Title: Treasure in Clay Vessels
Pairing: Leonardo da Vinci/Girolamo Riario
Rating: eventually M
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or anything to do with them. I'm just taking them out of the box and playing with them for a bit. I promise to put them back in mostly mint condition.
Warnings: Adult content, deviation from show canon, more adult content, AU within the show's Florence
Summary: Pope Sixtus is so concerned with taking over Florence that he sends two spies to infiltrate the Medici family, but the new war engineer will only choose to get close to one of them. Girolamo must forget he is a Riario to play his role, but temptations threaten to steal him away for good.
Author's notes: This story was completely inspired by a post on the now-defunct naughtyriarioconfessions Tumblr. It said: "Sometimes I imagine Riario turned spy instead of Lucrezia, maybe under Florentine influence da Vinci would have turned him away from Rome (and of course towards Leo's bed)"
I hope the original prompter won't mind I took some liberties and changed the prompt a bit.
A humongous THANK YOU to chocksawaychaps for being amazing. Thank you for letting me jump you on Tumblr, pester you and dump this story outline on you. Thank you for all the encouragement and especially for the things you sorted out and made make sense for me. And then, you did me the ultimate favor and edited this mess—thank you! You are a terrific editor and only made things better everywhere you touched. You are fabulous, and I truly appreciate all your help.
...
Girolamo nearly fell forward into his abacus when the heavy hand landed on his shoulder and the loud voice boomed in his ear, "Now I've caught you."
Although he knew what the fool meant—he hoped—the shock of it set his heart to skip a beat then his pulse race. He gently lay down his pen and pushed his books away on the table. He set his face in the rigid smile he'd felt forced to adopt forever and looked up at the Duke of Florence's noble brother Giuliano de Medici. "Yes, well, it was assuredly difficult to find me when I am, in fact, hard at work in your bank, as my position dictates, Signore Medici."
"Instead of leaving these old men to their work while you could enjoy the beauties of such a lovely spring evening?" Giuliano replied as he sat on the desk, Girolamo narrowly saving important documents from crinkling under the Medici's expensively clad thigh.
He gave the quiet chuckle Giuliano would expect. "Alas, some of us must continue to work for our livelihood and not carouse like others, my lord."
Giuliano threw his head back and laughed, several of the other bank minions looking up in disapproval but no one daring to shush him. "Then it's good for you that you have a friend such as I to make sure you are not wasting away in here, drying up until there is nothing but a brittle husk left like—" he continued with a gesture to the rest of the room whose glares were now darker than ever.
"Perhaps," Girolamo answered in that low tone that attempted to lower another's voice that is causing embarrassment, "we might continue this conversation elsewhere. I am nearly done with my figures for the day."
"You are done now!" Giuliano proclaimed, smacking his hand onto the table and making Girolamo even more relieved he'd moved his more delicate bookkeeping equipment.
"Very well, sir, if my lord requires it."
Girolamo bowed his head as Giuliano clapped his shoulder again at the display of mock piety. "I do require and demand you accompany me in enjoying the undiscovered wonders and delights that Florence has to offer. All these nights I have invited you to find sport in my company and you have declined for the last time. You have not had the opportunity to revel in Florence's finest."
'Florence's fornication,' Girolamo thought to himself as the ideas of the types of perversity that the city surely had to offer tried to slip into his mind. He had steadfastly declined all invitations from the younger Medici to revel in the sins of the flesh, but knew he would have to give in eventually to keep Giuliano from growing suspicious of his lifestyle. The thoughts flowed through his mind in less than an instant and he held back a tired sigh.
"Then I suppose I cannot refuse."
"That you cannot. If don't start obeying me, I may have to speak sternly to your employer." Giuliano's laugh followed him as he hurried to clear up his ledger and turn in his work to the overseer who simply voiced his sigh and waved Girolamo away.
He tried to follow a step or two behind the Medici but Giuliano slung an arm around his shoulders and hoisted him along until Girolamo was forced to walk with his normal bearing, although remembering at the last moment to temper his brisk posture with the hunched shoulders of a scribe. It would not do to parade through the halls of the world's largest house of usury as if he were still wearing a sword rather than wielding a pen for this battle.
