He was only 12 when something happened that would frequently re-emerge in his adult dreams and opened up a new world, something far from the monastic rules that he had become accustomed to and from the cardinal virtues he read about in books every day. It was a hot afternoon in early summer, the doors and windows of the library's scriptorium were wide open to allow the air to flow to make reading less difficult; Tristano was holding a tome about Sant'Agostino da Ippona about whom he was particularly fascinated and, settling on an island near the window, was preparing to dive into the heavy parchment when he noticed a movement on the street that was strange for that hour. Antonia, an inconsolable widow, was walking rapidly in the deserted street away rom the churchyard, dragging her poor daughter, who had learned to walk only a couple of years before, almost tugging. The unfortunate young woman seemed to be in a hurry to reach her destination unseen. After a while, more and more cautiously, she deviated her trajectory slightly to the right and, as soon as she reached the apothecary's premises, she entered. Immediately afterwards, the owner, leaned his head out of the door, quickly glanced to the left and right and, returning, closed the door, which opened again only half an hour later to let the mother and daughter out. This dynamic was repeated almost identically on the following Saturdays, so much so that the temptation to deepen the investigation became irrepressible for the adolescent. So it was that he planned to hide in an old chest that a laborer working for his grandfather used to supply bottles of spring water to the apothecary's wife, a wealthy lady who with her two daughters prepared spirits, hydrolytes and perfumes for her consorts laboratory. As soon as the load was ready, Tristano emptied it of the equivalent of his weight and scrunched into it letting the laborer load everything onto the wagon to complete his transport, unaware, directly to the pharmacy as always. Once there, hidden in his wooden horse, like Ulysses in Troy, he waited for the moment when the herbalists helper left to remunerate the shop assistant and climbing out of the chest he hid among the various sacks of cereals and grasses that filled the room. At that point he only had to wait And. in fact, shortly after the bell tower of the church sounded the Ninth hour, the beautiful Antonia, with her little one, punctually entered the gloom; waiting for her at the entrance, the alchemist suitor who, like a wolf on his prey, pounced on her generous chest, pushing the woman against the fixed part of the door; and while with his right hand he held the movable part of the door, with his left he rummaged under the robe of the attractive woman, who, letting go of the little girl's hand, at the same time got rid of the cap that a moment before had gathered up her long auburn hair. The young man peered in disbelief at what was happening in that ecstasy of medicinal herbs, spices, roots, candles, paper, inks, colors After the first outpourings, the apothecary released his grip and allowed the young mother just enough time to better settle the child on a seat with a rag and straw doll, then he took her by the hand and, while leading her to the back room, asked her sarcastically, Tell me, what did you tell Don Berengario in the confessional today? The impetus between the two scenes increased more than before: the moans followed gasps; as soon as the audacious intruder pushed the curtain with two fingers, he saw the two lovers sinfully fornicating among herbs, seeds, perfumes, aromatic waters, oils, ointments
Thus began his sex education, which he soon corroborated, like any self-respecting discipline, with theory (obtaining some texts his tutors considered to be extremely forbidden) and with practice (causing some young novices to become disturbed and to have second thoughts).
His first real relationship with a woman was with Elisa di Giacomo, the eldest daughter of a groom who worked on the estate. Two years older, the beautiful Elisa gladly accompanied Tristano on long walks along the mountain paths, enchanted by his stories, by his plans and often the two inevitably ended up frolicking in a shed or in a refuge in the area.
They were in fact secluded together that day of the harvest when a handful of foreign soldiers plummeted into the middle of the festival at the gallop, passing alarmed laborers and bystanders they came to the front of the rural alcove, and surrounded it. The highest grade, in armor that shone as never seen before, dismounted, lifted his helmet and, breaking through the door with one foot, to the most intense embarrassment of the astonished lovebirds, broke in:
Tristano Licini de' Ginni?
Yes sir, it's me, replied the young man, pulling up his breeches and trying to shield the half-naked body of his terrified companion with his. Who are you, sire?
My name is Giovanni Battista Orsini, lord of Monte Rotondo. Put your clothes on! You must follow me to Rome immediately. Your grandfather has already been informed and has given his approval for you to leave this place and transfer as quickly as possible to the home of my noble uncle, His Illustrious and Most Reverend Lordship, Cardinal Orsini. My task is to escort you, even if necessary by force, to his holy person. Please, do not resist and follow me.
