The throne, p.11
The Throne, page 11
“Salutations, don Miguel.”
“Nice mantle,” Corella says, stopping him in his tracks to feel the fabric and rub Niccolò’s arm. “I was on my way to find you. The duke has asked to see you.”
“Now? At this time of day?”
“He has something he wants to show you.”
The bastion in the city walls facing Bologna clearly was recently rebuilt and reinforced and the smell of lime still lingers in the air. Niccolò, escorted by Corella, steps out onto the windy terrace and sees four cannons pointed at the countryside. He also notices troops of infantrymen marching down below, creating a cloud of dust.
He had me come here so that I would see the soldiers, so that I write to Florence and tell them that he is moving part of the army toward Bologna, Niccolò thinks.
Valentino is supervising the work of a number of soldiers who are shifting the direction of a long cannon. He catches sight of Niccolò and turns to face him.
“Come, I want you to understand the kind of problems that I have to face every single day. I have the best military engineer in the world. He built this bastion so that it is unassailable, and yet the stupidity of an artilleryman who misdirected the cannon . . . ” A soldier standing nearby looks down in embarrassment. “A mistake like this could ruin everything. All it takes is a minor mistake to lose a battle.” He directs his attention to a group of men. “Now, push! More to the right! More! Now, stop!” He bends over the breech, brings his eye up to the vent field to check the sight line, seems satisfied, and motions for Niccolò to approach. “Now it’s in the right position,” he says, inviting him to have a look.
The cannon is pointing directly at the road below, where a few men are riding. The wind whistles ominously through the bore.
Valentino waves away the soldier responsible for the mistake. “Throw him in a cell with bread and water for a month.” While they drag off the man, the duke checks the position again and nods. “See? If I hadn’t thought of it,” he says, tapping his forehead, “I wouldn’t have been able to fix the problem. Potential mishaps can be corrected; those to which we fall prey, cannot.”
He moves away from the cannon and invites Niccolò to follow him to an area that is protected from the wind. Don Miguel follows a few steps behind.
“Are you always prepared for everything?” Niccolò asks as they take their distance from the soldiers.
“I try to be. Naturally, Fortune is always a decisive factor, but I think we are responsible for at least half of what happens.”
“Half . . . ” Niccolò repeats. The duke certainly likes dividing things in two. This time it’s Fortune and personal strength, while before it was the image a person projects and reality.
“It’s not enough, really. If we don’t take all precautions, a disaster can happen at any time. When a river breaks its banks, it destroys everything around it. When I make military plans, I exaggerate all the risks. I stay up nights musing over all my decisions very carefully. But you mustn’t write that! I never let anyone see that side of me. On the contrary, I want people to notice how calm I am. As soon as I make my final decision, all doubts vanish; I sacrifice everything for the success of the campaign.”
A table for two has been set in an area that is protected from the wind.
“Would you care to dine with me?”
“It would be an honor.”
“I was hoping you would say yes. I’ve already given instructions to the kitchen. How is the chapter on the final days of the Duke of Bisceglie coming along?”
“I’m making swift progress but I need more time.”
Borgia sits down and invites Niccolò to do the same.
“When it comes to writing, you know better than I do. But remember that I await it eagerly.”
They are served bread, water, and wine. Valentino doesn’t touch a thing. A taster steps forward and takes a few sips of wine. Another one chews the bread. The duke doesn’t even seem to notice them.
Even Corella, who has remained standing, seems to find the situation perfectly normal.
“I asked my cook to prepare some hare and boar. I hope they are to your liking,” Borgia says.
A servant brings a dish with some chunks of meat in an aromatic sauce. Niccolò, who is very hungry, looks at the dish, his mouth watering. A third taster takes a piece of bread, some meat and sauce, chews them up, and swallows.
“Now we have to wait thirty minutes,” Valentino says.
Just enough time to make sure the food isn’t poisoned.
“In the meantime, allow me to tell you about Urbino. Did you hear the news that it fell? No? Well, you will in due course. They put the entire garrison in prison and hung my governor, as well as many of my men. But I will have my revenge,” he says as if it is a certain thing. “They brought back the old duke, who was hiding under the protective wing of the Venetians. But, as I said, it won’t be hard to chase them out again—” He interrupts himself and looks at something behind Niccolò, who instinctively turns to see. A messenger in riding clothes comes forward with a pail covered with a cloth.
“Another dish prepared by your cook?”
“Something far better, if it is what I think.”
Corella approaches the messenger, softly asks him a question, and the man nods. Don Miguel takes the pail and brings it over to the table.
“Is it news from Florence, Miguel?” Borgia asks.
Corella nods. “Yes, it has just arrived.”
Niccolò must be strong and contain his nerves. Did they hear that Andrea Ulivieri had been arrested? Of course, the traitor couldn’t possibly have been on his own; someone else may have raised the alarm . . . What if Dianora had set a trap for him? What if she and Valentino had a plan? After all, she is in the duke’s hands. Oh, why on earth did he ever trust her?