"Have you even explored past the market since you came to us from Turin last autumn? There is surely nothing there as fine as the beauties of our republic. I will show them to you and more," Giuliano was promising. Girolamo curled his lips into a brief smile that felt more like a grimace. "Along with several bottles of wine and a night of carousing that we will unfortunately have forgotten by morning."
Girolamo kept his sigh to himself, as he always did, as he was alternately pulled and cajoled through the streets of Florence toward one of the hovels Giuliano had taken to frequenting. But he stopped at the door to the questionable place he was being led to, mounting one last protest.
"My lord, surely this … establishment is not one worthy of your attentions," Girolamo attempted but was pushed inside.
"How many times must I command you to call me by name and not by title when we are not in the bank? I don't call you Esposito because you informed me frequently enough that you don't care for that."
Girolamo could scarcely hide his wince which was still better than not reacting at all to the assumed surname. He hoped that if Giuliano did notice his expression, he would attribute it to the shame of his false history. The name Esposito given to orphans or foundlings left to the auspices of a convent or monastery was not Girolamo's own, although he'd mused it was close enough to the truth to give him a true twinge of pain.
Fortunately for him, the Medici whelp proved as dense as ever. He was already making himself comfortable at a table at this Barking Dog that Girolamo was loathe to even enter. The evening proved him right about the Medici and his love of all things extravagant. He ordered the "best" wine and refreshments the place could offer, he laughed loudly and joked coarsely, pounding back the cups as quickly as they were refilled.
Girolamo listened closely to whom he spoke, making mental notes if anything sounded interesting, but for the most part, it was trivial talk between men who had too much enjoyment in gambling and entertainments that Girolamo did not share. He put faces to names as the tavern filled, having no problem identifying men as Giuliano appeared to know anyone of seedy aspect in the entire republic. Girolamo looked forward to finding the keys that would make each one susceptible to pressure from other, outside forces.
A loud female squeal caught his attention from the browning fruit he had been listlessly toying with. Both he and Giuliano turned to see a flash of long red gold surround a man seated at a table across the room from them. A blond boy was laughing alongside a darkly bearded man Girolamo immediately branded a wastrel. The curtain of shining hair parted to reveal the soft rounded cheeks of a beautiful young girl leaning over another laughing man and showering his face with kisses.
"Thank you, Leo!" she said again then rose from his lap with a graceful leap and ran off to merrily hug the woman who seemed to act as proprietor of the tavern. Girolamo couldn't hear the rest of the conversation over the renewed buzz of noise from the room, but it didn't matter when he met the eyes of the other man at the table.
Girolamo had been weighed and measured by many important men, rulers, even the holder of the keys of the kingdom of heaven, but he had never felt the force of such a stare, so intense as the man evaluated him. The fingers of one hand twitched as they held a chunk of the bread the group shared, while the other hand moved fitfully over the pages of an open notebook.
The girl appeared to be forgotten as the man focused his bright eyes on Girolamo. He made himself look away, carefully peeling his fingers off the knife he had been using to pare a wrinkled apple. He took a sip of truly atrocious wine and resisted the urge to look up again although he could feel the heat of the other man's stare and made it a point to gaze at another darkened corner of the room. Then he gave away his restiveness by jolting when Giuliano slapped his shoulder and sighed.
"Look at that beauty. What I wouldn't give for one night between those perfect thighs."
Girolamo stared at him and the lovelorn look on his face then followed his gaze before he could stop himself, strangely disappointed that the Medici would have such outstanding taste in men when his taste in everything else ran to the tawdry and gaudy rather than fine quality.
Then he realized Giuliano was sighing over the young woman, who was truly was an innocent bright spot in an otherwise refuse-filled tavern, and he bit his tongue on an acidic comment. The girl was laughing, smiling gaily as she now served fresh drinks to her friends at the table, her glistening hair hanging like a cloud over the man who still stared at Girolamo. When their eyes met again, Girolamo was treated to a smile that crinkled the man's eyes a bit, and he knew it was a smile for him alone.
