The throne, p.16
The Throne, page 16
“But Vitelli is an enemy of Florence . . . ”
“Not when faced with such a danger. As I already said, this situation has been building for some time. Uniting forces would be good for both of us.”
Niccolò looks at him with genuine surprise. Something else that Soderini hid from him . . . Is the gonfalonier merely using him as a pawn in the game? Will Florence unite forces with members of this alliance? If so, which ones? They’re all connected somehow, either complicitly or by blood. Even the code numbers that represent them are sequential: 21, Vitellozzo Vitelli, Count of Montone, lord of Città di Castello, Monterchi, and Anghiari, son-in-law of 22; Paolo Orsini, lord of Mentana and Marquis of Atripalda, cousin of 23; Francesco Orsini, Duke of Gravina, who wanted to marry Lucrezia Borgia, Cesare’s sister; 24, Oliverotto Euffreducci, lord of Fermo, brother-in-law of Vitelli; 25, Cardinal Giovanni Battista Orsini, who conspires with them from Rome; 26, Giampaolo Baglioni, Count of Bettona, lord of Perugia; 27, Pandolfo Petrucci, who rules over Siena; 28, Giovanni Bentivoglio, lord of Bologna.
Is there a weak link in the chain? Yes, 22, Paolo Orsini, but Valentino is already dealing with him. Unless Orsini is playing both sides.
“Did you hear what I said, Machiavelli?”
“Of course. I’ll write to Florence.”
“Why are you smiling? What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m not. I was just thinking.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the evening shadows, the oak forest outside Porta Montanara is practically dripping with dew and the ground is soft and damp.
Niccolò makes sure that no one is around before making his way into the forest. Long before he reaches the old, lightning-split oak that Farneti told him about, his shoes are soaked. Cautiously, he places his hand in the cavity in the trunk and finds a waxed fabric bag.
Inside is a piece of paper dated two days earlier.
Yesterday, the yeomen for the French spearmen arrived in the county of Faenza and tomorrow the first five companies will arrive under the command of Montison, Fois, Miolans, Dunais, and the Marquis di Saluzzo.
Between the branches, in the dwindling light, Niccolò can see the walls of Imola and the stronghold of the Rocca. The news about the French spearmen means that he will have to meet with Valentino that evening to try and find out more. If he sees Dianora it will be in Cesare’s presence, so it won’t be hard to avoid contact with her. This thought fills him with strength. He starts to sing loudly: “Cavalca il Conte Guido per la Toscana, la lanza in man che ’l porta, e la bandera, e la bandera.” It’s a popular and catchy tune that was started in Tuscany a few years earlier and has an easy, flowing melody. He often sang the ditty after celebratory dinners.
Niccolò returns to the city in an excellent mood.
“Finally! I was starting to worry about you,” Baccino says when Niccolò arrives at the inn, still singing the song.
Baccino is sitting at the dining table. The innkeeper brings him some food and coyly rubs up against his arm. Niccolò perceives this new intimacy immediately, imagining that it developed during his absence. Judging from the appearance and the aroma, the food appears superb.
“I was only gone five days, Baccino.”
“I know, but they came looking for you.”
“Who did?”
“On Friday, a knight arrived on behalf of the Dieci. His name was Totto. He left again this morning, but then someone new arrived: a string bean of a fellow who doesn’t say a word and seems more dead than alive.”
“Where is he now?”
“He just went out.”
“Did they bring letters?”
“Of course. Totto brought one, the string bean brought two: one from the Dieci and the other from the gonfalonier.” Baccino takes them out of his satchel and, as he is handing them to Niccolò, he turns to the woman and speaks to her in an informal manner. “Gemma, how about feeding our envoy? He must be hungry and tired.”
“What do you want to eat?” the innkeeper turns to Niccolò and asks.
“Whatever you’ve got,” Niccolò replies, taking the letters.
Gemma serves him a dish of what Baccino has: veal belly stew with grated cheese, bread, and spices.