Borgia smiles at don Miguel.
Niccolò looks off into the distance, far beyond the bastion. For a moment he thinks he would rather throw himself off the edge than be taken prisoner, but he knows he wouldn’t have the courage. It’s better to live, whatever the cost.
Borgia motions for his private executioner to show the contents of the pail to Niccolò. “A gift for you. Have a look.”
Corella approaches. Niccolò raises the cloth. Inside, covered with salt, is the head of Duccio Del Briga. He’s been beaten and his face is covered with congealed blood. Niccolò feels his stomach constrict: he’s horrified and relieved at the same time.
“A man, a problem. No man, no problem. Your family is now safe.”
“But Nicia, the banker, might find another way,” he says in a hoarse voice that doesn’t sound like his own.
“Del Briga’s body was left in front of Nicia’s house. I think he’ll let it go after a warning like that.”
Niccolò feels as though he is about to vomit. He covers the head with the cloth and takes a deep breath. “Thank you, Your Excellency.” The horror has passed. He now feels surprisingly content. “From the bottom of my heart.”
Valentino nods benevolently.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The cell in which Andrea Ulivieri was thrown after being tortured was pitch dark except for three lanterns hanging on the wall.
He managed to resist for a long time. Gherardi and his men interrogated him for hours without touching him, just to tire him out. He denied being a traitor and swore that he had always been faithful to the Republic. He had a long answer for each of their questions, he retraced his steps over the past several months, he listed friends and relatives—all of whom were arrested immediately—who could testify in his favor.
At midday, officers from the Bargello came to ask for news. Gherardi had none to give. They wondered whether perhaps Ulivieri was innocent. No, Gherardi said, he’s lying. His suspicion was confirmed not long after when guards from the garrison that protected Porta al Prato caught a twenty-year-old soldier under Ulivieri’s command as he was fleeing for Lucca. The boy was terrified and confessed immediately.
They beat Ulivieri hard, but he still didn’t talk. So they took him to the torture chamber where they gave him five pulls of the rope. Despite the terrible pain in his flayed muscles and dislocated shoulders, which were reset each time, he didn’t talk. Hanging in the air from his wrists, arms twisted behind his back, sweating heavily, he continued to scream that he had nothing to confess. Below and across from him sat a judge and a chancellor.
With a gesture from the head executioner, one of the jailers released the rope and Ulivieri dropped sharply four arm lengths. The cord grew taut, his body spun around, his shoulders were dislocated, he screamed loudly, and then he fainted.
They brought him almost all the way down to the ground but held him up by the legs so he couldn’t touch the pavement with his feet.
A second jailer threw a pail of water in his face, bringing him back to his senses. Ulivieri moaned loudly. A doctor examined him, pulling and pushing and relocating his shoulder. “You may continue,” the doctor declared.
“Increase the pain,” the judge ordered.
This time the executioner had his men attach iron weights to the prisoner’s feet, then ordered for him to be raised up once more. Ulivieri couldn’t think straight but he was also very stubborn.
“I never betrayed anyone!”
He knew that if he confessed he would be put to death. Slowly, this option was starting to appear less painful than what he was going through.
They hauled him up to the ceiling and then let him drop again, again almost all the way to the ground. His body came to a sudden halt, the weights yanking him down, his arms twisted in an unnatural and violent manner, his shoulders dislocated once more. He screamed, this time longer but weaker, and then fainted.
They lowered him down yet again, threw water on him, the doctor visited him and reset his dislocated limbs. “You may continue.”
Blood and snot flowed from the prisoner’s nose, he was drooling, his glassy eyes stared at the executioner as they approached him, grabbed his hair, and looked deep into his eyes.
“Shall we continue?”
“No,” Ulivieri croaked.
“Then speak.”
“No.”
“Increase the pain,” the judge said.
They added more weights, hauled him back up to the ceiling, and released him one more time. His arm bones broke, his body twisted through the air. Every single movement added to the intolerable pain.
“Stop! I’ll talk!” he screamed in agony.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Niccolò Machiavelli
Envoy of Florence at the Court of Duke Valentino Greetings,
Since being elected Gonfalonier by our people,
12 is safe thanks to your swift action, for which I am very grateful.
I have not written any missives or letters, neither to Lords or acquaintances, unless
The man you wrote about acted in the name of money. He was not alone,
somehow related to the honorable office I have been asked to fulfill: for this reason
the poisoned plant has secretly been uprooted, but soon 58 will realize it.
I have not even written to the most Illustrious Prince.
Try and find out if 59 has a backup plan. Also, communicate to us
I now write on behalf of Marco and Iacopo Brinciassi, two of our wagon drivers
and with great haste, how many men, both riders and infantry, he has in his command
who were robbed of six mules in the past months in Castel Durante
and where they are located; send a list.
by men in the employ of His Excellency.
The messenger who brings you this missive will give you additional invisible ink
Kindly speak with his Illustrious Lordship about this matter and relay to him
and all florins available to us at this time. We have no additional money at our disposal.
how much it would mean to me if he would return the mules to the Brinciassi brothers.
With sincere regards to His Lordship, and may God only increase his happiness.
Be well.
Florence, 26 October 1502
Pietro Soderini
Vexillifer of the People of the Florentine Republic
* * *
Niccolò Machiavelli
Secretary, Envoy of Florence at the Court of Duke Valentino
Greetings,
That which His Excellency the Prince has asked of the Dieci di Libertà e di Balìa regarding troops to be sent to Borgo San Sepolcro is not possible; we need to use them to protect our borders, from high to low. Make all efforts to explain this to His Lordship in the best way possible so that no shadows are cast on us. We understand that the prince would like more, but we have no choice.
Tarry as long as you can; try and discover what his intentions are for our Republic.
We have written to the Very Christian King three times already and await his response. We include the letters sent to His Majesty here, so that you may share them with the Duke as proof of our noble sentiments.
The information you have sent is useful but we have nothing to offer in exchange.
On behalf of the Republic, ask the Prince for a letter of safe conduct for our merchants traveling through his towns and states on their way to and from the East, a route that is of great importance to the prosperity of our city.
Farewell.
Palagio Fiorentino, 28 October 1502
Dieci di Libertà e di Balìa of the Florentine Republic. Marcellus.
* * *
Magnificent Vexillifer of the People of the Florentine Republic
Your Illustrious Lordship,
In addition to this missive, to be delivered by Ardingo, I will make all efforts to send you
I received the ink and florins, for which I am very grateful.
additional letters but I must point out that I am dealing with a Prince
I provide the list that you asked me for, based on the information I have gathered. I can
who governs his matters personally, and it is impossible to know his next move.
personally only attest to what I see around the city; for all else I rely on others.
I spoke to His Excellency about the mules of wagon drivers Marco and Iacopo Brinciassi,
58 is here now, and will not leave until the French spearmen arrive; they
and he immediately called for his First Secretary so that the matter would be swiftly handled.
are expected this week. Also soon to arrive are the Swiss, whom they say will number
Yesterday, Lord Paolo Orsini arrived in these parts dressed as a messenger to
around 3000. Infantry and captains around Imola: Dionigi from Naldo, 600 men;
explain himself to His Lordship. He had been urgently called for by
Marcantonio from Fano, 600; Comandantore, 600; Romolino, 500;
Valentino and came to justify what had taken place in Urbino
Master di Sala, 400; Sgalla, 300; Grechetto, 200; the Spaniard Salzeto, 300;
and to find out the Duke’s intentions so that he can refer to the others. Today he sent
Giambattista Mancino, 400; Mangiares, 200; Giannetto from Seville, 150.
one of his men to those with whom he is allied to find out their decision.
Armed soldiers: the Spaniard Don Ugo, 50; the Spaniard Monsignore d’Allegri, 50;
I could not find out anything further, nor do I expect to be able to do so,
Don Giovanni from Cardona, 50. These last three companies are smaller because
as His Lordship is extremely secretive. What he harbors in his soul towards Lord Orsini,
of the onslaught they suffered at the hands of the Vitelli forces and the resulting retreat.
I cannot verily judge.
They said Conte Lodovico della Mirandola had 60, but I discovered there were 40.
His First Secretary approached me to discuss the matter and explain the arrival
He and his forces are 6 miles away from here now.
of Lord Paolo and said, “They merely want the Duke to reassure them,
Rinieri della Sassetta, 100 crossbowmen. Master Francesco da Luna,
but it remains to be seen how this will be done.”
50 musketeers on horseback. Other men from Lombardy will be arriving soon.
They speak of peace but prepare for war. There is no
They say that three troops of mounted soldiers have set up camp in Faenza.
movement of the allies, neither coming nor going: this truce is very ambiguous,
How many others are spread out around Romagna remains to be seen. I will be ever vigilant.
and the winner will be he who best deceives the other, the one with more men and allies.
Imola, 31 October, 1502
Your Servant, Niccolò Machiavelli, Secretary
CHAPTER TWENTY
The moon is full tonight. Right about now, Florence would have been under attack, Niccolò thinks as he walks to the Rocca. He is proud of what he managed to do and feels deep gratitude for Dianora.
He hasn’t seen her in some time. He didn’t see her when he brought Valentino the gonfalonier’s request about the mules or when he asked for papers of safe conduct on behalf of the Dieci for the merchants. At his last encounter with Borgia, he handed over the chapter on the death of the Duke of Bisceglie.
His thoughts have often gone to Dianora. She must have realized by now that things did not go exactly as she hoped: Valentino did not leave for Tuscany before the full moon, and if he were to leave now he would never catch up to his army at the border. She is probably wondering what actually happened. Surely she is upset. But she also knows how even the best intentions can go askew and produce results that run contrary to all expectations. By telling him about Ulivieri, Dianora managed to save Florence, at least for now. But she didn’t obtain what she truly wanted, which was Borgia’s death.