It took a long moment for Girolamo to clear his throat and wrench his gaze away. "Yes, well. I would have thought you could have your pick of any maid in Florence, even those of … dubious virtue," he finally answered Giuliano, who didn't seem to notice the pause.
"Ah, but it is all the more fun when the maid plays hard to get, and perhaps there is none more hard to attain than one affiliated with the artista. He is nothing but a headache," Giuliano said.
"The artista? Who is he?"
But Giuliano was already distracted, holding up his cup with a winning smile and beckoning for the apparently newest server of the tavern to come and refill his drink under the watchful eye of the matron. He managed to sneak a word with her before she spun off to another table.
Girolamo kept his eyes off the man across the room, tried to shake that feeling of a hot gaze upon him in return, and waited until Giuliano's drunken mind came back around. He was mumbling something about women—the pleasures of their breasts or thighs or something Girolamo didn't pay attention to until he muttered "artista" again.
"Who is this artisan you apparently despise?" Girolamo kept his tone of voice intentionally light and was rewarded by Giuliano's answer.
"An artist who is full of big claims and short of actual art," he said. "One, I believe, that I am supposed to meet with tomorrow about the Easter Columbina. My brother and Becchi grow worried that he will not produce anything in time for the celebration."
"Hmm," was all Girolamo said, but it was enough to make Giuliano brighten.
"I know! Perhaps you can go with me tomorrow to the artists' quarter. Having a fellow along may soften the blow when he reneges on our deal. Or you can hold him down if our disagreement comes to blows. And then we can come back here for drinks! I wonder how often that new serving wench will be here."
"Yes, quite," Girolamo blew out his breath of frustration into the wine but Giuliano wouldn't have noticed even if he hadn't been talking again about the girl. It seemed he was being coerced into one of the Medici's inane schemes that never quite worked out the way Giuliano had planned. Although Giuliano had taken to him in a friendly way Girolamo honestly hadn't expected, he didn't look forward to spending time with the man. It seemed Giuliano was starved for companionship beyond what his brother—who was busy beyond belief with his ruling, banking business, family and mistress—and the other nobility provided. It had given Girolamo a way in to gain information from Giuliano even though most of what he'd learned was only about the debaucheries that Florence was already famous for.
Once Giuliano was well into his cups and joined by several other men Girolamo had no interest in, he quietly slipped away from the table. In the dark of the street, surrounded by other fetid odors, it was still fresher than the sordid tavern, and Girolamo drew several deep breaths. When the door opened, he stepped quickly away, hand reaching automatically for the dagger at his side, as he melted into the shadows. It was only the boy he'd seen with the remarkable man—the nimbus of his blond hair glowing like a halo of a saint on an icon from the tavern lights behind him. Girolamo relaxed his stance but kept his hand on the hilt as the boy looked up and down the street then uttered an oath at the emptiness.
"Such coarse language is a sign of poor education," Girolamo said in a low voice, the one he had used to warn off attackers or to occasionally spur them on. Its effect on the boy was much the same—he jumped as the voice seemed to come out of the darkness—and Girolamo was reassured the boy was not a common footpad.
"There you are," the boy said, and Girolamo tensed again as he turned to face him. "I didn't see you lurking in the— please put that away!" Girolamo didn't sheathe the dagger but let the light reflect off it again as the boy continued in a hurry. "I was only supposed to deliver... the maestro asked me to give you this!"
He held out a tiny roll of paper tied with a cord. Girolamo looked at it with suspicion that didn't wane as boy pressed it forward. "It's for you," he said inanely.
"Do you also fetch and roll over if your maestro commands it?"
The boy shot him a look that proved he wasn't as meek or frightened as he first appeared. "Will you take it?"
Girolamo finally held out his hand and allowed the boy to drop the paper onto it. He turned and hurried inside, slamming the door shut, before Girolamo could say anything else. He felt his heart beat harder as he stared at the tiny tube of paper, fears building and anxiety mounting as he wondered if he'd been found out. He wouldn't admit his hands shook slightly as he sliced the cord with his dagger and carefully unrolled the page from a notebook. There, in the light spilling out of a grimy window of the tavern, he got his first look at the artista's work.
