WARNING: This chapter contains description of violence and mentions of blood.
Pietro Riario did not give Florence much warning of his appearance as he was due to arrive two days after his messenger. Girolamo noted that the Medici spies in Rome must not be very effective because there was no advance notice until Riario himself sent a messenger.
Giuliano haunted the bank that day until Girolamo was free, then took him out so he could complain about Lorenzo appointing him in charge of entertaining the emissary of Rome while he was in Florence. Although it made him feel guilty, Girolamo couldn't help a true laugh at the reaction his brother would have to Giuliano and his heavy-handed ideas of entertainment. If nothing else, it took Girolamo's mind off the impending danger.
The next evening, he was going to spend time gathering his thoughts and the intelligence he might give to Riario, argue with himself about what information was important versus exploitative, and to sort his mind in order to figure out his feelings about Florence, all while wondering if his Holy Father would allow him to return home to Rome.
Those plans were thrown aside when he saw a prominently placed sign of graffiti, one bearing the mark Rome's spies employed, and he cautiously made his way to where the messages were hidden. There was one parchment, marked with his name, ordering him to go to Riario's encampment immediately after sunset. His honored brother awaited.
His stomach clenched and his hand shook as he crushed the missive. Although he'd hoped to postpone the experience, perhaps it was better to take the bull by the horns and confront his brother. He wanted to know more about Rome's plans for Florence's future, and he definitely wanted to learn more about the Book of Leaves and what Riario had planned for Leonardo.
Pietro Riario sat like a king enthroned on a chair beside the fire, wine in one hand, dagger in the other. Girolamo wasn't expecting a warm welcome, but his brother didn't even invite him to sit, kept him waiting in front of him, like a guard standing at attention.
"Girolamo, it looks like the air of Florence is agreeing with you. How are you enjoying the debauchery this den of evil provides?"
"Pietro... Count Riario," he corrected himself hastily, "what brings you to Florence?"
"You should have already received our message regarding our interest in the artist Leonardo da Vinci. I have come to ascertain how best to recruit him and whether any of these projects of his could be of advantage to his holiness' plans. I am also called to announce the appointment of the new archbishop of Pisa, our cousin, Francesco Salviati. I am quite sure that will get quite a reaction from Lorenzo and his advisers."
Girolamo noticed that at no time did Pietro refer to his work or compliment his success. "And what have you called me here for now, when my exposure could endanger my work on your behalf?"
Pietro leaned forward. "I want to know more about the artista so I can decide the best way to influence him. Although his holiness has given me some leeway, I would rather not offer him access to such treasures as the Vatican's Secret Archives when he might very well be bought with a far lesser gift. How well do you know this man? What are his weaknesses?"
"I am not sure that he has many," Girolamo blurted out before he even gave it a thought.
"Every man has something to expose and then exploit. It's only a matter of finding what is of value to him—then either giving it in ample supply or, conversely, taking it all away, whichever will give you the more dramatic result." Pietro used one of his favorite tricks of intimidation, picking up an apple and starting to peel and core it. Girolamo realized he'd so often done the same thing, and the unintentional similarity to the man before him made him sick.
"I don't believe the artista is interested in anything you might have to offer," Girolamo lied, and Pietro cocked an eyebrow at him. "His relationship with the Medicis is not the best, but he continues to work hard to impress them and earn his stipend."
"What about his family? A wife? A lover? Children?"
"He is estranged from all his family and has no loved ones, so far as I can see."
"An artist with no lovers? I cannot even imagine." Pietro peeled a moment in silence and ate a slice of apple. "How exactly did you say you met this da Vinci?"
"Giuliano Medici took me with him to meet the artist who made the Easter Columbina."
"And you struck up a friendship? You? The restrained, conservative Girolamo just befriended a libertine artist and somehow made him share all his secret war plans?"
Girolamo resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably as his brother's dark eyes bored into his own. With another sick feeling, he wondered if he'd ever looked that sinister to those he was threatening. He cleared his throat and said, "Leonardo is more than happy to speak about his remarkable designs, to almost anyone who is willing to listen."
"Leonardo, eh?" Pietro stuck the dagger point first into the table next to him, blade quivering from the force. "It seems you have gained a rather close acquaintance to refer to him so familiarly. Perhaps you have taken a page from our cousin's book and decided to spread your legs to gain information."
Girolamo didn't move, but Pietro saw something in his expression that gave him away. He whooped a laugh that startled several of the guards settling into the camp behind him.
"You seduced him?! Oh, that is too rich!"
"Brother, I—"
"No, you don't have to explain yourself. I never knew you preferred cock to cunt." He stared at his half-brother, and Girolamo did not look away. "Since you are fucking him or being fucked by him—please don't tell me details, it sickens me to even think about it—then you are obviously aware of where his vulnerable points are. You will tell me everything that makes this da Vinci tick and I will ruthlessly exploit it to get him to Rome where he will work only for us."
"I have nothing to tell you," Girolamo said, his voice low with repressed anger.
