Then and Now (6 page)

'Oh, Messer Bartolomeo, you know I've refused everybody. You see, with two young children in the house. And people one knows nothing about.'

'I know, I know, Serafina, but here are people I vouch for. Piero is my cousin; he will be a good friend to your Luigi.'

The discussion proceeded. Bartolomeo, in his bluff, hearty way, managed to convey to the unwilling woman that the house was his and if he wanted to he could turn her out, and that her elder son was in his employment and depended on his good will for advancement; but it was done in such a friendly, bantering manner as to excite Machiavelli's admiration. The man, simple though he looked, was no fool. Serafina was poor and she could not afford to offend Bartolomeo. With a grim smile she said that she would be happy to do him and his friends a service. It was arranged that Machiavelli should have a room and the use of the parlour, Piero would double up with her son Luigi, and she would put down mattresses for the two servants in the attic. The sum she asked for rent was high, and Bartolomeo remarked on it, but Machiavelli thought it beneath his official dignity to haggle and said that he would be glad to pay it. He knew that nothing more predisposes someone in your favour than to let him rob you a little. There was of course no glass in the windows, but there were shutters to them and oiled paper screens which could be opened entirely or in part to let in air and light. There was a fireplace in the kitchen and the parlour could be warmed by a brazier. Serafina consented to give her own room to Machiavelli and move in with her daughter to a smaller room on the ground floor.

This having been settled Bartolomeo left them, and Machiavelli and Piero went back to the Golden Lion to have dinner. They were just finishing when the two servants arrived from Scaperia with the horses and the baggage. Machiavelli told Piero to show them the way to the monastery and fetch the saddle-bags which had been left there.

'Take the bolt of linen to Messer Bartolomeo's and bid the maid take it up to the ladies. She wasn't a bad-looking wench; it might be worth your while to get into conversation with her. Then go back to Serafina's and wait till I come.'

He paused for a moment.

'She's a talkative woman and certainly a gossip. Go and sit with her in the kitchen. She'll be glad of company. Let her talk to you about her children, and talk to her about your mother. Then find out all you can about Bartolomeo, his wife and his mother-in-law. Serafina's under too great an obligation to him not to bear him a grudge; you have a frank, honest face, you're only a boy, if you can gain her confidence she'll pour out her soul to you. It will be good practice for you to learn how with kind words and pretty speeches you can get someone to betray the hatred that is in his heart.'

'But, Messer Niccolo, why are you so certain that she hates him?'

'I'm not certain at all. It may be that she's only a foolish, garrulous woman. The fact remains that she is poor and he is rich, and that she depends on his bounty; the burden of gratitude is very hard to bear. Believe me, it is easier to forgive the offences your enemy does you than the benefits your friend confers upon you.'

He smiled acidly and went his way. He had an appointment with the Florentine agent to meet a fellow-citizen, Giacomo Farinelli by name, who had been exiled with the Medici, and who, being a clever accountant, had been engaged by the Duke. But he was anxious to get back to Florence and have his confiscated property restored to him, and so could be counted on to make himself useful. He confirmed what Bartolomeo had told Machiavelli in the morning. The Duke's new subjects were contented with his rule. The administration was severe, but competent. The people who had groaned under the tyranny of their petty princes enjoyed a freedom from oppression they had not known for a century. By conscription, taking one man from every house in his dominions, the Duke had created an army which was much more reliable than the hirelings of which in general armies consisted. The French men-at-arms and the Gascons might at any time be recalled by their king, the Swiss were always prepared to desert if another power made it worth their while, and the Germans ravaged every district they went through and were a terror to the population. The Duke's soldiers were proud of the red and yellow uniform into which he had put them; they were well paid, well drilled and well armed; and he had succeeded in inspiring them with loyalty.

'And what of the Captains, Vitellozzo and the Orsini?' asked Machiavelli.

There was no news of them. No one knew what they were doing.

'What is the feeling at the Palace?'

'You would say that nothing was the matter,' said Farinelli. 'The Duke is secret and keeps to his apartments. The secretaries give no sign that there is cause for anxiety. I have never seen Messer Agapito in a better humour.'

Machiavelli frowned. He was puzzled. It was evident enough that something was brewing, but though the accountant was very willing to tell all he knew, at the end Machiavelli was obliged to admit that he was no wiser than before. He returned to his lodging, where Piero was waiting for him.

