Coronet

Book I

Evil springs from the dark core of the world and brings with it life. And things without flesh and blood, things void and dead, begin to stir.

BOOK I: RENAISSANCE 1600

THE old lion had died in his pit. For over a year the city of Florence had been without one of its symbols —the living symbol of the Republic. But now the good Christian King of the French was sending a gift to the Republic of Florence. The Cloth Merchants Guild was the first to receive tidings of this gracious present that had been sent in a galley from the shores of Africa to the port of Genoa.

Three carts, one containing the covered cage of the lion, had arrived at the walls of the city. The sea had been rough and the restless tossing of the galley did not seem to agree with the lion; but now the green trees, the sight of the hills and fresh raw meat had quickly revived the beast. Now he roared. And his jungle cries were heard far inside the walls of Florence.

While the horses attached to the three carts rested at the west gate of the city, Florence was making

' 3 ready to receive the caged visitor. Two days before, the Duke of Florence had sent his steward to the old goldsmith Cappini, ordering the stone lion carved in the shield over the arched entrance of the castle to be freshly gilded with the best leaf and without delay. One of the men from the shop and the boy apprentice, Rocco, were sent with a leather book of gold leaf and the necessary tools to carry out the Duke’s wishes. Their ladders were still blocking the arched entrance when they heard the roar of the lion at the city gate.

Their work had been going along nicely and they would have soon finished had they not encountered several interruptions. Once the ladders had to be taken down to allow a newly varnished carriage to be rolled into the castle and once again for a small wagon containing steel breast-plates for the additional guards that were to patrol the streets during the celebration. Then there had been miscalculations. The carved lion looked smaller from the edge of the moat than it did at close range. The stone was also more porous than it had seemed and the gold leaf only covered part of the lion. Twice Rocco, the apprentice, had to make trips to the shop for more gold. Then they found themselves short of eggs and Rocco was sent to the market place to get ten more. The whites of the eggs were mixed with a gum to make the leaf adhere to the stone. .

“Eggs for the Duke!” cried the boy as he ran’ through the narrow streets. “Eggs for the Duke!”

At the market square he stood before two old women. He paused long enough to catch his breath.

“Eggs for the Duke! Ten. You old crones. Hasten, you mothers of sin.”

“May the devil rot his young soul,” said one of the women in her toothless mouth.

*““And since when does the Duke send to the market for eggs?” asked the other, not at all disturbed by the racket and noise of the youth.

“Since when? Since today! And you will give them to me at once.”

““May his feet follow his lying tongue to the gates of Hell.”

“Tt’s no lie. I tell you, it’s for the Duke,—for the castle. You better give them at once, you old hawks.”

“And what money did you bring?”

“Money?”

“Yes. Tell us now that the Duke has sent no money ae cenke

“Listen, you evil midwives. I must have ten eggs and you must give them to me. And there is no money because we are working on the shield over the gate and we need the whites. Before you judge me false come and see for yourselves—and we will throw the yellows back in your faces.”

A crowd gathered.

“Tt is true,” someone called. “I saw him on the ladders this morning.”

“They are gilding the shield because the lion for the pit will soon arrive,” added another.

“You hear, you old crones. Now give me the eggs and give them at once, or your souls are pawned to the devil.”

“When the poor give to the rich then the devil laughs,” mumbled the toothless one.

And so with much swearing and bullying, with noisy talk and after many oaths and threats, Rocco succeeded in extracting ten eggs from the old women in the presence of the market guard, a bailiff, and a gathering crowd.

The claws of the stone lion were still being covered with leaf when the roars of the beast were heard from the gates of the city. Drums were sounded in the palace yard.

Two criers set forth to announce, in slow mechanical voices, that the old Roman lion pit would once more hold a guest of the Republic. While two laborers were in the bottom of the pit washing the stones with brooms of olive twigs, the Guild of Butchers were carrying through the streets of Florence a large basket filled with the heads of hogs newly slaughtered. Bright drops of blood dripped from the bottom of the basket and marked a path, as though they were small crimson coins laid out for a special purpose, through a good half-mile of streets. At length the basket arrived at the pit. Here it was draped with bunting, and four small flags, dyed with the colors of the Duke, were pressed into the corners. The pigs’ heads were white and their rosy snouts stuck up. Never before had they been so clean. Their little dead eyes were open wide and looked out.

