The Palace (5 page)

"As you wish." Ragoczy was grateful for this change in their conversation.
"Perhaps, if you do not want to take part in these festivities, you might enjoy
inspecting my palazzo? It will be finished shortly, and I have not had the honor
of showing you through it. Today would be an excellent time, Magnifico. The
builders are all at the festival and we may browse through it at leisure."

"Bleeding wounds of God!" Poliziano burst out. "What is there to see but
walls? You may paint them this shade or that, and have tapestries to cover them,
or pictures. But in the end they are still walls, and only slightly different
from any others you may see. Some are wider, some are more fancifully decorated,
but they are nothing more than walls."

At this Ragoczy smiled. "Ah, you forget, Poliziano, there are also floors and
ceilings, though to be sure, they are only to walk on and to hold up the roof."

His last few words were drowned in a new trumpet blare. The horses moved
skittishly and the three men had to turn their attention to their mounts,
tightening the reins, moving forward in the high saddles.

"What a noise they make!" Poliziano had jobbed the bit and his neat bay
gelding now tossed its head and sidled restively.

"It is a celebration, Agnolo," Laurenzo explained patiently and
unnecessarily. "Make up your mind, Agnolo. When the people of Fiorenza take to
the street, they are a tide, and only the buildings have the strength to
withstand them. We must leave quickly or be swept on to la Piazza della Signoria."

"But to waste another day seeing some new palazzo." Poliziano's small bright
eyes narrowed and his mouth set. "Very well, very well. I have heard that this
palazzo is in the Genovese manner. It might have all sorts of surprises."

"Yes," Ragoczy agreed ironically. "There's no telling how the walls are
placed. They may lean at amazing angles." He turned to Laurenzo. "Do you truly
not wish to see the festival, Magnifico?"

"I have seen it often. I have not seen your palazzo. And Piero is attending
the festival." Laurenzo's attitude was thoughtful and his strong Medici jaw
thrust even farther forward. "I will not live forever, and Piero must learn. It
is time he discovered that this city is not merely his plaything. He must become
accustomed to his civic duties." He twitched the end of his reins with crippled
lean fingers. "You see, mio caro stragnero, my son Piero is something of a fool.
Perhaps it is not too late to change him."

Agnolo's angry laugh cut into this. "I would not depend on that, and I
tutored him. Look at what he has. Think of the adulation. He is beautiful, and
all Fiorenza loves him."

"By which you mean that Piero is beautiful and I am not?" Laurenzo did not
wait for a response. He tapped his horse with his heels and began to move
forward through the steady stream of people making their way toward la Piazza
della Signoria. "I know well enough what I look like. Giuliano was the beautiful
brother. Va ben'. Perhaps it is my face that makes me love beautiful things.
Come, take this turn. We'll go through la Piazza della Santa Croce." Plainly he
wanted to end the bickering.

Agnolo was not through with his barbs. "Such modesty, Laurenzo, Magnifico.
But you have read Plato many times. You know that Socrates was sought after by
every handsome young man in Athens. You must not despair. Your virtues will save
you." With an impatient slap of his reins Poliziano sent his horse trotting
ahead.

"Undoubtedly in Athens my face would be as ugly as it is now." There was
neither rancor nor self-pity in this admission. At the next turn Laurenzo
contrived to take the lead, shifting in his saddle so that the gold embossed
laur. med.
that marked all his possessions would
be visible.

Ragoczy followed, a faint smile curling his wry mouth. He shook his head as
Poliziano once again maneuvered to get ahead of Laurenzo, and Medici let him
keep that lead for a bit, and then skillfully reclaimed it. In a few more blocks
the whole pattern was repeated, Laurenzo, as always, regaining the lead.

They were almost abreast of la Chiesa di San Marco when Poliziano tired of
the game. He let his horse fall back and he shrugged. "What does it matter,
after all? You ride better than I do, Laurenzo. You always have. I know it. But
I want to be the better." His smile had an innocent delight. "Damn your infernal
tolerance, Medici. If I were you, I would not have allowed me back in Fiorenza,
no matter what the debt."

"Someone had to take Piero in hand. And he is hardly a reward for anyone." He
shook his head and was about to address a remark to Ragoczy, still a few lengths
behind them, when Poliziano began again.

