Chapter 3 - 1480

Giovanni put down his coffee cup on the table and looked around him in the square. He loved this square, the people, and the countless years he had spent there growing up, meeting friends, having his morning coffee, thinking about life and the world, and having endless conversations about his beloved Florence, girls, arts, politics, family and the world. He would never cease to love the conversations with the ever expanding horizons, into the depths of human nature and passions, or the magic and mysteries of beauty and inspiration, and the inner life with the force of the sun, blistering and bursting, or the countless topics of intricate dilemmas, the never-ending breadth of types of human relationships, constantly renewing and adding new and beautiful and deeply gratifying people into his life, or just enjoying the companionship and filling the air with sounds, some warm looks, and spending time together with people he loved.

The coffee was strong, and it was a gorgeous day filled with sunshine and happy people in little square. Giovanni was smiling, as always, and looking into the coffee shop, he saw the big owner with the black hair and glowing eyes looking back at him, giving him one of his warmest smiles, having seen little Giovanni ever since he was a little boy and growing up. He had now become a man, and the owner loved having him there every day.

 And this particular day was something special for Giovanni. He had been looking forward to this for a long time, as today was a day that could change his life.

He stayed in the square for a little longer, feeling the warmth of the summer, and going through his plans in his mind. He had some things that he wanted to present, and some things he was prepared to talk about. And he felt very strongly about this. It was something he had to do, and something that gave him a sense of meaning, and a new opportunity for an abundance of learning. He had prepared solidly for a few weeks, but spent the last few days with some of his artist friends, looking at their new paintings and artworks, discussing the details of colors and contrasts in a composition, and admiring some sculptures from all angles, still mesmerized by the endless visual versions of a beautiful sculpture, being admired from different sides and heights. It was like thousands of pictures into one single piece of physical artwork, floating and bursting out in cascades from the instant a person walked closer and started viewing it. And it could burst out pictures in all directions and the same time, as long as people gathered around to see it. 

  One of his friends was a true sculptor with a purity of talent that surfaced maybe once in a century, and the day before he had visited him, in his workshop, and seen his latest work of an angel hiding a little sword behind his back. “Even angels need to protect themselves,” his friend smiled. It was adding a wholeness and a little story to the sculpture, and he went around several times to grasp the fullness of it. And his friend was always happy to have Giovanni around, as it inspired his work and made the day brighter and happy. This same friend was with him now, at the table, having a coffee. “Good luck, Gio,” he said.

  “Send my best.”

  “I will,” Giovanni smiled back. “I will.”

As he left the square and walked through the streets, he noticed some new details in the columns and arches of a portico alongside the street, and felt how his walk was getting firmer, more confident, and his feet was treading the ground more forcefully. Another two blocks, and then the surroundings opened up with two wide streets on both sides, a row of little fields of grass with flowers and two little fountains in front of him, and behind them, a beautiful wall with sculptures on the top, and a big iron gate in the middle, with ornaments and gold spires in the middle. He lifted his eyes a bit further, and bathing in sunlight and splendor, was the Palace.

  He breathed, straightened up, lifted his head, and crossed the street and went through the little garden fields. He was now in front of the gate, and his meeting, was with Ezio di Barberozzini.

When Giovanni entered through the gate, it was like he entered a new part of his life. He was gently welcomed by the guards, and led through the halls of the Palace, until he stood in front of the main door, to the Throne room. Inside of it the Lord Cesario would arrive shortly, once Giovanni was present and waiting.

  He stepped inside, and felt transformed by the immense art and display of power in the room. It soaked into him and made him feel taller, stronger, and with a more directed state of mind, a more determined kind of thinking. But there was also kindness and temperament in the room, and stability. And this was the center, of the world he lived in.

  After just a few minutes, Ezio arrived and walked up to the throne. He sat down, and said briefly: “Welcome.”

Giovanni bowed as deeply as he could, but already understood that this was going to be something positive. The tone from the Lord was mild, but with boundless authority. Giovanni could sense it in every little detail in the sound of his voice, as it filled the room and vibrated calmly in the walls.

  “I have asked you to come to do service for the Republic. Your contributions have already been noticed.” Giovanni bowed again. His advisory work for the neighborhood council, and his many lectures at the evening academy had given him a name in the city as a brilliant philosopher, and a sharp historical mind. But he had never expected this.

Ezio looked at Giovanni, then out the window.

   “As you might now, the great city of Florence is facing dangerous new threats.” Then looking straight back at Giovanni, and a brief pause. “The assemblage begins in the War Gallery in a few minutes.” He stood up, and Giovanni did not know what to do, so he bowed for a third time, while pulling slightly backwards. Then the Lord of Florence was gone.