Rocco, on the ladder at the castle gate, now spoke to the journeyman goldsmith. “And even if it should be a hundred lions instead of only one, what would I care? The Duke is the Duke and I am Rocco and true enough if this were Roman times he could throw me into the pit as they did to hundreds of souls; but do you think my soul would perish? Yes, I am Rocco, a free man, and these are no longer Roman times. I CAN Gu?

“Ha, ha, you should not make me laugh. A free man and only an apprentice! A boy calls himself a man and the apprentice already thinks himself free. Ha, ha.”

“In one more year I shall be free, so I can say it if I like. One more year and I will tell the old master Cappini that he can get himself another boy. My time will be over and I will travel and work at my trade in all the cities of the world.”

“There are some cities that may not require goldsmiths.”

“Well, then I will work in the big capitals of foreign nations. I will go to the King of Poland and I will tell him... .”

“The King of Poland has no need for such as you.”

“What do you know what I can do! In the shop you see only my filing and polishing. What do you know? Don’t you think I could work from my own designs—if I had the gold?”

“If you had the gold? Perhaps if you had the gold you would not want to work at all.”

“Yes, I would work because,—well, just because I would want to show you and all the others that I am an artist. And you would all have to respect me. Yes, even Cappini, and also the Duke. These are no longer ancient times when a man was no better than a beast in a pit. And that is why I say that even a hundred lions would have no influence on me once I made up my mind. Now, do you think I paid for the eggs? No. Do you know why? Because I did not desire to pay. And I did not steal them either. I just made up my mind and that’s all there was to it. I had the money in my pocket but as I entered the market place, there before me sat two old crones, as God is my witness, two old dried-up women with a basket of eggs. So I said to myself, “Ten of these are mine and there will be no money.’ Well, it took a little time, but my mind was made up and once Rocco makes up his mind, you could cut him into a hundred pieces and each piece would still hold the same opinion.”

“Come now. A little less boasting and a little more work. Four more claws to be done and you can keep stirring the amber varnish.”

“It’s no boasting, either. Once I make up my mind a hundred lions would not be enough to hold me.”

‘““And suppose you made up your mind to go down into the pit and eat the lion—you say you could do cai

“There would be no reason to do so, and nothing could be gained by it. I should never make up my - mind to accomplish worthless things.”

“Come now, stir the varnish and stop that nonsense.”

“T tell you, it’s not nonsense and you will see. Rocco is Rocco and you don’t know what he can do.”

The roars of the caged beast were now heard between the blasts of the trumpet and the steady tap of drums.

Now the two old egg women moved their basket back from the edge of the walk. They stood up and faced each other in a manner strange and uncertain.

“Ten eggs,” said the toothless one. “Gone, and for naught.”

“For naught,” answered the other. ‘“‘Naught, only to gild an ornament over a gate.”

“Carved ornaments were made for tombs.”

“And the dead do not rest with gold in their tombs.”

“Ten, ten, ten,” mumbled the toothless one.

“And ten times ten is a hundred and so ten hundreds of years let them rot. A full thousand. And while they are living, let them also be dead. And when they are dead let them rise up and go on living. And after the living eat the dead let the dead arise and devour the living.”

“Yes, that is just. Ten, ten, ten,’ mumbled the toothless one.

They stood facing each other. Their strange eyes stared with a fixed glassy look.

In the distance they could hear the drums, the tramp of the soldiers’ feet and the bellowing roar of the African beast destined for the ancient pit in Florence. The egg women now covered their basket with a cloth and hastened to depart. A few feathers fell gently from the folds of their skirts and were carried away by the breeze. In a moment they were across the square and lost in the shadow of a narrow street. But the toothless one still mumbled: ‘“Ten, ten, ten.”

By this time the shield over the entrance of the Castello di Porta Giovia was finished. The ladders were removed. Rocco and the journeyman gathered up their tools and the large book of leather pages that held the gold leaf and started back across the drawbridge. The smell of the stagnant water in the deep green moat around the castle almost choked them as they hurried across.

There was a legend, dark and old, connected with this moat, that many old Florentine families still related to their children. The legend concerns a great feudal lord who lived in the castle during the Dark Ages, long before the Corte Ducale and the Southern Towers were built. This great lord had three beautiful daughters who were to be married all at one ceremony to three sons of three neighboring kings. When the kings arrived together with their sons and escorts and members of their courts, and all their flags and banners were proudly displayed from the towers of the castle, a terrible plague, black with the furies of Hell, broke loose upon the people of Florence.

