andy cannon

Isn't that the truth! I don't detail the punishment of the patriarch, Jacopo Pazzi, because that is a story where truth is too strange to translate to fiction. During the turmoil of the afternoon, he escaped Florence to hide in nearby Castagno, but he was recognised and dragged back to Florence. He was tortured and hanged next to fellow conspirator Archbishop Francesco Salviati. Jacopo's body was removed from his tomb at Santa Croce, thrown in a ditch, paraded through the streets, and left at the door of the Palazzo Pazzi, where his head was used as a door knocker. After that, his body was thrown into the Arno, where it was fished out by children (!!!) , hung from a tree, beaten and thrown back into the river.

Apparently, this was not the first attempted strike by the conspirators , but earlier ones fell through because Lorenzo and Giuliano were not together, and they (correctly as it turned out) thought that a surviving brother would furiously avenge the murder. The miscalculation of killing a man in the cathedral during Easter mass at the Elevation of the Host shocks us in more secular times.

Easter Sunday bloomed in the glorious Tuscan spring, ending the long winter with promise of hot summer days, signaling the end of the austere season of Lent with the holiest day on the calendar. All of Florence strolled to mass at the Duomo, Santa Maria del Fiori, through streets filled with the scents from meat roasting in kitchens both great and humble. The bells tolled like bronze thunder above Florence, summoning its soul to worship. Their deep voices rolled across the rooftops, into

Danilo's is the voice that should be in every ear: He won't speak the truth when a lie serves him better, but he always tells you exactly the truth you need to hear.

Chapter Six The banker’s study in Palazzo Rossi still smelled of beeswax and old parchment when Messer Ludovico Rossi pressed the order upon his nephew. “A gift, Matteo. To show our appreciation for inclusion in the Ragusa venture. A devotional work for the Medici chapel at the Church of San Lorenzo, Saint Lawrence upon his gridiron, steadfast in martyrdom. Nothing elaborate: panel, tempera, a touch of gilt. Pious, tasteful, and not too dear.” Ludovico’s fingers drummed the led

That is an interesting point. One aspect of historical fiction that fascinates me is that we have limited knowledge of the day-to-day lives of both the poor and women. The wool merchant sees himself as the aggrieved party in this, and wants to ensure that he has no out-of-pocket expenses. He is willing to keep the woman on after the child is born as long as he is not inconvenienced. Is that a reflection of reality? I am not sure. The 21st century cynic that I am doubts that her parents or priest would be any less inclined to divert the coins to personal use. I also suspect that she would have been sent packing as soon as the condition was obvious, especially if the lady of the house was of a suspicious or jealous nature. There is a great museum in Sweden dedicated to the state-of-art seventeenth century navy ship, Vasa, which sailed 300 meters into Stockholm harbor, caught an errant breeze and promptly rolled over and sank. In the 1970s, the well preserved ship was raised and put on display. One exhibit was a metal hinge and clasp that was originally part of a bag of some kind. The cloth pouch had long since disintegrated, and the museum used this as a metaphor for history in general. The metal work was done by a man, and the cloth work by a woman. His contribution is preserved almost 400 years later. Hers is lost in the mist of time. In a more empathetic world, Matteo would not have stopped at the half gesture of satisfying her master and actually done something for her if he felt responsibility for Danilo's possible involvement by asking his father for a position in the Rossi palazzo to raise her child. I can't imagine that the patriarch would have done that, but who knows? He may have seized the request as proof of his son's heterosexuality and granted it.

