See how well the mantle falls?”
“Yes, I do, but don’t you think it should be a little tighter around the shoulders?”
“I advise against it, it would be much less comfortable.”
Niccolò and Farneti stand in front of a mirror. Even though they’re alone in the shop, people passing by can see inside, so they need to behave like a tailor and his client.
While Farneti makes a few minor adjustments to the already basted mantle so that it fits Niccolò’s body even better, he mentions news he has gleaned from his spies and from listening to conversations at the taverns frequented by soldiers and merchants. It’s incredible how much people talk, even when they have received precise orders to keep their mouths shut, because everyone knows that gossip can cause armies to lose battles.
With all the information in circulation, it is hard to distinguish what is true from what has been invented. The duke is still afield, no one knows exactly where, but he left a number of troops and guards behind to defend the city. It may be that after the loss of San Leo he wants to defend Urbino at all costs, and yet he does not want to leave the rest of Romagna vulnerable to attack. Consequently, he gave orders to the governor of the region, Ramiro de Lorqua, a man known for his swift and exacting cruelty, who often sets up base in Cesena, to make the rounds of all the fortresses and prepare them for battle.
The soldiers that Valentino was waiting for from France have not yet arrived, but many envoys have been sent to recruit new ones: foot-soldiers from Val di Lamone, gascons from Lombardy, pikemen from Switzerland. Messengers were even sent to Rome and France in the hopes that they would rapidly send help, in the form of both troops and money. There’s no doubt the duke will receive both from the Pope, and probably from the Very Christian King, too.
The troops commanded by Vitelli and the Orsini brothers, not to mention the others, are well-armed, but it doesn’t appear as though they’re advancing with great haste toward Urbino. Only Giovanni Bentivoglio, lord of Bologna, ordered his four companies of foot-soldiers to attack, but then had them retreat. The Venetians have stayed on their side of the border and don’t seem to harbor any hostile intentions toward Valentino.
No one seems to know where the duke is. Apparently, don Miguel, the commander of Borgia’s infantry, was forced to rush off and help the castellans of Pergola and Fossombrone, two towns near Urbino, who were struggling with popular uprisings. As a result, many of the inhabitants were killed. In other words, it would seem that things were going well for Borgia, Farneti concludes.
This means that Florence is still in danger, Niccolò thinks to himself. “Did you learn anything further about the troops positioned at the border with the Republic?”
“Borgia is indeed gathering many men there,” Farneti says, going on to inform him precisely of where and how many. It’s a very numerous army. Even though he might be busy on other fronts, clearly Borgia still has his sights set on Tuscany.
When Niccolò returns to the inn, he finds Baccino waiting for him. The steward greets his master with a worried expression on his face, then holds a finger up to his mouth. They mustn’t talk indoors, they need to be wary of the innkeeper as she may be one of Borgia’s spies.
They head out into the streets as if going for a stroll. They talk only when they are alone.
While traveling up and down the Apennines, Baccino saw Valentino’s men camped everywhere.
“How many soldiers does the fiend have?” Baccino wonders aloud. “There are more soldiers in those mountains than trees.”
“Give me the facts, Baccino. Numbers. How many infantrymen? How many knights? I need to know precisely where they are.”
Baccino gives him the information, confirming and completing what Farneti had already mentioned. It’s a worrisome scenario.
Niccolò decides he must write to the gonfalonier immediately. They return to their lodgings and he rushes up to his room. Baccino stops on the ground floor to ask the innkeeper for something to eat: he’s exhausted and ravenous, and simply doesn’t have the strength to go out again.
To his surprise, the woman puts some rather good food on the table. Apparently, when she wants to, she knows how to cook well. Baccino eats voraciously and then starts to flirt with her. The innkeeper may well be one of Valentino’s spies, but that doesn’t stop the steward from desiring her.
Niccolò is busy calculating the messenger’s timing—the one who left with the letter for the gonfalonier must have reached Florence by now—when he hears the sound of approaching hooves and drummers. He leans out his window and sees crowds lining the street. A large group of men on horseback are advancing up the main road. They’re dressed in armor and carry their weapons, but their helmets are off. It’s a show of force. They’re preceded by drummers, who announce their arrival.
A herald leading the way announces that the rebels of Pergola and Fossombrone have been punished and that Valentino has returned to Imola. Celebrations will take place the following day: there will be a bullfight in the piazza outside the monastery of the Poor Clares, which His Excellency the Duke will attend in person.
The townspeople cheer enthusiastically.
Borgia’s bodyguards lead the procession, their eyes darting this way and that over the exulting crowds, ready to intervene at the slightest threat. They’re experts at it: only soldiers who have received at least one battle wound are allowed to protect the Prince.
These men are followed by soldiers on horseback. At their center is Cesare. His left hand is closed in a fist and rests on his thigh; he holds the reins with his right hand. A few wounded soldiers have bloodied bandages. Don Miguel is not among them.
Marching behind them are hundreds of strapping young men whom Valentino recruited in various parts of Romagna on his way back to Imola. The herald informs the townsfolk that other men will soon arrive, forming a new militia of six thousand soldiers who all hail from the duke’s territories. They don’t know how to march in formation yet, nor do they have uniforms, so they don’t look much like an army, but their resolve is steadfast.
Niccolò immediately understands why the Prince recruited them: he wants to form his own army. He conquered Romagna with help from his father’s men and the French, and later he used the Orsini and Vitelli militias, but they have since rebelled. He wants to be the lord of his own armed forces and, if this muddle of farmers can be transformed into real soldiers, he will succeed in his goal.
When Borgia passes beneath the window, he looks up and salutes Niccolò with his gloved hand.
Niccolò responds with the same courtesy.