Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy (10 page)

“Si,” he said, to my surprise. “I’m quite good, in fact.” His absurd mask belied a cunning look in his eyes.

I laughed. “Well then, frusso it is.” My protégé was proving to be quite the gifted pupil.

The pouch at my waist held a little more than two hundred silver scudi. Not a vast fortune, but it would be enough to draw attention, especially if I bet foolishly and lost. There were no bankers in sight, but I knew that in that event they would come looking for me.

A gathering of players and onlookers surrounded the table. We nudged our way to the front, and the dealer greeted us cordially.

“How do you do, gentlemen? The ante is five scudi.”

Aside from Pietro and I, there remained one other player left from the previous round plus the dealer. We each dropped the coins into the pool and were dealt two cards. I peeked at my hand: a two of cups and a five of batons. Twenty-seven points. I was off to a good start. The wager was raised two scudi and I staked, matching the bet. Two more cards were dealt.

In frusso, the deck is made up of thirty-six cards, ten from each suit from a conventional deck. The suits were made up of symbols derived from the social classes; these included cups for the clergy, swords for the nobility, coins for the merchants, and batons for the peasants. In Florence, the ranks ranged from twos to sixes, aces, and royal cards.

The goal of frusso was to maximize point totals while getting a specific type of hand that matched a determined criteria. The most powerful hand was the frusso, or flush, where all cards were of the same suit, followed by the maximus, the six, ace and cavalier of a single suit. The remaining two hands were the primo, where all cards were different suits, and the numerus, which included two or three cards of one suit.

I peeked at my cards again. I now had a queen of cups and an ace of swords. Aces were sixteen, so my hand was worth fifty-three. However, my hand only made up a weak numerus.

The other players sat stolidly, their expressions closely guarded. I watched each player, hoping to see a subtle twitch or sway that might give him away. We watched one another as bets were placed. The man who sat across from me discarded two cards and withdrew two more. Pietro matched the wager and tapped on the table. “Vada!” he said, indicating that he was satisfied with his hand. “Sixty, frusso.”

The other players grunted. It was a powerful hand. If he wasn’t bluffing, that is. I discarded the queen of cups and drew a new card. Six of cups. Damn my luck, I thought. A part of me did want to win. The wager went around once more, until one of the other men cried “Vada!” and then it was time to reveal our hands.

The dealer held a numerus, but it included a six and a three. The man facing me revealed a maximus of coins. Pietro slowly placed his cards. Sixty-three. Frusso.

Lucky bastard. Another few hands and I was even further down on my luck. At last I casually tossed my cards down at the end of another match, my hand utterly worthless.

“Tough luck,” said the man across from me. I cleared my throat and kept my eyes on the table, feigning frustration. I held my coin purse in my hand, weighing it. In my mind I imagined failure, a sunken barge or a caravan that had been picked clean by robbers. I was soon to be poor, and my family life was becoming affected. Wife, children, their lives hung in the balance, and the only thing between them and poverty were these thirty or so scudi left.

Pietro collected the pool and began arranging the coins. He was well ahead by now.

“Again?” said the dealer.

“Si,” I said.

Several hands later and my luck was in tatters. What coins I had left made up a pitiful pile on the table before me. I glanced about nervously. The cards were dealt with cold indifference. Another round ensued. The outcome was quick and certain. I remained stoic as the coins were removed.

When I stood the old man gave me a wink. “Better luck next time, ragazzo.”

“Grazie.” I exchanged glances with Pietro, who sat still.

My companion had disappeared. As I stepped away from the table I saw her weave through the crowd towards me. “Ser, you seemed to have had some rather unfortunate luck at the tavolo.”

I nodded, resigned. “Lady Fortuna has been unkind lately.”

Her face lit up and she rushed to envelop me. “Now don’t talk like that. She’s just fickle! You just need to give her another chance.”

“With what? That was my salary for the month.”

She shook her head. “No, no messere! I just spoke to a very good friend. He wants to meet you.”

My eyes met hers. “What kind of friend?”