Egregiously pedantic footnote: The Medici family, Lorenzo: his brother, Giuliano: and their mother, Lucrezia, were, of course, historical figures in 15th-century Florence. The Tornabuoni family were also a historical prominent family, but Lauretta and her parents are fictional. As far as I know, no Rossi banking family existed, but I was dismayed to learn recently that there was a family of that name in Parma, the Counts of San Secondo. and one of them was married to Lorenzo de' Medici's oldest sister. This story was almost complete when I discovered that, but I am irrationally attached to the name for the purposes of this story, so I left it in place. The historic Rossi family and Matteo's family are at best distant cousins

Chapter five A few evenings later, the night air in Florence carried the scent of crushed thyme and warm stone. A bell tolled in the distance, low and sonorous, as Gianluca Colonna and Matteo Rossi made their way along the Via del Palagio, their footsteps softened by the hour and the vintage they had consumed. Behind them, two broad-shouldered retainers walked at a distance, watchful but indulgent of their masters’ laughter. Danilo was off doing whatever a cat does when he is free to be a c

The feast followed at sunset, when the Tornabuoni salone was transformed from courtroom to carnival. The same table that had borne parchments and ink now sagged beneath peacocks glazed in saffron, loaves plaited like crowns, and platters of oranges bristling with cloves. Wine ran as freely as the lawyers’ tongues had done earlier. Lutes and rebecs drifted from the gallery above, their notes weaving through the chatter of two great rival houses pretending at unity. Matteo stood near the hea

The gran salone of the Tornabuoni palace shimmered with restrained magnificence. Sunlight filtered through high windows, touching the gilded ceiling and the marble busts of long-dead ancestors whose sightless eyes seemed to pass judgement over every negotiation. The long walnut table gleamed like still water, weighted with parchments and silver inkstands. Servants moved soundlessly along the walls, pouring wine no one drank. On one side sat the Rossi men... Giovanni in the middle, somber an

Matteo bounded up the marble stairs two at a time, water still dripping from his hair, and paused only long enough to push open the carved door of his father’s study. The air within was heavy with the scent of beeswax. Candles glimmered in silver sconces, throwing long shadows over the frescoed ceiling where painted stags leapt through forests. The decor of the Palazzo Rossi was more restrained and austere than the luxurious Palazzo Cizzoli, even a generation or two out of fashion. Florentines l

Chapter One The air in the gran salone of Palazzo Cizzioli shimmered with candlelight and the scent of spice. Wax gleamed on the walnut panels, and the frescoed gods overhead, Apollo bathed in light, the Muses pouring wine, seemed to watch in lazy amusement as Florence’s gilded youth from the great families drank and argued beneath them. The young men gathered as much to match wits as to seek relief from the political tensions that always roiled the Republic of Florence. Matteo de'

Florence, 1478... city of splendor, secrets, and simmering treachery. Matteo de’ Rossi, heir to one of Florence’s great banking houses, moves among princes and schemers. Beneath the polished banquets and humanist debates lies a pressure he cannot escape: alliances to forge, loyalties to display, and a marriage arranged to strengthen his family’s power. But Matteo hides a truth more dangerous than politics. His heart belongs to Gianluca Colonna, a brilliant, passionate man whose kiss is as perilous as his dagger. Their love burns in the shadows of Renaissance Florence, where rumor can ruin and discovery can kill.

I am looking forward to reading more!

The interaction between the brothers is great!

Very moving chapter!

Grandpa seems like a right fun old fascist.

The tension in the confrontation in Pedro's apartment underscores the dangers inherent in transitioning societies as the institutions and mores decay and are replaced.

I am uneasy that the DEA ropes a teenage civilian unto their plans. That wouldn't happen in real life, would it? Nothing good can come of it, in any event.

Rowan's insidious poison is starting to work 🥹

I look forward to seeing Rowan's motivation here, but I suspect he references multiple pages in DSM-5, a textbook sociopath waiting to be featured in an article in JAMA,

He didn’t know it then, but Rowan hadn’t just been listening. He’d been cataloging. Cue the ominous music. That was followed by a truly touching scene as they woke up the next morning.

“God. Real espresso. Real mascarpone. Not that powdered junk from the grocery store.” I did not know until today that such a horror as powdered mascarpone existed. The future is not always a series of advances, and this is clearly a step backwards.

Great story, but something tells me this is not a by-the-manual home visit for a Parole Officer!

Jake is a wonderful, patient man, a good match for our Aaron.