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Odd wooden blocks dotted the map of Northern Italies on a massive table. The blocks were of different shapes and sizes and some had little flags, while others were topped with pins with colorful glass bead heads. To the eyes of the Grand Duke of Tuscany His Highness Ferdinando II of family Medici it looked chaos, but watching the slim long fingers of his brother Mattias move the blocks about and listening to his voice, soon a pattern emerged, provide the Grand Duke did not drink too much. There lay the other trouble, for the Grand Duke was drinking cognac from a wine goblet. Last night he was shown figures of debt, as well as letters of his bankers to their mistresses showing they were terrified of the state of Florence should the war carry on (and incidentally showing the wisdom in Franciotti reticence in committing certain things to fragile paper).

"How much more, little brother?"

"Half a million florins for these three sieges to finish their work, I should think."

"Jesu, how you say 'half a million.' One would think you were asking for a soldo stuck to the bottom of a coin purse of a drunk trader draining piquette in a cheap tavern by the docks."

"Brother, I know of the costs. I am a Medici. But we must not lose."

"No, we must not. Not after all of this. Though I fear my son will not see it as we do."

"I am sure your... Wait, you have a son?"

"The things I have done for my duchy."

"She is then pregnant, your wife?"

"Yes, so the doctors assure me. As I have assured them I will hang them by thumbs from The Bell Tower should they tell me lies."

"Why, brother, that is great news!"

"So my wife thinks. She looks forward to, uh, 'glowing.' Jesu. I need another drink."

And so the Grand Duke did, while brother, the celibate bachelor, spoke warmly of heirs and family. For a wonder the Grand Duke made no jibes on his brother's hypocrisy. They were Medici after all, and hypocrisy ran in their blood as evil ran in the blood of the luckless Borgia. The only thing the Grand Duke concentrated on was pouring more and more cognac to dilute his good blood. And in this state he was dragged off to his private chambers, by pages fearful of him desiring intimacy. But the thought of touching other human beings after he had laid down with his wife disgusted the poor Grand Duke to such an extent that he threw out the much relieved help, fell asleep, woke to throw up on the finely tiled floor, fell asleep yet again and this time choked to death on his own vomit.


The body was not discovered until noon the next day, and there followed mass scenes of chaos. Mattias was utterly lost til nearly Nones, but recovered his wits to send messengers to his other brothers. But by that point the rumors had spread through the whole town, and fearful conversations were had by the townsmen and strangers alike. Ashley walked in on her Sienese companion Salvatore and the new chambermaid, ignored the shrieks of the surprised and quite impressionable sixteen year old and commanded Salvatore to get dressed and prepare for a journey of some length. This Salvatore did without qualm, while trying to soothe his young new conquest, though with little luck in the latter task.

The pale butler approached the lady of the house, deputized by the rest of the senior household servants to try to find out where she was leaving and for how long.

"Pisa. And I shall return for the great summer festivals. Now please be so good as to not question my motives and movements again, servant."

The butler paled further, exploded in apologies and was shoved aside.

And so while the town mourned and people debated, Ashley as was her wont, took charge, and departed in a coach-and-four in a trail of dust, with no servants.


"May I ask why Pisa, dearest Ashley?"

"Because it is easier to get to Lucca from there than from Florence, Sal."

"I trust not the ambassador."

"Who speaks of trust? They have money. I want it."

"Do we not have money enough?"

"Oh you sweet pretty child, 'enough' is never enough, when one speaks of money."

"I so love it when you debase me so by calling me simple names."

"Hush up, there are none here inside but the two of us. Your 'debasement' is not witnessed."

"But stings all the same."

"May I balm your manly pride once we are somewhere safer by straddling you savagely?"

"That you may, but I fail to see how Pisa, or Lucca for that matter, is safer than Florence. Wealthier mayhap, but not safer."

"Wealthy is safety."

"It did not save the Grand Duke..."

"... from himself. And the cause of his pain was his loss of the wealth. Trust me."

"And now we speak of trust."

"Sal, two thirds of all of our wealth are in paper made worthless with each passing day. And now the man whose name signed off on said paper is dead, rendering the paper somehow even more worthless. My mind is not in a state to parry your thrusts and if it were made to parry them now, I may not confine myself o merely bat your blade aside with my own, but plunge mine and plunge it quite deeper than 'sweet pretty child.' So please be aware."

