The Botticelli Killings

Chapter 3

3After three days of light cold rain and gray air, the spring morning sunshine had unexpected strength, filtering through the windows and inundating the workshop with its warm crystal rays. Everyone in the shop was busily at work but Filippino had woken up feeling tired. He was not yet in his thirties but was already feeling the burden of fame and the pressure of having to keep his dream alive, which he had managed to make into a reality but that also meant maintaining a steady stream of artwork, each expected to be more perfect than the last. From the time he had become an independent artist with his own workshop in Via Palazzuolo, he had achieved one success after another. He watched his pupils reproducing some drawings onto a tapestry, while Niccolò, his top student, was painting an altarpiece. They had a lot of work, perhaps too much. Commissions were increasing with his fame.

Six years earlier, after having left Sandro Botticelli’s workshop to start on his own, he had received a commission for the painting that would proclaim his ascent into the circle of the most acclaimed painters in Florence, confirming the esteem that his fellow citizens had always given him, both as a respectable son of the great Filippo Lippi, as well as the talented assistant of Sandro. Now that painting, a large panel representing the apparition of the Virgin Mary to Saint Bernard, was on full display in the Campora Monastery, located at the top of the Colombaia hill. In truth, he only had to close his eyes and look within to admire it. It was still there enclosed within his heart, beautifully radiant in the bright oil colours he had chosen in the Flemish tradition, to underline his emancipation from the protection of Master Sandro and his exclusive and stubborn preference for egg-based tempera. From then onwards, he had felt free to use oils or tempera according to the various subjects and places.

He glanced affectionately at the two apprentices intent on grinding colours. They were very good but Filippino still did not trust them with the malachite and the lapis lazuli, two highly expensive stones which he used to make his favourite hues: a green-blue and an ultramarine-blue. He insisted on grinding the two colours personally, still feeling the same thrill of the first time he had done so under his father’s watchful guidance. And now that he could count some of the richest men in the whole city among his customers he could afford to use the ultramarine without a thought to cost. A few months earlier he had painted a Madonna with Child for the private chapel of the banker Filippo Strozzi. Well, there had been no need to hold back on lapis lazuli for the blue of her mantle and that small painting had charmed the whole of Florence, with the grace of its drawings and the radiance of its blue light.

«Master! Master! Another tragedy!» The fervent cries from Franceschetto, the liveliest of his apprentices, startled him. He had only sent him to the market to buy some Bianco Sangiovanni, what could have gone wrong?

* * *

Filippino’s eyes glazed over, as if he could no longer see the boy standing in front of him recounting the latest events. He stood still and silent, engrossed in unknown thoughts. Franceschetto finally fell quiet as the mute stillness of his Master scared him. Suddenly, with a twitch, the Master spoke:

«In the end, the Graces have been murdered, all three».

Franceschetto remembered that mysterious reference to the Graces the last time too. Niccolò, the top pupil, had explained to him that it referred to three of the figures portrayed on the implicated painting. A large panel that was said to symbolize Spring in the Kingdom of Venus and that Filippino had painted years before with Sandro Botticelli.

He remembered the reassuring detail regarding the last dead woman.

«Master, the three murders might not all be connected».

«What do you mean?»

«Do you remember the golden jewels and precious stones that the first two girls were wearing?»

«How could I forget them? The murderer put a necklace with a flower-shaped pendant on the first girl, identical to the one Talia wore, the Grace on the left. He ‘gave’ a cross-shaped pendant to the second girl, just like Aglaia’s».

Franceschetto could not make any sense out of what was being said but it sounded as though it could support his theory.

«Good. Then I think the last girl has nothing to do with your Graces, because the killer did not put any kind of jewellery around her neck».

«Oh!»

Franceschetto was even more certain that he was on the right track and pushed on earnestly.

«And he did not even undress her as he did with the other two. Only the breast and left shoulder were uncovered».

«Obviously».

«What do you mean?»

«Exactly like the Grace Euphrosyne, the one in the centre», concluded Filippino, even more distressed.

«Oh!» Franceschetto bit his tongue. It might have been better if he had not revealed so many details. But when you do not know the whole truth of the matter... How could he be expected to know about the three Graces?

«But». He stopped himself, afraid of saying another stupid thing.

«Yes?»

«Nothing, I was just thinking. No jewellery, instead the killer left a red rose on her back with a message on a piece of parchment. What do you make of that?»

«Regarding the rose, I have no idea. Concerning the message, we would need to know the content. Did you not hear anything about it?»

«No, nothing at all». Franceschetto was dying of curiosity to know more, especially after what he had heard from Messer Antonio. He did not dare ask, he did not want to reveal he had spoken about the matter with the apothecary. His Master continued: «I know what I am saying, my boy. The three deaths are connected. With this one we now have seven victims».

* * *

Filippino looked around, activity was as busy as usual, even Franceschetto had joined the other apprentices and had started grinding the white powder. It appeared to be a very normal day.