  He stood up, looked at the guards, and left the room. Out in the hall another guard and one of the advisors were waiting. “Come this way please, Royal Councillor,” the advisor said softly. “The briefing is about to begin.”

David needed a little break from the story, and understood that he had missed a little bit skipping so quickly through the book. But he loved the intensity of the moments that were about to happen, so he couldn’t go back again. And so he very quickly returned back to the Palace this summer day in 1480, as the city was being more prosperous and artistically beautiful than ever, and which also meant that some bigger threats from the other cities in the region were growing, and that they had a constant worry of collapse and ending of an era and family dynasty, which seemed to be a common curse of the times. David turned over another page.

When Giovanni had entered the War Gallery that day, he had immediately recognized the two sons Marcello and Cesario from all the portraits he had seen around in the workshops, both sitting at the end of the council table, and he also recognized Barberozzini ™ from earlier descriptions, and then there was a row of other generals and advisors along the table.

The Lord arrived a little bit later, and the council went through the threats from Siena, and their possible alliance with other city states towards their home city. As usual, they all reacted differently to this. Cesario had a blunt response of extermination and total war, Marcello had grown harder over the years, but still wanted more viewpoints before making a decision, and Niccoló was the more cunning one, who also at this point wanted to push Cesario to failure, thus promoting Marcello as the heir of the Lordship.

  In Ezio’s mind he still thought of the metaphor of gardening, as the means to handling these situations.

If they had hoped that the addition of Giovanni would solve their problems quickly, they were a bit disappointed after that first day. He had many thoughts but was partly blocked by absorbing everything in this new context. New people, perspectives, information, and the extraordinary group dynamics around him. He had never been in a room with such a concentrated amount of power, and he could feel it in his body. He would mostly like the reasoning of Niccoló the better, but the person he felt closest to was Marcello. And the Lord Ezio had very little interaction with anyone, normally just speaking, and then waiting.

  After the assemblage had ended Giovanni went back to the square, wanting a moment of normal surroundings again. He felt dizzy, and he felt like he couldn’t find his old self again for a little while. He sat down at his usual coffee shop, ordered some food and a glass of wine. As the owner came out with his big smile and warm eyes, everything calmed down for Giovanni. He could see the day from a bit of a distance, and felt the warmth and safety from his favorite place.

  But after a while, he also felt how he had lost a sense of safety for the city, knowing what he now knew. There was no way back, he briefly thought, before another one of his friends walked by and sat down, and they enjoyed the meal together. It was still a warm and sunny day, and after a few hours, he had regained his footing, and was thinking more about the solutions, and how to manage the current threats to the city.

  And later that night, before going to bed, he wrote in his notebook, about the meeting in the Palace. He had secretly dreamed about this too, like his father, for much of his life, but now that it had happened, he was partly filled with regrets. “Let’s see in a few days, the next assemblage,” he thought. And he felt less pressure in his mind again. It was another clear night, he looked at the river a bit longer than normally that night, and then he went to sleep. And he would remember nothing from that night.

Two days later Giovanni was having supper with his family again, as Lucrezia and Tomaso always wanted to gather their children at least once a week and share all their latest news. They were all very curious about the new position for Giovanni, and especially his father was very proud. “I always knew that something would become of him,” he thought to himself. And he was immensely proud over how the status of his family had now risen in the city. His mother was proud too, and only a little worried that her little boy was drawn into a cruel and brutal world, maybe a bit too rough for him. But as long as he was happy, she was very glad for him.

  His brothers were happy too, especially as they had both become something of their own, Michelangelo was a respected tradesman in the city already, and Lorenzo was working in a workshop with two of his friends, doing repairs for the locals and having his little hobbies of making little machines and models of the new inventions that had been made in the city, especially the new helicopter and giant crossbow that were among his favorites.

 “Tell me son,” Tomaso started, “how was he. Di Barberozzini.”

  Giovanni knew his father wanted a story, so he added a bit to the descriptions. “Magnificent. And kind.”

  “Ah, my son!” Tomaso was bursting with pride. “Tell me more.”

  Giovanni suddenly felt a little dilemma in his new position, as he could not tell that much from the inner chambers of the Palace, and he also did not want his family members to worry. He had to be selective in his presentation he thought, and also felt a sudden glass wall between himself and his brothers and parents, sitting around the dinner table.

  “It was not that much, really,” Giovanni continued. “I will only be occasionally invited for some historical expertise perspectives, when they have the bigger conventions and assemblages.” He still didn’t like to talk too much about himself.

  Tomaso was still bursting, mumbling: “My son.. In the Palace..” While his mother was looking at him with concerned eyes. She could tell he was holding back things, but didn’t want to pressure him. “Well done, Gio,” she softly said. “I’m sure you’ll do good for our city there.” She smiled warmly, and he understood what she meant, and that she could also see that he was hiding things, but that it was ok. And then he felt the little glass wall slowly dissolving, and he felt more present, calm and warm again. Like he could see them more clearly, and he was fully a part of the family like before. He looked back and smiled. His mother had always been a favorite for him.

