The Botticelli Killings

Chapter 4

4«We have a deal!» exclaimed the man, offering a hand almost completely covered by the immaculate puffed sleeve popping out from the crimson velvet of his cloak.

The fur coat dealer from Padua ignored the outstretched hand and did not reply. He raised a hand to stroke the head of his horse that was tied to one of the iron rings sticking out from the thick stone blocks at the base of the palazzo in front of the tavern. The horse snorted, its hooves beating on the cobblestones as it shifted restlessly.

The man with the crimson cloak stroked the horse too. «Calm down, shhh! Calm down, easy now», he whispered gently before addressing the dealer. «We will meet here in Santa Croce, at the agreed time and you will receive the agreed payment». The tone of his voice did not expect any contradiction.

The dealer glanced over at him furtively, he could have celebrated this profitable chance offered him by the unknown Florentine he had just met at the tavern. Yet he could still not believe his luck.

«How can I trust you?»

«You would do well to trust me if you want to earn a good sum with little effort. The amount I am offering you is much higher than what you earned from the Florentine tailors you sold your fur trimmings to».

The dealer looked intently at that man with whom he had just drunk the best wine he had ever tasted in the city. He was elegantly dressed, without any of the excess currently in vogue at the moment. He certainly did not have the appearance or manner of a swindler.

«So be it, we have a deal!» the dealer finally decided, offering his hand. «So, shall we meet here, in the square? And... you still have not told me your name, Messer».

«Messer Manisante, your servant», stated the man, with a firm handshake. He added, «You might have noticed that the squares in Florence are very busy even at night, Santa Croce is no exception. Just wait for me there, under the porch at the right side of the cathedral». He raised his arm, pointing to indicate their meeting place.

The dealer agreed with a nod of his head but the man had already turned and was walking away.

* * *

That evening Manisante went home with a happy heart. His plan was nearly fulfilled. The last brush stroke has been made, he smiled to himself. In truth, it was the perfect murder. The assassin Paolo had been able to control his lechery and any excess of brutality, accomplishing his part in a sublime plan. Unfortunately, he had gone too far in the two previous murders, butchering the bodies with the ferocity of a beast. But he had forgiven him: ten years of inactivity for someone as libidinous as Paolo made his lustful aggression more than understandable. They had to stop for that time, not knowing how to proceed; it had been hard, even for him, to postpone the completion of his plan, having to wait for the right indications. But tenacity and temperance were traits he did not lack. He had been able to wait and now his picture was completed.

Absorbed in his pleasurable thoughts, he found himself in Via de’ Tornabuoni: that is what the street was called by the majority of the townsfolk, in honour of the powerful family that had built their wonderful palazzo there. Other new palazzi, just as magnificent, had been built by various wealthy families with others still under construction. They were the gems of the best architects of the age, created for the prestige of the city, also because of the innumerable artworks decorating their interior: tapestries, frescoes, sculptures and finely decorated caissons, commissioned of the artists of the Signoria.

But I am the true artist! Passing by the Santissima Trinità church, Manisante felt the need to enter and thank the Lord for helping him realize this perfect artwork.

He kept smiling on thinking that inside that church, Florence was shouting at the masterpiece. In one of the chapels, Domenico Ghirlandaio had recently completed a cycle of extraordinary frescoes, commissioned by the Sassetti family, the banker who looked after the Medici’s finances. In his opinion, frescos dedicated with hypocrisy to Saint Francis of Assisi. It would have been more honest to admit their intention was to celebrate those citizens who, with money and initiative, were making Florence more beautiful and powerful than Rome.

Now they will see who the true artist is! The rich people of Florence and the revered painters would have to kneel in front of the masterpiece that he had created. The last brush stroke has been made! With the help of the Lord.