On his way up the grand staircase, Ruggiero stopped to watch as a team of joiners eased the last section of the elaborately carved wood paneling into place at the landing. Below, the loggia glowed with light, for the new fixtures were burning, their polished metal reflectors diffusing the golden glow throughout the large room and turning the recently carved oak the color of copper.

"Excellent. This is well done." Ruggiero had stepped forward, his houseman's gown just touching the floor where it brushed the last of the sawdust. "My master will be pleased." He ran his hand over the almost invisible joining and pushed on the middle section to be sure that the door it concealed would not open by force of the weight of the carving.

Teobaldo, the supervisor of the joiners, stood back as his Arte brothers began to screw the last section into place. "The Patron has been very generous," he remarked to Ruggiero. "He has promised each of us four fiorini d'or if we are finished by Advent." He laughed. "For that, we would fit each wall of the loggia."

"There are still the alcoves to do," Ruggiero reminded him, reserve in his smile. "But my master has faith in you."

"With good reason." Teobaldo squinted at the houseman, at the bronze-tan gown he wore, at his ring of keys tied to his belt. Though he disliked this foreigner, he added good-naturedly, "In other places,

I daresay that it might be otherwise. But we in Fiorenza are the best artisans in the world."

Ruggiero, who had seen the temples of Burma and China and had watched Frankish monks illuminate parchment manuscripts, and who had, himself, once helped to raise a Roman bridge, nodded. "Indeed."

Something in Ruggiero's face made Teobaldo uneasy, so he went on, "It's not unusual for a Patron to be so generous."

"It is not," Ruggiero agreed. "I have served him many years, and would serve no other."

That was too much for Teobaldo, who shook his head. "He's a worthy Patron, that's certain. But I know of no one who could command such loyalty of me." He waited arrogantly for Ruggiero's reply.

"You mistake me," Ruggiero said slowly, staring at the joiner through old eyes. "He does not command anything of me but what I willingly give." He turned on his heel and strode on up the right side of the divided staircase, leaving the joiners to mutter among themselves about the unpredictability of foreigners.

At the top of the staircase he hesitated, studying the half-completed room on the other side of the gallery. Then, his mind made up, he moved toward the sound of sawing.

"Oh, it's you, Ruggiero," Gasparo Tucchio said with a friendly wave as he set down his mallets. "I'm glad of a break. The day is almost over."

Giuseppe followed Gasparo's example and set his saw aside. "It's nearly sunset. It's been getting cold at night."

"Where's the Patron?" Gasparo asked familiarly. "I saw him leave earlier. Dressed very fine, he was, all black brocade and a doublet of white velvet under his mantle."

Ruggiero was not offended by Gasparo's easy manner, or the disparaging comments of the other three. "My master has gone to the house of Federigo Cossa. He will do himself the honor of serving the prandium to the man who was his host for so long."

"Oh, the old alchemist." Gasparo dismissed Federigo Cossa with a laugh. "I built a new room for him once. He's almost as finicky as Ragoczy." He added, somewhat more respectfully, "So the Patron is serving the meal? That's just like a proper Fiorenzeno. I remember when Laurenzo used to serve his guests when they came to his table. He doesn't do it much anymore."

Lodovico managed to keep the contempt out of his voice. "Ragoczy's becoming very Fiorenzan. I have heard that he has also distributed clothing to the poor."

"He has been told by Medici that this is expected of all rich men in Fiorenza." Ruggiero spoke evenly as he studied Lodovico closely.

Carlo put down his saw and slapped Lodovico on the back. "The trouble with you, amico, is that you're hungry." He turned his attention to Ruggiero. "You know how it is: a man gets hungry, he gets snappish."

Lodovico had already realized his mistake and gladly seized on Carlo's explanation for his surliness. "I have been famished this last hour," he admitted with an ingenuous smile for Ragoczy's manservant. "I'll be glad of prandium."

