Not all the morning mist had cleared yet, though there was the promise of heat in the air. Fiorenza shimmered in the spring light, so that the tall, stone-fronted buildings seemed touched with gold. On this splendid day the streets were full, the people already preparing for yet another festival. At la Piazza della Signoria banners of all the Artei were already being strung, each proclaiming the importance and function of one of the powerful guilds that were the heart and breath of the city.
"Well, mio caro stragnero," Laurenzo said to the alchemist who rode beside him and had shared his morning gallop, "what have you in your distant home to compare to this?"
Ragoczy smiled, but his dark eyes were remote. "We have nothing like this, Magnifico." His gray horse scampered over the stone paving, still fresh, still playful, and the sound of his hooves echoed crisply off the street.
"And even if he did," drawled the third member of the riding party, "he is much too well-mannered to say so, at least to you, Medici."
Laurenzo's attractive, ugly face darkened, but he made no reply, occupying himself with the sportiveness of the big roan stallion he rode. When he had brought his mount even with Ragoczy's he turned to the other man. "Agnolo, he need hardly concern himself with courtesy when you are by."
Agnolo Poliziano barked out a laugh, then said more somberly, "I do not know why you allow me such liberty, then, Laurenzo. Or is it out of respect for Ragoczy's rank? He says nothing of his birth, but I will wager you half of the gold in your damned bank that he is better-born than any of us, though he is a foreigner."
At this Laurenzo smiled, and though the smile did not come as easily as it had a few years ago, it was still utterly charming and even Agnolo Poliziano could not resist answering it with one of his own. "Neither of us is nobly born, Agnolo. We cannot be. You, I, we are simply citizens of Fiorenza. But you"-he turned to Ragoczy-"you undoubtedly have a title recognized somewhere. I have often wondered what it is. Francesco Ragoczy da San Germano. Da San Germano." He tasted the words. "Where is San Germano, Francesco Ragoczy, and what is it to you?"
By now they had crossed the Ponte alle Grazie, and not far ahead la Palazzo della Signoria pointed its spire into the festive morning. Fiorenza was a city of spires, of towers and turrets, but the topheavy spire of il Palazzo della Signoria was the symbol of la Repubblica, and therefore was unique in the city.
Laurenzo motioned Ragoczy and Poliziano to rein in their horses. "It is very crowded. We will need another way." He thought for a moment, and took advantage of this hesitation to repeat his question to Ragoczy. "Where is San Germano?"
Ragoczy did not answer Laurenzo's inquiry at once. He had turned similar probings aside before. His eyes were fixed in the distance, on the gently rolling Tuscan hills with their villas keeping watch over Fiorenza, but his expression was far more remote than the hills he watched. "My homeland is... far away, in ancient mountains, where even now Turks and Christians are slaughtering each other. It is called Wallachia now, and Transylvania." He stopped rather abruptly, looking once again at Laurenzo. "It is a happier thing to be simply a citizen of Fiorenza, Magnifico, than to be a Prince of the Blood and a lifelong exile."
A band of youngsters surged out of la Via de' Bend and at the sight of Laurenzo set up the shout of "Palle! Palle!"
Laurenzo acknowledged this with a nod and a wave, calling out a few friendly words after them, then turned again to the haunted face of his foreign friend. "Exile," he said, and there was despair in his voice.
Ragoczy said nothing; his dark eyes were enigmatic.
"Better an exile in Fiorenza than King of the World," Agnolo Poliziano said nastily as he watched the children run down a side street. "Why else did you recall me after sending me away? Certainly you must value life in Fiorenza above all others. Or are you anxious to send me away again, to remind me about exile? What excuse will you find this time, now that your wife is dead, and cannot object to me?"
Once again Laurenzo de' Medici hesitated before speaking. "When I am most tempted to see you flung into the Arno, bellissimo Agnolo," he said at last, "I have only to touch myself here"-he fingered a long scar on his throat-"and I recall that if you had not been there on that bloody Easter, I would have died beside my brother, and the Pazzis would rule Fiorenza. You cannot provoke me, my friend. I am too much in your debt."
"Admirable. Admirable. What splendid sensibility. What sublime philosophy," Poliziano marveled. "And without me you cannot finish your library, not that that enters into it. But remember that I have not finished ransacking Bologna for you yet." He swayed dangerously in his studded saddle as his horse bucked at the sudden sound of trumpets. "The devil take Beato Antoninus! I wish him heavenly joy of that clamor!"
"The procession will begin soon," Laurenzo said to no one in particular. "We'd better hurry."
"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."
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 light-hearted. "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
