Page 46 of The Medici Return

The pageantry would go on for another two hours.

No time for him to stay and watch.

He hustled along, elbowing his way through the thick throngs.

The cathedral sat on the highest point in town, on the site where a temple to Minerva once stood. Started in 1229 the Sienese wanted to build the grandest church in the world, but it eventually became only a fraction of what it was supposed to be. Outside was a magnificent striped marble façade, topped by a huge dome and a massive bell tower that could be seen from all over the city.

Why was it never completed?

History noted that a devastating outburst of black plague killed a huge percentage of the population and made it tough to find workers. But constantly battling its archenemy Florence had been the main factor, draining resources. He’d often thought that if Siena had won the Battle of Marciano and never fallen to their Florentine rivals, they may have possibly built one of the greatest cities in all of Italy.

But perhaps they had still managed to do just that.

He crossed the street and climbed the stone steps to the cathedral’s main doors. The parade was headed this way and would culminate out in front. Before all that arrived he paid his admission fee and entered. He could have shown his Vatican identification, which would have granted him free entrance, but he knew not to draw attention to himself.

Inside, the crowded nave was striking with its zebra-striped black-and-white walls, the colors in the Siena coat of arms. A forest of clustered columns reached to ceiling vaults painted a deep blue and sprinkled with golden stars.

He turned right and headed for an open portal, stepping over a chain that said NO ADMITTANCEand climbing a steep set of stone risers. At the top, before a stone balustrade, stood Cardinal Ascolani, dressed in nondescript street clothes, admiring the people below.

He walked over.

“I have always found this cathedral so intriguing,” Ascolani said in a low voice. “Such an array of color and style. But the busts are my favorite.”

Projecting from above the arches around the nave were the terra-cotta heads of the first 172 popes.

Ascolani pointed. “The head labeled Hadrian I. See how young and unlike the others he appears?”

He agreed. There were physical differences.

“Some say that is really Pope Joan. Hadrian lived at the time when a woman might have managed to disguise herself and become pope.”

“That is a legend,” he had to say.

“Is it? For me it is more a mystery.”

And he saw that Ascolani liked the dichotomy.

“Your men following Cardinal Richter say he and the American are at a horse farm, outside of town.”

News to him, as no report had come his way.

“It is owned by Camilla Baines. Do you know her?” Ascolani asked.

He shook his head.

“A rich and powerful woman,” Ascolani said. “She’s thecapitanofor the Golden Oakcontrada. Interestingly, she is there and not here, in town, in the parade, leading hercontrada.”

Which was tradition, he knew.

“They drove straight there,” Ascolani said, his attention still on the crowds below. “Stamm sent them. No question. We need to know why.”

He waited for more.

“Do you recall what I said about Miguel Ghislieri, when he was sent into exile in 1559. Banished by Pius IV.”

He nodded.

“Nobody knows how many records Ghislieri took with him.”

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