The Contract.

Milan

‘I have heard you eat little girls?’ she asked.

It was not the sort of question I had been expecting, but what man can explain the workings of a woman’s mind.

   ‘I have never had any complaints,’ I replied.

   ‘I’ve heard that as well.’

    She met me at Milan’s main gate introducing herself as ‘Fiammetta d’Este,’ I could not place the name though as a d’Este there was a strong possibility we had met before and for one calamitous moment it passed my mind that we may have done more than meet.

‘It is true I like women and they like me, but you may be assured, my lady, that I am faithful to all my mistresses.’

‘Too fickle, is what I have heard.’

    ‘Too fickle, this from a woman? I am as constant as the sun.’

    ‘Let us walk. You have known my cousin, Lucia?’

    ‘Lucia?’

    ‘Men, how soon they forget. One moment complete adoration, the next you stand a distant second to their favourite horse.’

   `Your name would be forever on my lips.’

    ‘As you kiss another, such is the blasphemy of a man’s love.’

We were approached by a soldier leading a troop of men; he was a man with a somewhat worried look on his face:

‘Forgive the interruption my lady, but I must ask Count Francesco if he would…,’ his voice trailed off, he seemed unsure how to continue.

‘Be content to be searched, but of course,’ I said.

‘My lord,’ he acknowledged, he even managed a smile.

‘What is your name?’ I asked him.

‘Giovanni Pusteula my lord.’

    The search completed, he bowed and we continued on our way. I knew she was studying me for my reaction to the Duke’s little demonstration of power.

    ‘I think you will remember that name?’ she asked.

 I would, but it is often prudent for all concerned not to draw attention to such matters and asked instead:

‘You escort me for a reason?’

     ‘The Duke would have me steal your secrets, and in answer to the question you haven’t asked me, no, you haven’t slept with me, yet.’

    I smiled. It is no secret that I have a weakness for clever women. She was seventeen when we first met, what man could have resisted those sparkling green eyes?

   ‘My secrets, I want to be the best,’ I said, having the distinct impression we were being followed, ‘what condottiere does not? Is that all the Duke wants to know?’ As if that would ever have satisfied the Duke, she laughed at the very idea and then tried a different approach.

    ‘You have friends in Florence and Venice.’

    ‘It pleases me to be so popular,’ I said looking around,     ‘but I think there is more?’

   She glanced where I had been looking, at least two people tried to avoid her gaze. She ignored them. ‘It is a common desire to want to be on the winning side and after your recent success many think you can conquer the world, if you would set your mind to it.’ 

   ‘I am flattered, but I am thinking of an estate of more modest proportions, something urban, for my retirement.   There is still more I think?'

  ‘You are the coming man and one has a certain reputation to keep up.’

   ‘If your interest is personal, I should warn you, follow me and you will have no reputation.’

   ‘What a delicious prospect’ she said licking her lips. ‘If one cannot be good, one must be magnificently bad. But, how does one become bad? Is it part of an inheritance, like the silver, or a thing learned? If so, who should be the teacher? I am curious. Some say you are good and others that you are thoroughly bad.’ She stopped to point out a particularly fine building. We were definitely being followed. ‘Some say all is written and we are actors upon a stage?’

‘Show me parchment where it is so writ.’

‘A priest would say the bible.’

   ‘You don’t strike me as the type that bends a knee and professes her love of God. Tell me, would you pay for your sins in instalments? A gift here, a token there, and redeem in eternity.’

   ‘And you?

   ‘I’ll not build some monument to my sins. Would ever a priest cure a common cold I would have more faith. I will not spend my life bowing and scraping to some ornament.’

She clapped her hands, ‘you play the villain well.’

   I bowed.

   ‘I am, but a humble player upon a stage.’

    ‘More than you say, but probably less than you think.’

We paused again; our watchers followed with a deliberation and precision that could have been set to music, it was that well done. She continued:

‘And yet you could be so much more with the proper financing.’

‘You offer money?’

‘The republics offer what ever is necessary.’

‘Do they? I gave their ambassadors my answer.’

‘No answer is ever final.’

‘And you?

She turned to face me, those appealing eyes, ‘I would be your agent.’

‘You think I need representation?’

‘With a talent like yours you could go far, with a little help that is.’

‘Help?’