It was a sketch of him, his face turned down slightly and to the side, and he recognized the expression was the exact moment when Giuliano had told him the story about Becchi and the geese. It was the first truly funny thing Giuliano had told him, of a ridiculous childhood exploit, and Girolamo had been torn between his polite, fake laugh and a real smile of amusement. The sketch caught him in the moment he'd hidden from Giuliano, when his lips had quirked up and his cheeks creased in a true laugh.
He realized the paper was shaking because his hands were, and he turned the page over and around, looking for some sort of hidden or secret message. There was nothing. Nothing but a terribly life-like, dreadfully well-drawn portrait of himself.
Girolamo crumpled the paper in his fist and thrust it into his tunic. He couldn't afford to be late to his appointment.
...
He slipped through the side door of the stable noiselessly, nothing to disturb the rustle of straw from the occasional movement of a horse or a swish of a tail against a stall door. His eyes were adjusted to the dim light so he had no trouble finding the empty stall strewn with old, worn tack where he knelt to open a wooden box hidden beneath years' worth of detritus.
He was placing his notes inside it when a creak and whisper of air warned him. He drew his dagger and moved toward the door in one smooth motion, poised to strike. It was the scent that warned him to stay his dagger thrust, instead grabbing a thin arm in one hand, pulling the body toward him, off balance, then pushing it back into the tack room where it bounced against the wall. He held the body there with his own weight.
"You. Let me go," her voice hissed with real venom but she didn't scream.
"Why cousin, I am surprised to see you here. I didn't think we were to meet until next week." Girolamo didn't let go of her, knowing all too well what she was capable of if he gave her freedom to move.
"We aren't to risk meeting, but my last orders were to come here and warn you that your recent reports haven't been as helpful as expected. I am to go to Rome after Easter as soon as I can slip away. They are expecting bigger news by then." Lucrezia was still breathing hard, and Girolamo could feel her body struggling for breath as he pressed her against the wall. He leaned back slightly but stayed close so their hushed conversation wouldn't cause the horses to be disturbed.
"You are meeting my brother there?" Girolamo's pulse quickened.
"I am meeting the bastard who is forcing me to continue this despicable charade," she spit out. "It is to your shame that Pietro Riario is your worthless brother."
Girolamo had a hand around her throat almost before he realized it. In the ambient light, Lucrezia's eyes were staring into his even though he had twisted her head uncomfortably. He saw no fear in her at all. "Do not speak of my brother that way," he said, then released her completely and stepped back.
Lucrezia made a point of straightening her dress and adjusting her cloak before turning to him again. "What should I report when I travel to Rome? He will want to know what you've learned about the state of the Medici bank and its dealings."
"I know that. I have as much information as I could get copied here, and I will copy more as soon as the correspondence arrives from Spain. Tell him I've become better acquainted with the lesser Medici, and I'm learning more intimate details about the nobles of Florence. It will all be worthwhile."
"I don't know why you can't tell him yourself. You've been here for months and haven't gone to Rome once. You don't risk yourself while I put my life in the balance every time I lie about visiting my aunt in Sienna."
"Perhaps my brother did not feel it necessary to share his plans with you," he told her. When she opened her mouth to argue, he deigned to explain. "Since I have ingratiated myself into the Medici bank and built up a reputation for my work, I cannot invent excuses to ride away for days at a time. You, however, are in a position where you may not be missed as quickly."
Lucrezia's fury was obvious in her expression, even in the darkness, and Girolamo tried not to smile. He allowed, "You do make an adequate messenger to take my reports back to the captain-general and, in turn, the Holy Father."
Lucrezia said a word that made Girolamo lunge to get his hands back around her throat, but she scrambled to the side and threatened, "If you lay a hand on me again, I'll scream."
It was a real threat if she awakened someone and they started asking questions about why a lowly banking clerk was alone in the dark stable with il Magnifico's mistress. Girolamo stopped a step away from her.