“What was that song you were singing?” she asks him.
He knows very well how catchy the tune is: as soon as people hear it, they start singing it. It spreads like the plague. That’s what happened to him the first time he heard it. It got into his head. Even before he replies, Baccino starts singing it. Soon enough, Gemma is singing along with him. From the way the two of them look at each other, it’s perfectly clear what’s going on.
Niccolò eats quickly—the food is delicious—while reading first one and then the other letter from the Dieci, in which they express their surprise at his lack of news, especially since they sent Totto, whom he could have easily entrusted with a letter.
Write us now, they say, and give it to Iacopino, the second rider. They need to know if Valentino is really preparing for war; they need to know everything Niccolò can find out about the duke’s agreement with the mercenaries.
This information is particularly important for them because they have decided to send an orator to Rome to meet with his Holiness the Pope, seeing how the duke never makes a move without involving his father. And the orator needs to know absolutely everything that Niccolò can possibly relay to him.
So, not only are they pressing him for more information, they’re planning on using his findings to facilitate someone else’s job.
Back in his room he reads the missive from the gonfalonier. In normal ink, I-have-faith writes that he is relying on the messenger used by the Dieci, Iacopino, to carry this letter.
In normal ink, he asks for a general update but also wants Niccolò to enquire specifically about the wellbeing of Silvestro de’ Buosi, a faithful mercenary who fought for the Republic and who is now being kept prisoner in Forlì, and gravely ill. He was captured the year before in Anghiari and, at the request of Dionigi, Naldi’s comrade, he was sent by Vitellozzo to see the duke. He has been in prison ever since. The gonfalonier asks Niccolò to discuss this with the Prince and plead with him to free the man.
Curiously, in his letter, Soderini uses the first person plural; Niccolò doesn’t understand if he has adopted a pluralis maiestatis or if, by “we,” he is referring to all the people of Florence and the authorities. Is it possible that power has already gone to his head? It would seem so, judging from the way he signs the letter, clarifying that, from this moment forward, Niccolò needs to address him with the title Vexillifer Perpetuus, which he has been given to better protect the people.
The lines written in invisible ink and code are even more direct. I-have-faith reminds him that he must, first and foremost, inform him about things related to war. It will be up to the gonfalonier to decide what to tell the Dieci, and when.
He pauses. Clearly there’s a power struggle going on within the Palazzo della Signoria despite the fact that Soderini is now Vexillifer Perpetuus, or perhaps precisely because of that.
He goes back to reading the letter. I-have-faith orders him to obtain a copy of the articles of agreement between Valentino and his allies.
“Lord Envoy, are you there?”
He is almost done changing his clothes in preparation to go to the Rocca when he sees a light flickering under the door, out on the landing, and hears a voice he does not recognize speaking in a Valencian accent. Whoever it is climbed the stairs very quietly. Or rather, Niccolò had heard the floorboards creak and a soft step but he had been absorbed by his own thoughts.
It’s surely one of Borgia’s men, he thinks. They know he’s back. The person is probably just verifying that he’s there, he probably already asked Gemma as much. That’s assuming, of course, that she’s not a spy herself, in which case she may well have informed the court personally.
Before replying, he looks around. There’s nothing suspicious in sight. In case anyone ever came to search the room, he marked the bottle of invisible ink with a Latin label for a cough syrup.
“Who’s there?”
“It is I, Gonzalo Rodriguez, one of the duke’s guards.”
Worried but curious, he opens the door. A tall, thirty-year-old with a thick beard, wearing a sumptuous doublet, stands staring at him with a lantern in his hand.
“Has His Excellency asked to see me?”
“He is traveling but left instructions for you. Would you please follow me to the Rocca?”
When they are downstairs, they hear Baccino and Gemma singing. They’re still sitting in the dining room, the fire blazing. “Cavalca il Conte Guido per la Toscana la lanza in man che ’l porta, e la bandera, e la bandera.” They sing loudly and gaily. Clearly they have been drinking.