‘I would represent you in your contract negotiations with the republics.’

‘I have no contract nor do I desire one.’

‘Not yet, but the wheel ever turns.’

‘You would do this for a fee?’

A girlish laugh:

‘Of course, what else would I be wanting?’

‘And what are your talents?’

‘I know the trivium and quadrivium and I dance to perfection.’

‘You are ambitious.’

‘Who has the greater ambition the man who reaches above his station or the woman who desires to be more than shadow? As a woman I am held of little account, one of four sisters, it is a peculiar present to be orphaned on adults’ threshold by ones own family. Had I died young my family would love me still.’

‘And now?

‘I want to wake up each morning and wonder how the day will end. I want adventure.’

‘You should be careful what you wish for.’

‘I am very careful Count Francesco, in all things. That is something you will learn about me. Some say you have never lost a battle, others that you have a devil’s talent for dancing between the plots and intrigues that bubble up from the earth. Tell me, between ourselves, what is the secret of your success?’

‘I had a good education.’

‘We are here,’ she said indicating a door, ‘I am allowed no further. This man will take you to the Duke,’ she indicated a tall thin man, pale of feature, grave of countenance. ‘I don’t think the Duke trusts me.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘ I have no idea why.’

I kissed her hand. ‘There were sixteen,’ I said.

She leant forward and whispered in my ear. ‘Seventeen, you forgot the little beggar girl. Remember Count Francesco, in Milan nothing is ever what it seems.’

That is how I gained another mistress before lunch, it is said of Fiammetta d’Este that she was my favourite, the love of my life, it is also said that is why Bianca murdered her.

Duke Filippo Maria Visconti was an enigma trapped by a contradiction. A cruel man crippled by shyness and insecurity. He had two passions in his life, his mistress Agnese del Maino the mother of my wife Bianca, and fear. In an age when rulers seldom die natural deaths, he trusted no one and no one trusted him. He managed his court so as to be the perfect balance of intrigue and jealousy, each man played off against the other and all were watched. Who guards the guards? asked the Ancients, Visconti found a way.

But beneath the shyness there was genius, not for numbers, art or poetics, but for something far more useful. Politics, for he could look at a political situation and see what others could not. Like some elaborate game of chess, he was able to wring every conceivable nuance out of a position, subjecting people and events to his will. Did I like him? I would say that I did and even after everything that has happened, I still do. He was both monster and frightened child, a superior brain in an inferior body. True, one had always to be careful; a degree of easy familiarity did not betoken approval or acceptance. And if you looked closely you could see it, the something lurking behind the eyes. I see it sometimes in Bianca, she tries to hide it, but it is there.

It is common for an intelligent mind to seek order out of chaos, purpose out of randomness and Visconti was no different. They say that when Visconti looked to the heavens he sought not God, but knowledge of the stars, for they would allow him to discern patterns in the affairs of man. There is an element of truth in this. When his life hangs by a thread can a prince be blamed for the search?

Often the concerns of the man are founded upon the experiences of the child and the Duke was no different from the rest of us. At the death of his father the possessions of the Visconti inheritance were split between Filippo and his older brother, Gian Maria. In reality the condottiere in Milan’s service ripped the state apart. It was an experience that marked him for the rest of his life. There are some wounds that go too deep to ever really heal. Yet with two deaths Fortune lifted him from being a prisoner in the castle of Pavia to the Dukedom. The first was the assassination of his brother, the second and more important, the death of the condottiere Facino del Cane, the de facto ruler of the Visconti lands. Pressed to marry Cane’s widow, a woman a lifetime older than he, he did so, thereby gaining control of all Cane’s possessions and command of his army. As soon as his position was secure he executed her on a false charge of adultery. ‘She was ill-favoured,’ was all he would say to me on the subject much later.

Fear and a desire to recover what was lost shackled Visconti to his condottiere. The chief amongst these was Carmagnola, a man held to be another of my many victims. Carmagnola planned the re-conquest of all the Duke’s possessions and step-by-step ensured the plan became reality. For his part Carmagnola was well rewarded, palaces, gold, even marriage to a Visconti cousin, there seemed to be no end to the bounty. The great general received these ‘gifts’ as evidence that he remained in favour of the Duke and the Duke gave them partly out of genuine gratitude, but mostly as an attempt to bind him to his service. It was not a situation that was peculiar to Milan. All condottiere must balance reward against the envy of others while all rulers must find a way to make acceptable payment to those who can take everything.

