The Novel-to-Be

Chapter I

It was dawn. In the old market near the river, the merchants were setting up their goods. Laid out on top of and beside tables were barrels of wine and oil, freshly picked fruits, and varied vegetables, which hailed from all over Tuscany. Those who wanted the best and freshest goods woke with the sun to arrive quickly and leave before the crowds and the heat beat down upon the dusty streets.

The sunrise, painted upon the sky in bright reds and purples, peeked out from behind the distant rolling hills. Church bells rang out across the city to mark the early morning hour. The monks were already awake, saying their prayers before they went about their daily business, and young apprentices ran through the streets on errands for their masters.

From the southern gate, a young man in the blue and gold livery of the della Rovere family rode quickly and determinedly on horseback; from the crossed keys and crown embroidered into the coat of arms upon his shirt, one could tell that he rode from Rome, rather than Genova. He had been dispatched two days ago with a message bound for Florence, sealed with the Ring of the Fisherman.

The horse's hooves kicked up dust as he rode through the streets of the Oltrarno, then cackled against the cobbles of the the Ponte Vecchio, where butchers were opening their wooden doors to their first customers. As they stopped to watch, the gentry coming to run their errands for the day wondered who was to be receiving this message.

It was, in fact, Jacopo dei Pazzi, patriarch of one of the oldest families in Florence. But at the moment, he was asleep in his bed, recovering from the previous night's escapades, which were mainly comprised of innumerable glasses of wine, countless rounds of dice, and quite a few outbursts after losses. But, fortunately for both the messenger and the recipient, the patriarch of this ancient family was about to celebrate a most fortunate gain.

The grand doors, which led into to the courtyard of the newly built palazzo, were already open when the messenger arrived. Once inside, he dismounted and told a valet his business.

"Messer dei Pazzi is not yet awake," was the reply, "Would you care to wait, or should I take a message for you, signore?"

"I will wait," the messenger said, "But His Holiness the Pope, who has sent me to deliver this most important message, will not be pleased."

"Just a moment, signore, and I will find someone to see you," the valet bowed, then quickly ran upstairs to awake his master, hopefully without triggering too much of an outburst. In the meantime, the messenger waited in the shade of the walls which surrounded the courtyard. A few people came and went through the entrance, and the sun was steadily rising into the sky. It was clearly above the mountains now, and the young messenger was glad that he wouldn't have to ride again with such haste underneath the intensity of such summer heat. He tugged at his collar, which stuck uncomfortably to his neck.

The valet returned downstairs as Jacopo dei Pazzi quickly tried to dress himself, hastily pulling on stockings and attempting to button his doublet in a mix of nervous excitement and hungover lethargy. He stumbled down the stairs and into the courtyard to meet the messenger, who watched with almost no expression on his face.

"Messer dei Pazzi," he bowed, "a message for you from His Holiness, Pope Sixtus." With one hand he held out the sealed piece of parchment, which Jacopo eagerly ripped towards himself. He broke the red wax pressed with the ancient seal and feasted his eyes upon the document as the messenger stood, adjusting his collar again.

Jacopo's face brightened as he read the letter over a second and then third time. He was so relieved and filled with joy that he couldn't help but run forward and embrace the messenger – though that was likely just remnants of his drunkenness from the previous night, which could be smelled on his breath. "You must tell His Holiness," he cried, "that the Pazzi will forever be grateful for his kindness; we will forever be in his debt!" He refolded the letter and grasped it in his hand as he returned upstairs. Without even knocking, he barged into the room where his nephew Guglielmo slept, and ran to his bedside to wake him.