Ariosto (13 page)

“Your new clothes will be ready in another two days,” Alessandra was telling him, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s a pity that you won’t have the new giornea for the last banquet for the English. Well, there will be other times, and the English have no taste in clothing anyway.” She rose and went across to the window, taking an obvious delight in the new camora she wore. “You’re deep in thought, my husband. Will you tell me?”

Lodovico looked up. “What?” He smiled as if to pass this off. “I’ll have to do another few ballades the consort and I have my verses in my mind.” He got to his feet slowly. “I hope you don’t mind my preoccupation.” Making a vague gesture with one hand, he added, “As you say, the English will leave soon and Damiano has many things he requires of me before we leave for the country.”

Alessandra’s expression changed to one of indulgent tolerance, such as mothers show to clever children. “Surely poets are not given the same tasks as courtiers.”

The image of Andrea Benci, tall, smooth-spoken, capable, wholly contained, filled his mind. “No,” he said in a strange tone. “There are other tasks given to courtiers.” He went to the door, attempting to whistle the new tune Maffeo had written, and cudgeled his brain for words to set to it, but found none.

“I’ll give orders that our belongings are to be packed,” Alessandra called after him, as if expecting to be contradicted.

“Certainly,” he replied. “I won’t be able to give it my attention for a few days yet. You might ask Virginia to help you.”

“Boys are useless at packing. Give them a flower a shield, and they’ll put the flower on the bottom every time.” She gave an exasperated shake to her head but there was an undertone of pride in her voice.

“And poets, I assume, are worse?” His chuckle gentle and she took no offense at this challenge, but waved to him as he left the room.

Twilight had fallen by the time Lodovico had prepared the new verses for the musicians, and though he not satisfied with them, he knew they were polished to be acceptable to Maffeo. He drew a breath and let it out slowly. At least in the country he would have time to rework his poetry again, which he longed to do. It had long become something of a joke with the writers and scholars in Firenze that Ariosto was revising his great
Orland
o again. He smiled a little sadly, and turned his thoughts to his new
Fantasia
. Would it ever be ready, good enough, recognized? He was not certain that it mattered.

There was a sound at the door, and then it was opened a little and Lodovico could see the back of Andrea Benci as he stood there, one hand on the latch, his back to the library, his voice lowered in curiously furtive conversation.

“…if there’s a reconciliation, it will come too late if you act now.”

The other speaker said something, but Lodovico was unable to hear it. Fascinated, he rose from his chair and approached the door, taking the precaution of removing a book from one of the slanted racks and opening it at random.

“…it need not be dangerous for…and the end of summer might be better…if there is suspicion later…” Benci’s tone had grown quieter still and Lodovico wondered if he dared to press his ear to the door to listen.

Again the unknown and garbled second voice spoke, this time more vehemently. Benci gave an irritating laugh. “You’re fleeing from shadows,” he said nastily and pushed the door open a little more.

Lodovico barely had time to jump back and spread the book he carried in his arms before Andrea Benci saw him. Il Primàrio’s secretary stopped a moment and regarded Lodovico with a strange, angry expression. “Ariosto,” he said after a moment.

Benci,” he responded, affecting surprise.

I did not know you were here,” Andrea remarked and Lodovico felt his face grow cold, though the room was pleasantly warm on this spring day.

“I was reading,” he said unnecessarily, holding out the book as proof. For the first time he noticed that it was on the breeding of farm animals.

For your next epic?” Benci inquired gently.

“Oh, no,” Lodovico said with a laugh that sounded like a death rattle in his own ears. “Damiano is lending me his villa at Fiesole, and I thought perhaps I’d better learn something of the livestock there before I have to live among them.” It was a rather neat lie, he congratulated himself as he thought it over.

“A practical poet. Amazing.” Benci had come a little farther into the library. “Il Primàrio is not here?”

“As you see.” Lodovico indicated the room with a nod of his head. “I think he’s closeted with the Venezians and Genovese at the moment. He mentioned he had to postpone his meeting with the d’Este boy arrived yesterday night.” He thought it odd that Damiano’s secretary was unaware of il Primàrio’s activities for the day, but did not want to mention it.

