Then and Now (17 page)

The eight men whom the Duke had ordered to escort the captains took up their positions one on either side of each of the doomed men and, headed by their commander, splendid in his shining armour, the cavalcade rode into the city. On reaching the Palace that had been set aside for the Duke's residence the captains wished to take leave of him, but he urged them in his frank and open way to come in so that they might immediately discuss the plan he wished to put before them. He had much to say that could not fail to be of interest to them. Time was important. Whatever they decided to do must be done quickly. They agreed to what he asked. He ushered them through the doorway and up a fine flight of stairs that led to the great reception room. Once there he begged them to excuse him so that he might attend to a call of nature, and no sooner was he gone than armed men burst in and arrested them. Thus he played the same neat and simple trick on them that the graceless Oliverotto had played on his uncle and the chief citizens at Fermo, and it had not even cost him a banquet. Pagolo Orsini protested at the Duke's breach of faith and called for him, but he had already left the Palace. He gave orders that the troops of the four captains should be disarmed. Oliverotto's men, being near at hand, were taken by surprise and those who resisted were butchered, but the others who were encamped at some distance were more fortunate; they got wind of the disaster that had befallen their masters and combining their forces succeeded, though with serious losses, in fighting their way to safety. Caesar Borgia had to content himself with putting to death the immediate followers of Vitellozzo and the Orsini.

The Duke's soldiers, however, were not satisfied with plundering Oliverotto's men. They set about sacking the city. They would have spared nothing but for the Duke's stern measures; he did not want a ruined city, but a prosperous one from which he could get revenue, and he had the looters hanged. The city was in a turmoil. The shopkeepers had put up their shutters and honest citizens cowered in their houses behind locked doors. Soldiers broke into the wine-shops and forced their owners at the sword's point to give them wine. Men were lying dead in the streets and mongrel dogs lapped their blood.

Machiavelli had followed the Duke to Sinigaglia. He spent an anxious day. It was dangerous to go out alone or unarmed and when obliged to leave the wretched inn where he had taken refuge he was careful to be accompanied by Piero and his servants. He had no wish to be killed by excitable Gascons the worse for liquor.

At eight o'clock that night the Duke sent for him. On all other occasions on which Machiavelli had had audience with him it had been in the presence of others, secretaries, churchmen or members of the suite; but on this occasion, to his surprise, the officer who ushered him into the room in which the Duke was seated immediately withdrew, and for the first time they were alone.

The Duke was in high spirits. With his auburn hair and neat beard, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining, he looked handsomer than Machiavelli had ever seen him. There was assurance in his mien and majesty in his bearing. He might be the bastard of a wicked priest but he bore himself like a king. As usual he came straight to the point.

'Well, I have done your masters a great service in ridding them of their enemies,' he said. 'I desire you now to write to them to collect infantry and send it with their cavalry so that we can march together on Castello or Perugia.'

'Perugia?'

A cheerful smile lit up the Duke's face.

'The Baglioni refused to sign the treaty with the others and he left them saying: "If Caesar Borgia wants me he can come and fetch me at Perugia and come armed." That is what I propose to do.'

Machiavelli thought that it had not done the others much good to sign the treaty, but contented himself with smiling.

'To crush Vitellozzo and destroy the Orsini would have cost the Signory a lot of money and they they wouldn't have done it half so neatly as I have. I don't think they should be ungrateful.'

'I'm sure they are not, Excellency.'

The Duke, a smile still on his lips, but his eyes shrewd, held Machiavelli with a steady gaze.

'Then let them show it. They haven't stirred a finger, and what I've done is worth a hundred thousand ducats to them. The obligation is not legal, but tacit, and it would be well if they started to discharge it.'

Machiavelli very well knew that the Signory would be outraged at such a demand and he had no wish to be the transmitter of it. He was glad to have a way out.

'I should tell Your Excellency that I have asked my government to recall me. I have pointed out to them that they should have here an envoy of more consequence and with fuller powers than mine. Your Excellency could more profitably discuss this matter with my successor.'

'You are right. I am tired of your government's temporizing. The time has come for them to make the decision whether they will be with me or against me. I should have left here today, but if I had the town would have been sacked. Andrea Doria is to surrender the citadel tomorrow morning and then I shall set out for Castello and Perugia. When I have settled my business there I shall turn my attention to Siena.'

'Would the King of France consent to your taking cities that are under his protection?'

'He wouldn't and I'm not so foolish as to think so. I propose to take them on behalf of the Church. All I want for myself is my own state of Romagna.'

Machiavelli sighed. He was filled with an unwilling admiration for this man whose spirit was so fiery and who was so confident in his power to get whatsoever he wanted.

