The Rule of Four

Anadyomene, and the line of Protogenes-and Francesco is so excited he tells the scout to buy them even if they might be fakes. A librarian in Constantinople sells him the Chaldaean Oracles for a small pig's weight in silver-and Francesco calls it a bargain because the oracles' author, Zoroaster the Persian, is the only known prophet older than Hermes Trismegistus. Seven chapters by Tacitus and a book by Livy appear at the end of Francesco's list as if they're nothing. He almost forgets to mention half a dozen works by Botticelli.

Paul shakes his head, imagining it. In less than two years, Francesco Colonna assembles one of the greatest libraries of ancient art and literature in the Renaissance world. He brings two seamen into his inner circle to captain his ships and move his cargo. He employs the sons of the trusted members of the Roman Academy to protect caravans traveling roads across Europe. He tests the men he suspects of treachery, recording their every move so he can cover his tracks. Francesco knew he could only trust his secret to a select few, and he was willing to do whatever it took to protect it. It's hitting me now, the full force of what my father and I stumbled onto: a single loose thread in a web of communication between Colonna and his assistants, a network designed for the sole purpose of protecting the nobleman's secret.

Maybe Rodrigo and Donato weren't the only ones he tested, I suggest. Maybe there are more belladonna letters.

Probably, he says. And when Francesco was done, he put everything he owned in a place no one would ever think to look. A place where he says his treasures will be safe from his enemies. I know it even before he says it.

He petitions the senior members of his family for access to the huge tracts of land they own outside Rome, under the pretext of a profit-making enterprise. But instead of building above ground, in the middle of the forests where his ancestors used to hunt, he designs his crypt. A huge underground vault. Only five of his men ever know its location.

Then, as 1498 approaches, Francesco makes a crucial decision. In Florence, Savonarola seems to be more popular than ever. He declares that on Shrove Tuesday he will build a bonfire even bigger than the last one. Francesco records part of the speech in the Hypnerotomachia. He says all of Italy is at a fever pitch with this new kind of religious madness-and he fears for his treasures. He's spent virtually all of his fortune already, and with Savonarola gaining a foothold in the mind of Western Europe, he senses that goods are becoming harder to move and hide. So he gathers up all that he's collected, places it in the crypt, and seals it off for good.

Slowly it occurs to me that one of the oddest details of the second message finally makes sense. My crypt, Colonna wrote, is an unequalled contrivance for its purpose, impervious to all things, hut above all to water. He waterproofed the vault, knowing that otherwise, locked underground, his treasures would rot.

He decides that in the days before the bonfire is lit, