The Thief Of Peace Page 16

  Teo wound both arms around Nicci’s neck and they almost fell, creasing the vast sheet of paper on the floor.

  “Careful,” said Nicci. “Mind the masterpiece.” He laughed, and Teo – who had risen up on his knees to steady himself – gazed down at him, lost in the beauty of Nicci’s dark eyes. The light from the window fell across them, so that Teo could see the almost black ring around the edges of his irises, and the root of every raven lash. “I should put you in my painting,” Nicci said. “You could be an angel. Will you do that?” His fingers pushed deeper into Teo’s hair. “Will you let me paint you with wings? And a shining halo?”

  “Would I have to undress?” Teo flirted, astonished at his own daring.

  “Completely,” said Nicci. “I have to get the musculature right, you see. I’m a perfectionist.”

  Teo lowered his head to kiss, unable to stand it any longer. “Ask me,” he whispered. “Ask me again, and I’ll come to you.” He was sick, swooning, mad with love. “Tonight.”

  Nicci held him fast, kissed him fierce and deep. “I love you.”

  Before Teo could reply there was a sharp rap on the window, shattering the moment like glass. Teo looked up to see the shadow of a figure beyond the leaded pane, and they leapt apart. Someone else was pounding on the door. Teo looked to Nicci for an explanation, but Nicci just shook his head. The raps on the window grew louder. Someone was using a cane, threatening to break the glass.

  Teo opened the door. Standing on the step was a guard. “Office of the Podestà,” he said, showing Teo a piece of paper with a squiggle of a signature at the bottom. “We have a warrant for the arrest of Niccolò di Volpaia.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” said Teo, but it was too late. Nicci had stepped into the hall behind him and the guard had seen him.

  “Niccolò di Volpaia?”

  “Yes?” said Nicci, and suddenly there were two of them, the one who had been standing at the door and the other who had been beating at the window. They pushed Teo aside and filled the narrow hallways with their elbows and scabbards and breastplates.

  “You can’t do this,” said Teo, as they dragged Nicci out into the street, still in his shirt. “What is he even supposed to have done?”

  “Sodomy,” said the guard. Nicci met Teo’s eyes, his expression appalled. He shook his head – say nothing – but Teo wasn’t having it.

  “And who made this accusation?” he said. “You can’t just come in here and take him!”

  But they could. Nicci struggled as they led him away. “There’s a boy,” he said. “Giancarlo. Lives above the Cracked Jug tavern near the Bargello. Find him.”

  “No, wait…” Teo said, running after them. He grabbed the arm of the nearest guard. “You can’t do this. He didn’t do this. Nicci, tell them you didn’t do this.”

  The guards shoved Teo so hard that he fell backwards. The last he saw of Nicci was him being dragged off down the street towards the Bargello. “Get Vicini,” Nicci said. “He’ll know what to do.”

  Teo turned back and ran to the house, calling for Vicini. He found the retainer going through the accounts in the room at the back of the house, apparently oblivious to the commotion that had just been enacted out front.

  “Vicini! Didn’t you hear?”

  Vicini glanced up. “Hear what?”

  “They’ve arrested Nicci,” said Teo. “They were hammering on the door, almost broke the damn window. Didn’t you hear any of it?”

  “Forgive me, Signor,” said Vicini. “I’m afraid deafness runs in my family, and my ears are not as sharp as they once were. What seems to be the problem?”

  “Officers of the Podestà. They just arrested Nicci.”

  “What for?”

  “Sodomy,” said Teo. Such an ugly word. It made a cold, cruel mockery of love, and horrified Teo at the depths of his own hypocrisy. After all, what had he expected Nicci to want to do with him? They weren’t going to do nothing more than kiss and exchange love-words, for heaven’s sake. He’d lain with Nicci, felt his hard length against his own and even now would have been his lover in every sense of the word if only they hadn’t been interrupted. It was just…it was different hearing it in this official capacity.

  “You had to be aware of his reputation,” said Vicini.