'No one can doubt that you are favoured by fortune, Excellency,' he said.

'Fortune favours him who knows how to take advantage of his opportunity. Do you suppose it was a happy accident, by which I profited, that the governor of the citadel refused to surrender except to me personally?'

'I wouldn't do Your Excellency that injustice. After what has happened today I can guess that you made it worth his while.'

The Duke laughed.

'I like you, Secretary. You are a man with whom one can talk. I shall miss you.' He paused and for what seemed quite a long time looked searchingly at Machiavelli. 'I could almost wish that you were in my service.'

'Your Excellency is very kind. I am very well content to serve the Republic'

'What does it profit you? The salary you receive is so miserable that to make both ends meet you have to borrow from your friends.'

This gave Machiavelli something of a turn, but then he remembered that the Duke must know of the twenty-five ducats Bartolomeo had lent him.

'I am careless of money and of an extravagant disposition,' he answered with a pleasant smile. 'It is my own fault if from time to time I live beyond my means.'

'You would find it hard to do that if you were employed by me. It is very pleasant to be able to give a pretty lady a ring, a bracelet or a brooch when one wishes to obtain her favours.'

'I have made it my rule to satisfy my desires with women of easy virtue and modest pretensions.'

'A good rule enough if one's desires were under one's control, but who can tell what strange tricks love can play on him? Have you never discovered, Secretary, to what expense one is put when one loves a virtuous woman?'

The Duke was looking at him with mocking eyes and for an instant Machiavelli asked himself uneasily whether it was possible that he knew of his unsatisfied passion for Aurelia, but the thought had no sooner come into his mind than he rejected it. The Duke had more important things to occupy him than the Florentine envoy's love affairs.

'I am willing to take it for granted and leave both the pleasure and the expense to others.'

The Duke gazed at him thoughtfully. You might have imagined that he was asking himself what kind of a man this was, but with no ulterior motive, from idle curiosity rather. So when you find yourself alone with a stranger in the waiting-room of an office, to pass the time you try from the look of him to guess his business, his calling, his habits and his character.

'I should have thought you were too intelligent a man to be content to remain for the rest of your life in a subordinate position,' said the Duke.

'I have learnt from Aristotle that it is the better part of wisdom to cultivate the golden mean.'

'Is it possible that you are devoid of ambition?'

'Far from it, Excellency,' smiled Machiavelli. 'My ambition is to serve my state to the best of my ability.'

'That is just what you will not be allowed to do. You know better than anyone that in a republic talent is suspect. A man attains high office because his mediocrity prevents him from being a menace to his associates. That is why a democracy is ruled, not by the men who are most competent to rule it, but by the men whose insignificance can excite nobody's apprehension. Do you know what are the cankers that eat the heart of a democracy?'

He looked at Machiavelli as though waiting for an answer, but Machiavelli said nothing.

'Envy and fear. The petty men in office are envious of their colleagues, and rather than that one of them should gain reputation will prevent him from taking a measure on which may depend the safety and prosperity of the state; and they are fearful because they know that all about them are others who will stop at neither lies nor trickery to step into their shoes. And what is the result? The result is that they are more afraid of doing wrong than zealous to do right. They say that dog doesn't bite dog: whoever invented that proverb never lived under a democratic government.'

Machiavelli remained silent. He knew only too well how much truth there was in what the Duke said. He remembered how hotly the election to his own subordinate post had been contested and with what bitterness his defeated rivals had taken it. He knew that he had colleagues who were watching his every step ready to pounce upon any slip he made that might induce the Signory to dismiss him. The Duke continued.

'A prince in my position is free to choose men to serve him for their ability. He need not give a post to a man who is incapable of filling it because he needs his influence or because he has a party behind him whose services must be recognized. He fears no rival because he is above rivalry, and so instead of favouring mediocrity, which is the curse and bane of democracy, seeks out talent, energy, initiative and intelligence. No wonder things go from bad to worse in your republic; the last reason for which anyone gets office is his fitness for it.'

Machiavelli smiled thinly.

'Your Excellency will permit me to remind him that the favour of princes is notoriously uncertain. They can exalt a man to great heights, but they can also cast him down to the depths.'

The Duke gave a chuckle of frank amusement.

'You are thinking of Ramiro de Lorqua. A prince must know both how to reward and how to punish. His generosity must be profuse and his justice severe. Ramiro committed abominable crimes; he deserved to die. What would have happened to him in Florence? There would have been people whom his death would have offended; there would have been people to intercede for him because they had profited by his misdeeds; the Signory would have hesitated and in the end have sent him on an embassy to the King of France or to me.'

Machiavelli laughed.

'Believe me, Your Excellency, the ambassador they propose to send to you now is of unimpeachable respectability.'

