Chapter 10

The crowd was in a frenzy in the Piazza Della Signoria. An older man with hollow eyes and a battered body stood with his hands bound in the window of the Palazzo as attendees in the piazza below shouted obscenities towards him. Two men on horses rode through the crowd crying out “Palle!” The mob joined in on the cheers eagerly.

“Today, we can rest easy,” Gonfaloniere Petrucci shouted from the window of the Palazzo. The battered man was pulled back from the ledge and the thin Gonfaloniere in his red cloak moved to take his place on the ledge to preach to the masses. “Today, the enemies of our state will face the consequences of their actions! Today, we, the people of Florence, will receive justice for the crimes committed against one of our most prominent citizens! Blood will spill today, and the death of Giuliano de Medici will be avenged!” The crowd roared vehemently. “Jacopo Pazzi has been found guilty of treason against the state. With his traitorous nephew Francesco Pazzi and Archbishop Salviati, he helped organize the murder of Giuliano de Medici and the attempted murder of Lorenzo de Medici. Not only has this man committed crimes against the state, but he has also committed crimes against God himself! For these actions, I sentence thee, Jacopo de Pazzi, to be hanged to death. May your soul reside in the icy grips of the ninth layer of hell for all eternity!” The crowd let out another vivacious cheer.

The Gonfaloniere retreated from the ledge and two guards brought the older man forward. Solemnly they placed a noose around his neck and tightened it. With one quick push, Jacopo was dropped from the ledge. The rope grew taught and with one quick snap, his body stopped falling and was left to dangle in the air. His body twitched for a few seconds before going stiff.

Giancarlo cheered vigorously, embracing Reggiano while doing so.

“Ah! Merda! I missed it! This brute in front of me blocked my view!” Reggiano complained.

“The follies of your stature,” Giancarlo lamented. “Allora, when they capture and execute Bernardo Bandini dei Baroncelli we will make sure that you are in the very front. There you will see the full beauty of justice.”

“A rather gruesome business if you ask me,” Reggiano said. He tried shifting his position to catch a glimpse of the hanged man but was completely unsuccessful. “But I guess that makes it all the more fun, no?”

“I wonder what it must have been like in the older days, back when we use to have priests undergo ordeals by fire. Such a barbaric concept, watching a man slowly burn to death as he is forced to walk through fire. Surely god cursed, and not blessed, any man who was forced to undergo those ordeals.”

“I heard we used to practice an ordeal by air. We would push a man from a great height and if he lived, he was found not guilty. Such a barbaric form of justice, but it would have at least been entertaining for everyone else to watch,” Reggiano retorted.

Giancarlo shrugged. “We, the people of Italy, were once truly barbaric, my friend. I’m glad we are done with those days, but I believe you are correct in the sense that it would be entertaining to watch.”

“Ah,” Reggiano shouted in exasperation, “I can’t see a thing! Look, there’s Antonio, let’s join him and get a better view of this wretched man.”

As they moved through the crowds, Antonio caught a glimpse of them coming. Much to Giancarlo’s surprise, Antonio locked eyes with him and scowled, causing Giancarlo to question what he did to deserve it.

“Salute Antonio,” Reggiano said as he embraced him. “We came for a better view.”

Giancarlo moved to embrace Antonio as well. He was warm to the touch and smelled like his pastels, but he was also very stiff and refused to look him in the eye.

“Well, you’ll have a good view from here. Even for you my little friend!” Antonio jested. Giancarlo laughed but Antonio did not give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.  “Look at his neck! Do you see how it’s snapped at a 90° angle? Now that is something that you should sculpt. A hanged man in its macabre majesty.”

A wave of inspiration flooded over Reggiano. “You know Antonio,” he said. “I think you might be on to something.”


Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

Header Image: The Ideal City, Fra Carnevale. 1484.