Page 70 of The Medici Return

JASON NOTED THE TENSION THAT HUNG HEAVY IN THE AIR. APPARENTLYall of the Palio aficionados knew what was about to happen, the excitement seemingly coming from watching the drama play out.

Like a piece of art acted out on a grand public stage.

Horse and jockey.

Contradaversuscontrada. Siena celebrating itself. Adding to that was the fact that this whole thing was extremely dangerous. Cotton Malone had guts. No question. This was not his fight, yet here he was right in the middle, getting the job done. But he supposed intelligence operatives did whatever it took.

Or at least the good ones did.

The horses were again back behind the starting rope, pacing in a circular formation. This time, though, there was definitely talking among the jockeys. Deals were being made. Alliances formed.Loyalties bought. The order was once again announced, eachcontrada’sname called one by one.

He took a moment to survey the crowd.

Shade fell across the campo in the golden light of sunset, half lit, half in shadow. People were everywhere. Every millimeter of the center filled. Hundreds more occupied bleachers that had been erected around the outer perimeter. Windows all around framed out spectators. To his left, about fifty meters away, was a group wearing white, red, blue, and black. The Porcupines. On their feet. Among them, his eye caught a face. An older man not wearing thecontradacolors.

But intensely watching the horses.

Cardinal Ascolani.

CHAPTER 47

ERIC HAD STAYED UP INTO THE EARLY HOURS OF THE MORNING READINGAnna Maria’s diaries. They were in places affectionate, full of lively incident, but also packed with compassion and insight. Sadly, almost none of the Medici family writings had survived. Most disappeared long ago. Some of the bank ledgers still existed, as did scattered correspondence, and the poetry of Lorenzo the Magnificent had long been published, but few of their personal thoughts committed to words had made it into the modern world. When the royal line extinguished in 1743 so had their memory. If not for Anna Maria’s extraordinary gift of the Medici art and possessions to Florence the family could have easily faded away to nothing.

Like the Pazzis.

But they had not.

His reading of the diaries revealed that Anna Maria was a deeply conflicted woman. She’d birthed a child at age fifty-three, which in the eighteenth century was more often than not a death sentence.

Yet she’d taken the chance.

I lapsed into exceeding sharp pain in great extremity, so that the midwife did believe I should be delivered soon. But it fell out contrary, for the child stayed in the birth with his feet firstand in this condition continued till Thursday morning between two and three a clock. By then I was upon the bed, bearing my child with such exquisite torment, as if each limb were divided from the other. Being speechless and breathless I was, by the infinite providence of God, in great mercy, delivered. I trust in the mercy of the Lord. He requiring no more than He gives and, in His infinite grace, He spared me from death, my soul was miraculously delivered.

But that joy had been quickly enveloped by a harsh reality.

She’d secretly married a Pazzi without the permission of her brother, the Duke of Tuscany. Her husband had died, leaving her alone without any visible means of support, except what her father provided. True, Cosimo III adored his daughter. But eighteenth-century Italy was a man’s world. There were no equal rights, MeToo movement, or political correctness. Occasionally a woman could rise to power. Elizabeth I of England, along with Catherine the Great of Russia, showed that it was possible. But a lot of things had to align just right for that to happen. None of which fell Anna Maria’s way.

Her father died and her brother became grand duke.

Unfortunately, years earlier Anna Maria had been involved with engineering her brother’s marriage to a German princess. Gian despised his wife and blamed Anna Maria for his misery. That, combined with his resentment over how their father had felt about her, eventually made the situation intolerable.

My brother has a body that is unpleasantly formed, whose breath seriously stinks, and has the worst constitution imaginable. He burns with arrogance and anger. He sends me fiery letters that voice his distaste and disgust for his only sister. He drinks and eats to excess and grave extravagance. We are so different. I have learned that the simpler you live the more you will be esteemed by others. My brother thinksthe opposite. I have always tried to maintain the dignity of the Medici in public. My brother will be the ruin of Tuscany but there is nothing that can be done about it. He is destined to rule, but will most likely find an early death.

History noted that just after her father died in 1723, Anna abandoned the Medici royal palace and moved to a family villa outside of Florence. She lived there until her brother died in 1737. Could she have carried on a secret love affair and birthed a child without anyone knowing?

Apparently so.

But he was still perplexed. Why give the child away?

His grandmother had been correct, however.

The diaries provided the answer.

I have twice visited with His Holiness Our Pope, Clement XII, who was most considerate, and I made him aware of my private regrets and desires. His Holiness’s response, being a citizen of Florence, was both wise and comforting. He agreed that my esteemed family has come to its natural end. At my departure from this life those who remain, not of the royal line, will surely dissolve themselves into nothing. For so long I have marked my time, waiting until matters take shape. My loving husband has been gone for sixteen years. My primary concern was then, and remains, the safety and well-being of my son. Because he now prospers as a vital young man, I am able to reduce my sorrow somewhat. Even now, these so many years later, he seems close and will always be remembered. He is called Gregorio Cappello. His first name means watchful, vigilant. I like that. Perhaps my thoughts might one day make their way to him. If so, I want him to know that I tried to temper the situation. As any mother would I want my spirit to endure, to be a good and faithful servant. But above all I do not want my son to hate me.

The reference to Medici murder was not fleeting.

In 1576 Isabella de’ Medici, daughter of Cosimo I, found herself trapped in a loveless marriage. Her husband humiliated her openly with a mistress. In response she made the mistake of taking a lover. So her husband strangled her to death and promptly married his mistress. Historians say that the husband acted under the instructions of Isabella’s brother, Grand Duke Francesco I de’ Medici, as her growing influence and popularity began to rival Francesco’s power. With the birth of Isabella’s son, concerns of a potential coup further spurred Francesco to act. Then an ironic twist occurred. Eleven years later, Francesco and his wife, Bianca Cappello, died within hours of each other. Malaria was the named cause, but many believed it to be acute arsenic poisoning. The culprit? Francesco’s brother, Cardinal Ferdinando de’ Medici, who was in danger of being excluded from the succession if Francesco’s own illegitimate son was legitimized and inherited the title of grand duke.

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