*
At last, Iacopo de’ Medici thought as he entered his father’s studium, at last he has deemed me worthy of his trust. For years Iacopo had passed by the closed office door, glancing at the rectangle of wood that barred him from the responsibility he longed to assume. This time, however, the door stood open, and Iacopo entered and bowed his head in deference to his father, who sat behind his desk, writing.
“You summoned me, Father,” Iacopo said, knowing he should not let his sentence end in the questioning inflection that so infuriated Giovanni de’ Medici. “If you speak in questions, you will be questioned, rather than obeyed,” Giovanni had said, more times than Iacopo could remember.
Giovanni put down his pen. “Close the door behind you.” It took all of Iacopo’s weight to swing the door shut. “I have business in Siena, Iacopo, and I wish you to accompany me.”
“I am honored by your trust, Father.” Iacopo ran a hand across the back of his neck where his headaches always began, for one had lodged there as he waited for his father’s summons. But he would not complain now. On the last occasion before his father had left for Siena, one of his maladies had struck, and he had begged off seeing his father to the city gates.
“I have no patience for this weakness within you that invents ailments. You are a man, now, and a Medici son. You would do better to spend time learning the accounts, rather than lying on your back like a whore waiting for her next visitor. When I am away, your ignorance will be as clear to my associates and clients as it is to me. First master the ledgers. Then we will see if you can manage a business voyage of your own.”
“I hope one day to earn your trust,” Iacopo had said, pressing the nails of one hand into his palm. And now, it seemed, the day for trust had finally come.
Although Giovanni had begun to involve Iacopo in the family’s merchant banking firm, he had been notably closemouthed about his trips to Siena. Iacopo had imagined a secret lover who might satisfy his father’s needs, but the details Giovanni recounted came as a surprise.
“I must tell you of the business that has brought me to Siena for five years now, in the service of our commune. You are not too young to recall the year Florence submitted herself to the reign of Walter of Brienne, Duke of Athens? I seem to recall you had sprouted a few hairs on your chin by 1342.”
Iacopo remembered it well. The Medici family’s role in overthrowing Brienne a year after his installation as the head of the Signoria was well known throughout the city and had been a source of political clout for the already prominent Medici family.
His father continued. “Before it became obvious that Brienne was a disaster for our republic, several powerful families of Florence supported the duke’s regime, in the hope that he would bring economic stability in the wake of their terrible banking failures and the costly war against Lucca. Are you listening?”
Iacopo shook himself back to the present. He had been thinking about his dinner, the capon that sat heavy in his stomach. Giovanni had always been alert to his drifts of attention.
“In the year of our Lord 1342, I joined with a group of casati—noble families in Siena—who were barred by law from serving among i Noveschi. Chafing at this insult, they provided a source of unrest worth harnessing. Under the protection and direction of the Duke of Athens, we attempted to incite a revolt against i Noveschi in Siena. We offered the casati, our temporary allies, their rightful place in the seat of government in Siena. We imagined that with these Sienese families on our side, most notably the Signoretti, we might undermine i Noveschi and reestablish a different sort of rule, one that would eventually allow Florence to take control from within. And of course those families would be promised the benefit of a role in the new government as an incentive to joining our cause.”
Iacopo nodded. “Since we failed at the battle of Montaperti, conspiracy would seem a reasonable alternative.” He heard the slap of his father’s hand before he felt the sting on his cheek.
“Listen to me, idiot. You will have to eschew such talk if you are to work at my side.” The pain in Iacopo’s cheek radiated up to his temple, which began to throb. “This plan for Siena failed, and Brienne proved useless.” Giovanni laughed harshly. “I was pleased to have a hand in his sudden departure from Florence. You know he barely escaped with his life.”
Iacopo remembered Brienne’s ousting from the city. He had been driven out in a violent uprising by the families who had initially supported him, once his despotic rule and harsh economic policies had alienated those who had called him to power. Giovanni continued: “Some of us still believe that through agitation of casati families we might find a manner in which Florentine influence could dominate. My visits to Siena have been to further that aim, through allies there that serve our purpose. Do you see now?”
“I do, Father.”
“Prepare yourself, for we ride to Siena tomorrow morning. There, we will meet with Ser Signoretti, one of Siena’s nobles, who may prove ripe for the picking. He has all that we need to forward our plan—power, wealth, and discontent. And I shall use those to my advantage.”
“Yes, Father.” Iacopo’s head raced with what he had just learned. My father leads a plan to overthrow Siena’s government, and I, the heir to the Medici legacy, shall follow him. Iacopo began to imagine the meeting with Ser Signoretti, himself and his father side by side, commanding respect, even awe. They would be served fine wine, their voices would be serious, hushed, dampened by tapestries on the walls, the servants dismissed while their important business took its course. The visions in his head eclipsed the present until Iacopo’s father barked at him.
“I said prepare yourself, did you hear me?” Iacopo bowed once and fled, tripping on the marble lintel but managing not to fall.
*