Guardia: A Novel of Renaissance Italy (22 page)

“Very well, maestro. You bring guests?”

“Si, please make sure that they are well served. We will need a fire in the common room and food for everyone. Also bring bread and wine, we are famished from our journey.”

He bowed courteously. “Certo. It’s good to see you again.”

We left our horses in the courtyard and followed our host inside. A serving girl took our soggy cloaks and boots and ushered us to the roaring hearth. After riding for two days straight my back ached terribly. My ribs were still tender as well, though they somehow looked worse than they felt.

While we dried off Agnolo offered us peppered wine and cured meats to offset the damp. I closed my eyes for a moment only to be awakened by the call to supper. My knees creaked as I stood, and I realized how fully worn out and hungry the ride had made me.

The rain had opened up in earnest as we dined. Agnolo was a masterful chef, and his rabbit stew in wine sauce and rosemary took the chill from our bones. We ate quietly and when we finished Leonardo broke the silence.

“I must apologize sincerely but I am old and tire easily. Therefore I must retire for the night. Agnolo will show you to the guest quarters. Please, make yourselves comfortable and enjoy your stay. You may stay as long as your investigation requires, Mercurio.”

“Grazie, ser Leonardo. Your hospitality has no bounds.”

Agnolo led us upstairs where the guest rooms were located, across from one another just down the hall from the attendant’s quarters. Lauro and Francesco shared one while I took the other with Pietro. At Lauro’s insistence, Antonio stayed with the two of them.

“We will mind the prisoner, capo. I do not trust him,” he said warily.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, we can sleep in shifts. If he so much as blinks I’ll break his legs.” Lauro flashed a crafty smile.

“I’d rather you didn’t but do as you see fit. Tomorrow we begin the hunt. Try to get some rest, we will need our strength and our patience.”

The rumble of the rain slamming into the roof and the stones outside made my head throb like the beating of drums. I lied awake on the floor, Pietro with the bed to himself. My back and sides ached constantly, agitated by the ride, and I hoped that the flatness of the floor would at least set everything as it should.

My thoughts kept going back to Jacopo and how much trouble I was probably in. Stealing Antonio had been bold. I hoped it would be worth breaking the comandatore’s trust. Any number of things could go wrong. Our quarry could have already caught wind of us, or it may have been that he simply no longer resided in the city. In the murky darkness of my own thoughts, my imagination was free to conjure up a million scenarios in which the outcome was failure.

No! I scolded myself. I realized that my eyes and jaw were clenched. Relax. Whatever happens is meant to be, take comfort in that, I thought. Rolling onto my side I thought of my family and how I missed my home. Hopefully my father was somewhere, watching, but if he was I could not feel his presence.

Arezzo was an entirely different city during the daylight hours than in the evening. With the awakening of the day came the din of voices and the creaking of wagons and, surprisingly, the echo of music in what seemed like all directions. There were drums and pipes, stringed instruments and a legion of voices in perfect pitch and harmony.

The sky was still pale and drizzle pattered around us as we made our way through the neighborhood surrounding Bruni's home. We descended down the steep hill towards the market. In fact, Arezzo seemed to be built entirely on one slope or another requiring us to watch our footing on the slick stones as the leftovers from the night's rains flowed past our ankles in some spots. It was for this reason that the streets here were generally more clean than back home.

Above us loomed the monolithic Santa Maria della Pieve once again, and at its foot was the open air market. I kept Antonio close by as we entered the piazza, keeping an eye open for any city watch that strolled by in case our prisoner attempted anything suspicious. He had behaved himself since I let him out of his cell but I would not rest until we had found the broker. Lauro and Francesco walked a few paces behind us, Pietro beside Antonio.

We were doing our best to blend in - fashion here was not quite as gaudy as in Florence so we made do with our modest riding clothing. A thin woolen cloak protected me from the breeze, and beneath a common leather jerkin protected my modesty. It was hard not to feel out of place here, where we were outsiders and everything was foreign. At least I had Jacopo's letter to give me some measure of control of the situation.

"Do you see him?" I asked in a coarse whisper. My throat was raw from the damp chill.

The prisoner shook his head. "Not yet." His eyes darted from person to person in the crowded square.

"What does he look like?"

"Tall, slim. Blue eyes." He continued surveying the clusters of people as he spoke.

"You know what you are to do if he notices you first?" I said forcefully.

His eyes stopped at mine. "I'm to act normal, and you men are accompanying me on an errand for Bartolomeo."

