The House of Medici Read online

  ‘Very well.’ Maddalena smiled and prepared herself.

  ***

  PALAZZO BARDI, FLORENCE

  20th July 1429

  ‘What is wrong with them?’

  Maddalena keeps her head down, as Cosimo rants. She’s heard it all before.

  ‘Does Rinaldo have no idea how to run a city?’

  ‘What’s he done now, dearest?’ Perhaps she can jolly him out of it. A problem when she doesn’t really know what he’s unhappy about. ‘Is it Volterra?’

  Cosimo nods. ‘The Volterrani are brewing trouble. They have told us if we try to apply the new catasto to them they will rebel. It’s beginning to look as if we shall have to employ Fortebraccio to keep them quiet.’

  Maddalena wrinkles her nose. ‘If you ask me, that Fortebraccio’s more trouble than he’s worth. What will he do? Lay siege to the city? Steal everything he can lay his hands on? One thing’s for sure. There’ll be no money to pay taxes once he’s “subdued” them. The condottiere are professional soldiers. They don’t like to go home empty-handed do they?’

  Cosimo looks weary and uncertain. ‘That’s true. They say he has his eye on Lucca too, but if we give him Volterra, that should keep both of them employed for some time. Anyway, they’ve called a Council of Ten and asked me to chair it.’

  ‘The war council? So are we going to war with Volterra now? Do you really want to take responsibility for that, dear?’

  ‘I’ll probably chair the council. If we do go to war, I’ll be paying for it in any event, so I might as well keep a handle on proceedings. Anyway, Volterra must be kept in order. We can’t have them rebelling every time a new tax is announced.’

  ‘But war? The Volterrani are such nice people. Do we have to?’

  ‘It’s politics. We need their taxes. It’s nothing personal.’

  Only war. Nothing personal. Sometimes she wonders what the world is coming to. Best not to pursue that argument. Back to the other subject. ‘So what has Rinaldo degli Albizzi done to anger you this time, Cosimo? I thought you and he had found a way to live peaceably alongside each other?’

  ‘He won’t leave people alone. That’s the problem. He seems to think the Signoria should be visibly active on behalf of the people.’

  ‘And shouldn’t they? Isn’t that what governments are for?’

  He pulls a face. ‘Well yes, but not all of the time. Not fiddling about with everything. It’s the Church that’s put him up to it.’

  She keeps embroidering, but raises an eyebrow to show interest. When he’s angry like this, he never gets straight to the point, but he will. ‘Up to what, exactly, dearest?’

  ‘Not content with introducing the catasto tax, now he wants a new law, against cambio secco. The doctors of divinity have decided that dry exchange is not true currency exchange and therefore it counts as usury.’

  ‘You know yourself, it’s sailing pretty close to the wind. You don’t really need two bills of exchange, in opposite currencies, to make a single trade transaction. One would do. That way there would be a real exchange risk and a stronger argument against the Church.’

  Cosimo shrugs and sneers. It’s what he does when he knows she’s right.

  ‘So the Signoria want to make it illegal?’

  He shrugs again, but she knows that deep down, he’s concerned. ‘It’s personal. The Albizzi are trying to kill our business. They know we do more of that trade than any of the other banks.’

  ‘Will it hurt us badly?’

  ‘Not really. I have made a formal commitment that the Medici Bank only deals in licit exchanges and for a couple of months we shall have to be a bit careful how we word our bills of exchange, but in the long term, the law can’t be made to stick. The woollen trade, copper, tin, silk, spices what-have-you; none of them can operate without bills of exchange.’

  ‘What would you do if it really did start to pinch?’

  ‘Oh I’d get myself voted onto the Signoria again and get the law revoked. But it’s expensive, oiling all those sweaty palms. Besides, the whole business is irritating and a waste of time. I could be making money.’

  Cosimo shakes his head, depressed. ‘What a mess. At least my father didn’t live to see it.’

  ***

  Maddalena looked across the room to see whether the abbess had fallen asleep. Receiving an encouraging smile, she continued with her story.