“My friend Tino. He’s a good man. He will make everything fine.” She placed her warm hand on my forearm. “Don’t worry.”

Tino. I wasn’t expecting to be led straight to Carlo’s right hand man. But why Tino and not Carlo himself? I couldn’t just ask the lady, so I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and let her lead me through the alleyways made up of partitions and bodies. The music echoed loudly the further we receded. The crowd was now beginning to pile into the chamber and I was nearly knocked aloft several times while I followed my young guide.

A rough and heavy looking man stood in the corner, propped against the far wall. He spoke to no one, instead observing. I could tell at first look that he was coldblooded, an animal lurking in a man’s body. It was a rare moment of candor, because the next instant he became animated and full of grace. When his eyes crossed the figure of the lady beside me his composition changed, and a warm smile crossed his face.

He was about to speak when his voice was cut off by a loud noise behind me. I turned for a moment to see the commotion and couldn’t believe my ill luck.

From a distance of about ten braccia stood Liam, looking dumbly at another large figure with a bandera obscuring the upper portion of his face, a thin black mustache resting atop a lip that was curled in anger. He was powerfully built, like a professional soldier.

“I beg your pardon, but I believe that in your clumsy haste you’ve knocked the drink from right out of my hand,” said Liam defiantly.

“Is this a fact,” the Spaniard said with a sinister sneer. He clicked his tongue.

“I reckon you should find me another, lad.” The small but stocky Irishman was visibly flushed. I cursed under my breath. Damn it, Liam. I did my best to feign that I was not acquainted with him.

“Savages,” Tino said. “I’m surprised they even let people like that in here. Not like us, am I right?” He gave a conspiratorial wink. Bastard had charm, I would admit that. “Now then, it seems that you’ve been having a bit of bad luck.”

“Only temporary,” I assured the usurer.

“Of course,” he said, smiling. “If you will follow me this way, I’d be more than happy to extend to you a line of credit…“

A mighty clash resounded and the shrill sound of flutes and the pounding of drums erupted, drowning all other noise. Tino was speaking to me but I could hear none of his words. The room was suddenly very crowded with bodies as people from all over the establishment crowded in to witness the spectacle. At the front of the throng were three very beautiful dancers in adorned in silk and gold, their hands and feet decorated with henna.

I searched for Tino but we’d been separated by several onlookers. He held up his hand to signal me to come and I tried to push my way through. I had almost succeeded when a powerful force from behind slammed into me, throwing me into the onlookers beside me and causing us all to stumble.

In the frenzy I scrambled to get up and someone tripped over me, kicking me in the ribs. I doubled over in pain, the wind knocked out of me. Once more I tried to get up and this time a hand grabbed mine. I spun around and it was Liam’s.

“Come, lad! Your boy is getting away!” he cried, his words crisp and sober.

I stood and noticed immediately that Tino had disappeared. An opening in the wall that I had not noticed before was visible so we made our way toward it. Liam led the charge while I struggled to keep up, my breath still coming in short gasps.

As soon as we were inside the passage and away from the booming cacophony behind us I said, “What the hell happened in there?”

“It was too chaotic. The music started and the next thing I knew it was packed in there. I couldn’t see a thing. Then I noticed Tino was gone.”

Behind us Pietro had caught up. The echoes of our feet pounding the moist stone reverberated from the ancient walls. A few times I felt crumbling masonry graze my sleeves, tearing the fabric and scratching my skin. While we awkwardly advanced through that corridor our world was one of sound only, dizzying and unyielding, until we appeared at a dimly lit intersection.

“Which way did they go?” asked Liam.

“This way,” yelled Pietro. I followed the sound of his voice, unaware how far we had even come. A new sound in the distance, a wheeze of air whistling into some opening far away.

Finally we reached it, and the oily confining blackness of the labyrinth was replaced by one much more vast but just as disorienting. We were in a clearing of trees and brush. Pale, packed ruts indicated a road that was rarely used.

“Now where?”

The air was silent, and only the screech of bats and the hum of insects could be heard. I did my best to ignore them, listening for the crunch of leaves or anything remotely man made. There was nothing, then suddenly a cry from afar.