"That's right. Do not alarm him, we need him to be none the wiser."

"As you wish, ser. And will you let me go if I lead you to him?"

"I will see to it that your life will be spared, but you will still be returning to Florence. Have faith, I am your only friend right now. Without me you would likely be on your way to the gallows as we speak."

He swallowed hard, his face an angry mask. I knew he wanted to lash out, and if his eyes could murder a man I would be dead at that very moment. Pietro motioned to me, his hand tucked beneath the folds of his cloak. I shook my head. "Pay attention, Antonio. The sooner you find him the sooner this will all be over."

We crossed over into an aisle of livestock vendors. The damp had made the surrounding air thick with the bitter scents of manure and animal musk. Several times I had to brush away the insistent men who tugged at my cloak or stepped in my way to direct me towards their merchandise. I stared straight ahead, ignoring the distractions.

A few steps further and we found ourselves entering into some of the higher quality goods. Pewter and silver wares were neatly arranged on tables to our left, and over my right shoulder were reams of linen and wool. Ahead there was a cambio, a bench for currency exchange. I noticed that its insignia was the familiar shield of the Medici bank.

"He is nearby," Antonio said solemnly. "This is where the brokers and shippers have their shops."

"Do you see him?"

He was silent for a moment, straining and squinting towards the packed corridor of small shops. "Yes. He is the old man in the fur-lined cloak."

From afar I could see the old man's weathered face, craggy and pocked with long black hair to his shoulders. His movements were stoic and reserved, with an expression of intensity and eyes that were like pits of ice. He was speaking with several men who seemed to be arguing with him about something but he remained cool and aloof.

"You're sure that's him?"

"I'm certain," said Antonio. "There's no mistake."

At last we had found the one man who could lead us to Bartolomeo or, at the least, put us further down that path. I could hardly believe it, but then the reality dawned on me that I had not even considered the next step.

"Capo, what shall we do?" Francesco asked uneasily.

"We had better keep a close watch on this man. You and Lauro, see who comes and goes. Antonio, do you remember where his warehouse is located?"

"I think so."

"Pietro, you come with me. Antonio, lead the way please. We shall all meet at Leonardo's again at dusk."

The prisoner sighed and led us back down the main artery of the city. All along the way we followed the mobs of people and carts as they meandered sluggishly from the commercial center and through a quarter of smaller bottegas and brothels. Antonio diverted us through a narrow backstreet that led up another hill.

"It's through here."

A nervous chill ran up the base of my neck and I could not tell if he was being honest. There was not much activity back here and those that were passing through were men of a distinctly rough demeanor.

Antonio turned back. "Are you coming? Move your ass if you are," he snarled. His patience was reaching a tipping point so I decided not to press it further. I held tight to the grip of my sword as a precaution.

We followed up and through the narrow road. I found myself staring into each and every doorway and shadow we passed. Alas, we reached the top of the hill without incident and were greeted by a view of the southern end of the city where, about midway to the city wall and the opening of the main gate, stood a row of large, rectangular wooden buildings. Several carts waited in a queue out front while men inspected and unloaded those in the front.

"His warehouse is nearest us in that row."

We approached casually and this road had enough traffic to conceal us from suspicion. Passing by I could see into the warehouse's interior. Goods were stacked to overflowing, all bundled neatly and ready to be distributed. Business was very prosperous for Giovanni, I noted.

No sooner had we reached the end of the block had a group of four men rounded the corner as we did, and I noticed Antonio stir and dip his face down to conceal himself beneath his hood. The men did not stop but our captive was in a panic. One of the men, the tallest of the bunch, was chestnut-haired and seemed to be in charge while the other men kept up with him.

"You know them?"

"Yes. They are men I worked with before."

"With Bartolomeo?" I could not believe my luck! "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm damned sure," he spat, agitated. "Can we please go? I must not be seen here. Not with the likes of you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're not as smart as you think, boy. You and your men stick out like a festering boil around here. Now let me go. You've got what you wanted. I can't go back to Florence."

"After your trial and almost assured exile you'll never return to Florence . I've already promised to see your life spared, which is more than you deserve."

"Bullshit. I'm better off dead."

I ignored Antonio, staring carefully at the men and memorizing their faces. They continued on towards Giovanni's warehouse where they greeted the foreman and then disappeared inside.

"Shall we fetch Lauro and Francesco? If we hurry we can capture these men." asked Pietro.

"No, we must not disturb them. Better that they go on about their business without knowing we are on to them. We can find out more about what they are doing here and where they are headed. Besides, it is too late in the day for them to be leaving tonight, we're better off regrouping at Leonardo's."