  ‘Cosimo was right. Fortebraccio did attack Lucca and as soon as he did so, the Signoria in Florence decided to back him. The taxes from Lucca would have been a godsend. Of course, it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever is in Florentine politics. Milan sent aid to Lucca in the form of another condottiere; Count Francesco Sforza, and in due course, he too, had to be paid off.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘And once again, it was Cosimo’s money that paid him. So now Cosimo found himself paying for the armies on both sides of a war, and getting no thanks from either. The situation had become ridiculous. Sensing disaster, he resigned from the War Committee.

  ‘Nobody thanked him for his efforts (or his money) and by the time an unhappy peace had been signed, the people had turned again from fighting an enemy to fighting each other.’

  ‘Why was that? Were the people not content to be at peace once again?’ The abbess looked bewildered.

  ‘The truth was, it had all got out of hand. In the process of all this argument, Florence had become divided between pro-Albizzi and pro-Medici camps, both with a greater sense of who they supported rather than the reasons why. Personalities had outgrown policies and nobody knew what they were fighting for anymore; only that they were fervently against the other side. The problem now was that both had been playing the “behind the scenes” game and now there was no legal way to resolve the contest without the whole democratic façade collapsing.’

  Her eyes were half-closed, but by her expression, Madonna Arcangelica seemed to think the outside world had gone raving mad. Perhaps she was better off where she was.

  ‘In the summer, Cosimo retired to Trebbio and stayed there for two months. The truth was, he didn’t know what to do either. Then, unexpectedly, he was called to a meeting at the Palazzo della Signoria. I think he half-knew it was a trap.’

  Across the room, Madonna Arcangelica sat up and opened her eyes, as if sensing something significant was about to emerge.

  Knowing she was right, Maddalena began to speak faster. ‘But he went anyway, believing that the Signoria were honourable men. As soon as he walked in, he found the meeting of the Signoria was already in progress, and instead of being taken to the Council Hall, he was arrested and put in the alberghetto; a tiny dark cell high in the tower.

  ‘What a situation! Over the previous two or three years, knowing the government was overstretched and could not repay its debts, Cosimo had lent the city a further 155,000 florins, and in so doing, he had not only saved them from bankruptcy, but had run the Florence branch of the Medici Bank into heavy losses. Yet here he was now, being indicted for treason, on the dubious grounds that he had used his wealth “to elevate himself above all others”. It was an indictment that carried only two penalties; exile or death.’

  Madonna Arcangelica had her eyes wide open now and took a deep breath. ‘I remember that year and how fearful we were that something terrible was happening. Of course, hidden away up here in the hills, we didn’t know the rights or wrongs of it, but to hear that the Magnificent Cosimo had been arrested was like hearing that the end of the world was nigh. We had no idea what would happen next, but I know I never believed that the people would find him guilty and to this day, I have never understood how the accusation of that crime came about. Was there any evidence against him?’

  Maddalena shook her head. ‘None at all. The so-called evidence was a farce. They pointed to a grand palazzo that they said Cosimo was building for himself on the Via Larga. But at that stage in his life, he hadn’t even started work on it.’

  She saw the abbess frown and continued, speaking even faster, knowing she wa
s on thin ice. ‘It was true he was thinking of building a palazzo, largely to get away from Oltrarno and the influence of his wife’s family. And yes, the ground had been purchased and most of it cleared—including the piece of land next to the Palazzo Vecchio. But they had not started building.’

  The abbess’ frown had become almost a stare of concentration. ‘But surely, there must have been some basis for the charge? He must have had more than active plans in his head? How else were the people led into finding him guilty? I have never understood that.’

  Now Maddalena found herself frowning. She had not expected to have to defend Cosimo over an event that had taken place twenty-five years earlier. ‘It was a false accusation; made by the Albizzi. Someone saw Brunelleschi’s original, somewhat ostentatious, design for the Palazzo Medici and made it public knowledge. But Cosimo never intended to build that. That was why, on his return from exile, he asked Michelozzo to come up with a much simpler design. But at the time, all that was in the future. You can’t blame a man for his thoughts.’