And so, torn from his provincial microcosm where he had found his equilibrium, at just 14 years old, Tristano left those poor lands with its unstable borders forever to arrive at and be reborn a man in the opulent city that God had chosen as His earthly seat, in the Eternal City of the Caesars, in the caput mundi
After 7 days of grueling journey, he arrived exhausted at the cardinal's residence at Monte Giordano, the young guest was immediately entrusted into the care of a servant and shortly afterwards led into the presence of the illustrious Cardinal Latino Orsini, a leading exponent of the Roman Guelph faction, supreme chamberlain and archbishop of Taranto, former bishop of Conza and archbishop of Trani, archbishop of Urbino, cardinal bishop of Albano and Frascati, apostolic administrator of the archdiocese of Bari and Canosa and of the diocese of Polignano, as well as lord of Mentana, Selci and Palombara, et cetera et cetera.
During the short distance, Tristano examined the stern gaze of the marble busts of the noble familys illustrious ancestors, held up by shelves with lion-like protomes and roses, the distinctive symbol of the Orsini. The questions in his mind increased dramatically, chasing and scrambling over each other.
That hall with windows, interspersed with pilasters, dominated by curvilinear gables with lion heads and pinecones, crowned eagles, heraldic serpents of the Viscount, etc. seemed to disappear into infinity.
His Grace was in his dusty studio, intent on signing dozens of papers that two beardless deacons submitted to him with ritual skill.
As soon as he noticed the young presence, he gradually raised his head turning slightly towards the entrance; slowly, with his gaze fixed on the boy and keeping his elbow on the table, he raised his left forearm, with palm open, in anticipation of his assistant to halt the passage of further documents. Standing up he approached the newcomer without haste, as if to seek the best angle to better appreciate his features; benevolently he caressed his face, lingering under his chin.
Tristano he whispered Finally, Tristano.
Then he put his hand on his head and blessed him with the other tracing the sign of the cross in the air.
The boy, albeit held back by a tangle of fear and awe, stared at him fixedly to scrutinize the slightest movement of his mouth and eyes that could somehow reveal the reason for his sudden transfer. The cardinal, holding the precious crucifix that adorned his chest in his hand, turned abruptly towards the window and, advancing, anticipated him saying:
As soon as he noticed the young presence, he gradually raised his head turning slightly towards the entrance; slowly, with his gaze fixed on the boy and keeping his elbow on the table, he raised his left forearm, with palm open, in anticipation of his assistant to halt the passage of further documents. Standing up he approached the newcomer without haste, as if to seek the best angle to better appreciate his features; benevolently he caressed his face, lingering under his chin.
Tristano he whispered Finally, Tristano.
Then he put his hand on his head and blessed him with the other tracing the sign of the cross in the air.
The boy, albeit held back by a tangle of fear and awe, stared at him fixedly to scrutinize the slightest movement of his mouth and eyes that could somehow reveal the reason for his sudden transfer. The cardinal, holding the precious crucifix that adorned his chest in his hand, turned abruptly towards the window and, advancing, anticipated him saying:
You seem alert, boy. You are certainly wondering about this coercive transition to Rome
After a brief pause he continued:
The time has not yet come for you to know. Not yet Just know that if you are here it is for your own good, for your protection and for your future. And again for your wellbeing and that of Santa Romana Ecclesia is that you don't know. In these dark times, mindless and diabolical forces are plotting together against good and truth. Your mother knew it. That rosary around your neck is hers, never take it off, it is her protection, her blessing.
If there is something precious in you, you owe it only to her who gave birth to you with this flesh of a temporal life and with heart to eternal life. She, in her infinite maternal love, before reuniting with our Lord, entrusted you to Our Lord and since then we have kept a dark secret that when the time comes, and only then, will it be revealed to you. Veritas filia temporis.
Sir, please, said Tristano in a tremulous voice, like every good Christian I need to know the truth and, holding his beating heart with the strength of courage, added: The life of the saints and above all that of Saint Augustine teach us to seek the truth, the same truth that you now hide from me.