The sun was already dipping low towards the mountains above us and soon it would be dark. We made haste back to the Bruni house. The whole way back I couldn't help but notice that Antonio was sullen and distracted. At one point I called his name but said nothing, only looking at me coldly.

Bruni's step was a welcome sight, especially since the journey back had been completely uphill. Leonardo greeted us with wine and a snack of fruit and cheese.

"Absolutely remarkable," our host said between bites. "Agnolo brought this from the market today. It is a robust sheep cheese in the style of the Navarrese." He took a sip of wine, then, "How fares the hunt, Mercurio?"

"We've made progress. Antonio has led us to the broker's shop and his warehouse. He's also identified several men who are associates of Neri, who I will keep under surveillance." I turned to Lauro. "What have you managed to find?"

He cleared his throat. "We watched Giovanni's shop all afternoon, noting who came and went. He's a busy man for sure."

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

He cracked a proud grin. "We kept our ears open. As it turns out, there is to be an unusually large shipment of silver and gold ingots to be delivered to Loro Ciuffenna very soon."

"To where?" I had never heard of this place.

Leonardo interjected. "Loro Ciuffenna is a very small village nestled at the foot of Pratomagno."

Of all the mountains surrounding the Arno valley, Pratomagno was the grandest. It towered over the rest of the range, dwarfing everything beneath it, and its western face could be seen clearly from Florence and beyond.

"Why there?" asked Pietro.

"Exactly," said Lauro. "There is no reason for that shipment to be delivered up there. Unless-"

"Unless that is where Bartolomeo is forging his counterfeit florins." Perfect sense. Neri had left the city but he would not want to venture too far. Not as long as his operations were still running.

"When is this shipment to leave?"

"At dawn," said Francesco. "We could tail them if we wanted."

I shook my head. "There's no need. We can intercept them at Loro Ciuffenna. They will be moving slowly so if we follow them we may arouse suspicion."

"So your affairs are finished here then?" asked Leonardo, appearing somewhat dejected. "That did not take long at all."

"Very nearly," I said. "We shall leave before the sun rises. Your hospitality has been truly exceptional, Signore Bruni."

After a modest supper we shuffled off to bed. It would be another long day or so of travel so we would need our rest. The morale of the men was upbeat, almost euphoric. With any luck the shipment would lead us straight to Bartolomeo, wherever he was hiding.

Antonio had been silent the entire evening. I would deal with him in the morning, leaving him at the Palazzo Comunale so he could be collected and brought back to Florence when this was over. I would do my part to see his life spared as I had promised but I was eager to see the last of him. He had proved a reliable source, my attempted murder notwithstanding, and my spiriting him away from the Bargello was thankfully vindicated.

I had dozed effortlessly and was in the midst of a dreamless sleep when I awoke to loud slamming and shouting. My eyes snapped open at once but my body sluggishly obeyed my orders to climb out of bed. Pietro was up only a moment before I was, sword in hand. He tossed me mine and then cracked open the door to the bedroom. There was darkness outside, but very faintly I detected an orange glow.

"Lauro? Francesco?" The bedroom door across from us was open and the smell of bitter smoke hit my nose like a wave.

"I'm okay," shouted Lauro. "Figlio di puttana, Antonio attacked me. Francesco went after him. Bastard nearly set the room ablaze." He was still stomping out the smoldering remains of bedding and blankets. His movements were clumsy, almost drunken.

"Where did they go?"

"Down the hall!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes I'm fine. I blacked out for a moment. He got me good. Feels like my nose is broken."

A bloodcurdling shout resounded from below, followed by a clatter and a sickening thud. Pietro and I rushed headlong down the stairs into the common room. It was silent when we reached the source of the crash. On the floor lay an obscured figure, prone and inert. I feared for the worst.

"Francesco?"

From around the corner I heard a voice. "It's all right, capo." He stepped out, and I was surprised to see Leonardo beside him. In his hands he held tightly to a leg of prosciutto.

"The rascal caught me while I was raiding my pantry. I hit him with the only thing I had at that moment."

Pietro was at the fallen man's side.

"He's still breathing. Barely."

"Good. I need him alive." The fingers on Antonio's left hand were twitching. "Christ, Leonardo. You nearly brained him. I only hope he wakes up. But thank you again, my debt to you is monumental."

"Think nothing of it," Bruni shrugged. "I am just thankful that my unfettered lust for cheese has done some good for the world for once."