  And the rest of the evening was more good food, wine, and great stories from the market place and the workshop in the last few days. And then the night fell again, like nothing had changed. Giovanni slept much better after this evening, and woke up more happy in the days after this supper. His mother always knew what she was doing.

One week after the first meeting in the Throne room, Giovanni was back in the assemblage, and as before he met with the Lord of Florence, his two sons, Niccoló, and the other advisors. He still felt slightly at odds with his designation of Royal Councillor, but he was better prepared this time, and he felt that he somehow by instinct could detect the different tensions in the room, between Niccoló and the two sons, between the two sons themselves, and a one way tension from Ezio towards Niccoló. He did not always know why or the nature of these tensions, but he could sense it, if something was there.

  Ezio had given Siena a strict warning and deadline of one week, which had not been upheld or respected by the rivaling city. He did not want to risk a direct war at this moment however, as his experience told him there was some bigger plan behind the provocations, and he felt that this was a trap.

  Cesario wanted a blunt slaughter at once, as he saw this as cutting off the head of the threat. Marcello wanted to hear more perspectives, while Niccoló already was planning on the removal of Cesario, and was calculating the short term loss in this battle, compared to the long term damage of having Cesario in closer proximity to real power. He felt that the time had come, to push Cesario over the edge, for the better of the city, and the longer term protection of the Lordship of the Barberozzinis. And Giovanni was trying to combine his historical knowledge, instincts for people, emerging understanding of real life diplomacy and warfare, and assessing the current situation for his beloved home town and the wider region.

  “Your view, Niccoló?” Ezio’s voice was firm, and always vibrating directly into the people around him through the walls, chairs and the table. Niccoló’s voice was meek and sly. “From the longer term perspective of preservation of our Lordship and the security of our city, I think the wisest move would be to concur with the harder line of Cesario, in this particular case. It will bring strategically improved probabilities of a strengthened Republic and a swift movement to remove a growing threat.”

 Marcello was surprised, and objected thoughtfully: “I cannot fully concur with the view that risking a wider confrontation with an unknown group of alliances at this point, is the wisest trajectory at this point. We could risk a humiliating defeat, which would damage our reputation.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Niccoló thought, “of Cesario’s”.

  “Nonsense,” Cesario interjected. “Weak and cowardly thinking.”

  Giovanni kept looking at the four men, and thinking about the phrase “preservation of our Lordship”. Ezio spoke: “Giovanni?”

  He paused, and wanted to make a contribution without making any enemies. Marcello was looking at him, seemingly hoping for a supporting voice for his own view. And even though Giovanni personally shared the opinion of Marcello, he did not want to contradict Niccoló, who he saw as a sharp mind, but also a dangerous man to cross in public.

 “In the longer view of our Florentine history, the preservation of a strong Lordship has always proven to give stability and prosperity to the city. Without the deeper knowledge of the nature of the possible alliances at this point, my view would be that the established swift nature of Barberozzini’s reign, combined would Barberozzini ™’s assessment of the diplomatic context, would indicate a leaning towards a preference for Niccol™’s conclusion.”

  He looked at their eyes, and think he pulled it off. It was half vague, but with a personal opinion, and for his protection of his own future reputation, an ambiguous tone regarding what the longer term benefits would entail. And those could always we postponed.

  “Excellent,” Cesario spurted. “Let me be in charge of this.”

  Marcello felt slightly disappointed, but interpreted Giovanni’s first statement as a careful first step, being diplomatic and not wanting to get in the way of the plans of the special advisor. Which Marcello would, even if it was against his own interest in this case, commend as being a smart preliminary approach to being a member of the assemblage. “He’s thinking strategically and well,” he thought. “I would probably have done the same.”

  Ezio briefly weighed both of the sides in his mind, saw a potential alliance as easily broken, and thought it was time to let Cesario have some real responsibilities. Ezio was getting old, and needed to test the real caliber of his sons. And then he let Giovanni’s statement be the tipping point in his final decision.  

  At the same time Niccoló was replaying the statement from Giovanni in his mind, tasting the words and the double layers, and viewing it from the perspective of a newly appointed Royal Councillor. His eyes narrowed. “He is lucid,” he thought. “Perhaps too much so.”

  And as Ezio rose, they all rose. “We will start tomorrow,” he said briefly. “Cesario, this is yours.” Cesario was thrilled, and so was Niccoló, behind a serious expression of gravity. Marcello looked down on the floor, and Giovanni tried to grasp what had just happened. He had already made his first sacrifice, in the choice of lesser evils.