The Poet Prince (50 page)

Bracciolini threatened her, blackmailed her, came up with every foul idea he could invent to shut her up, but to no avail. Colombina, the voice of truth, demanded that he pay for his attack upon her and refused to allow him to turn it on her and somehow make it her fault. She would not be the victim of his lies, nor would she allow him to go free and do this to another woman. He had not only disgraced the good name of Bracciolini, he had violated every possible rule of the Order.
And for his kindly, devoted father, this was the greatest crime imaginable. Jacopo was ostracized from his family and disinherited as a result.

Every second of pain Jacopo Bracciolini had ever experienced in his life had come from Lorenzo de’ Medici, his little whore, and their blessed Order.

And now he considered his good fortune for a moment. Was it possible? Was he actually being offered to be paid handsomely to destroy Lorenzo and the Order?

“What are the pope’s intentions?” he asked de Pazzi. “Is he going to declare them heretics?”

How delicious that would be. Maybe he would burn Lorenzo at the stake like that crazy French bitch they always yammered on about. Maybe Lorenzo’s whore would burn too, and he would get to watch. Perhaps he would recommend this to the pope. Certainly he would emphasize the hated Colombina’s role as both heretic and adulteress while informing His Holiness of the crimes committed against the Church regularly by the Order.

“It is not for me to say what the Holy Father does with the information,” de Pazzi answered. “But I would assume that it is his greatest desire to eliminate heresy in all its forms.”

“As it is mine, Francesco. So consider me your partner, and tell the pope that if he will prepare appropriately comfortable accommodations for my arrival, I will deliver all the evidence he desires. And perhaps far more than he even expects!”

Jacopo Bracciolini paid an unexpected visit to the Palazzo Medici on Via Larga shortly after his secret meeting with Francesco de Pazzi.

While Lorenzo was aware of the younger Bracciolini’s roguish reputation and would never forget what he had done to Colombina, he agreed to see his childhood friend privately in his
studiolo
for the sake of the old family connections. However, he wondered how long
it would be into the conversation before Bracciolini asked to borrow money from him.

“Lorenzo, my old friend.” Bracciolini embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks before continuing. “I have come to make amends for the events of the past. It has been many years since I treated your Colombina in that unforgivable manner. I would apologize to her myself, as the events of that night haunt me all these years later, but I know that she would not hear it from me. I was hoping you might tell her how sorry I am. I assure you, I am a changed man.”

Lorenzo nodded graciously. The apology seemed sincere enough. He would not judge it yet but rather see where this meeting was headed. He remained silent and let Bracciolini talk.

“I know you are wondering why I am here. I bet you are even waiting for me to ask for a loan from you. Well, you are incorrect if that is what you think. I have come asking for nothing but your forgiveness. And to present you with a gift.”

Bracciolini removed a beautifully bound book from his satchel and presented it to Lorenzo with ceremony.

“
The History of Florence
, as written by my father, Poggio Bracciolini. As you know, he wrote it in Latin. But inspired by your love of the Tuscan language, I have translated the entire book into our vernacular. I have been working on it for years. And I have dedicated this Tuscan version to you, for encouraging our language and because you are now as much a part of the history of Florence as your grandfather.”

Lorenzo was stunned. The last thing he had expected from this now notorious member of the Florentine nobility was a gift of this magnitude. Lorenzo paged through the beautiful book, which was a masterwork of translation and history. Perhaps there was real hope for Bracciolini yet. He was still capable of extraordinary feats of academia, despite his increasing dissipation, and he was gracious enough to add passages about Lorenzo’s accomplishments to the text.

Lorenzo thanked him and brought out several bottles of his best wine. The two men drank into the night, talking about the good times when they were younger. Lorenzo relaxed as they discussed Plato and
their early days with Ficino and laughed about some of their antics as boys. He was so convinced that Bracciolini was sincerely trying to change his life that he even brought his childhood friend up to date on the Order and their plans for the future.

Despite his years as a leader immersed in the dangers of Florentine politics, Lorenzo always wanted to find the best in people. He was not naturally skeptical, and he believed in giving every man a chance to atone for his past and redeem himself through his future. The trait was part of his spiritual education, but it was also essential to his character. It was how he was made. That Lorenzo was so noble and forgiving was what made him great. It was also what made him vulnerable.

Jacopo Bracciolini kept his word to the Pazzi conspirators, providing Sixtus IV with more evidence than he could have ever imagined for Lorenzo’s heresy. He had strategized his visit to Lorenzo perfectly and knew him well enough to be certain he would fall for the book. It had gone exactly to plan, and Lorenzo had spilled all kinds of secrets when he let his guard down. Everything Bracciolini knew about the Order he verified in that evening’s conversation. He embellished a bit when sending the report to Pope Sixtus, just to make it that much more valuable. Then he demanded double the original payment as reward for such perfect evidence of heresy against the Medici and their supporters. His money was paid in pieces of silver as a little joke from the Curia.

Bracciolini was firmly committed to storming the Signoria with Salviati, the archbishop of Pisa, during the assassination. It would be a dramatic piece of theater, and one he would enjoy playing a leading role in. He almost hoped there would be resistance so he could kill a member of the council as part of the spectacle. He had never plunged a sword into a man; it was a new and exciting experience he was looking forward to.