  “No,” said Teo. “How would I have been aware of such a thing? I was in a monastery when he was first introduced to me. He may as well have been living on the moon for all I knew of him. And while we’re on the subject, while you’re pursing your lips in disgust, if he was so notorious, why did my father send him to me?”

  “I confess,” said Vicini. “It was never a decision I was entirely comfortable with. I understood what your father was trying to do, but I always felt Volpaia’s influence leaned a little too far in the opposite direction.”

  “Oh, now you speak, you snake.”

  Vicini’s narrow lips thinned to almost nothing. “I have always tried to do what is right for your family, signor.”

  “Well, good,” said Teo. “Because right now – as you are so fond of telling me – I am my family. And I’m telling you that the right thing to do is to help Nicci.”

  Vicini shook his head. “You need to distance yourself—”

  “—no—”

  “—yes. Listen to me.”

  “Listen to you?” said Teo, seething. “Last time I listened to you an innocent woman was tortured.” He threw up his hands in despair. “I don’t know why I’m even bothering. I’ll do this myself.”

  *

  The tavern smelled strongly of chicken fat. The smell followed Teo all the way up the stairs and onto the shallow landing. The landlady had given him several disgusted looks when he asked for Giancarlo, and he had a feeling he knew why. Florence had a reputation as a city where men loved other men, but it didn’t mean that people liked it.

  Sodomy. He couldn’t get over how awful the word sounded. A charge. An inarguable condemnation. A sin against God and nature.

  Teo knocked again, impatient, and someone groaned behind the door.

  “All right. Jesus Christ…”

  Was it sodomy when they touched? When they kissed? When they looked into one another’s eyes and felt love?

  The door opened. There stood a skinny, fair-haired boy, still adjusting the hose around his waist. The sun crept through a gap in the curtains behind him and turned the linen of his shirt transparent, so that Teo could make out every angle and bone. As he fiddled with his clothes Teo caught a glimpse of the line of hair that ran down from his navel. It was bright red.

  “Giancarlo?” he said.

  The young man looked at him for a long moment and then exhaled. “Oh my God,” he said. “It’s you.”

  Something gave way inside Teo. Suddenly he knew that not only was Nicci guilty as charged, but that Nicci might have talked about him to Giancarlo. Perhaps even in bed. The next thing he knew he had both fists full of the boy’s shirt, and Giancarlo’s back was against the wall.

  “What have you done?” said Teo. “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “—you did. They’ve arrested Nicci, so I suggest you start talking, because he knows it was you.”

  “I didn’t have any choice!” said Giancarlo. “They were threatening me!”

  Teo loosened his grip, suddenly conscious that he was doing the exact same thing. “Who?”

  “The Ribisi brothers,” said Giancarlo, adjusting his crumpled shirt. “They hate your family. They want you to suffer.”

  “That old feud? Why?”

  “I don’t know. They kept asking me about you. About where to find you. The name of the monastery where you lived. When you got up, when you went to bed, when you went to feed the pigs, for God’s sake…”

  Teo clapped a hand over his mouth in shock. Finally something about all this madness made sense, although once again it raised a million new questions.

  The boy’s eyes – almost as dark as Nicci’s – overflowed with tears.
“I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t want to tell them. I didn’t, but they held knives to my throat. They have no regard for anything. They threatened me in church…”

  There. There it was. If they’d threaten a man in a church they’d have no qualm about killing another in a monastery. “Get dressed,” said Teo. “Right now. You must come with me to the duke, because believe me, they have done far, far worse than this. An innocent man is dead because of their stupid vendetta.”

  “Nicci?”

  “Not yet,” said Teo. “But he could be, thanks to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Giancarlo, crying openly now. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Stop saying that. It’s one thing to say you’re sorry, another to do something about it. Now get dressed. We have to go.”

  Giancarlo shook his head. “No. I can’t. I can’t stay. I have to get out of Florence.”

  “Oh no you don’t,” said Teo.

  “I have to! They’ll kill me.”