'Did you deliver the linen?' he asked.

'Yes. Messer Bartolomeo was at the Palace. The maid told me to wait while she took it up to the ladies, and when she came down said they wanted to thank me in person for bringing it. So I went up.'

'Then you didn't make friends with the maid as I told you to.'

'There was no opportunity.'

'You might have pinched her or at least told her she was pretty. There was opportunity for that.'

'The ladies were very nice to me. They gave me fruit and cake and wine. They asked me a lot of questions about you.'

'What did they ask?'

'They wanted to know how long you'd been married and whom you'd married and what Monna Marietta was like.'

'And have you talked to Serafina?'

'You were right about her, Messere. If you hadn't come in she'd be talking still. I thought she'd never stop.'

'Tell me.'

When Piero had finished Machiavelli gave him a genial smile.

'You have done very well. I knew I was right, I knew that your youth would appeal to the ageing woman and your simple innocent look make it easy for her to confide in you.'

Piero had found out a great deal. Bartolomeo was in high favour with the Duke. He was one of the first men in the city. He was honest, kindly, generous and devout.
This was his third marriage. His first had been arranged by his parents, and his wife after eight years died of cholera. After a decent interval he married again, but eleven years later his second wife also died. Both had brought him handsome dowries, and both were childless. He had remained a widower for three years and then suddenly married Aurelia. She was a native of Sini-gaglia, a port on the Adriatic, and her father was owner and master of a coasting vessel that carried merchandise to the Dalmatian cities. He was lost with his ship in a storm, and his widow was reduced to poverty so that she had to earn her living as a sempstress. She had three daughters, a son having been drowned with his father, but two of them were married. Aurelia was sixteen when accident brought her to the notice of Bartolomeo. He was struck by her virginal beauty, but neither by birth nor fortune was she a proper match for a man of his consequence; but, young though she was, there was in her a ripeness that gave promise of fecundity, and that was a matter of moment to Bartolomeo, for there was nothing in the world he wanted more than a son. During the lifetime of his two wives he had kept likely young women of humble station, but none of these irregular amours had resulted in issue. The fact that Monna Caterina had had six children (two had died in infancy) showed that the stock was fruitful, and by discreet enquiries he discovered that Aurelia's older sisters had already had three or four babies each. They had in fact given birth once a year with the regularity which was proper to a healthy young person of the female sex. But Bartolomeo was cautious. He had married two barren women and did not want to marry a third. Through an intermediary he proposed to Monna Caterina that he should install her and her daughter on a handsome allowance in one of his villas outside Imola, with a promise that he would recognize any child that might be born. He went so far as to permit the intermediary to hint at the possibility of marriage if the child were male. But Monna Caterina whether owing to religious scruples or worldly wisdom refused the offer with indignation. Her dead husband, though no more the master of a small coasting vessel, had been an honourable man, and her two daughters were respectably, if not richly, married. Sooner than see her beloved child the kept woman of a merchant she would put her in a nunnery. Bartolomeo reviewed the marriageable young women in Imola and could think of none who attracted him so much as Aurelia or who seemed more likely to give him the son he yearned for. He was a business man and a sensible one. He knew that if you wanted something enough and could not get it at your own price there was only one thing to do and that was to give the price asked for it. With a good grace he made an offer of marriage. It was promptly accepted.

Bartolomeo was not only a business man, but a shrewd one. Aurelia was twenty years younger than he, and he thought it advisable that she should have someone to keep an eye on her. He invited Monna Caterina to live with him and his bride.

Serafina sniggered.

'The old fool trusts her. But look at her; that isn't a woman who was faithful to her husband. You can tell at once. When her husband was at sea she wasn't so virtuous as all that.'

'She evidently doesn't like Monna Caterina,' said Machiavelli. 'I wonder why. Perhaps she wanted to marry Bartolomeo herself and have him adopt her children. Perhaps merely envy. It may be of no importance, but it is just as well to know.'

The marriage had been happy and Bartolomeo was delighted with his young wife. He gave her fine clothes and fine jewels. She was dutiful, respectful, submissive, in fact all that a wife should be, but though they had been married three years she had not had a baby and showed no sign of having one. It was the great cross of Bartolomeo's life, and now that he had a title to transmit he wanted a son more than ever.

'Did Monna Serafina hint that the beautiful Aurelia might be unfaithful to her old husband?' Machiavelli asked with a smile.