“Tino!” I shouted. There was no reply.

We charged towards where the shrill noise originated, stumbling over rocks and slipping on dewy leaves and muck.

“Tino!” I shouted again.

There was no answer until, as we rounded a short tree, I heard a weak gurgling cough from nearby. I stopped and looked down. Tino was on his back, propped against the base, his hands stained dark and pressed against his abdomen.

“Tino.”

“Signore, please…”

I knelt beside him. He was bleeding profusely, and his face shined luminous in the meager light of the stars. Tino’s breaths came in short, rapid succession amid choking sputters.

“Tino. Who did this to you?”

He shook his head, his voice faltering.

“Signore. I can’t,” he finally muttered, incoherently. “Carlo. There’s nothing I could do.” His hand fell from the wound, and his lifeblood poured black in the shadows. I tried to staunch it with my coat but it was too late. Tino’s head pitched forward as he breathed his last.

I remained silent, numb. My only link to Carlo lay dead before me. None of it made sense. Why was this man murdered? I realized that the killers were still on the loose, and could have still been nearby, waiting. No, I thought, unlikely. If they were smart they would have gone. I noticed that hairs had risen on the back of my neck.

“We need to leave. Now.” I said.

It was still quite late, or early depending on how one looked at it. The walk back to the city was long and, through much of it, silent. I struggled to make sense of it all but my mind was sluggish and badly needed sleep.

My old friend limped beside me, still suffering from the fall he’d taken on my behalf. "It doesn't make sense," I said. "Why would Tino have been there in place of Carlo?"

“I might have an idea why,” Liam said. “While you two were playing cards and mingling I was doing my own investigation. Turns out Carlo is in hiding now, and his boy Tino was handling affairs until whatever ruffled his feathers returned from whence it came.”

Loose rock crunched beneath our feet, small stones skipping in the night. The air was misty and smelled of earth.

“Did she say exactly who our man was hiding from? Or why?”

“No. She didn’t know. All she knew was that he’s been keeping to himself for the last few days and has left Tino in charge. He may not even be in Florence at all.”

Pietro interjected, “Do you think that Ugo’s killer might not have been Carlo after all?”

“It appears that may be likely. There’s no way that Tino’s and Ugo’s deaths are unrelated. As far as I can tell, the only thing they had in common was Carlo, which makes finding him more urgent now than ever.”

We walked in darkness for a while, over twisting road that often became impossible to discern from the grassy overgrowth surrounding it. Eventually we connected with the main road that travelled southwards, towards the city. Our pace picked up considerably then, and we found ourselves at the Porta Romana before the light of dawn began to creep up from the eastern hills.

The gates opened at nones, and the queue for entry was long as usual. We waited anxiously, and the throng of bodies shoved and jostled us as the massive doors creaked and then parted. The looks we received from the peasants were a mixture of shock and disgust. What remained of our festive clothing was muddy and shredded, the once glorious fabric now mutilated into gaudy scraps. I carried the satchel containing my sbirri garb and equipment beneath my arm, having picked it up at the hiding spot along the way.

We moved with the herd towards the center of the city, following the old borgo. We were a few blocks from the Signoria when Liam stopped.

“Gentlemen, it’s been interesting. I think I’ll take my leave now.”

“Thank you, Liam,” I said, giving him a fraternal embrace. “We’ll have to do this again, yes?”

The Irishman laughed loudly. “We’ll see. Morning.”

The Bargello was abuzz with activity. The men outside greeted us skeptically at first upon seeing us, then cracked into nervous laughter when they recognized us. “By god, where have you two been?”

“To hell and back,” I said. “Is Jacopo here?”

“Meeting with the rest of the officers. He was looking for you. I think he’s talking about the riots now.”

I waited in the courtyard with the other men. Sure enough, Jacopo appeared with the other officers at the top of the stairs. He did not look happy.

“Mercurio, Pietro, you come late, dirty, and looking like common pimps. What is the meaning of this?”

“Ser, please forgive us. We’ve uncovered a great many important things since last night. We need to speak at once. Privately, if possible.”