However, he could not get back to his work, feeling crushed as if by the weight of a huge boulder that made him sit there frozen. His body was rooted to the stool while his heart was in another workshop close by in Via Nuova, where he had spent the best years of his youth. He loved that workshop so much that when he opened his own, he had chosen a location only steps away. He surmised that Sandro had probably already heard the latest news and he thought it right to visit him.

«Master Filippino, Giovanni from Via Nuova is here», announced his pupil Niccolò, bringing the young apprentice sent by Botticelli.

«Good morning Giovanni, please tell me why you have come».

«Master Sandro would like to let you know that, because of recent events, an extraordinary meeting has been called for this evening in Via Larga».

«Where, at the residence of the Magnificent?» Filippino was astonished. The situation must be much worse than he thought.

«No. Lorenzo de’ Medici is ill, a terrible attack of gout. The meeting will be at the house of his cousin, Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco».

«Good, tell him I shall not fail to be there».

«Botticelli also sent this message», added the boy, handing Filippino a rolled parchment sealed with a purple satin ribbon. «Now, with your permission, if you do not need any more from me, I must return».

«You can go, Giovanni. Thank you».

As the boy left, Filippino untied the ribbon, unwound the parchment and read the message without further delay: My dear friend, I do not know if what I am about to tell you has already reached your ears. «The red rose, divine caduceus, chases away every cloud». These are the words written by the murderer in the message he decided to leave on the body of the victim. It seems clear to me what he is saying to us. He has already killed seven people, we must stop him before it is too late!

* * *

Giovanni had returned to his workshop and Filippino’s apprentices and pupils had also returned to their habitual chores, but he sat motionless on his stool with unfocussed gaze and his mind flailing in a void. He decided to move and go out to see if he could fill the intellectual emptiness.

The artist was aware that strolling around the town without a destination very often translated into wandering within oneself, which allowed him to encounter interesting ideas and hypothesis that already resided in his mind, still hidden by that apparent void.

Filippino stopped on the banks of the Lungarno for a long time contemplating the river water and the complex light-dark effect the sunlight was creating on its surface. He thought back to what Sandro Botticelli had written. In the message, the murderer had compared the red rose left on the corpse to a caduceus. And in their painting the only character holding a caduceus in his hand was Mercury, the last figure on the left and the only man portrayed on the canvas. It was logical and even too simple, at least for him and Sandro, to interpret the words of the killer as a sort of warning, a public revelation of the fact that the next victim would be a man. However, that explanation, reached after an initial evaluation of the message, did not convince him. Furthermore, Filippino asked himself what had motivated the murderer to choose a rose to symbolize a caduceus. He could have taken any little wooden stick, any twig. There had to be a reason why he had chosen that flower in particular. I am sure that the red rose is one of the keys to interpreting this message properly.

He walked on. After a while he found himself near Ponte Vecchio and when, without even noticing it, he entered a small street, a feeling of anguish caused his throat to tighten suddenly, nearly overwhelming him. Gasping due to his sudden lack of air, he stopped and leaned against the wall of one of the low buildings that lined the street. His heart started to beat wildly and he was experiencing a moment of panic like the one he had had in the past, in this same place. He pushed his shoulders against the wall, raising his eyes above his head and noticed the sign of a tavern. He saw the door of the tavern was wide open further down and he decided to go in and have a drink to refresh himself and relieve his dry throat.

He crossed the threshold into the tavern welcomed by an intense smell of cauliflower and old fried fat that almost covered the sweet smell of the wines.

«Sit down!» cried the innkeeper, «the cabbage donuts are still warm». He pointed to a vacant chair at a table where three men were playing cards, swearing loudly.

«I am not hungry, thank you. But I would gladly partake of a small glass of wine».

He sat on the chair, slightly away from the table. The other men glanced over at him in disinterest before continuing with their game.

«Red or white?» asked the innkeeper.

«Red, warm and spicy though».

The wine was brought to his table quickly. Filippino, far from having recovered from his feeling of uneasiness, started to look around with a hint of curiosity, but his inspection was soon interrupted by a p********e with a yellow satin skirt coming over to him.

«Would you like to have some fun, you handsome young man?» asked the woman bending over and offering an eyeful of her abundant bosom squeezed inside a purple bustier. «Angelina is here for you!»

«I do not have time. I am just drinking a glass of wine and then I am leaving».

«I see your thoughts are heavy. I am sure that a bit of entertainment would do you good».

Filippino studied her face: she was no longer a young woman and, underneath the smoky-black, her eyes brimmed with mournful wisdom.

«Have you worked here long?» he asked her, striving to hide his embarrassment.

«So long that I do not remember ever having had another home apart from this tavern», she laughed. «Why do you want to leave now? Do you not like this place?»

«What can I say? All taverns are the same. This one is no better or worse than the others».

The woman observed him while he rubbed his neck nervously, his foot tapping against the chair leg.

«No, something is bothering you. I must admit, to me it looks as though you are scared!»