There are more men than usual on the scaffolding around the cupola, working by the light of lanterns and torches. The large portal is now flanked by elegant wooden half-columns and connected by a triangular gable, also made of wood.
“What is that building going to be?” Niccolò asks the soldier.
“A theater. There will be a performance to celebrate the birthday of her Ladyship Dianora Mambelli.”
Niccolò hides his surprise and even feels a touch of jealousy. “What kind of performance?”
“I don’t know. Engineer da Vinci is taking care of it. He created something similar once for the deposed Duke of Milan.”
“When will the performance be?”
“I am not sure about that either.”
Niccolò continues walking with Rodriguez in the direction of the Rocca, his eyes taking in the massive walls that imprison Dianora. After just hearing it once, while they were leaving the inn, the soldier is already humming “Cavalca il Conte Guido.”
Niccolò ponders this piece of news. So Valentino wants to show off Dianora. But why? He is confused.
His pace slows down as he reflects on it. Rodriguez glances at him strangely and also walks slower.
As he approaches the carefully-guarded narrow doorway to the Rocca, its walls rising up high above, Niccolò imagines Dianora far from Imola—free—and the fantasy makes him feel almost dizzy.
Why is he indulging in such boyish fantasies? The mere thought is disturbing and destabilizing, and could potentially be very dangerous.
“What’s the matter?” Rodriguez’s voice brings him quickly back to reality.
Without realizing it, Niccolò has stopped walking altogether.
“Forgive me, I was thinking about something.”
He sighs with frustration. He tells himself that it’s natural to have moments of doubt and indecision, but he has to get over it. He has to regain his lucidity, he needs to be able to count on his inner strength, that sense of determination that has always pushed him beyond all the humiliating moments he has experienced, beyond every single mistake he has made. He doesn’t know where this strength comes from, but it is his true nature. He knows that everything can be explained and resolved if he can come to an understanding of its truest essence.
This revelation brings him back to his senses. He picks up his pace, strides through the doorway and enters the citadel.
Standing in the courtyard, at the base of the stairs, is Corella. He’s talking to two soldiers and holding a lantern. When he sees Niccolò arrive, he waves the soldiers away, walks over to the envoy, and tries to smile but doesn’t quite succeed.
“His Excellency would like you to read some documents.”
Niccolò forces himself to be natural. “The articles of the agreement that His Lordship Geraldini mentioned?”
“The First Secretary is in charge of those treatises and will give them to you when he thinks most opportune. However, my Lordship gave orders to show you, on your return to Imola, a report on the wars in Romagna.”
Borgia is starting to apply pressure.
The two men climb the stairs that lead to the study, side by side, practically rubbing elbows. A soldier walks ahead of them carrying a lantern, the light of which projects their shadows on the walls and the low vaulted ceiling. Without turning to him, don Miguel asks, “His Excellency would also like to know what impression you had of the lands you visited.”
“Excellent. The Prince was right to speak so highly of his governing skills.”
Corella turns to look at him. “And what do you think of de Lorqua?”
Niccolò wonders why he is asking. “He seems like a man of great resolve.”
“I will communicate as much to the duke. He will be pleased to hear it. Those cities are indeed beautiful. Conquering them cost us a great deal of fatigue and blood: ours, of course, but especially that of others.”
“Have you been in the military for long, Signor Corella?”
“Ever since I was twenty years old. Before that I was a student at the University of Pisa.”
Can this possibly be true? “What did you study?” Niccolò asks.
“I was studying to become a notaio. That is where I met Cesare, who was studying canonical law. That is when I offered myself to his service.”
“Therefore, in addition to a soldier, you are also a scholar?”
“No one is ever just one thing. But after fighting my first campaign, I knew that my life was on the battlefield.”
After the soldier lights all the candles in the study, he and Corella retreat, leaving Niccolò alone.
A pile of documents rests on the table. On top of it is a note. He recognizes the duke’s handwriting and signature.