He stared at us for a moment, then shook his head. “Giancarlo, Filippo, begin the patrol per our discussion. Mercurio and Pietro, come with me now.”

The comandatore led us up and to his office, where we sat like reprimanded children before an angry tutor.

“Talk.”

Pietro and I took turns explaining the events at the ganea. He was silent the entire time, concentrating as we reconstructed everything that we had seen and overheard. He stood up partway through and began pacing anxiously.

“So you’re telling me that someone has been actively organizing these riots?”

“Correct.”

Jacopo leaned forward on his writing desk and hung his head for a second. “What would someone gain from this? None of it makes sense, not a bit of it.”

I was at a loss myself. Fatigue and the shock of watching Tino die before me had drained me and I could barely think, much less try to unravel any grand conspiracies.

“What else of that usurer, Il Coltello?” Jacopo asked.

“Nothing. He never showed up, which likely saved his life as we saw what happened to Tino.”

Jacopo was entrenched in thought. Then, in a moment, he snapped out of it. “I told you clearly that the Neri case was not a priority. You and Pietro are very lucky I don’t discipline you for disobeying an order.” He stood and paced for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do next. “The only reason I’m not punishing you two is that you may have stumbled across something big. I need to think about what this means in light of everything that has happened in the past week.”

“What about Tino?” Pietro asked. His tone was aggressive and I was mildly surprised. “He was killed practically in public by men who wanted him dead at whatever cost. They took a huge chance, ser.”

The comandatore laughed. “It is an interesting thing, isn’t it? A man murdered in public, with no verifiable witnesses because everyone there was trying to remain in cognito. And who in the world would lament the loss of a usurer?” He shook his head. “I don't think I've ever seen a more convenient crime.”

He was right, of course. The killer could have walked right into the Bargello itself and we wouldn’t have known it.

“So, what now, comandatore?”

“Now, I’m going to look a little deeper into your conspiracy theories and see if there is any sign of truth to any of it. I have men cleaning up the aftermath of the riots as we speak and I assure you, I will get to the bottom of this. As for you two,” he looked at me piercingly, “I want you to continue your own investigation. Ugo and Tino are scum, utterly insignificant. You understand that their deaths don’t matter a whit to me. What concerns me is why Carlo was wanted so badly that assassins would infiltrate a place as high profile as this ganea just to get to him.”

I exhaled in relief. “Grazie, Ser.” I stood and Pietro followed.

“Mercurio,” Jacopo said, “go get some rest. You look terrible. And burn those god damned clothes, I’m ashamed to even look at the two of you.”

“Yes, comandatore.”

We excused ourselves and left the Bargello. The daylight burned our eyes, and I felt the onset of a major headache coming on. I said farewell to Pietro and walked straight home.

When I entered my house I was greeted by the sight of my mother nearly jumping from horror. She had been attempting to conduct a meeting in the common room with several businessmen and my brother when I barged in. All parties present collectively blanched at the sight of my ruined state.

“Mercurio! My God, I almost didn’t recognize you! Get out of those disgusting things at once!” She shook her head in panic. “My son, what will I do with him? Vera! Please attend to this beast.”

Nello just stared. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but it was probably better that way.

“Excuse me,” I said humbly, and hurried to my chamber. Vera came quickly with a bowl of water and a coarse brush and scrubbed me from head to toe. Then she whisked the soiled clothes away and left me to myself. I didn’t remember much more after that, having passed out before my head even touched the pillow.

The day was a blur. I awoke periodically throughout, the crisp light of day peeking through the gaps of my shuttered window. I dreamed of dark things, shadows that stirred but eluded me. I saw Ugo’s corpse, and Tino’s. I thought I saw my own then, face down, soul shucked, and the fright woke me. It was midday.

I lay in bed, deep in thought. So many questions unanswered. If Carlo hadn’t killed Ugo, then who?

First I would have to talk to Liam. Perhaps his network could ferret out something that would shed some more light on what was going on. I would have Lauro and Francesco do some digging around the city, maybe even the contado.

