodded her hand to her supporters, and finally crossed the threshold. Of course, she would have preferred to have Bernardino at her side, perhaps only because of the physical presence of a man at her side. Even if he had remained completely silent, it would have helped to decelerate her heartbeats. As soon as she entered, she found herself in the splendid inner courtyard of the Palace, designed and built by Sansovino, embellished in the centre by a well of rare beauty. She neglected to dwell on the architectural details and climbed up the staircase, until she reached the first gallery. She took to the right, passing through a door that was the entrance to the room destined to house the Civil Court, but which had never yet been used for that purpose, and reached the second flight of stairs. She climbed up and stopped with her breath in her throat in front of the door of the Council of the Best. She waited a few moments, so that her breathing would calm down and her heart would resume a normal rhythm. When she thought she was ready, she grabbed the handle, lowered it, and pushed the door forward. The noble people of Jesi were gathered around a long, shiny rectangular walnut table. They all looked old and tired, their eyes almost dull, almost lost in the void. The only look that appeared more lively and attentive to what was happening around was that of the noble Santoni. The latter stuck his eyes into those of the girl, anxiously waiting for the words she had uttered. Since the words were slow to come out of Lucia’s mouth, it was he who took the floor, perhaps to encourage her.

«We know well why you are here, and we are happy about it. We respect your right to claim the title of Captain of the People, even though we do not believe that, given today’s situation, it is easy to govern this city. But we will help you to do so. You should know that if you had only crossed this threshold a few days ago, you would have been accused of being a heretic, a witch seeking trouble. But even thanks to you it seems that the Inquisition Court is vacant, so at the present time no one will want to kick you out or try you on frivolous charges. Although this is unusual, we welcome a woman as head of this council. Welcome, Madonna Lucia Baldeschi!»

The Santoni approached her, took her hand between his and, bowing, kissed her. One after the other, he was imitated by all the other nobles in the room. Then she was invited to sit on the largest bench, the one reserved for the Captain of the People, or Governor, which was located at the head of one of the short sides of the table. Fiorano Santoni sat at the opposite side. Lucia, as she had been taught by her teachers Alberto and Ornella, focused on her breathing, trying to drive out all negative thoughts, and instead attracting within herself all the positive energy present in her environment. Lately she had reached higher levels on her path to wisdom, and no longer needed to create a protective circle around her. It was enough to concentrate herself on the salient points of her body to open them and let positive energy into it, or close them to prevent it from reaching her soul and producing harm if an environment was saturated with negative energy.

«Well, the good news I bring you is that we will soon have a new Bishop and he will finally be one of our fellow citizens. Cardinal Ghislieri should have already left Rome and any day now he will be in Jesi. He is an excellent priest and a great shepherd of souls. He will take care of the city’s Church without interfering with the civil authorities. So, from now on, it is up to us here present to roll up our sleeves and give positive signals to the population. We must definitively eradicate the plague epidemic that still afflicts the countryside and the city. That will not be difficult to do with the advice I will give you. A group of rescuers, with due caution, will bring comfort house by house to the sick, providing appropriate cleaning. Only when the city is healed can the economy, finances, work, and commerce flourish again.»

«It takes money, my lady, a lot of money, to achieve what you propose. And the municipal coffers are empty», the noble Santoni intervened. «Where do you think you will find money?»

«You, noble Santoni, and all of you, counts and marquises here present, continue to live in comfort, despite the crisis of trade and agriculture. How would you like to make a solid contribution to the Jesi’s coffers by paying in some of your belongings?»

«Let it be never!», the Marquis Colocci interfered. «From historical memory, something like this has never been done. Let’s raise taxes to the peasants and to the people everything!»

There were buzzes of approval, but Lucia shook her head.

«In doing so, we would plunge into the abyss a population already tried and tested. In the countryside, harvests have almost all gone bad for more than two years, not because of the drought, but because of the lack of arms to cultivate the land. We can’t take money where there is none! Listen to me, give up a little comfort for a while and pour the money into the coffers. In a short time, the money you have committed will return to your pocket with the necessary interest. And not because you have given it to a Jew’s bank, but because your peasants will return to work, your land will return to production, the weekly market will once again be rich and crowded with people, even strangers, and your coffers will begin to fill up like never before. It’s not an offering I ask of you, but a safe investment!»

Lucia’s words immediately impressed the heart of Fiorano Santoni who, in order to give a concrete example, pulled out of his pockets a small leather saddlebag finely worked and closed with laces, shook it with his hands to make everyone hear the tinkling of the coins it contained, and threw it on the table.

«I have faith in you, my lady. This is only a small down payment, but I can deposit three thousand gold florins today.»

«Well, I will have a friend of mine mint some certificates of credit on purpose in exchange for your money. The town of Jesi will honour your credits.»

One after the other, even the most mistrustful nobles offered their sums, some five hundred florins, some a thousand silver ducats, some more derisory but nevertheless significant sums.

«Before I dismiss this assembly, I should like to make another proposal. The weekly market should be reopened as soon as possible, but it is not good that this, with an epidemic of plague still going on, should be done in the open air. I have noticed that, on the ground floor of this building, there are large rooms, which in the original plan were to be used as a prison, but which have never been used for this purpose. I’d say we could do the market.»

The proposal was welcomed by all with enthusiasm and Lucia dissolved the assembly with the commitment that the Council she now presided over would meet every Wednesday morning. She noticed that the people who were leaving the hall were much more relaxed than when she had entered, they had much more serene faces, they looked almost rejuvenated, starting with Marquis Colocci who looked twenty years younger. At that moment, when everyone had relaxed and discussed more and less, she was boasting with her interlocutor about her distant relationship with Amerigo Vespucci, navigator and explorer, who died a few years ago after having contributed a lot to the knowledge of the New World.

It is the beginning of a new era for the city of Jesi, Lucia said to herself. With a few words, I have achieved great results. I can’t wait to talk about it with Bernardino.

She left the palace and went to the nearby workshop of her printer friend.