The Palace (6 page)

Laurenzo's civic pride was ruffled. "Venezia? Why not order your mirrors
here?" He was as well aware as Ragoczy that the Venezian mirrors—indeed all
Venezian glass—were superior to anything produced in Fiorenza. He smiled
reluctantly and relented. "Polished metal would do as well, or almost as well.
Silver would be particularly appropriate. And Fiorenza produces much finer
metalwork than Venezia."

Inwardly relieved, Ragoczy laughed. "Polished metal, then, and made in
Fiorenza." He motioned them on with a gesture, and a few steps brought them to a
wide loggia. "I think you will like this, Magnifico. The windows are
particularly large, and set back from the street."

"You might find them too large in winter," Laurenzo warned, but without
condemnation.

"Ah, but then I will have shutters over them, with louvers to let in some
light. I have thought it out, you see." Ragoczy stood back and with a host's
gesture left Laurenzo on his own.

Laurenzo did not speak as he paced out the room, but there was an
appreciative expression in his large brown eyes. "Even though it is Genovese,
mio caro stragnero, it is beautiful. I particularly like this grand double
staircase. It is quite unlike anything in Fiorenza. What will you use there, at
the landing, to set it off?" He did not pause, but answered his own question. "A
painting! Perhaps two of them, or possibly three smaller works. Or a statue, a
small one in bronze or marble." He turned expectantly to the palazzo's owner.

"Well, no." Ragoczy mounted the stairs beside Laurenzo. "I have plans for
elaborate wood paneling carved in very deep relief. It is more in the custom of
my people to do so." He did not add that the paneling would better conceal the
door to the three hidden rooms beyond the landing.

"Wood paneling carved in deep relief. Yes. A very pretty idea. It is too
restrained for me, but I suppose you miss your homeland, and want it near you.
It is good that your house reflects your country. I mean that this, too, is your
home." He turned on the landing and continued up the left flight to the second
floor. "The proportions are always pleasing to the eyes. From here, looking into
the loggia, how pleasant the aspect is. You have quite…" He broke off on a
sudden gasp as his normally sallow-tan complexion went chalky white.

Ragoczy caught Laurenzo around the waist and held him, feeling the tension
grow worse as Laurenzo fought against his weakness and increasing pain.

"No… No…" There was a sheen of sweat on Laurenzo's face now, and his
long-fingered hands shook, locked like claws in the black silk damask of
Ragoczy's Spanish pourpoint.

"Magnifico…" Ragoczy's beautiful foreign voice was low, with none of the
alarm he felt allowed to color his words. "What should I do?"

"Christ and San Giovan'!" Laurenzo hissed through clenched teeth. His rather
prominent eyes were squeezed shut and he would have sunk to his knees had not
Ragoczy taken the weight of the taller man onto his shoulder. Carefully, gently,
he lowered Laurenzo onto the shallow marble treads of the staircase. There was
distress in his face as his small hands worked loose the collar of Laurenzo's
riding mantle so that he could unbutton the doublet and untie the chemise
underneath. When he tried to pull Laurenzo's fingers away they tightened
convulsively.

"Francesco… No… Stay." With a visible effort Laurenzo opened his eyes and
forced the worst of his anguish from his face. "There. I am… better. Stay,
Francesco."

Ragoczy nodded. "Very well, if you wish it. But I would much rather get help.
I have servants, and Poliziano…"

"
No
!" He drew several deep breaths, then went on. "As soon shout it
through the city." Again he had to stop. When he could speak, he said with
terrible intensity, "Tell no one. Swear by your life you will tell no one!"

"By my life?" Ragoczy smiled sardonically, then nodded and put his small
hands over Laurenzo's big ones. "I swear it. By my life and by my native soil."

Laurenzo nodded, and some of the worry went out of his eyes. "It is good. It
is good." With a sigh he turned his head away.

When there had been silence for some little time, Ragoczy ventured to speak.
"Magnifico?"

There was a strange lassitude in his voice when he answered. "In a moment,
Francesco." At last he opened his hands and freed the fine cloth of Ragoczy's
pourpoint. Mechanically he rubbed at his swollen knuckles. "Gout. How it plagues
my family."

"Gout?" There was polite disbelief in Ragoczy's voice.

"It killed my father," Laurenzo stated simply, and left the rest unsaid.