The prelate turned abruptly and, addressing him looking both stern but almost pleased at the adolescent's reaction, replied:
I reply to you as Ambrogio da Milan did to the one who unworthily loves to quote: No Augustine, it is not man who finds the truth, he must let the truth find him. And like the then young Ippona, your path towards the truth has just begun.
Even before anyone dared to say another word, he looked at the one who had accompanied him and peremptorily concluded:
Now you can leave.
Tristano, dumb and dazed, was made to leave and, after a few days, refreshed and dressed according to the canons of that century-old family, by Mons Ursinorum he was transferred to the Curia following the cardinal's nephew.
Giovan Battista, despite the young man's persistent protests, never gave him any valid explanations for those mysterious misgivings (perhaps he did not know or perhaps was forced to keep silent) but he constrained himself to fulfilling the task entrusted to him by his uncle, he started immediately by sending the orphan for the best diplomatic training, having already had the chance to ascertain that the boy was in no way inclined to the mystical and religious life.
The latter, in the intimacy of the nights, occasionally thought of the words of that first meeting with Cardinal Latino, powerless before the many because they besieged his mind: why could he not or should he not know? Why and by whom was he to be protected? Why would his humble mother have known and confided an arcane secret to an illustrious prelate concerning him? Why was that secret so dangerous to himself and even to the entire Church?
At other times he thought of the places and people of his childhood but, now definitively entrusted to that new illustrious protector by his only relative in life, he could not miss the chance to try his hand at what he had emphatically heard of from the stories of the Dominican fathers; he therefore concentrated on his studies and soon adapted to Roman ecclesiastical circles, to the sumptuous rooms at the Curia, to the huge monuments, to the majestic palaces, to the lavish banquets
tempora tempore, it was as if that type of life had always been familiar to him. Not a day passed when he did not have new experiences; not a day passed when he did not appropriate new knowledge for his cultural baggage; not a day passed when he did not get to know new people: princes and valets, artists and courtiers, engineers and musicians, heroes and missionaries, parasites and pusillanimous, prelates and prostitutes. A gymnasium of continuous and inexhaustible life
Getting to know as many people as possible, from all walks of life, from all backgrounds, from every culture, from every creed, from every lineage, he entered their world, found useful information, analyzed every detail, scrutinized every human soul, it was also the foundation of his profession. And it apparently led him to be friends with everyone. In reality, of the priceless multitude of men and women he met in his life, the diplomat could count on only a very few and true friends, three he met during those years and each of them guarded an intimate secret:
Jacopo, a Benedictine monk, fine alchemist, studied botany, concoctions, potions, and perfumes but was also the creator of excellent liqueurs and digestives. With Tristano he shared a passion for the patristic classics and the philosophical search for truth. At a very young age he had killed his teacher with an alembic, an old helpless pedophile who had repeatedly abused his pupils. The corpse, dissolved in acid, was never found.
Veronica, raised by her mother in a Venetian brothel had, at a very early age, learned the art of seduction that she had practiced in Rome for some years; her house for trysts was frequented daily by painters, men of letters, soldiers, wealthy merchants, bankers, counts, marquises and, above all, high-ranking prelates. She no longer had any family in the world, except for a twin sister who she had never known, whose mysterious existence only Tristano knew about.
Ludovico, son and assistant to the personal tailor of the Orsini family, extremely refined, creative, extravagant, extroverted, expert in the use of many different fabrics, textiles and accessories, always informed on the news and trends from the Italian and European states. His secret? he was sexually attracted to men more than women and, although he had never dared to show it, he had an admiration and a particular affection for Tristano, which sometimes transcended the level of friendship.
As soon as he could, freed of the burdens of the Curia, between one mission and the next, the beardless diplomat happily met with his friends After each mission, as soon as he returned to Rome, he visited them, to tell them about the adventurous dynamics lived and to bring them a souvenir.
In the summer of 1477 Cardinal Orsini became seriously ill; he immediately called his protégé who was then at the abbey of Santa Maria di Farfa. Tristano went at lightning speed but when he arrived in Rome the palace was already in mourning. On the main floor, the hall up to the bed was crowded with mourning princes and whispering notables: the high cardinal was inauspiciously dead and with him the possibility of knowing from his voice the arcane mystery that enveloped the young bureaucrats past.
Unfortunately, the cardinal had left nothing that concerned him. Nor did the prelate's will mention the secret he had spoken of three years earlier.