"What did you say?"
"I have nothing to tell you about the artista," Girolamo repeated, eyes following Pietro as he got up and stalked closer.
"You have nothing or will say nothing?"
Girolamo shrugged. "Either." His head whipped to the side from the hard blow Pietro struck, and even as he cradled his aching cheek, he realized his brother had slapped him as he would a woman. Pietro gestured to several of the guards who closed in a circle around them.
"Have you become that much of a wanton whore that you will give up your family... your duty as God's chosen for a sodomite? Is his fucking that good that he's made you forget the very God you serve?"
"I have never forgotten my mission here, which was to gain information on how to take over the Medici bank or ruin it so that Rome could profit financially. I never agreed to destroying the entire republic and its people, as you would seem to desire."
"Is that what your little artista told you?" Pietro grabbed the back of Girolamo's hair and pulled back until he could see his eyes. "Are you turning soft now because you think we are going to declare war on Florence?"
"Are you not? Why else would you assassinate the duke of Milan and make such an overwhelming effort to gain Leonardo's designs for war machines? Or do all these machinations have something to do with the key to the Book of Leaves?"
Girolamo grit his teeth as the hand pulling his hair jerked hard. "What do you know about the Book of Leaves? Has he found a clue? Has he talked to you about a key?"
Girolamo shrugged. "He hasn't mentioned it, but then, we have been busy with other affairs."
He expected the slap that followed, making his ears ring. Pietro released his hair and stepped back, eyeing him with nothing but contempt.
"I cannot believe you have succumbed to such lewd temptation, but then you always were the weaker vessel. It seems I shall have to beat the devil out of you, remove the sin the same way our father has always done for us."
Girolamo didn't even try to protect himself when Pietro punched him in the jaw then in the abdomen until he doubled over, then pushed him into the waiting arms of the guards behind who prevented him from reeling backward.
Pietro removed his coat, pulled his leather gloves tight and taut over his hands, and said, "Perhaps I shouldn't touch your pretty face. Is that what attracted your artista to you?" He punched him in the eye, Girolamo's vision immediately going black on the left side.
"Or was it your body? Unless all your banking work has made you soft." Pietro let loose a flurry of blows to Girolamo's abdomen and ribs. "Does your artista paint with bright colors? Will he still enjoy your body if you are bloodied and bruised?"
He hit him again and again in the face until Girolamo wasn't sure if he blacked out. He just hung bleeding in the arms of the guards until Pietro decided he'd had enough. He pulled Girolamo's hair again to pull his head up, the pain lost in the agony that seared his entire body.
"Does he know where to find the Book of Leaves? Tell me what Da Vinci wants or, so help me, I will kill you here and now and give him your corpse as a welcome gift to Rome."
Girolamo spit the blood filling his mouth into his brother's face. Pietro just pulled his hair harder. "Leonardo seeks a key and the Book of Leaves," Girolamo gasped out. "He seeks a way to keep a free-thinking home in Italy, free from tyrants who bully and destroy others' lives on a whim."
Pietro let go of his hair and backhanded him one more time. "Drop him. He's probably well at home on his knees by now." The guards let him go with coarse laughter as Pietro turned to replace his coat.
Girolamo figured iwhat the hell/i, he'd never stood up to his brother, he'd always accepted his punishments as due. He gathered his strength and tackled Pietro from behind, pummeling him as they fell. Even with the element of surprise, Girolamo's strength was failing, but he got in a number of good blows, striking hard and fast, his history of learning to fight in the streets coming to his aid as Pietro could only try to protect his face and block some of the hits.
At full health and without the guards reaching in, Girolamo would have been more than a match for his brother. But the pain was quickly sapping his energy, and after several more vicious blows to his chest, the guards hauled him off Pietro. His hand was still fisted in Pietro's shirt and when they lifted him away, the shirt tore open, exposing a heavy crucifix entwined with a key that was instantly recognizable to Giroamo. It looked like it matched Leonardo's. He reached toward it, but a guard manhandled his arm behind his back.
Pietro was struggling to his feet, hand wiping blood from his lips, murder in his eyes.
"I will end you right now," he snarled.
"Not if you want to risk our father's wrath. It was on his orders I entered the Medici bank, and I have given him important information. You cannot kill me until my job is done."
"It sounds like you have already quit our employ and taken on a new master. I will simply tell him you have turned traitor and I disposed of you."
"And how will you manage to bring about the collapse of the bank without me inside? I'm also the one who has given you the most valuable information about Florence in the form of Leonardo da Vinci."
"Will you deliver da Vinci to me?
"I won't have to. You can take care of it yourself," Riario lied. "Offer him money, offer him a chance to get back at those in Florence who have abandoned and belittled him. He is having trouble with the design of his new musket. The Medici don't trust him with any more florins. If you offer him more and a chance to build his machines, he will jump at the chance."
"If you are lying to me..." Pietro stared into his eyes, but Girolamo knew he would believe the worst about an artist and sodomite, immediately accept that he could be bribed with money. "And what do iyou/i want?"
