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The Medici Quest

By Jeff Raymond

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Prologue

Florence, Italy 1458

A lone figure moved through the streets under a canopy of stars. The twinkling orbs stood guard over a moon that appeared large enough in the night sky to be within a person’s reach. The man wore a simple, but stylish cloak, indicating a person of means, but not of nobility. He walked with a slight limp and carried a worn leather satchel in one hand. A tuft of grey hair was visible above a long forehead, sunken eyes, and a narrow nose. Evidence of a cool, winter evening was evident with each breath coming from his mouth.

Poggio Bracciolini felt every one of his seventy-seven years as he walked through the darkened streets of Florence toward his destination. He requested this late evening meeting to ensure some privacy, but his aching back tempted him to rebel against those plans. Once he reached the Palazzo Medici, he managed to shuffle through a torch-lit entryway and move forward to the columns surrounding the interior courtyard. The cool marble of the columns provided a place to lean for a few moments of rest.

Bracciolini traveled many miles during his lifetime, though the steps he took now to see Cosimo Medici felt like the longest and loneliest journey of all. The news he must reveal weighed him down, making his progress more labored than usual.

He pushed away from the column and ascended a stone set of stairs to the second level of the palazzo. The need to wipe sweat from his brow forced him to stop several times during the climb despite the coolness of the evening. Bracciolini whispered prayers for strength until he reached the top of the stairway. There, he gently knocked on the door blocking his path. He heard no reply, so gradually opened the carved wooden door and took a tentative step inside.

Though he had been to the Palazzo Medici several times since the completion of the large residence, Bracciolini had never been to this room. Only a few candles lit the chamber he entered, but the illumination flickered throughout the space to reveal an intricate and ornate chapel; a chapel designed solely for the use of the Medici family.

Cosimo knelt at the altar in the small apse, eyes lifted to a painting of the Christ child. A floor laid in an elaborate marble mosaic surrounded the leader of the Medici clan. A fresco painting covered the majority of the walls. The fresh, vibrant colors of the painting seemed to jump off the walls, despite the lack of light. Rumors had reached Bracciolini that many of the characters depicted in the painting had faces resembling members of the Medici family and other dignitaries of Florence.

Thankful for the respite to catch his breath, Bracciolini enjoyed his surroundings and waited alone with his thoughts while Cosimo spent a few more minutes in prayer.

Despite working for several Popes and meeting many wealthy and influential people during his lifetime, Bracciolini remained in awe of the man who soon rose to greet him. Cosimo inherited the Medici Bank from his father but expanded the family business with branches throughout Italy and as far away as London. Those ventures produced great wealth for the Medici family.

Cosimo was the unofficial ruler of Florence, worked diligently to promote peace in northern Italy, and was an avid supporter of the arts. He collected books and manuscripts from throughout Europe and the East and taught himself to read several languages. He even provided the funding to build multiple libraries throughout Tuscany.

Bracciolini’s relationship with Cosimo started many years prior when the Medici family financed the young scholar on various travels to search for rare books.
“Poggio, my good friend. I thank you for meeting me at this late hour,” said Cosimo. “You appear tired. Come sit with me and tell me your news.”

Cosimo was not a handsome man. His hazel eyes were too close together, his nose was too long, and his ears seemed to be too big for his head. Nevertheless, he carried himself with an assurance that accompanied men of wealth and power.
The pair moved to recline on wooden benches so intricately carved that they appeared to be pieces of art.

“It is I who am honored. When I requested to meet, I did not plan to be invited to your family chapel. It, indeed, is astonishing in its craftsmanship.” Bracciolini looked down at the satchel in his hands while he spoke. “The news I bring is also astonishing; though it will not bring you pleasure.”

“Tell me,” was the only reply from Cosimo.

Bracciolini took a deep breath before beginning.

“As you are aware, I recently sent an envoy to the Ottoman Empire to meet with Sultan Mehmed in our continued search for rare books and manuscripts. The Sultan conquered the city of Constantinople four years ago. It is said that the ancient library in Constantinople once held thousands of ancient writings, and some may have survived both fires and invaders over the centuries. Despite his viciousness in war, Mehmed is recognized as a learned man with a sincere interest in literature and art.”

“I have heard this about the Sultan,” said Cosimo. “I also know my friends in the Vatican are worried about his continual thirst to expand his empire. The Pope has discussed a crusade to retake parts of the territory captured by Mehmed.”

Bracciolini continued. “It seems that Mehmed was well aware of my envoy's relationship with your family, and of your families’ influence with the Pope. He sent back a letter with my representative and enclosed a single page from a manuscript. The Sultan claims the manuscript was miraculously saved from the destruction of the Library of Constantinople.”

“Why the secrecy of this late-night meeting, Poggio? It sounds as if we now have a portion of a very rare manuscript to add to our libraries. Is that what you are holding in the satchel?”

Bracciolini again stared at the satchel that now sat in his lap, wishing it held better news.

“Yes, it is, my friend. But there is more to the story.” Bracciolini cleared his throat, which was dry as the desert, and continued. “Mehmed made two demands to my envoy. First, the letter was not to be read until received here in Florence. Second, he wants Pope Pius himself to read it and to see the page of the manuscript as soon as we can get it to Rome.”

“I assume you have read the letter and seen the manuscript?” asked Cosimo.

“Yes. Reading them has both filled my soul with wonder and caused me great distress. I am confident it will do the same to you and the Pope.”

“What kind of written word can cause the anguish that I see in your face?”
Bracciolini opened the flap of the satchel and handed it to Cosimo. “I think you should read the documents for yourself and then we can talk further.”

He watched as Cosimo found the letter from Mehmed rolled like a scroll and tied with a single blood-red ribbon. The elder Medici unrolled the letter and began to read, an audible gasp emerging from his mouth after only a few moments. Once finished, Cosimo carefully removed the fragile manuscript from the bottom of the satchel.

Bracciolini saw a tear become visible on Cosimo’s cheek as the elder Medici read the words on the parchment. Cosimo then used his right hand to make the sign of the cross against his chest.

“My dear Poggio, I think you can leave me now to examine this letter and the manuscript on my own,” Cosimo said without looking up. “Do not speak of this to anyone. I will send for you in the coming days once I decide how to proceed.”

Bracciolini nodded, stood on shaky legs, and retraced his steps out of the chapel, down the gloomy stairway. He became absorbed into the darkness as he left the palazzo.

The moon and stars that shined so bright earlier in the evening now hid behind a thick cover of clouds.

***
Cosimo, still in the chapel, continued to read the manuscript, squinting in the glimmer of candlelight. The breaths labored in his lungs and his heart pounded against his chest as the full realization of the contents became clear.

Mehmed knew exactly what he was doing when he sent this manuscript, thought Cosimo. Mehmed knew that if Pope Pius II believed there was more to this manuscript and possibly others like it, the Vatican would never encourage an attack on the Ottomans. Mehmed would feel safe, simply by threatening to destroy the manuscripts.

After reading the letter and manuscript multiple times, Cosimo returned the documents to the leather satchel with great care. He then moved with deliberate steps back to the apse and knelt in prayer once again, beseeching the Lord with a passion he had not felt in many years.
 

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