"I was unaware that your father collapsed when the gout was on him." Ragoczy
kept his tone neutral. He felt a cold fear for Laurenzo il Magnifico.

"He didn't." Now Laurenzo turned to him and raised himself on his elbow. "But
he had the disease for many years. I have not been much troubled with it until
recently. Before then it touched me rarely, and with much less severity." He
pulled himself to his knees, his pugnacious jaw set with effort. He ignored
Ragoczy's outstretched hand.

"My friend," Ragoczy said kindly as Laurenzo at last struggled to his feet,
"if you won't disdain it, you may have my aid at any time, and for any reason."

Laurenzo swayed dangerously, then steadied himself. "I thank you, caro
stragnero. Who knows? I may avail myself of your kindness."

There came the sound of booted feet and Ruggiero appeared at the foot of the
staircase. He carried a tray with a single gold cup. "Master?" he ventured.

Ragoczy was back on his feet now. "Yes. Bring up the almond milk, Ruggiero."

Laurenzo put up an objecting hand, but Ragoczy overruled him. "You need
nourishment, Magnifico. It is not yet time for il comestio. Drink this now. This
has been a strenuous morning."

As Ruggiero came up the stairs, Laurenzo tried to be more lighthearted. "You
should have known me twenty years ago, amico. I would have found this morning
dull and insipid. But twenty years make a difference."

"I suppose they do," Ragoczy said uncertainly and took the cup from the tray
to hand it to Laurenzo. "My cook, a rogue from Napoli, is Amadeo, and he is, in
his own way, a genius."

"If you insist." Laurenzo took the cup. "I fear much of this is wasted on me.
But it is sweet, I allow that." He finished the almond milk and was about to
hand back the cup when Ragoczy bowed.

"Do me the honor of accepting the cup, as a token of my affection and
hospitality."

Slowly Laurenzo was regaining his strength. He held up the cup. "This is a
princely gift, Francesco."

"You distinguish it too much, Magnifico." Ragoczy started back down the
stairs as he spoke. "But I doubt if Poliziano will want to wait much longer."

Glad for this excuse to leave, Laurenzo started down the stairs, saying,
"Lend me your arm, Francesco. Let us have no formality."

Immediately Ragoczy was beside him, and the casual, courteous linking of arms
successfully concealed the support Ragoczy gave Laurenzo as they came down the
stairs.

Ruggiero followed after them, and when they once again stood in the loggia,
he inquired, "Is there any other service you will want?"

"No, thank you, Ruggiero. You may leave us." Ragoczy made a sign of
dismissal. When his servant was gone, he said, "Do you still need assistance,
Magnifico?"

"I don't think so." Laurenzo began to walk down the hall toward the
courtyard. His steps were somewhat shaky, but as he neared the courtyard and the
familiar sarcasm of Agnolo Poliziano, he forced himself to stride as he usually
did, and stretched a smile over his teeth.

"Seen enough walls," Poliziano asked. "You were mighty quick about it." He
finished the cup of wine he held and put it down beside a jug that was still
half-full.

Laurenzo ignored this jibe. "If I am to meet with i Priori this afternoon, I
must change, Agnolo. It is hardly fitting to walk in as if I had just come from
the fields." He went to his horse and pulled the reins from the scaffold. Only
Ragoczy saw how cramped his hands were and how badly his fingers trembled.

"Up to your old tricks, Magnifico?" Agnolo reached for his reins as well.
"Very well. By all means, let us be off."

"Ragoczy." Laurenzo had already pulled himself into the saddle, and he looked
down at the black-clad foreigner. "I would hate to see you leave Fiorenza in the
near future. Let us hope that it is not necessary."

With a covert, compassionate smile Ragoczy acknowledged the significance of
Laurenzo's remark. "I assure you, my friend, that it will not be."

But Laurenzo was not yet satisfied. "I would be most displeased to learn
otherwise." He paused before making the threat. "Believe me, I would pursue the
matter with all the resources at my command."

"Oh, San Michele! is Ragoczy involved in intrigue?" Poliziano held his horse
ready, and his bored words broke the spell.

"No," Laurenzo said shortly to mask his concern. He clenched his free hand,
and his swollen knuckles turned white. Though Ragoczy saw this, he said nothing,
nor did he, by so much as the flicker of his eyebrow, draw attention to what he
saw. In a gentler tone Laurenzo added, "And I do not think he is likely to be."
His eyes met Ragoczy's for a moment arid there was a plea and a beginning of
trust in them. Then he pulled the big roan's head around and planted his heels
so smartly that the stallion bounded through the unfinished gate of Palazzo San
Germano.