  “Maybe they will,” said Teo, hand on his sword. “But I definitely will if you try to run.”

  Giancarlo stared at him. “I thought you were a monk?”

  “I was. But even monks have their limits.”

  The boy laced up his doublet. “Do you know where they took him? Nicci?”

  “No. The Stinche, I imagine.”

  “The Stinche is mostly for debtors these days. He’s more likely to be in the Bargello.”

  “We’ll check both,” said Teo. “After we go to the palace. Come on.”

  At the Palazzo Vecchio Vasari’s team of decorators were still hurrying in and out. Teo hoped that he and Giancarlo might slip in unnoticed, but a guard stopped them at the door.

  “I need to see the duke,” said Teo.

  “He’s not here,” said the guard.

  “Then I need to see the regent.”

  “You and everyone else, sunshine.”

  Teo took a breath, fighting impatience. “Please inform the regent,” he said. “That I am here. My name is Teodoro degli Albani, and until very recently my father sat on the consigliere. Both the duke and the regent attended his funeral and I would very much appreciate it if you would send to the regent and ask him if I could take a moment of his time.”

  Another guard overheard, and it seemed that Teo’s name meant something to him, because he let them in. They stepped into a courtyard whose walls were still partially obscured by scaffolds, erected by the painters, but it was still possible to get a sense of the magnificence of the work in progress. Giancarlo gazed up at the gilded stucco columns, the vaulted ceiling with its delicate floral designs. The walls were freshly painted with scenes of the bride’s native Austria. “The light,” Giancarlo murmured. “The perspective. One can almost smell the mountain air.”

  Teo wanted to say something about what Nicci must be smelling right now in the Bargello, but he held his tongue and followed the guard up the stairs. He had never been in here before, but when he walked into the vast room he knew the name of this storied hall – Salone dei Cinquecento – the Hall of the Five Hundred. Once again Giancarlo gazed upwards, spellbound by the elaborate ceiling and the vast frescoes by Leonardo and the recently deceased Michelangelo Buonarotti. Teo was less fascinated and focused instead on the people clustering in the hall. At the far end was a high backed, silk canopied audience chair, but it sat empty, and instead people stood around in little clumps, talking, joking, whispering, drinking or listening to the lute players.

  He moved towards the largest clump, confident that he would find the regent in its midst.

  Francesco de Medici stood side on, laughing at the recitation of a poet. He held up his wine cup and spotted Teo, frowning in momentary recognition.

  “Albani, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, your Grace. If I might have a moment of your time?”

  The regent glanced around at his courtiers and flashed them a small, tipsy smile. A ripple of laughter moved around the circle, as though he had made some great joke. It was hard to believe he was only a few years older than Teo.

  “I trust your father is well?” Teo asked, on the off chance that the guard hadn’t been telling the truth.

  “He’s back at Poggia,” said Medici, as they broke free of the clique and moved about the huge room. Out of the corner of his eye, Teo could see Giancarlo, head tilted back, mouth open. He kept bumping into people as he turned on his heels. “Prefers the country these days. What about you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Your own father is resting easy, I hope?”

  The joke was in poor taste but Teo knew he had to smile. That was how you got things done. “Your Grace, I need your help,” he said. “A dear friend of mine has been arrested and I have reason to believe that it’s part of a larger conspiracy against my family.”

  Medici stopped walking, and parts of the room – the ones that had moved in his orbit – stopped with him. The people began to gather once more, a closing circle around them that made Teo more nervous than he cared to admit.

  “What conspiracy?” said Medici.

  “You heard about the malicious package that was sent to my father. The one that caused him to suffer his last illness?”

  The regent frowned. “Yes, of course. And then you came to my father, asking him to clear the name of the very person who had been accused of sending the…the items.”

  “Because she didn’t send them.”

  “And you’re sure of that, are you?”

  “As sure as I can be,” said Teo. “They tortured her.”

  The Medici raised an eyebrow. His eyes were dark and wide set. It was said that he favoured his late mother in looks, and Teo could see it, because there seemed to be nothing of the burly Duke in this feline featured young man. “You seem to be quite the young expert on our justice system, Albani,” he said.