At the first news of the disaster, the Duke ordered the drawbridges raised as though for a state of siege. He feared the kings would return to their native lands before the ceremony could take place and he also feared the plague. On the morning that the bridges were drawn two young sons of a castle stableman were playing in a field beside the castle. When the bridges were not lowered and their calls remained unanswered they took off their shirts and swam across the moat. But soldiers with drawn swords were waiting for them at the wall of the castle and as soon as they tried to climb out of the water they were pierced through in many places and their bodies pushed back into the water.

Now the people of Florence wanted the grain that belonged to them from the castle storehouse, but the Duke refused to allow it to be given. Thinking that the Duke would not permit the lowering of the bridges for fear that the plague would thus enter into the castle they begged for the grain to be tied.in bags and thrown from the uppermost walls across the moat. But the Duke caused a message to be tied to a stone and thrown into the field. And this was his reply: “The living cannot support the dead.”

Now the white skeleton of famine danced through the streets. The shops of the city were barred and the shutters of proud and noble houses were closed. “Death, death, death, stay thy cold and dusty hand,” became the cry of terror-stricken Florence.

The city council ordered all dogs and cats to be killed and poison was freely poured into the cellar rat holes. Brave men went from house to house doing all that was possible but in less than a week their bodies swelled up and they died in terrible agony. Death was their reward. Now all was silent except for an occasional moan or piercing cry that came from a deserted street; except for the yell of fever-madness and the terror cries of the victims.

At the same time strange scenes were taking place in the castle. The betrothed kept changing their minds. At one time all the daughters fell madly in love with a young cousin of one of the kings, and at another time two of the sons were about to fight a duel for the hand of the youngest. At length it was decided that, regardless of everything, the wedding would proceed.

That night a dying cobbler in the city left his cellar, and crawling on hands and knees through the streets finally reached one of the churches. Here he climbed the bell tower and wound the ropes around his hands and legs. Suddenly he began ringing the bells and for an hour or more, while life was still in him, they clanged their desolate tones. When his lifeless body fell from the steps of the tower it was held suspended by the ropes attached to his limbs, and swaying to and fro, it tilted the bells. They sounded at broken intervals throughout the night. When the wind blew they sounded loudly. They rang on and on __ insistent and tireless as only the dead can be. Men hearing these bells took courage and in the morning a small group of brave fellows gathered in the market square.

They took carts and drove from street to street. With the bells still ringing, these men, fearless and brave, went from house to house and called out: “Where are your dead! We are come to take them away.” The bells tolled on. “Open the doors! What dead have you for us? We come to take them away.”

Whole houses from cellar to garret were filled with the dead. The people who feared the plague were in hiding but when they heard these cries many threw open their shutters and pointed to the places that once held the living and now were silent.

The carts were soon filled—two hundred or more— and in the evening all were assembled at the market square. At night the brave men, with blazing torches lighting the way, drove the carts to the edge of the castle moat. Here the plague-stricken dead were thrown. Their bodies filled the moat—a ring of death around the stone walls. Black arms—blacker than the water and darker than the night—pierced the surface.

While this was happening, gay music was heard, and dancing was going on in the castle. Torches were burning along the walls. The wedding feast was over and the guests danced on the open terraces,

Suddenly a loud and piercing shriek was heard.

ee of the three brides had suddenly sunk to the oor.

“Oh, the bony hands hold me in their grip. Stay! Stay! Touch me not while this demon courses through my bowels. Stay. God have mercy—mercy!”

The Duke drew his stout sword and placed the point to his daughter’s breast. He turned his head aside for he could not look into her eyes and with trembling hand ran the blade through to the hilt. Then, lifting the body by the handle of the sword, he threw it over the wall of the castle and cried out so all could hear: “The living must live and the dead must die.”

But now the dance was turned into mourning.

That very night the heart of the Duke melted. He ordered the granaries opened and sacks were hurled from the walls of the castle across the dead bodies in the moat. The brave men stood by with their carts and loading wagon after wagon with this priceless grain hurried it to the ovens. All night they baked their bread and carried it hot into the market place free for all who survived the plague.

The dead city once more took on life and the rejoicing was great. Perils are rewarded by pleasures.

In the castle, however, things became worse. Each king and each son of a king, and every royal envoy, locked himself in a separate room. The prisoners in the dungeons were killed to provide additional chambers for the wedding guests.