After regaining Genoa in 1421 the re-conquest of the Visconti inheritance was complete. At that a prudent ruler would have been satisfied, but the Duke was of the school that says a state must either ‘grow or perish.’ Unfortunately for the Duke, times had changed since his father’s day, while Florence remained much the same; the Merchant Princes of Venice were turning their attention from turning a profit to also acquiring freehold on the mainland. The Duke faced a dilemma, how to expand his territory without facing a two front war? A war that with even Carmagnola leading his forces, he knew he could not win.

Except that Carmagnola would not be leading his forces. As is sometimes in the nature of these relationships there had been a bitter ‘parting of the ways’ arising out of Carmagnola’s governorship of the city of Genoa. Unfortunately, this high honour created serious problems for Carmagnola who knew that any absence from court always encouraged intrigue. Fears of being undermined, and ultimately replaced, prayed on Carmagnola’s mind, he brooded on his grievances and waited. Visconti, as was his usual contrary nature, suddenly replaced Carmagnola as governor. Carmagnola, normally a brave man, allowed the terrors in his mind to grow so large that he could no longer control them and demanded an audience with the Duke, which naturally the Duke refused, and on being so refused, Carmagnola panicked and fled.

The loss of Visconti’s Captain General was balanced by Milan’s victory over Florence at Zagonara where her army of 10,000 men commanded by Carlo Malatesta was destroyed. The fact that only three men actually died in the battle only added to the humiliation of Florence. Wounded pride is a dangerous motive for war; Florence wanted revenge and appealed to Venice.

This situation had explained the presence of rival ambassadors in my camp shortly after Aquila.

‘You’re popular’ said my brother Alessandro.

‘A man with an army always is’ I replied. I was a man on the rise with a reputation for winning. Both wanted me, the question was how to agree to one without mortally offending the others.

‘Any lasting friendship,’ said the Florentine Ambassador ‘must be built upon a firm foundation of mutual trust and confidence.’ He went on to salute me as the son of the ‘great Muzio, a condottiere without peer,’ and stressed the links between the legendary English condottiere Sir John Harkwood, Cotignola, my father and Florence.

Venice put it more bluntly:

‘Can you afford to turn down the friendship of Venice? Our friendship is not lightly offered and seldom twice?’

I listened to their proposals and promised nothing. For in my mind I heard the voice of my father. ‘Think of the future,’ he always told me. ‘Florence is too parochial and will only ever fall under the dominion of one of their own, while Venice is always of the opinion, that there is no other opinion but hers. As for Milan, she is stitched together with a very loose thread. Witness what happened when Duke Gian Galeazzo died. Visconti is without a male heir, a thought to ponder. After all you are a Count would it be too great a step?’ I shook my head.

‘My lord?’ asked Brunero, unsure the intent my gesture betokened.

Quo Vadis? For the present I had certain renown, but how long would that last if I failed to measure myself against the best of the remaining condottiere? There is always a moment in a man’s life when he must decide whether he will follow or whether he will lead. It is a question that goes to the root of a man’s character and ambition. Some men never ask the question and so are destined to be, neither one nor the other, and in the end see all that they achieve disappear in the confusion of not knowing who they really are. ‘My son, it is not for you to follow the lead of other condottiere. You must go where your fate will lead you and suffer the consequences of your greatness.’

So be it.

‘My lord?’ he asked again.

‘Milan.’ I had answered.

I took the army north. I remember little save for one incident that stands out in my mind. The army was marching down a dirt covered road that ran past a village as poor as any I have seen before or since. The villagers lined the road, some waved, and others cheered, but most were glad to see us gone. There is nothing worse for the people than an army living off the countryside. Food and animals are taken and no matter how many we hang liberties are always taken with the wives and daughters. The single memory is of an old woman, she steps out from amongst the crowd, with one hand takes hold of my horse’s bridle and with the other holds out half a loaf of bread to me. There was no fear in her eyes, no attempt to buy my favour; she seemed just to want to give me all that she had. I took the bread, tore it in half, took a bite and gave the other half back to her. Many years later I told the story to Bianca who tried to find the old woman. She had long since died, but there was a granddaughter whom Bianca brought to court. She lives here still, Lucia is her name. I confess I have a weakness for people who bear this name. Bianca says that is because I assume them to have a character that they do not possess. Perhaps it is so. No doubt it is a coincidence that Bianca commissioned a painting of the children with herself as St. Lucia.