"San Marco. How can anyone bear to live so near these sanctimonious
Domenicani?" This attack was plainly directed at the man behind them. "Or do
they like monks in your country, da San Germano?"

Ragoczy raised his fine brows. "That depends on whether you are a Turk or a
Christian, I suppose. They do not bother me."

"They bother
me
," Poliziano said in a louder voice. "That boring
preacher. The new one. He came here last year. What's his name, Laurenzo? The
one who's always describing disaster. He was here for a while some years ago.
You know which I mean."

"Girolamo Savonarola." Laurenzo sighed. "Give him credit, Agnolo. He may
preach about the suffering of the damned and the worthlessness of the world, but
he is sincere and he does not meddle in what does not concern him."

"You mean he stays out of politics?" Poliziano made an obscene gesture toward
the church. "That's because he hasn't tasted power yet. You should not have
allowed him to come back, Laurenzo. It was a mistake."

"Turn into the next street, Magnifico," Ragoczy called, even though Laurenzo
undoubtedly knew the way.

"Of course." He nodded to Ragoczy, but continued his conversation with
Poliziano. "You should not say such things, Agnolo. To me you may say what you
like. But do not make remarks like that where they can cause trouble. You make
the monk more important than he is. We have difficulties enough without making
Savonarola angry. Let him preach his austerity and piety. There are some of our
citizens who take comfort in mortification, and if they follow him, what is that
to you or me? It harms no one. But the one sure way to bring him into politics
is to malign him and make mock of his beliefs. If he is forced to defend
himself, he will find allies, and that will be worse for Fiorenza than the
Venezian pox and war with Milano." He pulled at the reins and let his stallion
trot down the newly flagged street.

Poliziano shook his head, and he let the jeering note come back into his
voice. "What? a Medici afraid of the truth? Very well. Keep your ridiculous
policy if you insist. You have convinced yourself that you must be magnanimous
with the Church for your damnable son-in-law. What does it matter if his father
is Pope? You need not placate a preacher to keep peace with Innocento." Suddenly
the sarcasm was gone and his little mouth narrowed in a deadly serious line. "I
tell you that preacher is dangerous. I warn you: he will destroy you." Then he
made as elaborate a bow as he could in the saddle. "Do not heed me, then. Who
are you but a simple citizen of Fiorenza? What right have you to dictate to the
Pope?"

Laurenzo was silent, but his jaw became more tense, so that the muscles stood
out along the bone. His wide-brimmed hat shadowed his eyes, but Ragoczy could
see anger and sorrow there.

Once again Poliziano's tone changed. "Don't think me more of a fool than you
are, Laurenzo."

There was no answer. Laurenzo had already pulled up his horse in the
unfinished gateway of an incomplete building. Scaffolding stood in the
courtyard, and stonework and mortar showed that raw newness which was a
substitute for character in the palazzo.

As Laurenzo swung out of the saddle, he tugged his reins over the big roan's
head and secured them to the nearest scaffold's supports. "I have never thought
you a fool, Agnolo," he said, somewhat more acidly than before.

Ragoczy had also dismounted and was securing his reins to the new hinge
mounts that would eventually hold the fantastic cast-iron grillwork of the gate.
"Do you want to join me, Poliziano, and see the walls and floors and ceilings?
Or would you rather stay here in the courtyard and let my servant bring you some
wine to drink?"

This invitation delighted Poliziano. He kicked his feet free of the stirrups
and slid off his horse. "I gladly accept the offer of wine, Ragoczy. And I thank
you for sparing me the unending boredom of viewing your palazzo. The walls, I
see, are upright, and certainly I can get the full effect of the building from
here." His glance took in the unfinished courtyard.

For a moment Ragoczy's dark eyes rested enigmatically on Poliziano's face.
"Can you." Then the mood was gone. He shrugged lightly. "There are benches for
you to sit on. I am sure the builders won't mind if you use them. The mosaics on
that side of the court have just been laid. I pray you won't walk on them."

Poliziano had secured his horse's reins to the topmost of a stack of iron
window grilles. He glanced around the courtyard in a perfunctory way, saying,
"Pretty, very pretty. A handsome court. Those mosaics remind me of something I
saw in Roma once. Where is that servant of yours who will bring me wine?"