"That is the most polite way you have told me to keep my mouth shut. Thankee."

"I would curtsy, but I am sitting down."

At this Salvatore flashed a smile and stayed silent, for which Ashley was thankful as her thoughts were flying about and causing too much noise for her mind to track and bear.

***


Sea-Captain Gian Carlo Medici heard much noise as well. And most of it was of his own making as was Ashley's. He sat alone in a room, while Mattias barked orders to keep order. Guards were posted. Food prices controlled. Spies sent out to scotch rumors bad and spread good gossip. All this was done by Mattias with ease, once he had recovered his wits, while Gian Carol was still partially witless.

He had seen the looks on their faces change soon as the news broke. The very moment he was ushered into the room and took note of their stares. He had led before, and been leader in many things, but this, oh this was different. He was to wear purple. The thought was mildly absurd and exaggerated of course, but it did not make it any less true. It was him, had to be. He was the eldest brother. And while he would of course make the poor fat dumb Vittoria the regent of Tuscany and the child in her womb would rule Florence in due time, it was to be him who was now the true ruler of the great polity. Yes, yes, he would of course listen to his brothers and he had no intention of ignoring their sage advice, Mattias in matters of war and Leopoldo in all things politic, but it was him who would sit on the throne now, no matter what the title he would receive. He was to rule the family Medici.

Jesu, he trembled. He had thoughts of this scenario before, as we have documented in this very work, but now... He was inheriting a principality at war against the Pope, a principality leading a coalition of reluctant allies bound by blood and fear. This was not the bucolic Florence of yester-year, which quite frankly (not that we have not been frank with you this entire time) never quite existed but at least was more peaceful and much more prosperous. This was the Florence of here and now, a Florence in war. And he was to lead it to glory, or utter destruction. He stood, because sitting alone with his thoughts now hurt too much and marched over to Mattias.

"The ambassadors?"

"Of the polities now our allies are all here. We shall see them soon."

"No, dearest brother, we shall see them now and reassure them all is in hand."

It was the first time he had corrected his brother from a position of authority and both had known it, as did the servants spying on them. And... Mattias yielded. And Gian Carlo tried not to breathe in relief in such a fashion as for it to be visible. He had passed the first test. More lay in store.

***


"Who is this pock marked ill looking fellow?"

"Boniface. He is to replace Pietro as deputy game keeper."

"What? Why? What happened to Pietro?"

"Had an accident while cleaning his gun."

"Jesu, you do not think he...?"

"He was a good Christian. He would never commit such a mortal sin."

"Then how could he have...? He handled weapons for living."

"How many blacksmiths injure themselves by hammers? How many hat makers by the tools of their trade? His tools were guns, thereby..."

"Poor man."

"Aye, but come, let us welcome the new fellow and explain him his duties."

And thus Boniface, previously known to us as Allesandro and (also) Boniface from before, resumed his name as he took on new job at the Castel Gandolfo, a properly which at that time belonged to whomever was the Captain-General of Papal Armies through awkward tradition born of when the poverty stricken family Savelli sold the property to the Curia while member of their house was still pope. The Castle abutted the remains of the Savelli holdings, the princely lands dubbed Albano, though they were not very majestic looking at the time of our tale, at this point.

But back to the Castel, which at this point was owned by the Captain-General of Pope Urban VIII, that is to Taddeo Barberini, but which Pope Urban VIII himself graced with his presence from time to time, to best learn of the new military stratagems his beloved nephew was perfecting to destroy the reviled Northern League. And Boniface was hired unto this property to shoot game to keep the tables of the family Barberini well stocked with pheasants and other things the heads of household desired.


And it was while he was out hunting for game, to keep true to his job until he was called on to perform a quite other task that he was suddenly summoned to see the Cardinal-Inquisitor Francesco Barberini. He found the man dressed in travelling clothes, overlooking the nearby lake (also named Albano).

"The Grand Duke of Tuscany died in his sleep."

Boniface said nothing.

"It may changes things, or it may change nothing as far as the task given to you is concerned. Stay the course for now and find a way to do that which you were here brought to have done. Unless you hear from me otherwise in less than a fortnight, then do it."