If it is sin to love a thing more than a person, than in loving Milan, I commit a sin of which I will never repent. I have loved her since the first day I saw her bathed in the grace of the Almighty. On that day I swore an oath before God that I would dedicate my life to her service, to maintain her prosperity and to preserve her from all tyranny. From that day Milan has dominated every thought, every word and every deed, and I regret nothing. For she is the greatest city in all of Christendom and if I am considered biased in opinion, it does not make it untrue. She stands majestic and proud in her great fertile plain, the gateway to all of Italy. Noblest of cities, feared and respected, a centre of learning and culture, men come not because they seek my favour, but because, here a man may become all that he aspires to be, how could it be otherwise?

Standing there on that first day long ago there was some slight trepidation. The Duke was known as a man who could not keep faith and the Visconti and father had not always been on the best of terms. As I approached it seemed clear to me that the Duke was taking no chances having twice the number of guards on the doors and gateways than would have normally seemed appropriate. Would getting out of the city be so easy?

The man spoke:

‘You seem a little distracted Count Francesco?’

‘Memories.’

‘They play tricks upon us all. I wonder whether things were truly as we remember them.’

‘My father once said that each memory was like a piece of a mosaic with its own particular shape and colour. And you spent your life trying to fit the pieces together without ever really knowing what the picture was supposed to look like. It was only at the end, when the Almighty revealed all, could you look back and see the significance of any particular piece. Of course my father said many things and not all of them were sensible. Lord Morosini.’

‘You know me?’ he seemed genuinely surprised, but I doubt he really was.

‘You work as a diplomat for the Duke.’

I had instructed the Sforzeschi’s agents in Milan to prepare reports on all of the Duke’s ‘interesting’ people. At that time Morosini was a third or fourth this or that, but informed opinion, marked him as a man destined for better things.

‘You flatter me; I am but a humble clerk.’

‘Perhaps for now, one day who knows?’

We talked of Milan, the diplomatic situation, of common court gossip, about the Duke, but nothing treasonable.

‘He likes you,’ he said coming to the point at last.

‘I am pleased.’

‘I heard him say that you are most noble in your bearing and countenance.’

An obvious lie. Visconti and I had not yet met and it was well known that the Duke hated windows; merely looking out of one was cause for suspicion.

‘Noble?’ I replied, ‘I have not the birth for it.’

‘These days a man’s worth is judged by his actions. He also said that illegitimacy is no bar to a successful union. There was some mention of his daughter Bianca.’

I doubted that remark was true. Like Carmagnola I might run to some distant cousin, but he would never be desperate enough to sacrifice a daughter on the likes of me. Clearly the shared confidence was to see if I would be receptive, the question remained; was this an offer from the Duke or the mutterings of an ambitious junior trying to appear more than he was?

‘If wishes could make it so.’ I was not going to be so easily drawn.

Guards stationed at double doors seemed to indicate we had at last reached our destination.

‘When the Duke enters you will kneel in supplication before your master,’ he said formally. Some might have taken offence at being addressed thus, but time and circumstance has taught me to be above such matters. ‘It is a great honour you are receiving,’ and it was. The Duke hated public displays and rarely greeted strangers. For years he even refused to formally greet his second wife, Bona of Savoy.

‘Lord Morosini I thank you for your time and the pleasure of your company. If I may be as bold as to say, I think you will make an excellent diplomat.’ He did and he was, but he never learned to be completely loyal and that was always the trouble, in the end I had to cut off his head which was a pity.

My memory of the Audience Chamber of the Visconti is limited to the memory of a sea of faces, most of them unfriendly. They were all there, eager to get a first look at the young pretender; the generals were represented by Taliano, Del Verme, Pergola, Torello and Carlo Malatesta. Off to one side of the empty ducal throne were the Braccieschi; Niccolo Piccinino and his sons Francesco and Jacopo with some of their allies, beyond them, standing slightly apart, was Ambassador Veniero with Antonio and Erasmo Trivulzio. To the other side, Cotta, I forget which one, Giorgio Lampugnano and someone who one day would play the most significant part of all, a young Gaspare da Vimercate. All now waited for Visconti.