Now the stableman who had lost his two boys when the bridges were drawn came to the Duke and on his knees asked for the two girls, the two remaining princesses, the brides. “I will care for them, master, and they shall not want.” He carried them into the stable and spreading fresh wheat straw placed them in two stalls. Then he brought them water and hot gruel and knelt down and said: “Two boys were taken from me and now two girls are given me. I am my master’s servant and that I will remain until I die.”

But he did not die, He was the only one in the castle to survive. Twice a day he brought gruel and water and placed it before every door that answered his knock. In less than a week there came no more responses and the two young girls also had passed away.

All was silent and all were dead excepting only he. At length, with difficulty, he lowered the bridge over the moat and appeared alone. He knew not what to do or where he should go.

The cobbler’s bells, for so they are now called, still ring to this day. And when the stableman died his body was placed beside the cobbler’s grave, close to the bell tower in the churchyard.

This was the legend of the moat over which Rocco and the journeyman goldsmith hurried on the day that the lion arrived as a gift to the Republic of Florence from the good Christian King of the French.

The cage was lowered into the pit by four ropes. A cord pulled open the slide but the beast would not leave the box. At length, after the cage had been tilted by lifting on one of the ropes, the beast put his head through the opening and suddenly leaped out.

From above came great cheering. A hundred heads bent over the rail as the empty crate was withdrawn. The lion now in the pit jumped quickly from side to side, with the agility of a cat, but he found no exit. He put his nose forward to smell the stones, then he looked up at the people and began pacing back and forth. They threw down the head of a pig but he only sniffed at its pink snout and stepped carefully over it in his restless walk.

“What a fortunate beast you are,” said a gentleman in the crowd. Then he addressed his neighbor. “Here you have it. From the forests of Africa to the culture and civilization of the Republic of Florence. Here we have the learned academies, music, the arts, literature: what more could a dumb beast ask?”

“Tf the beast could ask he would probably ask for the forest.”

Suddenly there was a cry.

“Nicolo. Nicolo, don’t do it.”

“Here, wait!”

A dark-haired youth of about eighteen had climbed over the rail at the edge of the pit and was poised to jump across.

“Nicolo! Nicolo, don’t! Let him keep his money. Don’t jump. It’s foolish,” pleaded his friend.

But Nicolo did not listen. He jumped across the top of the pit and grasped the rail at the other side. A murmur ran through the crowd, and some of the elder men came forward to protest and remonstrate with Nicolo.

Your father should hear of this.”

Yes, Your father would cause you to remember at

“And he may hear of it yet. And how will it sound when it is spoken about that Nicolo, the son of our Marshal, must jump across the pit like a brainless monkey.”

“And what have you gained by it?”

“It was a wager,” said one of the boys.

“Come, Rocco, pay the money. He did it.”

Rocco, on his way back to the shop, had stopped to watch the lion lowered into the pit.

“Pay the money, Rocco, as you promised.”

“But what good does it do me if Nicolo jumps across the pit?”

“It’s not supposed to do you any good, for you took no risk. You said you would pay and you should.”

Yes. I would pay if I had the money.”

*Then why did you wager if you had no money?”

“J did not think you would do it.”

“We will go to the goldsmith, Cappini, who is a just man and we will state our case to him and I am sure he will pay us and you may regret it.” Thus spoke Nicolo’s friend.

“Wait,” added Nicolo. “We do not want to go to the goldsmith if this can be settled now. What money have you?”

“TI have but one gold piece—and that I have saved for a long time.”

“Where is it?”

“T keep it hidden.”

““Where?”

“Tn a secret place.”

“Let us have it.”

Rocco was silent.

“Come now. Out with it.”

Rocco stammered.

“Out with it or I will hammer it out of you with my fists.”

= will pay. I never said I wouldn’t pay but you are so impatient.”

“Yes, you were impatient too when you cheated the old women and got the eggs out of them. I saw you. And now I am impatient for I have a very special need of the money.”

At length Rocco was forced to give up his gold piece. But lest its hiding place be discovered he took Nicolo and his companion into a side street. Here in the semi-darkness he undid his belt and from a secret place in the folds of his inner clothes drew forth the golden coin.

Nicolo took the coin and said: ‘This much for now. But don’t forget one more is due me.”

Rocco went on to the goldsmith’s shop while Nicolo and his companion walked through the narrow lane. It was too dark to see the red coins of blood that had dropped from the basket of pigs’ heads, along the cobbles of the street.