"I want to go home."
"Because da Vinci will soon be there in Rome?"
"Because I have seen what becomes of a territory when you rule over it, and I want to escape the bloodshed."
Pietro sneered at him but didn't strike out. "Why did you defy me when I demanded more information about da Vinci? Why did you make me punish you?"
"I told you nothing but truth. I don't have a key to control him, and he has shared some knowledge with me, but not his heart. He doesn't care about what happens to me, and I have no idea what he values besides the freedom to do whatever he wants."
"And the Book of Leaves?"
"He has talked about a key, but I do not know where he keeps it, if he indeed has it. We aren't that close; it is only fucking."
Pietro's face twisted in disgust. "And you haven't told him about your true motives regarding Florence and Rome."
Girolamo shook his head. "We don't discuss politics."
"Of course not. But how will he react when he finds his fuck toy has been working to steal his designs behind his back?"
"He will not care because it's only business for both us, particularly if he is by then working for you. I have obtained important information you desired and he obtained what he desired at the moment."
Pietro stepped back, but Girolamo didn't dare to take a deep breath, not only because of the pain.
"You expect me to believe that if I let you go, you will say nothing to da Vinci, but let me bribe him to come work for us in Rome while you carry on here like a good little boy at the bank."
"I will do my duty," Girolamo said stiffly.
"Or I could tell the Medici about you, let them hang you for being a traitor."
"And deprive yourself the satisfaction of killing me?" He gave his brother a smile full of bloody teeth.
Pietro got in his face once more. "Our father will take the honor himself, if you are lying to me." Pietro gave him a brutal knee to the groin, and the guards let him crumple to the ground in agony. "Get him on his horse and deliver him back to Florence."
The pain was almost unbearable as Girolamo rode back into the city. Without any thought on his part, he found himself in the artists' quarter, standing outside Leonardo's studio, wondering if he'd blacked out. The borrowed horse had gone, and Girolamo stumbled inside, not bothering to knock.
Leonardo was sound asleep sitting at a work table, head and chest pillowed on piles of paper. He sat up with a jerk when Girolamo pushed the door shut behind him. "What's going on?" Leonardo slurred.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Artista, but I seem to have run into some trouble." Leonardo moved toward him, and Girolamo coughed at the smell surrounding him.
Leonardo waved his hands in a vague attempt to air himself. "It's only opium. I smoke when I cannot sleep or when I have violent nightmares."
"Too much on your mind?" Girolamo collapsed into his arms as Leonardo caught him and delivered him safely to a chair.
"What happened to you? Who did this to you?" He smoothed aside Girolamo's hair from his eyes and cupped his bloody cheek gently.
"I was robbed."
Leonardo shook his head. "Here? In Florence? With the Officers of the Night roaming about, looking for any signs of curfew breakers?"
"Must have been brigands from outside the city," Girolamo replied.
"Girolamo, why won't you tell me— never mind, let me get some supplies." Girolamo slumped over the table until Leonardo found a basin of water and clean linen to serve as bandages. He felt badly about bleeding on the papers scattered across the table. Looking through bleary eyes, he realized many of the pages were crumpled or crossed out and scribbled over, apparently the product of a tormented mind.
"You are tortured by your own brilliance," Girolamo whispered as Leonardo tended to a cut above his eye.
"Are you feverish? Perhaps you have suffered a blow to the head?" Leonardo felt his cheeks, but Girolamo pulled away.
"You are alone and despondent because the rest of the world cannot keep up with you."
"I don't know about that, you give me a pretty good run in bed," Leonardo gave him a friendly leer. Girolamo shook his head, and Leonardo said, "You have a keen mind, your problem is that your imagination has been tempered by a lifetime of obedience."
Girolamo's mind wandered in a fugue of pain until Leonardo spoke again.
"I don't think it will leave much of a scar," he paused, stroking the ridge above his eye, and Girolamo knew he was thinking about the scars on Girolamo's back and wondering, always wondering. He said slowly, "Are you sure you don't know who did this to you? Or why?"
Girolamo closed his eyes and leaned into the hand now cradling his aching jaw. "No, I don't know the man who did this to me." And he meant it.
Leonardo leaned down and kissed him, not trying to avoid the cuts on his lips but gentler than usual. "Let's get you fixed up."
He tended to Girolamo's wounds, winced in sympathy at the wide swaths of bruises already forming across his ribs and belly, gave him a clean shirt and escorted him to bed. When he would have tucked Girolamo in and gone back to his worktable, Girolamo reached out his hand and stopped him.
"Stay?"
Leonardo nodded and lay down beside him, eventually rolling over until the two were close, but not touching.
"Will you ever let me in?" Leonardo whispered, breath ruffling the hair against Girolamo's closed eyelids.
"I'm not sure myself anymore what lies behind that door," he whispered back. He felt Leonardo's lips again and then nothing.
NOTE: One more chapter to go!