  Across the room she saw the abbess was still frowning. She looked unconvinced. ‘They were right, though, weren’t they? The people who said he was planning to build a great palazzo? No smoke without fire?’

  The increasingly accusatory tone took Maddalena back. Once again she felt defensive. At the time she had thought Cosimo was going to be found guilty. Her hands started to sweat as she remembered being in that room at the Palazzo Bardi.

  ***

  PALAZZO BARDI

  September 1433

  ‘Accuito. You’re back! What is happening? Tell us.’

  The servant falls into the room, his face registering shock, horror and exhaustion. Maddalena gives him a large goblet of wine, and he gulps it down in one draft. Then he sits and stares at the floor, avoiding their eyes.

  Contessina’s patience snaps first. ‘Well come on! What is happening?’

  Accuito puts his head in his hands. ‘I have just come from Bernardo Guadagni. The news is not good.’

  Did you see Cosimo? Were you able to speak to him?’

  Cosimo, they had been told, was being held in the Bargello by the Giustizia, and as a political prisoner, was inaccessible. Desperate, they had sent their most reliable servant to see the Gonfaloniere; the leader of the Signoria, and until this day at least, a good friend of the Medici. He, at least, might have word of Cosimo’s condition—and perhaps news of his future.

  Accuito begins to gasp out his words. ‘Cosimo is not in a good way. Apparently he has not slept or eaten since his incarceration. I was able to speak to Bernardo. He was brutal in his description. He said Cosimo was shaking with fear, unable to eat or move; hardly able to breathe, so great is his terror.’

  Both women put their hands to their mouths. They are anything but friends, but they share one thing; their position in life is wholly dependent on Cosimo de’ Medici.

  Accuito has tears in his eyes. ‘Bernardo says everyone there, especially Cosimo, remembers that the last man found guilty of treason was thrown from the roof of the Palazzo della Signoria, with a rope tied round his neck and the other end attached to a third-floor window below. They keep saying how he was still falling through the air, kicking and screaming, when the rope pulled tight. Those watching said it nearly tore his head off.’ He is slobbering as he speaks.

  ‘Cosimo told Bernardo he sees this image every time he closes his eyes. Bernardo says if he falls asleep for as much as a second, he immediately dreams he is falling and wakes up, screaming and clutching at his neck. He says it’s terrifying to watch and his screams curdle the blood. But he can’t leave him. Not like that. So he has to stay and endure the screams.’

  ‘Did you hear his screams yourself?’ Maddalena regrets asking the question as soon as she has asked it. She offers him another goblet of wine. ‘Yes. It’s true. It was horrible.’ His hand is shaking so violently as he tries to take it, that she has to help him. He slurps at it, his head ducking and jerking uncontrollably.

  ‘Have the Signoria come to a decision?’ Contessina is keeping her head.

  He shakes his head, still drinking. ‘No. Not yet. The Gonfaloniere says they will meet again this afternoon.’

  He looks at Contessina with the face of a terrified dog. ‘Bernardo says to be brave. We must not give up hope. Cosimo, he says, has many friends on the Signoria. He may yet be saved.’

  ‘Here.’ She reaches behind her and takes a moneybag from the credenza beside the wall. ‘Take this to Bernardo. There’s a thousand florins in there, tell him. Ask him to do what he can. Tell him there’s the same again for him if he secures Cosimo’s release.’ It appears that, until now, Contessina’s endless and simplistic faith in the power of friendship has encouraged her to hope that her husband will be released before the day is out.

  Accuito nods, stuffs the bag inside his padded farsetto and pulls his tunic around it. The bag contains a fortune and he dares not walk the streets with its presence visible.

  ‘Go now!’ Contessina shoos him out of the door. As he leaves, his face looks as if it is he who is going to his execution.

  ***

  Maddalena paused in mid-sentence. Even today she remembered how Accuito’s description had frightened the family into a similar condition. None of them had slept that night.

  But she would not refer to that. There was no need. Instead, she took refuge in the abbess’ earlier question. ‘As you know, they found him guilty. You may ask how the people were led into that outcome, especially, with friendly faces on the Signoria. I can tell you now how it happened.