They hurried on until they came to the home of the Jew Solom Donzeli. The windows were heavily barred and the door of carved oak had four locks. They spoke through a latticed hole in the door before three rusty bolts were heard to grate and the door swung open.

Solom was dressed in purple velvet with a fine lace collar about his neck. On his head he had a black silk cap, cut like a cube. His sparse black beard was matted.

“So you are here again, my good Messer Nicolo.”

“Yes, I have come for my silver sword and my dagger.” ‘i

“And you bring me the . . . you bring with you what is needed?”

PL eSSs,

“Then good. Your articles are safe in my chest. You shall have them.”

“That is what we came for.”

“They are yours and you shall have them, Messer Nicolo. Nothing was ever lost in the home of Solom Donzeli. A pledge is a pledge and the smallest trinket, let it be gold, silver or brass, is sacred in my keeping.”

“But what is mine is better in my hands.”

“True. And well said. What is yours shall be yours. And you said you bring me . . . what is necessary.”

‘“The money, you mean?”

“Yes. Yes. Only the repayment, I mean.”

Nicolo drew the golden coin from his pocket and rang it on the table.

“Good. It rings true. But it is one and, my dear Messer Nicolo, you must recall. Two. It was two that we agreed upon. My books would show it in writing.”

“You need no books, Jew. I do not deny it.”

“Well?”

“I have but one at the moment. The other I will bring you shortly. You have my word for it.”

“It is not in our bargain that we should deal so, and certain things cannot be divided, but for you, my good Messer Nicolo—for you I would do much to please. Which will you have now, the sword or the dagger?”

“You would please me best by giving both. Or if you would have it with strictness, give me the one and lend me the other.”

“Ah, that would be nice, but that I cannot do. I cannot lend that which is not mine.”

“Perhaps tomorrow or next day you will be paid. My word is good. And there is besides a purpose to my request. It’s the celebration tonight. It comes unexpectedly. That is why.”

“Ah, my good Nicolo, the son of the Marshal, must show himself with all his trappings. I see how it plays. I see.”

“Now listen, Jew. Not so much talk about things that concern you not. I will pay the rest soon. You have my word for it. It is not in our bargain but I will count it a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Yes, A favor from you to me. And some day you may be repaid with surprising interest.”

“Ah, yes. If you should remember—but these little favors are all I have to give and they are easily forgotten.”

*“How do you mean?”

“JT mean that if your father wanted he could easily favor me. The priests are at my door constantly. ‘Infidel!’ they cry. “You and your children are Antichrist! He has suffered for you and all mankind. Now you must pay. Pay. Pay. Pay with money or you will pay with blood.’ Then I answer them, and say: “We have already paid with blood.’ But no. It does not satisfy them. They force their way through the door and look about with suspicious looks. ‘And what do you look for?’ I ask. “There is nothing here that is yours.’ Then they answer me by saying that they

(POOR firmly believe I have communication with the devil. You know what that means. But I have no communications. They know it. Yet the charge is a difficult one to disprove before the judges. So they must have money, money, money. Always the same thing, my good Messer Nicolo. Money! Is it not unjust? And your father, who is the good Marshal, may he live long, could he not stop them? Even if they must continue, could we not negotiate? Let them name a sum —a certain amount to be paid once or twice in the year. Then I would know what is demanded of me. I would have some peace and I would set aside so much for this and so much for that. Certainly, Messer Nicolo, it could be arranged. And your father could do it.”

He went to his desk and consulted a large parchment book. Then he took his keys and left the room. And all the time a pair of girl’s dark sad eyes had watched them through a slit in the portiéres.

At length he returned, bringing in his hands both the sword and the dagger.

“You will not be sorry. I promise you that.”

Nicolo buckled the sword to his belt and rubbed the dagger handle on his sleeve to bring back its polish.

“Make it soon, my good Messer Nicolo. My books must show full accountings. It is required by law.”

“Yes. You will have it soon.”

“And the other thing also; bear it in mind. It is a great injustice.”

The bolts were again unlocked and the two boys passed through the heavy doorway.

In the meantime, Rocco, vexed by the loss of the gold piece, walked from the Street of the Lions to the bridge that led to the goldsmiths’ district on the opposite bank of the river. As he passed the house of Giovanni he looked up at the windows but all the shutters were closed and only a servant was to be seen on the little balcony that extended over the sloping tiled roof.