Stefano Vignaroli - The Bronze Crown

«The recently appointed Pope, Adriano VI, is a puppet, a puppet in the hands of the ecclesiastical oligarchy, who made it possible to wipe out the House of Medici, who were taking too much power, even in Rome. I don’t think it will last long, before Giulio de’ Medici devises something to take him out and take back the reins of the Ecclesiastical State. So we must seize the moment before it’s too late. Early tomorrow morning, Andrea, you will leave for Pesaro, where you will take command of a garrison of Sigismondo Malatesta’s army. You will lead this garrison towards Urbino, while the Malatesta will reach the same city from the North with the rest of his army, through the Montefeltro territories. You will grip Urbino in a vice, from the north and the south, and both the Medici occupying Montefeltro and Count Boschetti, who governs Urbino on behalf of the Holy See, will have no escape. You, Gesualdo, will accompany Andrea as far as Pesaro. The road is long and risky, and you know the best ways to go. You will make sure that Andrea arrives at his destination as soon as possible. Then you’ll come straight back. Whether he knows that for some reason, valid or not, you followed Andrea into battle. In four days I want you back here in the castle, or else...», and two fingers crawled through the skin of his neck, simulating what a knife blade pressed against his jugular would do.

Even trying with himself not to admit it, Andrea had noticed a light of betrayal shining in the Duke’s eyes as he spoke. He had never trusted him, and now even less so. When he and Gesualdo were dismissed and, on their way out, they met two ugly thugs, who had never seen each other at court before, Andrea’s fears were even more pronounced. Fortunately, The Mancino, in whom he had blind faith, in the hours and days to come, would be at his side to defend him at the cost of his own life.

«Who do you think those two are, Gesualdo? Assassins, perhaps? Cutthroat?»

«I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve seen them. But their faces don’t inspire anything good. But let’s not talk about that here. Come on, let’s go pick out the horses for the morning. We can talk quietly in the stables.»

When Matthew and Amilcare were inside the hall, the Duke had the door bolted, then clapped his hands. Immediately some handmaids, dressed in colourful clothes, with transparencies that highlighted all their feminine graces, reached the hall through a back door and began to dance to a melody played by invisible musicians, hidden who knows where. Berengario was over sixty and, in his life, he had had three wives, all disappeared at a young age and in mysterious circumstances. Someone, at court, whispered that he himself had had them killed, once they had bored him. He had always been a lustful, as well as a lover of the delights of the table, so much so that he had doubts as to which circle of hell he would end up in after his death. But little mattered. The important thing was to enjoy the pleasures that life offered him while he could. And from that point of view, in private, he didn’t want to miss anything. He reached out to one of the handmaids, the one wearing a bright red tunic, and ripped it off her, leaving her completely naked. The girl already knew what she had to do, and she was well aware that, if she did not perform her task properly, the next day her lifeless body would be found in the middle of the woods by some hunter. She approached the Duke and pulled down his stockings. Then she took the member in her hands until it was swollen, lowered her prosperous breasts down her lord’s belly, trying to excite him more and more. Only when she felt the man about to explode, she turned over and allowed herself to be sodomized. In the end, the Duke drove out a satisfied cry of pleasure and, as a reward, slipped a gold coin into the dimple between the young woman’s breasts, who was able to hold it without letting it fall to the ground.

«Come on, my dear guests! There’s food and women for everyone in here. Bring it on. It’s on me, and I’m generous today. And at the end, we’ll talk business, too.»

The stables of the castle of Massignano could hold more than a hundred horses, but there were about thirty at the moment. Leaving aside the quieter and more docile mares, The Mancino drove Andrea to the area where a few brick compartments had been built, where the fiercest steeds were locked up to prevent them from getting nervous just by seeing each other.