"I cannot understand you," she said in the bitterest voice he'd ever heard from her. "Here we are, serving as spies for men who want to destroy everything, and I cannot understand why you are doing it. You have every reason to be ruling in Rome along with your hypocritical family, yet you allow them to send you to the enemy? And you seem to enjoy it?"
"Make no mistake, cousin," he purposely emphasized the familial term, "I do not enjoy it. I am sent where I can do the most good and help the Holy Father's vision for this country, in fact, the entire world, come to pass. That is why I am here."
Lucrezia shook her head. "Your brother would kill me as easily as they killed my sister. When I am no longer of use for them, they will end my life. Remember that, when you think you are so indispensable to them."
"I am doing work of great importance," Girolamo repeated.
"Then have something of value ready for me to take to Rome. Meet me here the night after Easter or I may be forced to inform Riario that you are not fulfilling your duties." With a facetious bow to him, she left the stall and he let her go, his mind racing with doubts.
Ever since the day the Holy Father took him from the monastery where he'd been raised, Girolamo had striven to please his father in any way possible. It had been his childhood dream come true to finally know one of his parents and find out he had not been a true Esposito or foundling.
But, he had greatly failed his father when he was unable to fulfill orders and kill that woman in Rome. Although the lewd smile on her face and her wicked words condemned her, Girolamo couldn't put his hands on her and end her life. He was never able to be honest with himself, could never decide whether it was because she was a woman or whether it was simply because it would have been his first taking of a human life. Either way, he couldn't make himself kill her.
In that moment, he faced his worst fear—not becoming a murderer—but rather, failing his father. He had turned his back on her and run, the woman shocked to silence. He never found out what became of her.
He had run back to the Holy Father and faced his punishment which had been unusually fierce, even by Sixtus' standards, but to Girolamo, the words of disappointment and scorn lashed at him more painfully than the strap. The pope had then delivered an even more violent blow by producing another "nephew," Pietro, whom he invested as captain-general and sword of the church and told Girolamo he was his half-brother.
Sixtus also told Girolamo a failure could not be the public face of the church, but he could use Girolamo in another role, so long as he didn't fail him again.
The monks who raised him had recognized Girolamo's keen mind and encouraged him to study and develop skills. When he arrived at the Medici bank with a glowing letter from a papal conspirator in Turin to establish his identity, he easily passed the examinations the bank prepared. There was the risk that Lorenzo would think him a spy, but when he was trusted with information and nothing of value went missing, Girolamo passed the cursory inspections. It also helped when Pietro passed along information that Francesco Sassetti of the bank was making a private allegiance with the Duke of Urbino. Girolamo thought he might have to do some creative accounting of his own to place blame, but was pleasantly surprised to find he didn't have to. Sassetti was already embezzling large amounts, and all it took was a private word aside to Giuliano...
He was the one Girolamo targeted. He knew Lorenzo trusted few people—for good reason—and Lucrezia had that angle covered, he thought with a smirk. He trained with Giuliano, got himself invited hunting a few times, and made sure to let him win at least half the time when they attempted any kind of contest. Girolamo tried to draw the line at visiting the kinds of places where Giuliano went carousing for wine and women, but he did need to discover more about the rest of the Florentine nobles and how to win them to Rome's side.
Sixtus wanted the Medici bank to erase the papal debts, and he was willing to join forces with the Pazzis so they could rule Florence while Sixtus wielded the holy power. Although Girolamo knew his half-brother would in actuality rule the republic, he'd been assured an estate of his own and even a title.
But finally earning his father's approval would be worth more than all the titles in Italy. He only needed to find a source for information that could bring Florence to its knees and raise Rome to its rightful place. And he didn't have much time to do it.
END NOTES: The title is taken from an episode one statement made by Riario about why he used Lucrezia as his agent. He tells the Vatican conspirators, "When one seeks to convey a message, I prefer to use vessels others would readily dismiss." What if the pope had a similar idea?
From my brief research into the papal history, there were other Riarios who may or may not have been the pope's sons or nephews, so I stole one for this story. Pietro, who historically died several years before the Pazzi conspiracy in Florence, is now the count and captain general of the Vatican. I hope his ancestors don't mind. And if they do, I humbly apologize.