The Botticelli Secret

40
“Let us begin, as we always used to do—with the obvious,” said Brother Guido as we leaned into the painting once more. “The figure is, as we know, Botticelli, the artist himself. He wears an ocher cloak, as he did that day when he painted you. He wears a curved sword in the Turkish style, as I do now. He wears Roman sandals, as do I. He wears a pointed helmet, as do I. In short, Ludovico has modeled his army on this figure.”
“Or Botticelli has painted Mercury as one of Ludovico’s infantry.”
“Indeed. Either way, a nice little piece of military propaganda. What do we divine from this?”
I didn’t understand what he just said, so I thought it safest to recap. “That Ludovico Sforza is building himself an army with a new uniform, new weaponry, new armor—”
“And that’s not all,” Brother Guido interrupted. “He has a Tuscan engineer, some fellow from Vinci, making war machines for him—they are all here, in a huge secret chamber below the castle. Great mechanical monsters to wreak destruction. God knows upon whom.”
“All right. He’s building himself an army of men and machines.”
“Not himself an army, the Seven’s army. Just as the Seven now have new coinage, they have a navy—the fleet of the Muda from Pisa and their sister fleet in Naples. Naples also provided the meat and drink of alliance, a marriage. Semiramide Appiani not only unites the houses of Naples and Florence, but she brings her father’s lead mines as a marriage prize, a metal crucial for the waging of a war. The Seven also have papal blessing—the backing of the church for their enterprise. Each city represented in the painting we have visited has contributed something. Venice has given her expertise in coinage, and Bolzano has the silver to make those coins.”
“Doesn’t seem like Venice brought much to the party.”
“No. But they also gave a priceless treasure.”
“What’s that?”
“Not what. Who. You.” He smiled. “We should not forget there is another marriage alliance in the case. With the doge’s daughter allied to Pisa and the Seven, trade—the lifeblood of a city-state—is assured. Venice is the gateway to the Black Sea and all points east, and the Mocenigo family, even when the doge’s office is ended, is crucial to Venice’s shipping monopolies and trade routes. You, and you alone, secure them.”
My mind boggled. I could not yet think of myself in these terms. It didn’t help, of course, that I was currently sitting in a cold cell no bigger than a privy, which smelled like one too. “What about Florence?”
“Lorenzo de’ Medici is the mastermind of all—’tis his head upon the coin. And crucially—he has the Medici bank. He will underwrite the whole operation, whatever it is; he will move money between branches using his new giro system. And now, as we know, Milan is to provide an army.”
“All right. So, now that we’re here, and we see all the soldiers dressed like Mercury, it’s obvious that Mercury is Milan. But you must have known before, for you asked me when we met in Venice to meet you here. How did you know then that Mercury was Milan?”
“Simple. The snakes.”
“Snakes?”
“On his caduceus.”
“His what-eus?”
He pointed to Mercury’s right arm, extended up to the sky. “What’s he doing here.”
“He’s stirring the clouds with a stick.”
“Look closer. At the rod he’s using to stir the clouds and bring the spring. Look, two snakes entwined upon the rod, poised to strike.”
“So?”
“Snakes are the symbol of the Sforza family—the rulers of Milan. Snakes are everywhere—on our armor, look”—he pointed to his breastplate—“walls, banners, tapestries. Even the seal of il Moro, which all those in his service carry so we may do his bidding without stay or prevention, depicts the Sforza serpent. See.” He held out a little plaque, fashioned from red clay, with the snake squirming atop. “Everywhere.”
The snake above the gate house as I’d entered the castle. “So the snake tells us which city. But there must be more. How about this map that we still haven’t found? There must be a clue here if only we could see it. So what else?”
“Well, how about the details now. He has got tiny flames on his cloak . . .”
“And tiny white flowers growing around his boot . . .” We were back in our old rhythm.
“Cress, crescione or Cardamine hirsuta. I saw some in the her-barium.”
“We’re missing something. What’s he trying to tell us?”
“Pisa is looking at him,” I ventured.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed.
“Really?”
“Not who is looking at him,” he clarified. “Where is he looking?”
“Up at the whatd’ye call it.”
“Caduceus. Exactly.”
“So we’re back to the snakes again. Milan. Well, we’re in Milan. The map’s in Milan. Great. It’s hopeless.” I slumped back on my straw.
There was a silence. Then, “Not hopeless,” began Brother Guido slowly. “Look. Botticelli is the model for this figure. Why? He must hold the key; he must be an important figure; he must hold the answer. And,” he added with sudden vigor, “we are so busy identifying this figure with Botticelli that we are forgetting who he represents. Mercury. The messenger of the gods. He has a message for us; we just need to divine what it is.” He scrutinized the figure again. “I think he is telling us to do what he does, see what he sees. He’s even using a pointer. He could not be clearer.”
“So we’re to look up at the clouds.” I was skeptical.
“Perhaps. No, no, wait. We are not being told to look up at the clouds. We are being told to look up at a snake. Where may we do that?” he mused.
I sat up abruptly, for I had the answer. “The gate house.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The clock tower. Of this very castle. As you come into the castle, there’s a huge stone snake, just like that”—I pointed to the caduceus—“above the gates.”
“The Torre del Filarete. You are right! I have marched beneath it every day now for a month! I have been blind!” He leaped to his feet once more, full of pent excitement, as I knew him of old.
I got up too. “Never mind all that. If we’re to look up at a snake, let’s go and do it.”
“Now?”
“The guards change every two hours. Believe me, I know. You’ve been here, what, an hour, say? Compline has just rung. We have another hour—let’s go and look!”
His blue eyes burned. “Very well. Get your cloak, and bring that mask too.”