To this Gasparo added, "I get cross as a Turk when I miss a meal." He sighed and pushed his sawhorse toward the nearest wall. "We'll be through here in a month or so. There's the rest of this floor and the next to do. Then the joiners can finish everything. A pity. It's been good work."

Giuseppe sighed. "It has," he agreed, somewhat unexpectedly. "I'll never work on another building like this one, I know that."

Gasparo seemed to remember at last that Ruggiero had asked for this interview. "Well?" He stood up, much more businesslike. "Is that what you wanted to talk to us about? I have the men you requested here."

The air grew tenser as Ruggiero took a turn about the room. "You are all men without families," he said at last. "You are all masters of your trade. You have been remarkably loyal to your Patron."

The four builders preened uneasily under this praise, which was suddenly disturbing.

"My master has learned a great deal about you. He is willing to pay you a great deal of money if you will perform two services for him."

"What services?" Lodovico asked, eyes narrowed.

"In a moment." Ruggiero hesitated, then explained. "There is work to be done here that no one must know of. Those who work on it will be paid double your usual wages for the work"-this extraordinary announcement caused a number of exclamations-"and at the end of it, you must leave Fiorenza forever. You will be provided with work, wherever you go, and with a certain annual sum for your maintenance."

"Leave Fiorenza?" Gasparo demanded, torn between anger and utter amazement. "Leave Fiorenza? What nonsense is this?"

"No nonsense," Ruggiero said coldly. "It is my master's condition for the work you are to do."

Carlo had said nothing, but he ventured the question that Lodovico longed to ask. "What would the annual sum be? And how do we know we'll be paid?"

"Carlo!" Gasparo turned on him. "Would you do this?"

Carlo shrugged awkwardly. "As Ruggiero has said, I am without family. If there is work for me elsewhere, and money besides, I am willing to go. I have better skills than most of the workmen elsewhere." He refused to meet Gasparo's eyes. "I have never seen another city. My whole life has been lived in the shadow of il Palazzo della Signoria."

"And for that you should fall on your knees and thank Merciful Heaven!" Gasparo thundered. "Don't you realize-?"

But Ruggiero interrupted him. "Gaspar', let him make up his own mind."

"You!" Gasparo rounded on Ruggiero, seeking another target for his wrath. "Do you tell me that Ragoczy thought I would leave Fiorenza? Did he think that a bribe was enough to make me turn my back on my Arte and my city?"

"No," Ruggiero said kindly. "He did not."

This disarmed Gasparo completely. "But... you said..."

"It is necessary that one man remain in Fiorenza, to be certain that the others keep their word. Of course, my master wishes you to be that man. He trusts to your honor, Gasparo."

"And how should I trust to his? What security will he give me?" The builder had his big hands on his hips and his face thrust forward. "Do not mistake me, Ruggiero. I am willing to serve the Patron at any time. But I will not do so blindly. I must have assurances, for my men as well as myself."

Ruggiero smiled blandly but there was steel in his voice as he spoke. "My master has never broken his word, not in all the years I have known him. Sometimes he has risked much to keep his word. He is honorable in all things." He met Gasparo's challenging glance calmly and then touched the tips of his fingers together.

"Yet you make this offer; he does not. Why should he hold himself to your promises?" Lodovico asked almost flippantly. "Do you tell us that he'll take on this obligation because you say he will?"

The builders murmured a moment. Each of them shared some of the doubts in Lodovico's question, and Carlo added, "He may leave Fiorenza without warning and we would not see him again."

There was a certain boredom in Ruggiero's response. "My master is known in Venezia as well as Wien and Fiorenza. If you like, payment may be authorized from his holdings in either of those cities."

Gasparo had retreated from his aggressive stance and asked with new consideration, "Why are you so certain of him, Ruggiero? It's not often a man trusts his master overmuch."