'He will probably bore me to death. There is no doubt about it, I shall miss you, Secretary.' Then, as if the idea had suddenly occurred to him, he gave Machiavelli a warm smile. 'Why don't you enter my service? I will find work for you to do that will give scope to your quick mind and wide experience, and you won't find me ungenerous.'

'What confidence could you place in a man who had betrayed his country for money?'

'I do not ask you to betray your country. By serving me you could serve it to better advantage than you will ever be able to do as secretary of the Second Chancery. Other Florentines have entered my service and I don't know that they have regretted it.'

'Adherents of the Medici who fled when their lords were driven out and were prepared to do anything that gave them a means of livelihood.'

'Not only. Leonardo and Michelangelo were not too proud to accept my offers.'

'Artists. They will go wherever there is a patron to give them a commission; they are not responsible people.'

There was still a smile in the eyes that steadily held Machiavelli's when the Duke answered.

'I have an estate in the immediate neighbourhood of Imola. It has vineyards, arable land, pasture and woods. I should be happy to give it to you. It would bring you in ten times as much as the few beggarly acres you own at San Casciano.'

Imola? Why had Caesar thought of that city rather than another? Once more the suspicion crossed Machiavelli's mind that he knew of his fruitless pursuit of Aurelia.

'Those beggarly acres at San Casciano have belonged to my family for three hundred years,' he said acidly. 'What should I do with an estate at Imola?'

'The villa is new, handsome and well built. It would be an agreeable retreat from the city in the heat of summer.'

'You speak in riddles, Excellency.'

'I am sending Agapito to Urbino as its governor. I know no one more competent than you take his place as my chief secretary, but I can see that it would make negotiations with the ambassador Florence is sending to replace you somewhat embarrassing. I am prepared to appoint you governor of Imola.'

It seemed to Machiavelli that his heart on a sudden stopped beating. It was a position of importance and one to which he had never dreamt of aspiring. There were cities that had come into the possession of Florence, either by capture or by treaty, but the men sent to govern them were of great family and with powerful connections. If he were governor of Imola Aurelia would be proud to be his mistress, and by the same token he could easily find pretexts to rid himself of Bartolomeo whenever it suited him. It was almost impossible that the Duke should make this offer without being aware of the circumstances. But how could he be aware of them? Machiavelli felt in himself a certain complacency as he noticed that the double prospect did not for a moment affect him.

'I love my native land more than my soul, Excellency.'

Il Valentino was unused to being crossed and Machiavelli thought it certain that on this he would dismiss him with an angry gesture. To his surprise, the Duke, playing idly with his order of St. Michael, continued to look at him reflectively. It seemed a long time before he spoke.

'I have always been frank with you, Secretary,' he said at last. 'I know you are a man not easy to deceive and I would not waste my time in trying. I will put my cards on the table. I do not ask you for secrecy if I divulge my plans to you; you will not betray my confidence because no one would believe that I gave it to you. The Signory would think you were trying to make yourself important by giving out your guesses as matters of fact.'

The Duke paused for a moment only.

'My hold on Romagna and Urbino is secure. In a little while I shall have control of Castello, Perugia and Siena. Pisa is mine for the asking. Lucca will surrender at my bidding. What will be the position of Florence when it is surrounded by states in my possession or under my authority?'

'Dangerous without doubt, except for our treaty with France.'

Machiavelli's reply seemed to amuse the Duke.

'A treaty is an arrangement two states make to their common advantage, and a prudent government will disavow it whenever its provisions are no longer advantageous. What do you think the French King would say if in return for his connivance while I seized Florence I offered to join my forces with his to attack Venice?'

Machiavelli shivered. He knew only too well that Louis XII would never hesitate to sacrifice his honour to his interest. He took some time to answer and when he did he spoke with deliberation.

'It would be a mistake on Your Excellency's part to suppose that Florence could be taken at small cost. We should fight to the death to preserve our liberty.'

'What with? Your citizens have been too busy making money to be willing to train themselves to defend their country. You have hired mercenaries to fight for you so that you shouldn't be disturbed in your avocations. Folly! Hireling soldiers do not go to war for any reason other than a little money. That is not enough to make them die for you. A country is doomed to destruction if it cannot defend itself and the only way it can do that is to create out of its own citizens a trained, well-disciplined and well-equipped army. But are you Florentines prepared to make the sacrifices this entails? I don't believe it. You are governed by business men, and a business man's only idea is to make a deal at any price. Short profits and quick returns, peace in our time even at the cost of humiliation and the risk of disaster. Your Livy has taught you that the safety of a republic depends on the integrity of the individuals that compose it. Your people are soft. Your state is corrupt and deserves to perish.'