Ragoczy walked through the gate and watched them go, Laurenzo setting a brisk
pace and Poliziano behind him, a resentful angle to his shoulder. Even after
they were out of sight he remained in the gate for some little time. At last he
turned to lead his horse off to the temporary stables behind the courtyard. His
striking, irregular face was troubled, and as he walked, the trouble deepened.

Text of a letter from Gian-Carlo Casimir di Alerico Circando to Francesco
Ragoczy da San Germano:

To his revered friend and excellent instructor, Francesco Ragoczy in Fiorenza,
Gian-Carlo sends his profoundest respects:

This will come with Joacim Branco, and should arrive, as you stipulated in
your letter of July 24, by the middle of September, barring misfortune, arrest,
and brigands. Both Magister Branco and Baldassare Secco carry a complete and
accurate list of the herbs, spices and medicinals for your verification upon
their arrivals. The metals and ores you requested will be sent later, as Paolo
Benedetto's ship has been delayed by foul weather and will not arrive in Venezia
for some weeks yet. I have had word that he has laid over at Cyprus and will not
be able to leave for some days. When the ores arrive in Venezia, I will send
them on to you by the hand of Guido Frescamare and Fra Bonifacio.

Niklos Aulirios has sent word that the water wheel you made for him some time
ago, the one that ran on the power of the tides, has been burned down. He
indicated that he will flee into Egypt soon, and will contact you through Olivia
when he is able.

Here your home is safe and all goes as it should. Il Doge is anxious for your
return, as he wants more of your gold. But I have told him it will be some
considerable time yet until you return. I have, in your absence, authorized the
making of enough gold to fill one Venezian wine cask and will present it to il
Doge on the Feast of Advent on your behalf. This undoubtedly will delight him,
and add much to your credit here in Venezia.

Your own gondola has been completed to your specification. It is quite large,
your arms are blazoned on it, and the ballast is of the earth you entrusted to
me. You have only to send word, and it and your gondoliere will be waiting to
bring you home.

The price of pepper has again risen outlandishly. Do you want me to hold your
stores, or shall I sell off a few sacks? Your affairs stand in excellent order
and there is more than enough money to run your household and see to your
instructions, but there is a great deal of profit to be made just now. The
English merchants, particularly, are willing to give top prices for pepper. Let
me know by messenger if you want me to sell, and how much. As it stands now,
prices will be high until Lent.

This to you by my own hand and through the good offices of Magister Joacim
Branco, with sincerest regards I commend to you myself and my work.

Gian-Carlo Casimir di Alerico Circando

 

In Venezia, on the 19th day of August, 1491

Only a few candles were burning at the house of Sandro Filipepi in la Via
Nuova. The artist himself had retired two hours before and even his austerely
fanatical brother Simone had at last finished his prayers and was vainly
attempting to sleep on his hard bed.

Donna Estasia sat brushing her luxurious chestnut hair. She sang softly to
herself as she plied the brush. The tune was a languid one, sensuous, like the
expression in her eyes. " 'O veramente felice e beata/ notte, che a tanto ben
fusti presente; o passi ciechi, scorti dolcemente/ da quella man sauve e
delicata.'" Laurenzo's poetry made her smile. She, too, anticipated a happy and
well-blessed night. "'Voi, Amor e 'l mio core e la mia amata/ donna…'" She would
have liked to be able to change the words so that the lover was a man, not a
woman, but it would not fit the rhyme. She hummed the phrase over and went on. "
'Sapete sol, non altra gente,/ quella dolezza che ogni umana mente/ vince, da
uom giamai non più provata.'" Yes, it was true for her, too. Only her heart and
her love knew the overwhelming source of her joy.

The night was warm and the air fragrant with summer. Estasia sighed and put
her brush aside, looking for her jar of malmsey-am-bergris-and-musk paste so
that she could massage it into her hands and face to make them soft and
sweet-smelling. At last she found it by the mirror Sandro had given her and
which Simone despised so much. She pulled off the ivory stopper and began to
anoint her skin. When that was done, she opened her nightshift impulsively and
spread the salve over her breasts. Slowly, her eyes half-closed, she worked the
fragrant paste into her flesh.