"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - St Germain 2 - The Palace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

set up the shout of "Palle! Palle!"
Laurenzo acknowledged this with a nod and a wave, calling out a few friendly
words after them, then turned again to the haunted face of his foreign friend. "Exile,"
he said, and there was despair in his voice.
Ragoczy said nothing; his dark eyes were enigmatic.
"Better an exile in Fiorenza than King of the World," Agnolo Poliziano said nastily
as he watched the children run down a side street. "Why else did you recall me after
sending me away? Certainly you must value life in Fiorenza above all others. Or are
you anxious to send me away again, to remind me about exile? What excuse will you
find this time, now that your wife is dead, and cannot object to me?"
Once again Laurenzo de' Medici hesitated before speaking. "When I am most
tempted to see you flung into the Arno, bellissimo Agnolo," he said at last, "I have
only to touch myself here"—he fingered a long scar on his throat—"and I recall that
if you had not been there on that bloody Easter, I would have died beside my
brother, and the Pazzis would rule Fiorenza. You cannot provoke me, my friend. I
am too much in your debt."
"Admirable. Admirable. What splendid sensibility. What sublime philosophy,"
Poliziano marveled. "And without me you cannot finish your library, not that that
enters into it. But remember that I have not finished ransacking Bologna for you yet."
He swayed dangerously in his studded saddle as his horse bucked at the sudden
sound of trumpets. "The devil take Beato Antoninus! I wish him heavenly joy of that
clamor!"
"The procession will begin soon," Laurenzo said to no one in particular. "We'd
better hurry."
"As you wish." Ragoczy was grateful for this change in their conversation.
"Perhaps, if you do not want to take part in these festivities, you might enjoy
inspecting my palazzo? It will be finished shortly, and I have not had the honor of
showing you through it. Today would be an excellent time, Magnifico. The builders
are all at the festival and we may browse through it at leisure."
"Bleeding wounds of God!" Poliziano burst out. "What is there to see but walls?
You may paint them this shade or that, and have tapestries to cover them, or
pictures. But in the end they are still walls, and only slightly different from any others
you may see. Some are wider, some are more fancifully decorated, but they are
nothing more than walls."
At this Ragoczy smiled. "Ah, you forget, Poliziano, there are also floors and
ceilings, though to be sure, they are only to walk on and to hold up the roof."
His last few words were drowned in a new trumpet blare. The horses moved
skittishly and the three men had to turn their attention to their mounts, tightening the
reins, moving forward in the high saddles.
"What a noise they make!" Poliziano had jobbed the bit and his neat bay gelding
now tossed its head and sidled restively.
"It is a celebration, Agnolo," Laurenzo explained patiently and unnecessarily.
"Make up your mind, Agnolo. When the people of Fiorenza take to the street, they
are a tide, and only the buildings have the strength to withstand them. We must leave
quickly or be swept on to la Piazza della Signoria."
"But to waste another day seeing some new palazzo." Poliziano's small bright
eyes narrowed and his mouth set. "Very well, very well. I have heard that this
palazzo is in the Genovese manner. It might have all sorts of surprises."
"Yes," Ragoczy agreed ironically. "There's no telling how the walls are placed.
They may lean at amazing angles." He turned to Laurenzo. "Do you truly not wish to