‘What no Triumph, Sforza?’ asked the elder Piccinino, ‘the mob will be disappointed.’

It was interesting to see who laughed and who did not. Some had nothing but contempt for me, others a measure of sympathy, most would not play their hand so soon.

‘The second coming would have been a lesser production,’ commented Francesco Piccinino as he walked around me deliberately sizing me up. Seldom have I known a man so keen to pick a fight.

‘Nice suit,’ I replied commenting upon his particularly fine set of clothes. ‘A most superior tailor?’

‘The Pope himself sold it to me.’

‘Then it is a mystery to me how the height of fashion can be seen with so threadbare a cousin.’

‘One makes allowances for the company one is forced to keep.’

A Visconti Herald entered and announced: ‘My lords the Duke!’

Visconti ambled in; head down, careful avoiding everyone’s eye; that the man was crippled by shyness was clear for all to see. Many have called him ugly a few have even gone so far as to call him ‘deformed.’ That is unfair, though it is true he was already yielding to the fat that would overwhelm him in the end.

I knelt before the Duke.

‘My lord.’

‘Behold my lords, Ares incarnate,’ said the Duke.

‘Then Ares salutes Zeus, father of the gods,’ I replied ignoring the sour faces of the other condottiere gathered around the throne.

Someone laughed; annoyed the Duke looked up at the sound. For an instant, I saw the Duke suppress his shyness, done by sheer willpower. The condottiere visibly wilted as he looked at each one in turn. It was clear who was master here. Strange as it may seem, in that instant, they were afraid of him. Then the shyness reasserted itself and the moment was gone.

‘Come let us walk,’ he suggested. We walked in silence for few minutes. Away from the gaze of others he seemed to grow in stature. Alone you began to believe that he was the son of Duke Gian Galeazzo. ‘You will have heard stories about me?’

‘Some.’ It seemed pointless to lie.

‘It could hardly be otherwise. It is a wonder that some learned man hath not proved that my look turneth the tide. Do such things matter I wonder?’

‘Only to those who believe them.’

‘The reports were right. Your talent has depth, which makes a change.’

‘My lord flatters.’

‘Don’t be coy with me Sforza. You are here to advance the interests of your house and measure yourself against the pack that much is plain.’

‘I am.’

‘And you believe you can do that in my service?’

‘I do.’

‘Surely Venice would pay more?’ he said gazing at the distant sky.

‘It would.’

‘It has offered?’

‘Of course, but my lord already knows that.’

The Duke laughed.

‘Ah, I see you have met Fiammetta d’Este, did she charm you?’

‘She tried. She wishes to be the keeper of other people’s secrets.’

‘She really is a wonderful creature, but like all the d’Este, completely untrustworthy,’ he became almost jovial, ‘but you know this already being educated among them.’

‘I have had that experience my lord.’

He stopped and looked to the sky again. He appeared most interested in some distant storm clouds. ‘You are very careful Sforza.’

‘I prefer prudent my lord.’

‘I am told the stars favour you.’

So Barofaldi had done his work. For the best part of twenty years father had been paying a retainer to one of the best astrologers in Milan. ‘Fortune sometimes needs a helping hand,’ he told me. After his death it seemed prudent to continue the payments.

‘I know little of the subject.’

‘I find that difficult to believe, given your father’s interest in the subject that is.’ You never really knew how much the Duke knew upon a given matter and how much he was guessing. Which was how the Duke preferred it.

He started walking again, this time with a more determined pace.

‘The others are already jealous of you.’

‘Was that not your lordship’s intention?’

‘Why would I wish to do that?’

‘You believe I can beat Carmagnola. It is why you hired me.’

He stopped and stared at me.

‘And?’

‘You will first make an attempt to lure him back to your service. If you are successful you will use my presence as a check on both his ambition and his contract rate. If he should be so foolish as to refuse your most generous offer, I will be used against him. You will then use the other condottiere to act as a check on any ambitions you may suppose I may have.’

‘An interesting speculation. There is going to be a thunderstorm,’ he paused expecting his statement to have some significance for me. It did not have any at the time. ‘I shall expect great things from you Sforza. Do not disappoint me.’ And with that he strode away.