For an answer Ruggiero walked to the unframed window and looked down into the courtyard. "I know of one instance when a runaway bondsman begged him for help. There was no reason for my master to trust this man, or to endanger himself on the bondsman's behalf. But he did. He sheltered the bondsman, restored him to health, and though the bondsman had been declared a criminal, my master saw that he was exonerated and that the man who had bonded and tortured his bondsman was punished." The distant expression cleared from his eyes and he turned away from the window. "If da San Germano would do so much for a man he found bleeding in rags, you may be sure that he will honor his word to you."

"Did Ragoczy tell you this, or the bondsman?" Lodovico asked, and gave Giuseppe a surreptitious jab in the ribs.

Ruggiero did not answer immediately. "It was in Roma, and I had hidden for days. If he had not found me, I would have died there in the shadows of the Flavian Circus. He cared for my wounds and brought me back to life. The bondsman, good artisans, was myself."

Even Gasparo was silent. Roman excesses were legendary, and he nodded grimly at the picture of abuse Ruggiero had painted. "Well," he said in a bit, "if it is as you say, I'm willing to learn more of what the Patron offers us. And I will trust him for your sake, Ruggiero." He glared at the others, daring them to contradict him.

"I'm interested," Giuseppe said eagerly, and rubbed his ribs where Lodovico's elbow had poked him.

"So am I." Carlo stepped forward. "I have a cousin who is a sailor. He told me of London, and the English. I'd like to go there, if it is permitted."

The foreign name was magic. Giuseppe grinned broadly. "I've heard that there is a city in Poland where the women are as fair as lilies of gold."

"Krakow will please you, I think," Ruggiero said with the ghost of a smile. "You may not find the women to your taste, but you will like the city."

"Wait!" Gasparo ordered. "This is not settled."

Lodovico shrugged and gestured to the others. "How is it not settled? Giuseppe will go into Poland, Carlo will go to London and I... I will go to Lisboa, if it please you." Portugal was far enough away to avoid suspicion, but close enough for him to make a speedy return to Fiorenza, should that prove worth his while.

With a sigh Gasparo raised his hands in resignation. "Very well, if you are all content, what is it to me?" He looked steadily at Ruggiero. "I will expect to hear regularly of these men. You will arrange that?"

"Certainly. And you will be furnished with proof that the sums have been paid, annually."

"Va ben'. There is nothing more to say. What must be done to earn this money and exile?" Gasparo gestured to the other builders. "We will not do anything contrary to the laws of la Repubblica, the Church and our Arte."

"I don't expect you to." Ruggiero nodded to the builders again. "You are all men of some intelligence. Perhaps you have noticed that this palazzo is built upon different lines than other buildings in Fiorenza?" He did not expect an answer and got none other than nods. "There are several reasons for this, most of which need not concern you. But there is one reason that is of paramount importance. Behind the landing on the grand staircase there are two concealed rooms. There is a third concealed room in the wall of the stable. These rooms must be finished, and to my master's specifications."

"What is the purpose of these rooms?" Gasparo demanded. "We will not be party to crimes."

"There is no crime," Ruggiero said in such a way that none of the builders doubted him. "My master is an alchemist. He does not want to work publicly, as much for the safety of those around him as for his privacy." He held open his hands. "It is not that what he does is contrary to the laws, good artisans, it is that there is danger in the work."

Lodovico's eyes brightened. He knew now that he could turn this knowledge to good use, either as a way to force more money from Ragoczy or as reward from a grateful city for revealing an unknown hazard to them. "What do we have to do?" he asked more eagerly than he had intended. "When do we begin?"

"Tomorrow," Ruggiero said shortly. "But there is something you must do first."

"What?" Gasparo was suspicious again.

"You must swear a Holy Oath never to reveal what you do here. On your souls you must swear, as you hope for Paradise." He clapped his hands sharply and in a few moments Joacim Branco appeared, his long robe flapping around his legs like broken wings.

"Do you have the document?" Ruggiero asked.

"I have it." The Portuguese alchemist held up an inscribed sheet of parchment. "It is ready."

Ruggiero looked at the builders. There was a steadiness in his manner that took away the doubts they might have felt. "Which of you can read?" he asked in the same tone he would have asked for a table to be moved, or a branch of candles lit.