"As you command."

"You have my leave."

Boniface nodded and left. As for the Cardinal-Inquisitor, he stayed until his hands shook no longer. It was not an easy command for him to give, nor did the whole affair give him pleasure. What he did, he had done out of conviction due observation and past facts. His uncle would not look upon the death of the Grand Duke as a great deliverance to gain respite for both sides. If anything, the fool would see it as a sign to carry on even harder than before, damning all costs and condemning their family into the bargain. The war had to end. The death of the Grand Duke would not stop it. For the war was now a Medicean inheritance and would be carried out by the three surviving brothers for the sake of their town and polity. The death of the pope would end the war true. It was just a matter of making sure the rest of the Cardinal-Inquisitor's plan carried off proper.

***


While Ashley was speeding to Pisa on coach-and-four from Florence, after learning of the passing of the Grand Duke from gossip. Leopoldo Medici sped much faster in a six horse drawn carriage from Pisa to Florence and had received his news by a fast courier who fairly murdered his poor horse on the journey. Thus before Ashley caught sight of the wondrous leaning tower, Leopoldo was already in the war room of his now dead brother in Florence, holding a council with his two remaining ones.

"Is she truly pregnant, dear brothers?"

"The doctors are nearly certain, Leopoldo."

"The bloodline is then secure. Still, you two should find wives and get some brats in a hurry, just to be safe."

Mattias blushed, while Gian Carlo blinked.

"I would have done it as well as you two, but I am a cardinal, any child I spawn will be a bastard, in the eyes of the laws and customs, and more importantly in the eyes of the people of Florence. Thus you two must find wives."

Mattias blushed deeper still, while Gian Carlo nodded, though with distaste.

"Let us speak of the war?"

Here, Mattias found his tongue:

"It is going quite well. All is going as planned."

"While grass grows between the stones of most Florentine squares?"

"I understand the war is costly, but..."

"Life is costly, my brothers, but have you seen Florence? She looks like shit."

Leopoldo was not a man to use coarse words and his two brothers blanched.

"I have no intention to lecture you two on the matters of war, for you are the subject's true masters. But I can speak of economies, people and the general mood. All of which are horrific. Too much money has been diverted to guns, powder and armor plate, and not enough to bread and trade. That needs to change, or you will inherit a ruin."

"The plan..."

"Bugger the plan! What are we without Florence? And what is Florence without wealth? Have you forgotten your history? Know you what happens to us when we are not seen as handmaidens of profit?"

Gian Carlo was not used to this Leopoldo. Nor was poor befuddled Mattias. As for Leopoldo, he nearly surprised himself. He was used to the Grand Duke, and his airs and his gracescapes, but he expected more sense from his two surviving brothers than they thus far showed. Gian Carlo in particular should have seen folly where it presented. Mattias was too focused on war and its execution, and could not be counted to grasping the nettle of politics, despite his time spent in Germanies and governing Siena. But Gian Carlo previously showed some spark of diplomacy for something other than doing while searching for a larger boulder to hurl at one's foes. Alas, now the two coconspirators of their Grand Plan were too committed to its execution and were missing what had happened around them.

"Brothers, Florence must see wealth. We will stage a grand funeral and we must be seen to invest."

"But if the money is taken from the war, then..."

"Bugger the war! We are only fighting to prevent this Pope from becoming our neighbor. I love our dear sister, but if her idiot Farnese husband had sued for peace when Castro fell, we would not be in this mess. The sooner we can wind down the war, the better. Peace brings wealth, not war, this isn't Rome. Florence makes money not from foreign conquest, but flow of goods and our banks. Extend an olive branch to the Barberini to see if they'll come to their senses. Let us have peace in our time. Think. While I got comfort our brother's widow."

And with this, Leopoldo departed, while Gian Carlo found his crown did not fit. Ferdinando was never thus bullied, and yet he was, here and now, and more to the point, he had allowed it. Seething, he stalked out, without so much as by your leave to Mattias. He wanted to hurt something or someone, but smartened pages stayed out of his path and maids hid in the alcoves. Gian Carlo was thus denied. When he found his room, he hurled a vase at a painting and was pleased to see it tear through.