“I am fortunate to call this good lady my wife,” Gabriele said.
Signoretti raised one eyebrow. “Indeed you are. Now, let us put pleasantries aside, for I am certain that it is not to announce your betrothal that you have sought me out. Will you sit?”
Behind his enormous desk, Signoretti looked as if he were in a fortress, while Gabriele and I huddled unprotected on stools outside the fortified walls. Gabriele spoke first.
“Let me begin by saying that I do not begrudge your honest testimony at my trial, Ser Signoretti. I am a free man now, with the law on my side. We may put the matter of the trial behind us.” Bold move, I thought, but it seemed to have dealt with the huge gorilla in the room effectively.
Signoretti nodded once. “I am happy to see justice served. Is this the reason for your visit? If so, good day, and enjoy your well-deserved freedom.”
Not yet Signoretti; we’ve got more for you. “Thank you for your wishes on my husband’s behalf; I am glad to see no animosity remains between us. But there is another reason we’ve come. We are looking for a Florentine gentleman, a Ser Iacopo de’ Medici. Perhaps your wide-ranging business interests put you in a position to know his whereabouts?”
There was a long, awful silence. As we sat there, I realized how ridiculous it was, that Gabriele and I, powerless and totally unimportant, might expect this nobleman to worry about anything we had to say. In fact, we were probably risking our lives—he could easily wipe us both out for making trouble. I saw him reach for the bell on his desk to call his servant; now we were either going to be dismissed, or worse. I searched my mind for a backup strategy, ideally one that would get each of us out of his palazzo in one piece. My brilliant idea came just in time.
“I’m sure you know Suor Umiltà?” Signoretti’s hand withdrew from the bell and returned to his lap.
“Indeed, I am well acquainted with the good sister,” he said carefully.
“She is also looking for Iacopo de’Medici. In fact . . . she sent us here to ask for your help. And she has your best interests in mind . . . yours as well as ours.”
It looked like the lie was working, because Signoretti’s bell hand stayed down. “Suor Umiltà is involved in the matter?”
“Quite involved.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for my words to sink in.
After another agonizingly long silence, Signoretti spoke, his voice low. “And if I should have dealings with this Iacopo de’ Medici, why might you seek him out at such an unusual hour? Surely a routine business matter could wait.”
I looked at Gabriele, and he gave a small acquiescent nod. “Ser de’Medici sent a killer to our house last night, whose deadly aim was, fortunately, foiled. From the would-be killer’s confession, we learned of his master’s intent. I mean in no way to implicate you in this crime, but I hoped that you might have information that could lead us to him. Our lives, we believe, depend upon it.”
“And may I ask what had led you to hope for such information from me? Other than my ‘wide-ranging business interests,’ of course.” He was being careful, I saw, not to give us any information, while acquiring as much as he could.
“Perhaps you have had business with this man without realizing his criminal intent,” Gabriele began, “but as I was leaving your chapel late, on the fateful night about which you testified, I saw two men leaving your palazzo. Only moments later, those two men, it appears, were stopped by Cristoforo Buonaventura, an act which hastened his departure from this world.” Gabriele was treading carefully through a minefield here—somehow not directly accusing Signoretti of perjury, harboring a criminal, maybe even conspiring with one. “In the event, perhaps, that you were deciding whether to continue to do business with the young Medici, in the aftermath of his father’s death, I hope this information will help your decision. And if, in return, you might be able to inform us of his whereabouts, we would be in your debt.”
My heartbeat sounded like a drum in my ears. “It seems,” Signoretti said after another long, tense silence, “that if I should be in a position to encounter Iacopo de’ Medici in the future, it might be wise to avoid further entanglement. Do I take your meaning well?”
“Wise, indeed,” Gabriele said.
“Your information is well received. But, I am afraid, I have no knowledge of the man’s whereabouts. I wish you God’s help with your search.” With that, Signoretti bowed to signal the end of our meeting, and called his servant to usher us out.
“He didn’t exactly confess,” I said to Gabriele. I had a flashback, as I stood outside the Signoretti palazzo, of my unpleasant brushes with the modern Signoretti, this man’s descendant. Now I saw why the future Signoretti would want to suppress, and even steal, the documents Ben had been working on. Beyond being a competing scholar hungry for his own academic credit, the modern Signoretti would not likely enjoy seeing his noble family implicated in a conspiracy with Florence to overthrow Siena’s government. Even a seven-hundred-year-old conspiracy.
“He did not have to confess,” Gabriele answered, bringing me back to the medieval present. “But perhaps we have foiled one aspect of the Medici plan through our efforts.”
I hoped it was true. “But we still don’t know where Iacopo is.”
* * *
With the relief that confession had brought, Iacopo steeled himself for his next effort—a visit to the Signoretti palazzo to establish the certainty of that alliance. He had not seen his father’s co-conspirator since the failed trial. Ser Signoretti received Iacopo in the small chamber rather than the large one made for his most esteemed guests: not a good sign. The meeting did not go as Iacopo had hoped.
“Ser Signoretti,” Iacopo began, “I am here to forward my good father’s cause, and reassure you of my continued dedication.”
“Messer de’ Medici,” Ser Signoretti replied, but with a raised eyebrow that implied the “Messer” was not deserved. “The trial was a disaster. Were you not aware of the witness, the Ospedale scribe with her documents?”
“Ser Signoretti, the scribe was certainly a surprise but—”
“There should be no surprises. Particularly not when I take the stand in court.”
“Yes, Messer, of course. But the Brotherhood of San Giovanni remains committed to the alliance, as do others of the confraternity. Our plans for Siena, and your role in particular, should not be altered by the outcome of the trial.”
“I have had enough of your plans, Iacopo. You may be Giovanni de’ Medici’s son, but I am afraid that legacy is no longer sufficient.”
“But Ser, I—”
“You are dismissed.” Before Iacopo could consider any response, a manservant appeared from the shadows against the sala’s wall and took his arm firmly. Iacopo found himself on the marble lintel of the palazzo, the great double doors closed behind him.