'No. She seldom goes out except to mass, and then only with her mother or the maid to accompany her. According to Monna Serafina she is very pious. She would look upon it as a mortal sin to deceive her husband.'

Machiavelli pondered.

'When you were talking to the ladies about me did you happen to mention that Monna Marietta was pregnant?'

The boy flushed.

'I thought there was no harm.'

'None at all. I'm not sorry they know.'

Machiavelli smiled significantly, but the significance of his smile escaped Piero. It has been said that Machiavelli had not married Marietta for love. He respected her, he appreciated her good qualities, and he approved of her devotion to him. She was a thrifty housekeeper, an important matter to one of his small means, and she never wasted a penny; she would be the mother of his children, and a good mother; there was every reason why he should regard her with indulgence and affection, but it had never entered his mind that he should be faithful to her. Aurelia's beauty had taken his breath away, but it was not only her beauty that had moved him, he could not remember any woman who had so immediately and so violently excited his senses. His very stomach ached with the vehemence of his desire.

'I'm going to have that woman if I die for it,' he said to himself.

He knew a great deal about women and it was not often that he had failed to satisfy his lust. He had no illusions about his appearance; he knew that other men were handsomer than he and that many had the advantage of him in wealth and station. But he was confident in his powers of attraction. He could amuse them, he knew just how to flatter them, he had a way with him that put them at their ease with him, but above all he desired them; they were very conscious of that and it excited them.

'When a woman feels with every nerve in her body that you want her she can resist only if she's passionately in love with another,' he had once told Biagio.

It was impossible to suppose that Aurelia loved her fat husband, a man so many years older than herself, to whom she had been married by her mother because it was a good business proposition. But Bartolomeo must know that there were young men in the city, dissolute fellows attached to the Duke's court, who had noticed that she was beautiful, and he must be on his guard. The serving man had suspicious eyes. He was beetle-browed, a sullen fellow with a great bony nose and a cruel mouth; he might well have been put there to spy on his young mistress. And then there was the mother. Serafina said she had been gay in her youth and it might be true; she had the bold roving eye of the woman who has had adventures, and though it might be that it would be no outrage to her virtue if her daughter took a lover, it was a risk to run. Machiavelli had come to the conclusion that Bartolomeo was a vain man, and he knew that no one can be so vindictive as the vain man who discovers that he has been fooled. It was no easy matter that Machiavelli was undertaking, but that did not disturb him, he had confidence in himself, and the difficulty made that affair more interesting. It was evident that he must cultivate Bartolomeo and lull him into security, and it would be well to get on good terms with Monna Caterina. It had been a sound idea to get Piero to question Serafina and it had given him some notion of the situation. But he had to know more, and then some plan might suggest itself to his fertile mind. He knew it was no use to rack his brain. He must wait for an inspiration.

'Let us go and have supper,' he said to Piero.

They walked to the Golden Lion and having eaten returned to their lodging. Serafina had put her children to bed and was in the kitchen darning a pair of stockings. Machiavelli sent Piero up to the room he shared with her son, and politely asking if he might warm himself for a little by her fire sat down. He had an inkling that Monna Caterina would be over very soon to ask Serafina about him and he wanted her to give a good report of him. He could be very charming when he chose, and now he did. He told her of his mission to the court of France, partly because he knew it would interest her, but more to impress upon her his own importance; he talked of the King and of his minister the Cardinal as though he were hail-fellow well-met with them, and told her scandalous and amusing stories of the gallantries of great ladies. Then he took another line; he told her of Marietta, and how hard it was to leave her when she was pregnant, and how much he wanted to go back to Florence and his happy home. Serafina would have had to be a very clever woman to doubt that he was the good and devoted husband, the plain, honest man he made himself out to be. He listened with sympathetic interest while she told him of her husband's illness and death, the better days she had seen, and the responsibility it was to have two young children to launch into the world. Of course she thought him a delightful, distinguished and kindly man. When he told her that he was delicate, with a digestion that was the torment of his life, and that the food at the Golden Lion didn't agree with him, for he was used to Monna Marietta's simple fare, it was natural enough for Serafina to say that if he wasn't too proud to eat with her and her children she would gladly provide meals for him and Piero. This suited him very well, for it would save money and in other ways be more convenient. He left her with just the impression of himself that he wanted, went up to his room, and by the light of a candle read his Livy till he felt inclined to sleep.