  ‘A new Signoria is chosen every two months, with the eight priors and the Gonfaloniere being chosen by having their names drawn out of a bag. At that time, the Signoria was led by Rinaldo degli Albizzi and it was heavily biased towards his followers. For some years before, Rinaldo had resented Cosimo’s leadership of the Signoria. Now, perhaps for a short while, the balance of selection had swung his way and he had a majority; now he was sure his opportunity had come.

  ‘Since the Medici family, and Cosimo in particular, were his only serious rivals for power, he pressed the charge home. Not only that, but he understood that the Medici could run their banking business from anywhere, so they would not be ruined by exile as landowners like him would have been. Knowing this, he had to demand the death penalty, and for that, the accusation had to be treason. So having started the accusation, Rinaldo degli Albizzi had no choice but to pursue it to the bitter end. It was as if his own life depended on it, which I suppose it did. Cosimo’s or his.

  ‘But honourable men, even followers of an opponent, do not like supporting a death penalty, and with the two-month life of his Signoria running out fast, Rinaldo knew he was running a very serious risk. If his Signoria ran out of term and luck went against him, the next Signoria might easily be pro-Medici and then he might find himself in the same position as Cosimo was in now.

  ‘So in order to prevent that from happening, he called a parlamento. By law, that was the only gathering which could invoke emergency procedures, temporarily putting aside for the moment the bi-monthly cycle of the Signoria and instead invoking the balia, or emergency committee.

  ‘The parlamento should involve all the grown men of the city meeting together in the Piazza della Signoria, but in the event, the Albizzi put guards at the entrances to the Piazza and instead of the whole city turning out, only twenty-three chosen men were allowed in, to form a very limited parlamento. The proposal was put to the vote and, of course, it was approved.’

  Across the room the abbess shook her head in dismay. ‘Such a travesty of the law.’

  ‘Rinaldo now had absolute power and immediately he set about choosing men for the balia that he knew were on his side. The future for Cosimo was looking short and uncomfortable.’

  Madonna Arcangelica squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. ‘I never realised that while we were here, praying that the citizens of Florence should be given divine guidance, the men in power were acting so unl
awfully. I hope they got their just desserts in due course?’

  Maddalena raised a finger, as if to say ‘be patient; all will be revealed’ and the abbess, looking satisfied, sat back.

  ***

  PALAZZO BARDI, FLORENCE

  26th September 1433

  ‘Maddalena! Accuito is back. I think you had better come and hear this.’ Contessina’s big voice booms down the stairs, and she runs to respond.

  Accuito’s face does not look encouraging.

  ‘Well? How did you get on?’ Contessina gets straight to the point.

  ‘I spoke to the Gonfaloniere and gave him the money. He accepted it gratefully and promised to do what he could. Then I waited until he returned from the meeting.’

  ‘Yes. And . . .’

  ‘He said that on balance, he was pleased with the outcome.’ Accuito does not look as if he’s enjoying his role as news-carrier.

  ‘He told me to tell you that Rinaldo pressed very hard for the death penalty to be authorised and carried out this very afternoon. However, in response to your generosity, Bernardo feigned illness and sent a well-briefed deputy in his place. He has been able to stall the proceedings for two or three weeks. Bernardo is confident that during this period, ambassadors will arrive from Venice and from Pope Euganius IV in Rome. Messages have been sent to them both in Cosimo’s name and he fully expects them to call for the death sentence to be commuted to exile, and even that for a reasonably short period only. They need the Medici Bank and they need Cosimo at its helm. That’s what he said. He asked me to say “courage” to you both.’

  ‘But that all sounds very tenuous.’ Contessina’s face expresses anything but courage. ‘What happens if the ambassadors don’t arrive in time?’

  Accuito’s face is beginning to recover its colour. Now for the first time, he smiles. A thin smile, but it’s a start. ‘Bernardo did more. Once the full meeting had been put off, he called Palla Strozzi to his house. He told him the ambassadors were on their way, and hinted that they were ready to protest on the strongest possible terms.