There was an awkward moment in spite of this, and at last Gasparo said, "I do, a little. But I have no Latin."

"This is in your own tongue," Ruggiero said, and took the document from Joacim Branco. "I will read it aloud, and you, Gasparo, will read with me, so that there can be no deception. My master orders it be done this way."

The agreement was long, but its language was simple, and at the end, the builders were more than willing to consent to its condition.

"It is well," Ruggiero said, and added, "You must make your marks in your own blood."

The builders stopped, and once again there was suspicion in their faces. Gasparo set his jaw. "Why?"

Joacim Branco was about to take issue with them when a quick gesture from Gasparo quieted him. "There is a reason," he assured the builders. "My master makes this request of you."

"If there is a reason"-and from Lodovico's tone of voice it was obvious that he doubted it-"then you should be willing to tell me what it is. If there is not, your caprice is not reason enough for me to sign in blood."

Gasparo took up this attitude. "He will have our sworn words, given on the honor of our souls and salvation. Surely that's enough. Or is there something more precious than our souls?"

This was the question that Ruggiero had been waiting for. He made a solemn sign. "No, there is nothing more precious than your souls. And for that reason, you must guard it. Certainly now you put honor and trust in your salvation. But what if you are seduced by evil? Then there is no honor in your salvation. Then, good artisans, your blood will bind you."

Carlo guffawed. "There is nothing that would make me do that."

"Isn't there?" Ruggiero studied his hands. "Would you still be held by this oath if your mother were being racked, I wonder?"

The builders were silent, and even Lodovico admitted to himself that Ruggiero had made a powerful argument. At last he said, "After all, why not? If the foreigner knows us so little, we should oblige him."

The others hesitated, but when Ruggiero handed Lodovico a small knife and Lodovico confidently cut his finger and made his sign, the rest stepped forward.

"This is most satisfactory," Ruggiero said while the marks on the parchment dried. "In his appreciation for your kindness, my master asks that you go to the kitchen. You will find that Amadeo has made a repast for you. It is a full prandium, with two pies instead of one." This was flying in the face of the Fiorenzan sumptuary laws, but none of the builders objected.

Lodovico, remembering that he had claimed to be hungry, was the first to accept this invitation, hurrying out of the room into the lamp-lit dusk of the palazzo.

Only Gasparo waited. "I will want to talk to the Patron, Ruggiero, and discuss this document."

Ruggiero's expression was one of faint surprise. "Do you have objections now that you have signed it?" he wondered aloud.

"No. But I wish to know how the conditions will be met, and when we will be able to arrange a way to make payments."

"Well," Ruggiero said, "he should be back within the hour, and if you like, you may wait for him. Or, if you prefer, tomorrow morning he will spend an hour with you."

Gasparo remembered the meal waiting below. "The morning will be fine." He was about to leave, then added, "If he comes before we are finished with the prandium, I'll talk to him then." He reached for a sack and put his tools into it, humming and occasionally breaking into song. He paid no attention to the alchemist and houseman until he interrupted himself. "That's been in my mind all day. Have you ever had that problem? You get a song into your thoughts, and do what you will, it won't leave?" He shook his head, stowed the tied sack near the sawhorses and went off singing in earnest.

Ruggiero smiled broadly and looked at Joacim Branco. "Did you recognize it, that song?"

The Portuguese alchemist frowned severely. "I did. These damned Fiorenzeni have not the least respect for genius. Singing the verse of Dante as if it were some trivial ditty." He snorted his disgust as he put the document in the wide sleeve of his houppelande.

"You're offended?" Ruggiero shook his head. "I don't know. Per-haps I'm perverse, but I like it." He gestured for the alchemist to precede him out of the room.

"It is all very well for you to laugh," Joacim Branco said, "but it is typical of these people." He was silent, and when he spoke again, it was on another subject. "The wagons have arrived. I told them to wait in the stables."

