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Authors: Michael Crews
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entire investigation is prematurely ended. Which brings me to my second point,” I turned to the driver, “is there any way that you can get this wagon to go any faster?”
6
We managed to make it to the Ponte Vecchio without incident. The mob had been a spontaneous eruption, violent but small. By the time we reached the bridge it was already being contained. Somewhere in the melee I imagined that Jacopo was entrenched with his men, shouting orders and breaking up the crowd.
The throngs at the bridge were notably more subdued, but this was no guarantee that the same type of disturbance could not appear here. Pietro and I would have to stay on our guard if we were to achieve the conflicting goals of keeping the peace and maintaining the trust of the workers so that we could learn what we needed.
We thanked the cart driver and proceeded through the marketplace. The familiar black smoke from the row of chimneys guided us to the goldsmith block. Bartolomeo’s workshop was situated in the corner, a golden calf’s head mounted above the veranda beckoning us while demonstrating the proprietor’s skill.
A young man stood behind the counter of the narrow shop. “Good morning, sirs.”
“Morning,” I said. “We are just stopping by to pay Bartolomeo a visit. Is he around?”
The boy fetched his boss, and a moment later Bartolomeo appeared. He was in friendlier spirits, the tension gone from his face.
“Gentlemen, how good of you to come!”
“Signore Neri, we just thought we would see how you were managing since yesterday.”
He led us into the back, into a large room that served as his main studio. Two large furnaces burned intensely, embers glowing a pale red. The air was stifling, the heat making it heavy to the lungs and the head. There was little smoke in here, most of it escaping out a vent in the ceiling.
“I am much better now. My apologies if I seemed a little preoccupied yesterday.”
“None necessary. You’ve been through a difficult ordeal.”
His shoulders were more squared today, not slumping like the previous day. He was rejuvenated, full of life. “I am much more at peace now. In fact, I have been hard at work this morning and am nearly caught up with my commissions. Right now I’m working on a silver vase for Paolo Rucellai.”
He turned and checked the temperature of the furnace. Gently he squeezed a nearby bellows, forcing air into the chamber and causing the flames to roar. When the coals were adequately hot he smiled and closed the metal door of the furnace with an old rag.
Pietro stood across the room, examining many of the tools and supplies that covered the shelves and worktables. “Fascinating shop you have here.”
“Why thank you. The metal is nearly ready. If you’d like, I can give you a demonstration.”
I held up a protesting hand. “That’s really not necessary, we wouldn’t wish to trouble you Ser Bartolomeo.”
“No trouble at all. Please.”
I acquiesced with a curt nod.
“You see, the first step is to construct the piece in clay so that a mold can be built. Pietro, on that table to your left you’ll find a clay vase. Can you bring it here for a moment?” My partner browsed until he located the right one and then brought it over to the craftsman. “Careful, thank you.”
The vase was conical in shape, with decorative foliage and cherubic faces adorning its sides. Its base was fat and round, and in the center I could make out the Rucellai family crest, the silver lion.
“It’s very beautiful,” I said. “Where did you develop your talents for sculpture?”
“My travels have brought me to the studios of many masters. I worked in Rome for ten years. After that I lived in Bologna, and for a while in Parma.” He beamed with pride at the memories of his travels. For a moment he appeared to be reliving them, his gaze detached.
Bartolomeo sighed and then continued. “This is the prototype from whence the initial mold is made.” He walked to a faraway
6
We managed to make it to the Ponte Vecchio without incident. The mob had been a spontaneous eruption, violent but small. By the time we reached the bridge it was already being contained. Somewhere in the melee I imagined that Jacopo was entrenched with his men, shouting orders and breaking up the crowd.
The throngs at the bridge were notably more subdued, but this was no guarantee that the same type of disturbance could not appear here. Pietro and I would have to stay on our guard if we were to achieve the conflicting goals of keeping the peace and maintaining the trust of the workers so that we could learn what we needed.
We thanked the cart driver and proceeded through the marketplace. The familiar black smoke from the row of chimneys guided us to the goldsmith block. Bartolomeo’s workshop was situated in the corner, a golden calf’s head mounted above the veranda beckoning us while demonstrating the proprietor’s skill.
A young man stood behind the counter of the narrow shop. “Good morning, sirs.”
“Morning,” I said. “We are just stopping by to pay Bartolomeo a visit. Is he around?”
The boy fetched his boss, and a moment later Bartolomeo appeared. He was in friendlier spirits, the tension gone from his face.
“Gentlemen, how good of you to come!”
“Signore Neri, we just thought we would see how you were managing since yesterday.”
He led us into the back, into a large room that served as his main studio. Two large furnaces burned intensely, embers glowing a pale red. The air was stifling, the heat making it heavy to the lungs and the head. There was little smoke in here, most of it escaping out a vent in the ceiling.
“I am much better now. My apologies if I seemed a little preoccupied yesterday.”
“None necessary. You’ve been through a difficult ordeal.”
His shoulders were more squared today, not slumping like the previous day. He was rejuvenated, full of life. “I am much more at peace now. In fact, I have been hard at work this morning and am nearly caught up with my commissions. Right now I’m working on a silver vase for Paolo Rucellai.”
He turned and checked the temperature of the furnace. Gently he squeezed a nearby bellows, forcing air into the chamber and causing the flames to roar. When the coals were adequately hot he smiled and closed the metal door of the furnace with an old rag.
Pietro stood across the room, examining many of the tools and supplies that covered the shelves and worktables. “Fascinating shop you have here.”
“Why thank you. The metal is nearly ready. If you’d like, I can give you a demonstration.”
I held up a protesting hand. “That’s really not necessary, we wouldn’t wish to trouble you Ser Bartolomeo.”
“No trouble at all. Please.”
I acquiesced with a curt nod.
“You see, the first step is to construct the piece in clay so that a mold can be built. Pietro, on that table to your left you’ll find a clay vase. Can you bring it here for a moment?” My partner browsed until he located the right one and then brought it over to the craftsman. “Careful, thank you.”
The vase was conical in shape, with decorative foliage and cherubic faces adorning its sides. Its base was fat and round, and in the center I could make out the Rucellai family crest, the silver lion.
“It’s very beautiful,” I said. “Where did you develop your talents for sculpture?”
“My travels have brought me to the studios of many masters. I worked in Rome for ten years. After that I lived in Bologna, and for a while in Parma.” He beamed with pride at the memories of his travels. For a moment he appeared to be reliving them, his gaze detached.
Bartolomeo sighed and then continued. “This is the prototype from whence the initial mold is made.” He walked to a faraway
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