There was always a however.
“. . . your plan is as yet ill-formed. You know the informant’s identity but he is too far from Firenze to pursue, and his whereabouts are not confirmed. In faith, I have heard news of a pestilence that has landed in Messina, borne from Caffa on merchant ships. For any of us, the dangers of travel to Messina are too great. In all likelihood, this informant of yours has already succumbed to the illness.” Iacopo swallowed, his saliva sour in his mouth. Albizzi was clearly not finished with his summary. “You plan to indict this Accorsi for some unnamed crime he has not committed, and bring him to trial. This might succeed were he in Siena, but his absence prevents any forthright action. Your proposal is too vague to merit further discussion.”
Albizzi rubbed his hands together slowly, as if he were molding his thought between his fingers. “I propose that we adjourn for today. Iacopo, should the whereabouts of your Accorsi become clear, we will hear your plans in greater detail.” The seven remaining elders of the confraternity variously expressed their agreement, some in words, some with nods, Ridolfi with a grumble.
Albizzi stood, the dark blue of his overmantle falling straight around him. All the rest rose in turn, bowing to one another and making their way up the stone steps and out of the palazzo, leaving Iacopo alone in the chair that dwarfed him. If they will not support me in my pursuit of Accorsi, then I must act alone. He sat silently, watching the fire burn down until it was only a faint orange glow of ashes in the hearth.
* * *
After the meeting of the confraternity, Iacopo penned a letter to Baldi in Siena, demanding news of the painter. Baldi’s response took nearly a month to arrive, coming at the beginning of March, and he reported neither word nor sign of Accorsi. Was a bit more gold forthcoming? He was certain that would advance his search. The Duomo was being enlarged—did Ser Medici wish to know? A crew of workers had been hired to make Siena’s cathedral greater than Firenze’s own duomo. Perhaps Accorsi would be called back with a commission to decorate the new transept? Iacopo saw the offhand news for what it was—a Sienese barb directed at his Florentine pride. He composed a letter in response:
When I return to Siena, we will discuss your fee. In the interim seek out the Accorsi household, to find word of the painter’s whereabouts. If he should set foot in Siena again, proceed to set the wheels of justice against him, in the manner that we have discussed. You will denounce him, and I will procure witnesses to testify against the painter. I will send word when I arrive.
Iacopo found reason to return to Siena in mid-March; the confraternity had agreed it was time to revisit the Signoretti household, and determine whether the casati gentleman’s collaboration could be assured. “See how you manage this meeting,” Ser Acciaioli had said, loud enough so that the confraternity could all hear that the mission was a test of his capacity. “And if you deport yourself well, perhaps other responsibilities will be forthcoming.” Iacopo felt like a lone pawn on a chessboard, weak and easy to sacrifice. Though a pawn could, if it advanced far enough, rise higher than its origins—even to become a queen.
Ser Signoretti received Iacopo, if not with warmth, then at least with acquiescence. In Signoretti’s studium where Iacopo had once proudly accompanied his father, now he entered alone, and the room that had been warm that previous summer now was drafty, dark, and cold. Iacopo stood in front of Ser Signoretti’s desk, feeling the nobleman’s scrutiny like a knife scraping across his skin. At last, after an unbearably long silence, Signoretti spoke.
“You have come, I assume, to resume where we left off? You must know many things have changed since then.”
Iacopo had rehearsed this moment a hundred times on the journey to Siena, and the words, he was relieved to find, came smoothly.
“Ser Signoretti, times change like the weather, but those with a firm purpose stay the course despite storms, with a strong hand on the tiller. Our purpose is as strong as it ever was; perhaps stronger. And the benefit you stand to gain remains just as desired.”
Signoretti made a guttural sound. “I would like to trust that the son who stands before me can promise what the father offered—the father who was hanged as a criminal by our own courts—and I would like to be as certain as possible that no taint of that crime should stain our family name, which we guard, as we well should, with great care and pride.”
Iacopo nodded gravely. He felt, at that moment, his father’s mission weighing on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. “My father died for this cause, and I am his successor. He sent me to meet you with that aim in mind. I come with the strong support of the Brotherhood of San Giovanni, and we shall, of course, do all we can to keep your family’s position secure in this time of change.” Iacopo knew, by the set of the nobleman’s head, that he had spoken well this time. Now there was one more item to be discussed: Accorsi.
“In return for our support, Ser Signoretti, both political and financial”—Iacopo with some deliberateness adjusted the pouch of gold coins at his waist, letting them clink audibly—“in return for our support, I would ask one small favor in return. . . .” Ser Signoretti leaned forward to listen, seduced by the promise of power and gold. I have him now, Iacopo thought exultantly, I have him now.
When Iacopo returned to Firenze with a letter signed by Ser Signoretti’s hand confirming his allegiance against i Noveschi, even Ser Ridolfi acknowledged Iacopo’s success. The winter cold subsided and the trees began to bud. And with the spring came the weapon the Brotherhood could use to strike Siena at her heart.
* * *
This time, Ridolfi and Acciaioli met with Iacopo at night, and alone. The fire was lit but the corners of the cavernous chamber were dark and seemed to Iacopo to be filled with malevolent shadows.
“You have shown your dedication to the cause,” Ser Acciaioli said, showing his teeth in a cold imitation of what might have been a smile on someone else, “and competence in dealing with a man your father called an ally. He would be pleased.”
The praise made Iacopo uneasy, coming from Acciaioli.
“Ser, I welcome the opportunity to serve my commune, and bring my father’s plans to fruition.”
Ser Acciaioli’s teeth flashed white in the firelight. “It is good to hear such a renewal of your purpose, Iacopo, particularly now, when loyalties are tested, and success depends on the devotion of men who do not waver from the path. Would you not agree, Ser Ridolfi?”