Page 67 of The Medici Return

“I am listening now.”

“Also, there was no way then to prove we were Medici. So what good would it have done to produce the pledge? You are the first of Gregorio Cappello’s heirs to be able to prove that our bloodline is true.”

But there were still two problems. “I have to locate the pledge.”

“Go back and look in the chest. There is a false bottom.”

He fled the bedroom and re-found the oak chest.

Inside were clothes, photographs, and a few other family items. Anna Maria’s note had been lying among those memories. He removed everything and carefully examined the interior. The three panels of the bottom seemed solid, but the left one slid a few millimeters, enough that it could be lifted free revealing a compartment beneath. Inside was a flat ornate wooden box with writing etched into the top.MEMORARE NOVISSIMA QUOD SUM ERITIS MIHI HODIE TIBI CRAS.He found his phone and typed the words into a translating site, which revealed the message. “Remember about the ultimate matters. Who I am, you will be. What I will face today, you will face tomorrow.”

Interesting words.

He lifted the lid and saw eight small leather-bound books. He removed one, opening it to see page after page of writing in the same feminine script from Anna Maria’s note to the adoptive parents. Diaries? Maybe. He removed the volumes and walked back to his grandmother.

“Anna Maria wrote her important thoughts down,” she said. “She wanted her son to know who and what she was. All you seek is there.”

Proof enough?

He had to admit.

It could be.

CHAPTER 45

SIENA, ITALY

WEDNESDAY, JULY2

6:45P.M.

COTTON FOLLOWED THE OTHER JOCKEYS INSIDE THEPALAZZOPubblico. He’d spent the day with the Golden Oak’s horse, trying to develop something of a rapport with the animal.

“There are three types of horses,” his grandfather said. “A gelding, a neutered male. Real cooperative and friendly. A stallion. A fearless male who can do almost anything. Then there are mares. Everything has to be a suggestion to her, since she will do whatever she wants. But the most difficult of all is the chestnut mare. A hardheaded animal, bred to be cantankerous. A real powerhouse.”

Golden Oak drew a chestnut mare with the unlikely name of Leone.

The groomer had recommended he talk to the animal in Italian and call her by name. Luckily, thanks to his eidetic memory, languages were easy for him, Italian being one of several he spoke. So he’d talked to Leone and was rewarded by a flare of the nostrils and a desire to smell her new friend.

“A horse’s way of saying hello.”

Last night he’d roamed the streets and tried for over an hour to locate the man from the train, but to no avail. He’d then attempted to make contact with Richter, but the cardinal had left a messagethat he would be back later, saying,Going to see our guardian angel. He hadn’t heard from Richter since then other than a text that said he was back in Siena and had something for him.

Earlier, inside town hall, far from the clamor of the day, the mayor, captains, and jockeys all met to go over the race rules. Each jockey was then registered. Camilla had shocked everyone when she announced their jockey would be replaced. Most of thecapitanoshad been puzzled. And for good reason. During the morning’s sixth, and final, trial heat the Sardinian had ridden Leone. But he’d noticed that the Porcupines had not seemed surprised at the change.

As if they’d known it was coming.

There’d been more pomp and circumstance through the day.

At 3:00P.M. the city bells had tolled and he’d been present in the Golden Oak chapel for the blessing of the horse. Richter had explained that animals were generally not allowed within a Catholic church, but the Vatican waived that rule for the Palio. The church itself was specially outfitted with no pews, few stairs, and large wooden doors so a horse could easily move in and out. Interestingly, the horse was blessed before the jockey, which showed which of the two was more important. After the service he’d participated in another parade through the city center, which eventually made its way to the Duomo for a spectacular flag-throwing performance.

That had definitely been a first for him.

From there he joined the other jockeys and made his way to the campo, where each was given a special riding crop. Anerbo. Made from a stretched, dried ox penis. Unusual to say the least. He’d inquired as to why such a thing had ever been created, but Camilla had no idea, telling him, “It is just the way it has always been.”

“You can use that on the other jockey,” Camilla said in a whisper. “Rules say that is about all you can do with it. It is never used on the horse. But of course, those rules do not apply to you.”

He got the message. Do whatever.

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