I swept the blanket over my face, plunging myself into ruddy darkness. The realization dawned that I would have to interrogate all my witnesses again and I felt sick to my stomach. Self-doubt tugged at my heart like a cold, dead weight.

Sleep must have taken me again because the next thing I remembered was very insistent banging on my door. “Mercurio! You have company!”

I flung the blanket aside and rubbed my eyes. My face was sticky and my hair felt tangled. What a disgusting state I was in, I thought while throwing on my tunic and stumbling towards the common room. Just walking in a straight line seemed like a monumental task.

Marcello stood beside the front door, his typical mild expression replaced with a nervous look.

“Mercurio, I came as soon as possible. Jacopo insisted I collect you.”

“What are you talking about, Marcello?” My eyes were clamped shut, weighted with drowsiness. My head drooped and I tried to pick it up with limited success.

“Carlo. We’ve found him.”

My eyes exploded open and my neck became rigid. “What did you say?”

“Carlo. He was murdered tonight at one of the brothels in Santa Croce.”

My hands were shaking. I balled them into fists and stood quickly, the blood rushing to my head.

“Are you sure, Marcello?”

“Yes, positive. Jacopo ordered me to come get you immediately.”

Cazzo! Another dead body, another lead lost. The only small hope I had had of finding Carlo alive was now forever extinguished.

Moments later I was changed into something more professional and Marcello and I were running to where the body had been found. The city was dark, and I wondered for how long I had really been asleep. If Marcello was up and about then it had to have been very late.

In almost no time at all we had arrived. The sign above read
Il giglio persiano
, The Persian Lily. A sculpted, stylized lily of golden-painted iron was affixed beside the main entry. The door stood open, orange light from inside spilling into the street. A couple guards standing watch saw us coming and greeted us.

“What happened here?”

The guard gestured to the gaping doorway. “No one is sure exactly. The girls are very tightlipped, but they say that the body was found in one of the rooms. Stabbed to death. Evidently Carlo was using this brothel as a safe house.”

“Not as safe as he thought,” I mused out loud. “Show me to the body.”

He led Marcello and I inside. The interior looked as I suspected it would, with furnishings and decorations from the near east. There were long, low sofas overflowing with cushions and pillows of fine quality. Smoke from heavy brass incense burners hovered in the air. On the floor were upturned plates, remnants of honeyed cakes and spilt wine.

“It appears that the guests were in a hurry to leave,” I said, frustrated.

The guard led us through the empty tavern area and through an upstairs wing where the private rooms were located. The building itself was of a standard design, indistinguishable from the outside save for its reputation. Inside on the ground floor was the tavern where food and drink were served and music was played. There was a courtyard with a well, and a stufa where public baths were found.

Upstairs I found an older woman whom I presumed was the proprietor of the brothel, clad in a silken gown. Her hair was dyed black but did not quite mesh with her pale complexion.

Marcello said, “This is Geraldina Veronese.” The woman gave a respectful, but curt, nod to me. “She runs this tavern and inn and has been kind enough to answer some questions.”

“Then can you tell me what’s happened here?” I tried to be formal but failed. Frustration boiled my blood.

“We heard a commotion in one of the rooms,” she said, her voice cool and professional. “As you can imagine, that is not completely uncommon here. But the screams were different, not those of passion but of violence.”

I stepped into the room. The smell of metallic blood was thick, and where the body lay was pooled a large puddle that reached beneath the frame of the bed and stained the wooden planks of the floor. Carlo’s body was slumped in the corner of the room, his back against the wall and surrounded by fragments of a broken bowl and vase that had been knocked down.

I stared at Carlo’s face. In life he might have been a savage predator but in death his features seemed soft. His reddish blond hair and beard were curled in small ringlets. The rings on his fingers revealed a man of means, as ill-gotten as they were. I would have been surprised to find them still on his fingers if I hadn’t ruled out robbery as a motive long before I ever arrived at the scene of the crime.

“What was Carlo doing here?”

“This is where he stayed most nights,” Geraldina explained. “He had other places that he would stay but this was his favorite.”