"Very good." They were descending the grand staircase now, and Ruggiero looked carefully about. "The largest of the boxes should go into the second hidden room. The others can wait for my master to dispose of as he wishes."

The tall alchemist walked on without speaking, but as he and Ruggiero crossed the courtyard, he said, "I have studied the Great Work all my life, but never have I known of another artifex who slept with his mattress on raw earth, or lined his shoes with earth, or who mixed earth with the substance of his house. Where is the merit in that?"

Ruggiero was unperturbed. "It is a discipline of his own. My master wishes always to remember the earth from which he sprang. All flesh is clay," he reminded Joacim Branco. "It is the earth that nurtures, that sustains him."

Joacim Branco scowled. "I understand that. But the Great Work should transcend earth."

"My master would not dispute that." He stood aside and let the alchemist pass him as they entered the narrow hall that led from the courtyard to the stables.

"It is well that he knows his limitations, and is not filled with pride," Joacim Branco said, somewhat mollified. "I find his austerity excessive, but his intent is good."

"I shall tell him you think so," Ruggiero murmured, and entered the stables.

There were three heavily laden oxcarts in the stables and each was driven by two draymen in Venezian clothing. "Well met, Cristofo," Ruggiero said to the horsemen who had been the escort. "How was your journey?"

"About what could be expected," Cristofo answered casually as he swung out of the saddle. "There were two attempted robberies. I tell you, the brigands on the roads are becoming dangerous. We fought them off, of course, and accounted for ourselves successfully. But Sforza of Milano should look to his travelers. Things were better when i Visconti ruled there." He shrugged philosophically. "The athanor is in the second wagon, and we put the jewels there, too. Is it too late to get a meal?"

"No. There is food, if you want to take your draymen to the kitchen. The cook's name is Amadeo and he is expecting you."

Cristofo motioned to the men with him. "We eat," he said laconically.

Ruggiero watched while the men left the wagons; then he told Cristofo where to find the kitchen.

When they were alone with the oxcarts, Joacim Branco began his inspection. He moved from wagon to wagon, lifting lids and handling the various things he found. The athanor particularly delighted him. "I have never seen one better made. Surely we achieve the Egg in this. Ragoczy does well."

"I'm pleased you approve," Ruggiero said, but his sarcasm was lost on Joacim Branco.

"We must start at the next new moon. It would be wrong to wait longer." He touched the bricks of the athanor lovingly, lingeringly. "This is superb."

Ruggiero did not dispute anything Joacim Branco said, but when the men returned from their meal, he made sure it was the largest, earth-filled box that was moved first.

"But the athanor..." Joacim Branco protested.

"My master wants his orders followed." Ruggiero spoke gently. "He said that the largest box should be moved first, to his room. I intend to do as he wished."

Joacim Branco hesitated, then came down from the oxcart with the athanor. With ill-concealed annoyance he helped the draymen move the largest box to Ragoczy's room on the second floor of Palazzo San Germano.

Text of a letter from Conte Giovanni Pico della Mirandola to the French scholar Jean-Denis Gastone de Sangazure:

To that most able classicist and scholar, Pico della Mirandola sends Platonic greetings, and asks that Gastone de Sangazure remember him to his distinguished friends of the University of Paris.

It has been much too long, my friend, since we have exchanged letters, and I know that in part blame must fall to my own laziness. It is to be hoped that this will remedy some of the trouble and redeem me in your eyes.

Fiorenza is much the same, which is to say that it is always changing. There is a scheme afoot to widen more of the streets, but that will mean demolishing more buildings, and the Signoria is reluctant to do so. There is also the new bridge which everyone wants to design and build. It will be west of the others, and the first foundations have been laid, but the bridge itself will take some time to finish, if only to accommodate all the discussion.

Laurenzo has obtained a number of manuscripts in French and has set his cousin Demetrice VoJandrai to translating them. If only you were here, you might have that pleasure. But if Laurenzo's library cannot lure you from Paris, nothing can.