  “Your Grace, please believe me. I have reason to believe there was also an attempt on my life, and a man is dead because of it.”

  “What man?”

  “A monk,” said Teo. “And they’ve threatened…” He beckoned to Giancarlo, who was still wandering around with his eyes on the ceiling. “Giancarlo…come here.”

  He took Giancarlo by the sleeve and drew him closer, but the boy was still gazing upwards. “Exquisite…” he said, in a dreamy voice. “Just astonishing…”

  “I’m sorry,” said Teo. “He’s an artist.”

  Giancarlo lowered his head and finally saw who was standing before him. “Oh. Your Grace.” He bowed.

  “Giancarlo, if you would be so kind as to explain how you were threatened?”

  The circle of bystanders seemed to contract around them, and someone stepped out to offer Medici more wine. A pair of grey eyes fixed on Teo, their iciness catapulting him back in time to the night where he’d had to fight for his life. The flicker of recognition made no sense, and Teo found himself searching for something that did – a serpent, a sword. But there was neither. The man’s sleeve was emblazoned with a red flower, and this rival device Teo recognised. The flower was the badge of the Ribisi family.

  “Well, hello there, Twinkletoes,” Ribisi said, puckering his lips at Giancarlo.

  Francesco de Medici laughed. “What are you playing at, Lele?” he said, and Rafaele Ribisi leaned in to whisper something scurrilous in the regent’s ear, making him laugh.

  “You’ve come a long way from the monastery, haven’t you, Albani?” Ribisi said, with a leering look.

  Teo glared back at him. So many things he could have said in that moment. I know what you did. I know you killed Armando. I know you were trying to kill me.

  “If I could speak to you in private for a moment, your Grace…” Teo said, but Medici shook his head.

  “Afraid not. As you can see, I have a great many people who need my attention. My father entrusted the city to me.”

  Ribisi’s smile was infuriating. Because he knew. He knew Teo didn’t have a shred of proof.

  “Please,” said Teo. “I need…” His mouth dried and he had t
o start again. “I beg you, your Grace. Please tell me to release my friend. This is a mistake.”

  Medici raised an eyebrow. “What? You’re telling me he didn’t fuck boys?”

  “I told you. This is part of something larger.”

  Both eyebrows now. Oh dear. “You told me?” The regent’s voice turned cold and sharp. “You told me?” He circled Teo like a cat trying to figure out the best angle from which to pounce.

  “No, your Grace.”

  “No, I think you did, Albani. You told me. You said it yourself.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s the trouble with your family.” Medici circled closer. “Just because you were all high and mighty, and because you condescended to extend a hand downwards to my ancestor when he was nothing more than an upstart banker. Just because you broke a few heads when the Pazzi Plot crumbled. That was centuries ago, Albani. Either come to me with something solid, or go back to your monastery, Brother. And don’t presume to tell me anything, because you are a monk, and I am a Medici. Do you understand?”

  Teo nodded. His head felt like it could fall from his shoulders at any minute. “Yes, your Grace.”

  *

  They still held executions in the inner courtyard of the Bargello. Nicci had seen the scaffold and the ropes as he was led across to his cell, and now he heard the voice of a priest from without. The priest droned on in persistent, monotone Latin, while the accused shouted over him “Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care!” in an enraged yet resigned singsong. “Fuck this awful world,” said the condemned man, when the priest had finally finished. “I’ll find a better home in Hell.”

  Then there was a scraping sound and a silence. Nicci tried not to listen, but it was one of those irresistible horrors, and he could see that the other man in his cage – a tiny, balding man with bad teeth and very pale blue eyes – was also struggling with the impulse. A loud, guttural choking sound cut through the quiet and they both winced at it. Then the silence – which presumably by now had become eternal – settled once again. Nicci fought the desire to clutch his throat, as if his hand could somehow protect the too-fragile structures within. They hanged men for sodomy, didn’t they?