25th Day of July, three weeks before the Feast of the Assumption, 1347
It is said that a spendthrift wife is a husband’s burden. I trust you are not wasting, in my absence, the funds that I require for my Deliverance. Business did not proceed as I might have hoped, and I have been detained here in this cesspit of a city. Iacopo ought now to be on his way back to Florence, but in the interim, send a messenger with as much haste as you can muster. Bid him carry fifty fiorini d’oro to speed my departure from this pitiful edifice of communal Sienese justice. I expect to be released, despite the efforts of these incompetents to detain me.
Giovanni folded this first letter and affixed his seal in wax. There had been a witness to their nocturnal encounter with the night watchman, a witness who had denounced Giovanni for homicide. When a knock had come on the inn’s door, Giovanni sent Iacopo to hide behind a curtain to minimize any trouble he might cause. But trouble came notwithstanding, for the pair of thick-necked police arrested Giovanni, marched him through the city like a common thief, and imprisoned him in this grim cell to await trial. Iacopo had had enough sense to stay hidden and had followed his father’s order to return home to Florence and await further news.
Giovanni spat into the viscous ink left by the guard that morning, and began his second missive. The guard had also allowed him pen and parchment, though at an exorbitant price.
To My Son Iacopo de’ Medici
With the grace of God
Spending these nights in a Sienese jail cell has done nothing to improve my poor opinion of the commune’s citizens. They pride themselves on their new facilities, as if their fledgling efforts to build a modern prison should place them in the firmament of communal justice, with the little shack they have appended to their so-called Palazzo Pubblico. I am being held in a cell awaiting trial for the dispatch of that night watchman who presumed foolishly to block our way. If he had known that it is wiser to let a businessman go about his business undisturbed, he might still be alive today.
It appears some other citizen in disregard of curfew witnessed my lesson to the night watch and took it upon himself to denounce me to the Podestà. On my arrival in the prison, I provided the warden with an incentive to better my accommodations. I managed in this way to avoid the common cells, but have not been granted the relative liberty that my station should warrant. I do not expect to remain long, but while I am here, I should spend my days in a fashion appropriate to our family’s position. There is a Magnati ward here, but it appears that the treatment of “foreigners” and “serious crimes” prevents my placement there.
Your mother will send a messenger with funds to smooth my passage here, but I expect to see you before this Holy Sunday, so that I may communicate to you a matter of great importance regarding the instigator of my arrest.
Giovanni paused, rubbing his right hand with his left to soften the cramp that had lodged itself at the base of his thumb. As he picked up his pen to dip it again into the remaining ink, he forgot for a moment what he had intended to write. His usual certainty was replaced by an odd sensation, like hunger but higher in his chest. When he took up his pen again, his next words surprised him.
I find that the unexpected confinement and restriction of my liberty has made me long for the company of my family, those in whom love and loyalty for Firenze runs as deep as the blood that links us. I look forward to a face sympathetic to my plight, instead of these mocking visages that hint at a dark future for me and those who share my name. When I close my eyes to rest, I begin to believe I can feel the weight of the thick stone that surrounds me and bars my communion with the sun and air. I bid you to return to me with the greatest haste, not only to assist me in obtaining the justice and liberty that are my due, but also to stand at my side so that I may have some reminder of a life outside these walls.
From the hand of your father
Giovanni de’ Medici
Detained awaiting trial and in God’s hands
This 25th Day of July, 1347
Three aspects of imprisonment vied to be the most infuriating. First was the knowledge that he would be using his own gold to pay for his unwilling sojourn in prison—it made his dinner rancid in his stomach. The physical confinement provided greater misery. In this cell, only slightly larger than a horse’s stall, he ached to stretch his limbs again. But the most maddening consequence of imprisonment was boredom. His two letters written and dispatched with a guard, along with the soldi required to assure their delivery, Giovanni was left with no other task to complete, no meeting to attend, no subordinates to command. The guards had taken his knife, or he might have enjoyed sharpening it on the whetstone he carried in his belt pouch, or even, for a moment of titillation, testing it on the edge of his thumb. The sight and smell of blood, even his own, would have provided some welcome stimulation in this bland stretch of hours.
Some relief came at the hands of the guard returning with an evening meal, but the bean stew left him sharply unsatisfied. As the guard retreated, Giovanni raised his hand to signal a question. The guard stopped, staring suspiciously—he’d been warned about these Florentines, their open disregard for Sienese law and order.
“Have you knowledge of any . . . shall we say, amusements, that might be afforded visitors with the means to support them?” Giovanni’s hand went to the pouch at his belt, and he fingered the coins inside so their clinking could be heard easily.
The guard licked his lips. “I am sure you know, Ser, nocturnal visitors are strictly forbidden.” But as he spoke the guard rubbed his fingers together, as if noting the absence of something.
“Of course. But we both know that the straightest rule can be bent.”
The guard stepped closer. “Are those golden lilies you carry with you? They might call forth an equally lovely nocturnal visitor.”
Giovanni laughed quietly. “The florins will take root nicely in your palm,” he said, dropping two into the guard’s upturned hand.
“Expect a visitor at the Matins bells,” the guard said, and left. The sound of the bolts troubled Giovanni less now that he knew the distraction the night hours would bring.
The room was dark when the door opened again, awakening Giovanni from a light sleep. His visitor wore a robe and hood that hid her face. She placed a small candlelit lantern on the table by his bed.