‘Perdonate, Messere,’ Ezio offered.
‘I’ll give you perdonate, Messere,’ yelled Calfucci. ‘Guards! Guards! Get after that cimice! Bring me his head! And I want his coglioni as well!’
‘I’ve said I’m sorry -‘ Ezio began, but already the gates of the mansion were opening and the Calfucci bodyguards came rushing out, swords drawn. Now more or less dressed, Ezio set off at a run down the street, dodging wagons and pushing past citizens on his way, wealthy businessmen in solemn black, merchants in browns and reds, humbler folk in homespun tunics and, once, a church procession which he collided with so unexpectedly that he all but tipped over the statue of the Virgin the black-cowled monks were carrying. At last, after ducking down alleys and leaping over walls, he stopped and listened. Silence. Not even the shouts and curses that had followed him from the general population could be heard any more. As for the guards, he’d shaken them off, he was sure of that.
He only hoped Signor Calfucci hadn’t recognized him. Cristina wouldn’t betray him, he could be sure of that. Besides, she could run rings round her father, who adored her. And even if he did find out, Ezio reflected, he wouldn’t be a bad match. His father ran one of the biggest banking houses in town, and one day it might be bigger than that of the Pazzi or even – who knew? – of the Medici.
Using back streets, he made his way home. The first to meet him was Federico, who looked at him gravely and shook his head ominously. ‘You’re in for it now,’ he said. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
2
The office of Giovanni Auditore was on the first floor, and overlooked the gardens behind the palazzo through two sets of double windows which opened on to one broad balcony. The room was panelled in dark, scrolled oak, whose severity was scarcely mitigated by the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling. Two desks faced each other in the room, the larger of which belonged to Giovanni, and the walls were lined with bookcases stuffed with ledgers and parchment scrolls from which heavy red seals dangled. The room was designed to say to any visitor: here you will find opulence, respectability and trust. As head of the Auditore International Bank, which specialized in loans to the kingdoms of Germania within what was notionally at least a Holy Roman Empire, Giovanni Auditore was well aware of the weighty and responsible position he held. He hoped his two older sons would make haste to come to their senses and help him shoulder the burdens he had inherited from his own father, but he could see no sign of that yet. Nevertheless…
He glowered across the room at his middle son from his seat at his desk. Ezio stood near the other desk, vacated by Giovanni’s secretary to give father and son the privacy they required for what Ezio feared would be a very painful interview. It was now early afternoon. He’d been dreading the summons all morning, though he’d also used the time to snatch a couple of hours of necessary sleep and smarten himself up. He guessed his father had wanted to give him those opportunities before carpeting him.
‘Do you think me blind and deaf, my son?’ Giovanni was thundering. ‘Do you think I haven’t heard all about the fight with Vieri de’ Pazzi and his lot down by the bridge last night? Sometimes, Ezio, I think you’re not much better than he is, and the Pazzi make for dangerous enemies.’ Ezio was about to speak, but his father held up a cautionary hand. ‘Kindly allow me to finish!’ He took a breath. ‘And as if that weren’t bad enough, you take it upon yourself to chase after Cristina Calfucci, the daughter of one of the most successful merchants in all Tuscany, and, not content with that, to tumble her in her own bed! It’s intolerable! Don’t you consider our family’s reputation at all?’ He paused, and Ezio was surprised to see the ghost of a twinkle in his eye. ‘You do realize what all this means, don’t you?’ continued Giovanni. ‘You do realize who you remind me of, don’t you?’
Ezio bowed his head, but then he was surprised when his father got up, crossed the room to him and put an arm round his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.
‘You little devil! You remind me of myself when I was your age!’ But Giovanni immediately became grave again. ‘Don’t think, however, that I wouldn’t punish you without mercy if I didn’t have sore need of you here. If I didn’t, mark my words, I’d send you off to your Uncle Mario and get him to recruit you into his condottieri squadron. That’d knock some sense into you! But I have to count on you, and although you don’t seem to have the brains to see it, we’re passing through a crucial time in our city. How’s your head feeling? I see you’ve taken the bandage off.’
‘Much better, father.’
‘So I assume nothing’s going to interfere with the work I have lined up for you for the rest of the day?’
‘I promise you, Father.’
‘It’s a promise you’d better keep.’ Giovanni returned to his desk and, from a compartment, drew a letter bearing his own seal and passed it to his son, together with two parchment documents in a leather case. ‘I want you to deliver these to Lorenzo de’ Medici at his bank without any delay.’
‘May I ask what it concerns, Father?’
‘As for the documents, you may not. But it’d be as well for you to know that the letter brings Lorenzo up to date on our dealings with Milan. I spent all this morning preparing it. This must go no farther, but if I don’t give you my trust, you’ll never learn responsibility. There’s a rumour of a plot against Duke Galeazzo – a nasty piece of work, I grant you, but Florence can’t afford to have Milan destabilized.’
‘Who’s involved?’
Giovanni looked at his son narrowly: ‘They say the principal conspirators are Giovanni Lampugnani, Gerolamo Olgiati and Carlo Visconti; but it looks as if our own dear Francesco de’ Pazzi is involved as well, and above all, there’s a plan afoot which seems to encompass more than just the politics of two city-states. The Gonfaloniere here has taken Francesco into custody for the moment but the Pazzi won’t like that at all.’ Giovanni stopped himself. ‘There. I’ve already told you far too much. Make sure this gets to Lorenzo quickly – I’ve heard he’s leaving for Careggi very soon to take some country air, and while the cat’s away…’
‘I’ll get it there as fast as possible.’
‘Good boy. Go now!’
Ezio set off on his own, using the back streets as far as possible, never thinking that Vieri might still be out looking for him. But suddenly, in a quiet street within minutes of the Medici Bank, there he stood, blocking Ezio’s path. Trying to double back, Ezio found more of Vieri’s men blocking his retreat. He turned again. ‘Sorry, my little piglet,’ he shouted at Vieri, ‘but I simply don’t have time to give you another drubbing now.’