Ragoczy still stood in the shadows, and because of the black clothes of
Venezian silk he wore, he seemed one with them, almost unreal. "In a moment,
Agnolo. I will summon him. Ruggiero!"

The sudden loudness of his call brought Laurenzo away from his inspection of
the gate's fittings and decorations. "Ragoczy, what are the markings around your
arms? I don't think I know the words. I thought it was Greek, but I cannot read
it. Is it in the Russian tongue, perhaps?"

There was a certain aloofness in his manner as he turned to Laurenzo. "No,
Magnifico, it is not Greek. Or Russian." He contemplated the black disk with
erect wings above it displayed against a silver field.

"But what does it say?" Laurenzo had stepped back and was slapping some dust
away from his buff-colored belted riding mantle. "For some reason I find it…
disquieting. The device is elegant, caro mio, much more than my red balls, but
there is something almost frightening about it. What does the motto say?"

Ragoczy narrowed his eyes. "It is not easily said in your language, Magnifico.
But I will try to tell you. Roughly, then, it is 'From the greatest darkness
eternally reborn.' The device is the eclipse, of course. The arms are old." He
looked away. "Very old."

"And very striking," Laurenzo said. He had pulled off his mazzocchio, though
it was not customary to remove hats in or out of doors. "It's warm for May."

There was a tap of hard-soled shoes in the far hall which connected the
courtyard with the loggia at the front of the house. A figure could be seen
moving toward them, and very shortly Ragoczy's servant stepped into the warm
golden light. He was a slender man of slightly more than middle age. His
weathered face was beardless and he wore a houseman's gown of belted linen. He
paused and bowed with great dignity.

"Ruggiero, this man"—he indicated Agnolo Poliziano, who stood with one foot
on a joiner's bench—"has done me the honor of being the first to accept my
hospitality in this palazzo. Bring him wine, and some of the Persian sweets."

"As you wish, master."

"And, Ruggiero, bring a cup of almond milk to the upper gallery after you
have served Signor Poliziano." He sketched a nod in Agnolo's direction, then
turned to Laurenzo. "I am right, am I not, Magnifico? You do like almond milk?"

The stern set of Laurenzo's mouth relaxed and he grinned reluctantly. "Well
done. You surprised me."

"I?" Ragoczy gave Ruggiero a sign of dismissal, then crossed the mosaic
pavement to a shallow pit where a fountain would be in another month. "Surely
you did not think that I would not offer you anything that might suit your
fancy. Do you want more than almond milk? I have fruit, I think, and there must
be some bread in the kitchen."

Laurenzo, too, crossed the mosaics. "No, food is all one to me. Almond milk
will refresh me." He looked down at the mosaics. "What made you choose these
intricate designs? They're classical enough to be old Roman."

Ragoczy was tempted to say that the mosaic designs were exactly the same as
certain of those in imperial Roma, but he bit back the words. Instead, he
smiled. "Thank you, Magnifico. I confess it was the effect I hoped for."

"Then you have succeeded." Laurenzo looked back toward Agnolo. "Are you sure
you will not change your mind, Poliziano, and come with us?"

"When wine and sweets are being brought?" His small eyes brightened. "Enjoy
yourself, Laurenzo. For I will be quite happy on my own."

Laurenzo's response was resigned. "Then I will not concern myself." He
lengthened his stride and joined Ragoczy in the shadow beneath the gallery. "I
like these columns. Are they continued above?"

"Yes. And I am planning murals on the walls there to complement the mosaics.
Will you recommend someone for this? I know that Sandro is too busy, but there
might be others? Perhaps young Buonarroti?"

"Perhaps. Let me think on it." They had now entered the hall through which
the servant Ruggiero had come. "I like your arrangement for lanterns," Laurenzo
said.

Ragoczy went along with the turn in conversation. "Yes, they give excellent
light."

"But if you had a mirror behind them, you would have even more light."
Laurenzo stopped and pointed out the mountings. "It would be a simple matter to
add mirrors. Then this hall would be wonderfully bright."

"I see." Ragoczy nodded, knowing that Laurenzo was used to having his advice
followed. He studied the arrangement as if it were new to him, and then said,
"Of course. You are right. I only hope that I can bring the glass from Venezia
without mishap. If it were less fragile, I think I might install mirrors in the
loggia, as well."