How I wish you had been with us last week. It was a pleasant week, with the season just beginning to turn. On Wednesday Laurenzo decided to explore some of the ancient ruins on the hills above Fiorenza. He finds the works of that lost civilization fascinating, and wanted to search for various artifacts. Angelo was not here, for he is still buying manuscripts for Laurenzo, and has been in Ferrara for more than a month. But Ficino was available, and I, and that foreign alchemist, Ragoczy. The four of us made up a party and rode into the hills.

At first we found only crumbling walls and a few stretches of paving with grasses shooting up between the stones. But then, in a curve of a hill, very much secluded and out of the way, we came upon a building, and though it was roofless, most of the rest was intact and remarkably well-preserved.

You can imagine Laurenzo's delight. He was off his horse and almost into the building before the rest of us knew what was happening. Ragoczy was not far behind him, and stopped Laurenzo from entering, reminding him that stone that old is often unsafe. Laurenzo was grateful for the caution, but decided to explore the building, trusting that San Cosmo and San Da-miano, who have been the Medici patrons for generations, would not fail him now.

The building was an odd one, filled with strange objects we'd never seen before, which Ragoczy suggested might be religious or votive offerings. It was as acceptable an explanation as any, for the place did have the look of a temple.

After an hour or so, we were prepared to leave when an incredibly old man, terribly wizened and filthy, came hurrying over the brow of the hill, yelling at us, and making gestures in his anger that were as comical as they were useless. When he had come up to us, he was quite purple with rage. He called us defilers, profaners, sacrilegious fools for entering a temple of the undying thing. I could not follow half of what the creature said. So overwhelming was his passion that he struck out at Laurenzo with a small club he carried. Of course there was no way he could have injured Medici, but apparently Ragoczy didn't realize this. He moved his horse between the old man and Laurenzo and told him, quite calmly, to stop at once.

You would not have believed the change in the old man. In one instant he was as ferocious as Mars, and in the next he cringed and went whiter than his smock. He begged Ragoczy to forgive him and promised to serve him better. He apologized for the state of the temple and told him that there were so few Rasna left that worship had been abandoned.

Marsilio Ficino and I were nearly overcome with laughter. Laurenzo said it was unkind to mock the mad, though he was amused himself. But Ragoczy was very much alarmed. You must understand that the old man had fallen down in complete prostration before him and kept calling him the undying lord, and asking forgiveness because there was no blood on the altar.

At first Ragoczy tried to reason with the old man, but when the fool tried to cut his throat as an offering to Ragoczy, it was too much for the foreigner, and he leaped out of his saddle and forcibly restrained the old man, saying that such an offering was not acceptable to him. He succeeded in calming the old man (he has quite a way, Jean-Denis, for all that he is lacking in height and dresses with monkish restraint), and then urged us to depart before the old man could again become aroused.

Laurenzo commended Ragoczy for his compassion, and Ragoczy suggested that perhaps the Good Sisters at Sacro Infante might be willing to take charge of the old man. They are Celes-tiane, you know, and often care for the mad. Laurenzo agreed and has written to the Superior of Sacro Infante, though what the outcome will be, no one knows.

I leave for Roma next month, and will stay there until my petition is heard. I will be some little while, I think. If there is anything you want from there, such as books or information, I beg you will send me a list. I've included a list of books I would like to have, and if you should discover any of them, pray buy them and I will repay you with money or in kind. A letter to il Cavaliere Benedetto Gian-Rocco Fredda da Modena near Castel Sant'Angelo will find me most quickly.

Do not follow my example, Jean-Denis, but let me hear from you often and soon. I know I have been shamefully lax, but perhaps your expert example will spur me to better efforts, though I make no promises. But in spite of my inattention, you may be sure that this brings you my warmest friendship and deep respect.

Giovanni Pico della Mirandola

In Fiorenza, October 1, 1491

P.S. Tomorrow is the Feast of the Guardian Angels, and there is a great celebration planned, including a palio. A race like that one certainly puts Guardian Angels to the test. Two men were killed in the palio last year.

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