Read this report, Niccolò. It is exactly what I do not want from you. Now that you have seen my lands with your own eyes, I expect you to write about them in your own words, and quickly, as I will soon be back. For now I would ask that you begin to write persuasively about the wars we fought in Romagna. Remember to use malice where needed, which in these pages is entirely lacking. Farewell.
Dianora had told him that Borgia had relied on other writers before . . . These pages must have been written by one of those people. Begrudgingly, he begins to read. The author’s style and syntax emulate that of the commentaries written by Julius Caesar on the conquering of Gaul—clearly Valentino asked him to do that, too—but it was done artlessly, drily. Or rather, he did it well enough but there is something that sounds off-kilter and Niccolò has a hard time saying what it is.
There had been a first military campaign against Romagna and then a second one, both of which had been carefully prepared. Niccolò remembers hearing about them in Florence via the letters and reports of the Chancellor.
The hostility all started in September 1499 with the Papal bulls that stripped the Lords of Imola, Faenza, Forlì, Rimini, Pesaro, Urbino, and Camerino of their cities because they had not paid the taxes they owed the Church. In so doing, Alessandro VI gave his son, Captain General of the pontifical army, an excellent pretext to invade the lands.
Even God was brought in to the discussion; the author has the duke say that all his actions were done in His name. There’s no mention at all of any of the suffering. It’s as if it never existed. No bloodshed. In this regard, don Miguel was far more honest than the person behind these writings.
The city of Imola surrendered without resistance at the end of November and the Rocca was taken in early December. Then came Forlì, where the inhabitants of the city opened the gates to Valentino while members of nobility tried to hold them off, taking refuge in the fortress, which fell to the duke on January 12, 1500.
There’s no mention of Dianora or the people who defended her, but the author does mention Caterina Sforza, who was captured, raped, and imprisoned at Castel Sant’Angelo in Rome, then freed almost a year and a half later.
The rest of Romagna was spared because the King of France had to recall his troops, who were urgently needed on other fronts, and due to the onset of bitterly cold weather and heavy snowfalls, which impeded all military efforts.
The anonymous writer describes Caterina Sforza’s destiny with gratuitous pleasure, celebrating her probable rape by Valentino, declaring that it was both his right as conqueror and the result of a feral instinct that resides within all mankind. “Deep down inside our souls, aren’t we all corrupt?” the author writes.
Niccolò understands why the manuscript sounds off to him: it’s a celebration of the baseness of humanity. He knows of one writer who has built his whole reputation around this notion: a man of letters, a member of the court, and a poet laureate. His name is Antonio Nuffi. Handsome and slender, originally from Genoa, Nuffi dances through the chambers of the powerful, taking great pleasure in discussing the evil ways of man but only comprehending things superficially. Mainly, the man writes about himself, emulating Petrarch’s Familiares, trying to convince people that the banalities of his life are of everyone.
Yes, that’s it. Borgia must have turned to Nuffi, who enjoys a relative amount of popularity. Many important people have fallen for him, including a fair number of scholars. But of course, the herd follows the head sheep, who in turn only follows the sheepdog of gossip. To his merit, Valentino realized that Nuffi wasn’t up to the task. Cesare is certainly no sheep.
With this awareness, Niccolò goes back to reading. Nuffi revels in descriptions of the second military campaign in Romagna, which Cesare initiated in October 1500, and with many more soldiers than the first. At this point in time, Paolo and Francesco Orsini had joined him, together with Vitelli and the lord of Perugia. Twelve thousand men in all and an infinite artillery.
Pesaro and Rimini surrendered immediately, but not Faenza.
The lord of that city at the time was sixteen-year-old Astorre Manfredi, an extremely handsome, intelligent, cultured, and beloved young man. He was the soul of the resistance, but in the long run the besiegers won out. In April 1501, Astorre was forced to surrender but did so only after signing a pact that promised the wellbeing of the populace and his own freedom. Valentino agreed and praised the Faentini, saying that if there had been more of them, he could have used them to form an army with which he could have conquered all of Italy.