With Bracciolini firmly committed to the plan, Francesco de Pazzi now needed to find a few more assassins. Losing Montesecco was an
enormous blow, but it was not insurmountable. He consulted with Archbishop Salviati, who came up with a solution. It was imperfect, perhaps, but a solution nonetheless. The archbishop had found two priests who were willing—even excited—to kill Lorenzo de’ Medici. The first was Antonio Maffei. He was a scrappy little man from Volterra, a Florentine possession that had endured a civil war. The bloody uprising there had left more than half the population dead. Maffei had lost his own mother and sisters to the marauders who came into Volterra. The marauders were paid mercenaries, brought in by the Medici family to quell the rioting there when the Florentine army was spread too thin on other frontiers. While it was not Lorenzo’s fault that the mercenaries turned out to be brigands and criminals, their devastation of Volterra was often blamed on him. Lorenzo visited Volterra on many occasions, offering personal restitution to the people there following the bloodshed. He spent a fortune of his own money to restore the town and its remaining citizens. And his guilt haunted him; Lorenzo had nightmares about Volterra regularly. It was the greatest regret of his political career.

But for the young priest Antonio Maffei, Lorenzo de’ Medici was a villain of the highest order. If he could play a part in the death of such a man, he would be a hero for Volterra. He agreed to wield the dagger for no compensation other than pardon from the pope once the deed had been accomplished.

Maffei would be joined by another priest, a man who was deeply in debt to the Pazzi family bank and looking for a way to clear his ledger. Stefano da Bagnone agreed to assist Maffei in the event that it took more than one man to take down Lorenzo. As Easter Mass was a formal state occasion, it was to be expected that Lorenzo would be dressed for it. Full formal attire in Florence included a sword. And Lorenzo, the accomplished athlete and sportsman, did not wear a sword simply as an ornament. He knew how to use it. Therefore the plan was for the two priests to take him from behind, before he was able to unsheathe his weapon.

Together with the archbishop, the two priests came upon a brilliant
plan to ensure their success. The signal to attack the Medici brothers would come during Mass, when the host was raised up on the altar in preparation for Holy Communion. Not only was it a signal that could not be missed, marked as it was by the ringing of bells, but devout Florentines would all be looking down in their prayers at that moment. It would give the assassins time to strike from behind without being immediately witnessed. Two daggers in Lorenzo’s throat in that instant would guarantee the success of their venture.

That there were now two priests and an archbishop in the service of the pope planning the bloody murder of two brothers on Easter Sunday—to be accomplished as the holy host was raised on the altar of a basilica—never bothered the conscience of any of the conspirators.

Nor did it strike anyone involved as the least bit ironic that the only man to make the determination that such a plot was utterly diabolical, the only man to walk away from what he determined was absolute evil, was the professional killer.

Palazzo Medici, Florence
April 25, 1478

L
ORENZO’S SMILE
was broad as Giuliano limped into his
studiolo
.

“It lives! It walks!” Lorenzo got up from his desk and bounded over to his brother, embracing him in a bear hug. “How do you feel?”

“Much better. Sore. Getting downstairs was hard. It will require more healing before I feel like myself again, but I am on the mend overall.”

Giuliano stopped talking for a moment and Lorenzo saw that his eyes, still red with the inflammation, were also unnaturally bright. Concerned now, he put his hand against his brother’s forehead. “Do you have a fever? Do your eyes hurt from this inflammation?”

Giuliano laughed, brushing his brother’s hand away as he moved to sit on the red upholstered settee that had once rested beneath Bot
ticelli’s masterpiece,
The Time Returns
. “No, no. I’m fine. That is what I am here to tell you, brother. I have just come from the chapel, where I prayed before the Libro Rosso for the last hour as you advised me to do. I listened to the angels, and they have spoken to me. They tell me to marry Fioretta, to choose only love. To acknowledge and raise my child as my own.”

Lorenzo could feel the lump building in his throat as he listened. It took him a moment to speak. “I am so happy to hear you say this. And I believe that you have heard the angels correctly. What else would angels say, other than that love conquers all?”

“But you have not heard the best of it yet! You will not believe it, but it is a miracle. Mother . . . she does not object! She was waiting for me when I was finished in the chapel, and she told me that she had been searching her heart and wanted only my happiness. Can you believe it? I shall marry Fioretta!”

Lorenzo embraced his little brother and hugged him tightly. For a moment, they were children again. Innocent, happy, playing out their roles of protective older brother and sweet, indulged baby. There were tears in Lorenzo’s eyes as he pulled away from Giuliano.

“I am . . . so happy for you both. I can only imagine how Fioretta will feel when you tell her.”

“I have decided to propose to her tomorrow, if my eyes are better. It will be her Easter surprise. I shall ride up to Fiesole first thing in the morning and surprise her. And my son.”

“You aren’t going to the High Mass tomorrow? The young cardinal is coming, and he is the pope’s nephew. He has asked to see you there specifically, as you will not be at the banquet tomorrow night.”

Giuliano considered for a moment. “Perhaps I will, and then go to Fiesole afterward. It depends on how I feel. I’m not sure how my leg will feel after walking to the cathedral and back; it may be too sore for me to ride. But now I must go and apply the compresses to my eyes that the doctor has given me so that I may celebrate the most blessed Easter of my life!”