“Of course. He should also be spending time with Cardinale Medici. We must get through this ill-advised English visit with as little offense to the Pope as possible, but now, with all these delegations…” Andrea’s hauteur became more marked. “I can’t think what il Primàrio can be doing, extending his courtesy at a time like this.” His mouth closed sharply, as if he wanted to trap all the words behind his teeth. “I’ll leave you to the breeding of…swine.” He pulled the door again and left the room abruptly.

Lodovico stood for some little time, watching door. He was certain that his presence had made Andrea Benci leave. He knew that the elegant courtier was angry with him, but no matter how he thought, could think of no good reason for it. True, the night before Lodovico had made a number of jokes a Andrea’s expense, but none of them were disastrous and all of them, he had to admit, he had made before and Andrea had endured them with a patient, contemptuous indulgence. Why had Andrea left the room? What had he interrupted or prevented? Was it only the secretary’s arrogance that made him leave, or was there some more sinister reason? He put the book on farm animals back on the rack and sank into a chair near the longest writing table. It was foolish to think there was any malice in what he had overheard. Courtiers were always involved in various petty intrigue and that had been the case for as long as he could remember. To whom had Andrea been speaking? He had said that there might be a reconciliation, but it would be too late? Was some hanger-on anxious to gain the attention of one of the women? Had one of the Ducas asked about a feud with another, or between two different noblemen? Was it a husband concerned for his wife? A father for a child? Was Andrea part of another attempt to bring Damiano and his son Leone together again? The young man was living in Austria, and it might be that with the English going to Poland there were those who would wish to convince the father and son to speak again.

The day was advanced into the late afternoon by the time Lodovico left the library, discontented and more perplexed than when he began to puzzle out what he had overheard. He had thought he might mention it to Damiano, but at last had rejected the idea. What would he tell il Primàrio? he asked himself sardonically—that he had overheard a courtier saying something about danger? He could hear Damiano’s kind, condemning laughter in his mind and he flinched at it. No, he could not endure that.

He resolved to put the matter out of his mind and went in search of Sir Thomas More.

Lodovico found the Chancellor of England near the Mercato Nuovo watching a troupe of acrobatic dwarfs performing. He laughed heartily at their antics and when they had finished, threw them a handful of coins before turning to speak. “I have a dwarf of my own in England,” he confided. “A good enough jester, but nothing like these splendid little men.”

“Indeed,” Lodovico said, because a response was clearly indicated. He locked his hands behind his back and fell into step with Sir Thomas.

“We English do love our grotesques, but not in the morbid way that the Spaniards do.” He turned toward the Ponte Vecchio. “It’s nearly sunset, and yet the hills are full of light. In England, you know, the sky is not this vital blue and our days fade gradually. In summer, our twilight continues for hours, but in winter, in winter there is little more than a few hours of light in the day, and most of that filters through rain and snow.” He smiled. “When I first thought of leaving my home, it filled me with sorrow. Now, though I know I will miss the gardens and our pale sunlight, I can see that there will be real pleasure here, and that this beautiful land is not the prison I feared it might be.” He looked toward the hills on the south side of the Arno. “I have been assured that my family may live quietly here, though it hardly seems possible. Considering what Damiano has done these last few days, I cannot imagine this place being the place for retired living.”

“Then you are set on returning here.” Lodovico was somewhat startled to realize that he took so little satisfaction in learning this.

“Yes. I have spoken with Damiano again, and I am willing to do what he wishes. He has also said that he will address the Pope on behalf of my King, which was more than I expected.”

It was so like Damiano, Lodovico reflected, to offer a man an unpleasant choice, and then, when it had been made to sweeten that choice with an unexpected reward. They stepped onto the Ponte Vecchio with its houses and shops.

“London Bridge is like this, but longer,” Sir Thomas said as he glanced at one of the tiny storefronts. “I have heard that there are men and women who are born, live and die on London Bridge without ever setting foot on either bank.”

