Page 66 of The Medici Return

Stamm smiled. “We are about to find out.”

CHAPTER 44

Because of the great obstacles that life has placed before me, I must do by writing what I have not allowed myself to do face-to-face. The extreme sadness at the bitter loss of my dear husband made me feel overwhelmed. It is only with difficulty that I can still breathe. Love was not something I thought obtainable for a second time, but he brought me the greatest of joy. I did not believe at the time of his death, nor so do I believe such now, that his demise happened by chance. Instead it is my belief that he was assassinated. That belief is bolstered by the fact that my brother was aware of my marriage. I was told this by someone close to him. He holds me responsible for the miserable marriage he has long endured. Of course that ignores his excessive drinking, overindulgences, and the many vices that plague his existence. The death of my husband cut through my heart and soul. There was in this world no good equal to him. Beginning from his infancy, by those who raised him and who saw signs in him that foretold of his invincible and great mind, he did everything gloriously until the end.

So why then did I decide not to keep and raise our son as my own. First and foremost was the vengeful nature of my brother. Never would he have allowed me that happiness. Then there is the current hostile political world in which welive. I dared to love a Pazzi. Even worse, I birthed a son, half Medici, half Pazzi. His safety, his life, is most important. So I sought out a suitable family who may be willing to raise my child as their own. I have no words to express how greatly indebted to you both I am for taking the responsibility for that I cannot assume. This failure on my part is the greatest disappointment of my life, but there is simply no other choice. It is to the benefit of our duchy, my family, and to the private worth and health of my son that he be raised in obscurity. God has placed many burdens upon my shoulders. To be born a Medici is not only a blessing but a curse. Once we were proud and distinguished, possessed of power and influence. Now we are but an illusion. A shadow without form that only lingers through the bright light of others. It is better that I do not pass on to him those burdens. Please know that my son was conceived in the deepest of love and in the eyes of God. My dear Raffaello and I were married by the bishop at Santa Croce, in secret. We deeply cared for one another and, if not for his untimely demise, things would have been different. We would have raised our son together. My father had wanted me to succeed my brother and rule the duchy. But others had differing ideas. If that had occurred things may have been different for both myself and my son, yet that was not allowed to happen. By the grace of God the sole decision of whether this family continues or not has fallen to me. I could claim my son, reveal my marriage, and make him heir to the Medici throne. But I have chosen another path, one that ensures the end will come. My son being surely of an easy and kind nature, I pray that he be sent along his governance route with a life that is full and happy. Sadly, he would have never found peace in the world in which I exist.

I am told you are both the finest of people, the most loyal of subjects, and the most devoted to God. So many happy memories fill my heart. My husband was the best of men, andbringing his son into the world was my great honor. Such a shame that he never lived to see his son. I shall leave the vendettas to my enemies, as they will surely deserve their sins. My most fervent wish is that none of them will ever find their way to you. My son, your son, deserves a life free of greed, arrogance, pettiness, and hate. Please kiss him on my behalf and may the Lord keep you and him forever safe and happy.

Eric was amazed.

The writing was penned in the Florentine style and signed in the formal hand of Anna Maria Luisa de’ Medici, precisely how she signed all of her documents. It would not be difficult to have the handwriting authenticated. The archives at the Pitti Palace in Florence contained a multitude of Medici writings. He’d visited there before and seen correspondence signed by Anna Maria.

He’d found the writing exactly where his grandmother had said, inside an oak chest, the hinges and catch a dull brass that barely showed against the rich color of the scarred wood. The chest had sat in his grandmother’s room for many years, but he’d never looked inside. The letter had been tucked into a plastic sleeve, the sheet of vellum dark and fragile, the ink fading.

It seemed to confirm that a marriage occurredby the bishop at Santa Croce, in secret. That was far more than Anna Maria merelysayingthat a marriage occurred. The records for the basilica would have to be searched, and hopefully ones that far back still existed. He wondered why no one else had discovered any entry before, as the Medici had been extensively studied for centuries. But Santa Croce was not noted as one of their domains. Quite the contrary. Santa Croce was far more associated with the Pazzis.

He had so many questions.

How had his grandmother managed to obtain such a valuable historical document? Its provenance had to be impeccable. What he was about to do would invite the closest of scrutiny. Nothingcould be open to question. The ultimate conclusion had to be unmistakable.

“Eric.”

His grandmother calling out. He’d thought her down for the night. He stood and walked into her room. Her frail body lay beneath a blanket, the room unlit.

“Did you read it?” she asked.

“I did. Several times.”

“She carried great pain. But she was strong.”

“Were you being truthful earlier when you said you did not know where Raffaello de’ Pazzi is buried?”

No answer.

So he decided to return to the subject he’d not fully explored earlier. In order to convince the church and the world of his family lineage, he would have to be able to answer all of the questions. At the top of that list would be an explanation as to why Anna Maria bequeathed all the Medici wealth to Florence when she supposedly had a legitimate male heir. So he posed that inquiry to his grandmother.

“She was fed up. Sick and tired of dukes, kings, popes, and emperors. Her father wanted her to be grand duchess, but no one would honor that wish. Men just took it all from her. When Raffaello de’ Pazzi died she was devastated. Two husbands she’d lost. And she firmly believed that Raffaello was murdered by her brother. So she made a hard choice and decided to not reveal her marriage or the child. Instead, she gave the boy away so he could grow up in peace. Then years later she gave everything the Medici owned away too.”

“A bit cold and hard, wasn’t it?”

“Not for her time. Women had little power or say. And Medici and Pazzi never mingled. They kept their distance. She broke a family rule and loved a Pazzi. But she was a rebel. She had spirit. Who knows what she would have done if Raffaello had not been killed.”

“But once her father and brother were gone, she inherited everything. She was the last Medici standing. Why not reclaim her son and give it to him?”

“By then the world had tired of Medicis. Emperors and popes wanted them gone. There was no way she would be able to retain the duchy. Her son was a man when she died. Twenty years old. But she did not forget him.”

That was intriguing. “What do you mean?”

“The only loose end was the pledge. That she did leave for her son to find and collect.”

“She had the pledge?”

“She hid it away.”

He’d grossly misjudged his grandmother, now realizing that she had not been imagining things. But he wanted to know, “Why did not you, my father, your father, or his father, go after the pledge?”

“None of them ever grasped the significance. I was the first one in our family to be able to read. Your father never cared for the stories. He thought them nonsense. So I stopped telling them to him. You, though, were different. You listened. For a while.”

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