«Stallions are harder to assemble, but they give much more satisfaction. They are much quicker and can shoot at the enemy, not giving a damn about the arrows hissing near their ears. And even if you weigh them down with trappings, their performance is very little reduced. Here it is», said Gesuald, opening the door of a shelter, where a black horse whined nervously at the sight of the newcomers. «Ruffo is my favorite. He is a Murgese, a horse from Puglia, where horses were once bred for the Emperor Frederick II of Swabia and his family.»

Andrea appreciated the beautiful shapes of the steed, then lowered his eyes to study its legs and hooves.

«You can see that it’s not a horse bred in green and humid plains, but on the arid and stony hills of the Murgia. We love to remember Frederick II in Jesi, because it is the city where he was born, and I had the opportunity to have in my hands his treatise “De arte venandi cum avibus”, where he describes how these were horses suitable for falconry, because, unlike others, the Murgese is not afraid of hawks or eagles flying around him, especially when they swoop down to return to the gloved arm of the master...»

Their speeches were interrupted by hearing voices indicating the presence of other people. The Mancino signalled to Andrea to be silent and to remain hidden, cowering near Ruffo and approaching the wooden door of the shelter without closing it completely. The two thugs just crossed paths in the rooms upstairs had perhaps had the same idea, that of coming to choose the horses for the next day. Convinced that there was no one in the stables, they spoke quite loudly, so that it was easy to hear them talking. A lump went up to Andrea’s throat when the guys stopped right in front of the half-closed door of Ruffo’s shelter. The idea of being discovered in there and having to face them weren’t much liking to him, also because both he and Gesualdo were unarmed.

Luckily, the two of them moved on.

«It’s better not to risk riding stallions we don’t know about», said the older, uglier one, a guy with a pockmarked face framed by a shaved beard. «Let’s get two young geldings, instead. We have the advantage of the night anyway. We’ll reach the Montignano Tower at our leisure and have plenty of time to prepare for the ambush. It will be a quick and easy job and the Duke will reward us well.»

The other one accompanied the last words said by his friend with a loud and fat laugh. Under the incredulous eyes of Andrea and Gesualdo, who continued to remain well hidden, threw their miserable saddlebags on the first two horses that came into their sights, jumped on the animals’ backs and disappeared in the darkness of the night, leaving behind them the wake of their loud laughter and their pestilential smell.

Culture is what most people get,

many transmit and few have.

(Karl Kraus)

That morning, too, Lucia woke up, with the first rays of the sun filtering through the shutter, in Andrea’s comforting arms. Her naked body, saturated of love, of the love given and received during the night, was protected by the strong and muscular arms of her beloved, which enclosed him like a shell. She had known Andrea for such a short time and yet she was so in love with him that she could no longer conceive her life without him. If at that moment she had woken up on a bed alone, she would already have found herself with a lit cigarette between her fingers, even before she got up. But now she didn’t, now Andrea was there to satisfy her, and nothing else was needed. She had discovered in him a man who was passionate about culture, history, ancient and modern literature, and this made that young man the ideal companion for her, with whom to share interests and passions, beyond the home and the bed. She had asked him more than once what kind of work he did and he had always answered evasively: the anthropologist, the archaeologist, the geologist. In short, she had not yet understood exactly what his source of financial support was. In order to be a researcher, as he defined himself, he had to have support, to be a scholarship holder in some university at least, Italian or foreign. Or have funding from some important private organization interested in his studies. You knew very well how difficult it was to carry out research with the limited funds made available by the government and the Ministry of University and Research. It seemed as if Andrea had enough money to do whatever was on his mind. But perhaps he was supported by the wealth of his family of origin. Who knows, maybe the Franciolini family, over time, had managed to administer their assets in a more effective and productive way than the Baldeschi-Balleani. But what did it matter? Now she still enjoyed the warmth of skin-to-skin contact, contrasted by the coolness of the sheets that partly covered their bodies. Outside soon the sun would hit hard, but the thick walls of the ancient Palazzo Franciolini kept the environment cool even in the middle of summer, without the need to install any air conditioning splits.