Filippino kept quiet, not knowing what to say. He took two sips of wine, one after the other quickly.

«Hey, young man, relax!» Angelina said, rather amused.

«Drinking a bit of good wine never killed anyone!»

The artist looked at her and noticed her scarlet lips wrinkle into an astonished grimace immediately after having finished the sentence.

«To tell you the truth someone did lose their life here. But it was a long time ago», the woman corrected herself, nodding. «It was so long ago that I had nearly forgotten it».

«What happened, a fight?» Filippino felt obliged to ask, not wanting to appear too rude to the woman. He just wanted to finish his drink and leave.

«No, it was a poisoning. What a shame! Poor boy, he was no older than fifteen».

At those words, the artist straightened his back sharply, hitting the back of the chair hard and his expression became excited and alert when he asked the p********e a rapid stream of questions.

«A boy was poisoned? Here? How many years ago?»

«A lot, a lot, let me think». The woman combed her fingers through her hair, which was still quite thick for her age. «It must have been... Wait, I was upstairs with a client, and Lucia was in a room too, she had just started working at the tavern. If she had only recently arrived, yes, it must have been about ten years ago then».

«Ten years ago? A boy was poisoned. Are you talking about poor Luca? The son of a certain lawyer?» asked Filippino, whose interest was visibly growing.

«Yes, A boy with red hair. He was always here with an older man. Did you know hi?»

«No, not the boy, but...» The sensation of anxiety had diminished and Filippino thought he understood the reason why the anguish had struck him before. «But did you know that a very dear friend of mine was blamed for that poisoning?»

Her painted lips trembled before forming a sweet smile: «Really? You know, I knew her too», she confessed in a low voice. «She was better than the doctors at healing any illness».

They remained in companionable silence for a while and then Filippino spoke.

«The funny thing is, I found myself passing along this street that day ten years ago», he said to himself, remembering the panic he had experienced a few minutes earlier on entering the street where the tavern was located. «But today I did not recognize the place. After all, at the time I had kept walking without entering the tavern».

The p********e glanced at him sympathetically, frowning and trying hard to remember before she told him a story.

«Nasty business! Yes, a truly nasty business. When Lucia and I came downstairs, after satisfying our clients, the poor boy was almost dead and they were carrying him away. But before all that, I remember that he had been sitting at that table over there as usual. The one beside that big barrel, can you see it?»

Filippino looked over at the table, now occupied by four soldiers playing dice. Then he looked at the barrel and the painting hanging on it caught his eye. It was a drawing of a rose standing in a wine jug.

«What is that little painting hanging on the barrel?» he asked the p********e.

«What is written below the picture?»

«That? It was a present to the innkeeper by an artist who came to the tavern».

Filippino went closer to the barrel to better read the writing under the painting and realized that it was a short poem: «Oh, wanderer, rejoice / the divine flower chases every cloud / Come on then, sit down!» He could not believe his eyes and kept reading and rereading the short verse, while a vague suspicion began to form in his mind. He strode back to the p********e.

«What does this mean?» visibly upset he asked the woman. «Who painted that picture? Who wrote those words? You must tell me, Angelina!»

«Calm down! I told you, it is only a little painting that the innkeeper received as a gift. What do you expect it to mean? Did you not notice the name of this tavern?»

Filippino thought back to the tavern sign he had noticed hanging over his head on the wall next to the entrance, before coming in for a drink. He remembered that beneath the drawing, which he had not paid any attention to at the time, was the name of the tavern: «The Divine Flower». Suddenly, from the void of his mind faces and shapes belonging to portrayed characters and real people started to take form until everything turned into a confused turmoil of images in his mind, and he needed to regain some precise and neat order.

«How long has that painting been hanging there? Was it already there when the boy was poisoned?» he questioned in a choked voice, almost afraid to hear the answer.

«Of course it was there, I have always seen it there. From the very first time I came here», answered the woman, not understanding what was going on.

Filippino looked at her gratefully.

«Goodbye, my dear. It was a pleasure talking to you».

As he left the woman surprised by his courteousness, Filippino breathlessly strode out of the tavern and rushed home. When he arrived at his workshop, he realized that it was already time to get ready for the meeting in Via Larga. However, before going he called Franceschetto.

«Hey boy, please tell me once more what you saw and heard this morning at the market. Please, be sure to be precise, this is of vital urgency. You must not leave out any single word you were told».

Franceschetto started to talk hesitantly, worried about disappointing his Master if he were to confess to having spoken too much with this or that person. Then, aware of the serious and sincere attention his Master was paying him, he made an effort to remember and report everything he had seen and every word he had heard and said. Many times during the telling, he saw his Master’s face cloud over as he shook his head, but at the end of the report he understood that his Master was not upset with him. On the contrary, Filippino thanked him warmly and gave him further proof of his trust.

«You have been of great help to me, my boy. But there is still something else that you have to do for me. I have a task to entrust to you».