Michael White - The Medici secret

The monk fell back using Tommasini as a shield. But the Florentine was prepared, all senses heightened. Before the raider could land a blow, Tommasini thrust his sword forward. Side-stepping the crumbling body, Tommasini lost his sword, but had the presence of mind to grab the dead man's weapon.

Downstairs, Father Daron fumbled for the key and finally managed to unlock the door. He slammed it shut behind them and the pair found themselves in a chill blackness.

Feeling their way along the passageway they made for a faint light, and in moments they were back in the circular chamber.

Tommasini watched as the monk's fingers darted across the surface of the crystal box. A panel slid open. Father Daron reached in and gingerly grabbed hold of the vial. Behind them, they could hear the door being beaten down.

'Quick! You must take this.' Father Daron pressed the glass cylinder into Tommasini's hands. For a second, Ambrogio allowed himself the luxury of studying the object in the fading light, marvelling once more at the intensity of its colour, the heaviness of the liquid in the tube. Images from the past flashed through his mind. The hands of the saintly Jacob holding this very object, this miraculous thing. There was the sound of boots on stone.

'I shall place myself in the hands of the Lord' Father Daron said. 'You must escape.' The monk handed Tommasini one of the wall torches and pushed him roughly towards the far side of the room, where he pulled aside a rug that lay on the floor. There was a faint outline of a door in the stone. The monk plucked a key from his pocket and inserted it into a tiny aperture. Tommasini helped him lift the lid. A ladder disappeared into darkness. Tommasini climbed on to the top rung as three men charged into the chamber. The monk pushed his head down and the Florentine almost lost his grip. The door crashed down over him.

Tommasini found himself in a tunnel barely head height and no more than a few inches wider than his shoulders. Stumbling towards a fork in the tunnel, he took the left branch out of pure instinct. His breathing was laboured in the fetid air and sweat ran down his body. Trying to still his pounding heart, he listened for sounds of pursuit. It was impossible to detect anything above the roar of fire, explosions and crashing masonry. He pushed on down another tunnel. He had only intuition to guide him. After thirty paces, he turned a corner and saw a solid wall of rock ahead of him. He had reached a dead-end.

Another explosion directly overhead shook the walls and part of the ceiling started to collapse. Pieces of stone and tile cascaded down and a large chunk of rock almost knocked Tommasini over. He kept his balance, but his torch was snuffed out. With his left hand, he felt inside his tunic to make sure the vial was intact, then, clutching his sword, he shuffled slowly towards a tiny chink of light. 'I must save as much of the library as I can,' Cosimo whispered. 'It is what we came here for. We cannot leave everything to be totally destroyed by this Stasanor.' Contessina gripped his hand.

'Across the courtyard,' Cosimo insisted and pointed to a door in the far wall.

To their right stood a chicken coop and next to that a well-stocked vegetable garden dissected by a narrow path. To their left, an open door led into an empty laundry. Contessina almost tripped over the body of a man in a black leather tunic. She snatched up his sword, whirling round as Niccold Niccoli, armed now with a broadsword, came stumbling backwards towards them trying to fight off two men.

Contessina sprang forward to help. The bandit swung at her with his mace. It missed her head by an inch. The man was inexperienced with the weapon and slow to regain his balance. With lightning speed, Contessina slashed her assailant from neck to groin. Plucking the mace from the dirt, she tossed it towards Cosimo. Niccoli's assailant was distracted momentarily and Niccoli lunged forward driving hard steel into his mouth. The blade emerged through the back of the bandit's neck just below the base of his cranium. Niccoli left it there and they ran towards the door on the far side of the courtyard.

Niccoli gripped the handle and cautiously eased the door open. Another short, narrow passageway led to a flight of stairs. The door to the library stood on the right. It was locked and bolted.

Cosimo took a violent swing with his mace, and the lock splintered with the force of the blow. A torch was hanging just inside. From his pocket, Niccoli withdrew a small flint and ignition iron in an ebony box. Flicking the iron over the flint, he produced a spark that lit a knuckle of kindling. He dipped the oil-soaked torch on to the tiny flame and it caught immediately. Many of the shelves in the library were already bare. Cosimo rushed forward into the adjoining room. The floor space was covered with crates, some piled three high. The abbot had only that evening begun making safe some of the monastery's most precious items to be stored in a maze of catacombs beneath the building. Almost all of the crates were strapped with narrow ropes, some were sealed with wire and a heavy waxy material. Two baskets stood beside the boxes. One was filled with goblets, plate and assorted silverware; the other contained a pile of religious icons, paintings on wooden boards, gold and silver crucifixes, chalices and incense holders on chains still exuding pungent odours.

Cosimo removed the lid from the nearest crate, carefully lifting the papers closest to hand. He opened a dusty cover, blew across the front page and read the Greek lettering. It was a manual for aqueduct designers written by one Umenicles. He picked up a frayed parchment with amber burn marks running across it.

'This is in the hand of Herodotus himself,' he said, barely able to believe his eyes. The next volume contained pages of geometric diagrams and mathematical formulae. It was a work by a Greek disciple of Euclid.

'My heart bleeds looking at these wonders,' Contessina sighed. 'What can we do?' 'I suggest we make haste,' Niccoli muttered.

But Cosimo was in another world. He felt both sick inside and elated. It was almost too much to comprehend. 'What can we do?' he said at last. 'Not much, I fear.'

'Niccolo, we cannot leave these books; how can we possibly choose?'

Contessina crouched down and placed a gentle hand on Cosimo's shoulder, but it was too late. The marauders were already on their way. Their shouts echoed down the passageway. 'Quick!' Contessina hissed and grabbed Cosimo.

'We must save what we can!' Cosimo pressed a handful of precious texts into Contessina's arms, then began to stuff what he could into his pockets and under his belt. Niccoli scooped up a couple of scrolls, then yanked Cosimo behind the tallest pile of crates. A moment later, two of Stasanor's bandits rushed into the room.

Before they could get too close, Niccoli and Contessina sprang from their hiding place. Niccoli had the torch in one hand and his sword in the other. His torch made a fiery arc in the air. It seared one of the men across the face and he screamed. Then thrusting forward, Niccoli found the bandit's throat with his sword and slit it open with a single movement. Blood sprayed in a great plume and the man sank to his knees clawing at his neck. Contessina was quick to reach the other guard. Surprise gave her a distinct advantage. Her startled opponent barely had time to parry her first blow before she had slipped under his guard. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Out in the passageway they could hear more voices approaching. Niccoli extinguished his torch. Falling back into the shadows, they held their breath. Two more intruders ran past them into the storeroom, emerging a few seconds later. They did not spot the three Florentines pressed into a dark recess. 'What now?' said Contessina. 'Follow me.' Niccoli checked the corridor and slid away.