Lodovico was longing to find out more about Sir Thomas’ second interview with Damiano, but decided he could not press the matter. “I have heard the same of the people here, but I confess I do not believe it. There are no priests on the bridge and they must attend mass at some time.”

“True,” Sir Thomas agreed, walking a little faster as they passed a tavern. “It will be dark soon, and we should not be abroad.”

“We have nothing to fear,” Lodovico promised him. “You are known to everyone in Firenze, and none of them would dare to touch you. It would be too dangerous for them. Now, if it were one of the lesser courtiers, or myself alone, perhaps there would be some danger, but not until night has fallen.”

“Damian is fortunate to have such law-abiding subjects.” The doubt in his tone was not disguised.

“Oh, they are not particularly law-abiding, and they are not his subjects. It is simply that they know that Primàrio does not want his guests abused, and if they are, some of the entertainments will be gone from Firenze. Damiano heads the Console of la Federazione, but that does not make these people his subjects. Firenze is a republic.”

“And that humble man lives more lavishly than the King of France,” Sir Thomas said with no condemnation.

“He has a large fortune,” Lodovico agreed. They were almost off the Ponte Vecchio now, and it was apparent that the dusk was fading rapidly into night. “I should call for a torch bearer, if you like,” Lodovico said. “It’s not far to the Palazzo Pitti, but if you would like the way lighted…”

“As long as you know the way, I can see no reason…” Sir Thomas never finished his sentence. There was the sound of running feet behind them, and a warning shout from a fisherman near the bank of the river, and then two men in long masks and carrying cudgels raced up to them, their weapons up.

“That’s the one,” the larger of the two men growled, and to Lodovico’s horror, pointed not at Sir Thomas, but himself.

“Catch the other!” the other muttered and with startling, terrifying swiftness, rushed at Lodovico.

There was a brightness before his eyes, and a sound of ships colliding, and Lodovico fell into a heap on the street flagging. The last thing he noticed was the distress in Sir Thomas’ eyes.

His head was bandaged and his face ached in a way he had not thought possible, worse than when he had had a diseased tooth rot in his head. He had a book before him, but his eyes ached too much for him to read in comfort.

“Well, Master Ariosto,” the physician announced after he had looked into Lodovico’s eyes and had a look at his chamber pot, “I will not bleed you today, since the last cupping appears to have done the trick. You must have a very thick skull, or your brain is so strengthened with study that you resist anything that can be given with a club.”

Lodovico tried to smile at this ponderous humor, but abandoned the effort. “I thank you for your care,” he muttered, recalling how much he hated physicians.

“Il Primàrio has been asking after you, and I know that he will be pleased with my report.” The physician was preening, taking a personal pride in Lodovico’s improvement. Lodovico wished he felt strong enough to pull his long nose off his face.

“When will I be allowed to get up?” he asked the physician through a tight jaw.

“I think that we will consider tomorrow possible. You will be allowed to sit in a chair for a few hours, and then you must return to your bed. If that is successful and there is neither fever nor flux, in a few days after that, we will allow you an hour in the garden, and if that is not detrimental, then in a week you should be able to resume your work for il Primàrio.” He folded his hands on his paunch.

“And Sir Thomas?” He could not recall hearing what had become of the Chancellor of England. If there had been murder done, he knew it would be his fault. He should never have exposed them both to attack in that stupid way. He had been warned that there were enemies in Firenze and had chosen to forget it. If Sir Thomas were dead, Lodovico thought that Damiano might well, and justifiably, hold him responsible.

“He and the rest of the English mission leave today. He sent his regrets to you, of course, and said that he was sorry that you would not be able to speak with him again until he returns from Muscovy.”

“But he’s all right?” Lodovico could not keep the relief from his voice as he sat up in bed/ “He wasn’t hurt?”

The physician wagged his head ponderously, as if his skull were filled with jewels or, Lodovico added inwardly, lead. “No, by the Grace of God he was spared.” There were those on the Ponte Vecchio who saw the attack and came at once to aid you. There was a great cry set up and the Lanzi were sent for at once. A fortunate thing for you,” he went on sternly, “as the blow you suffered was severe.”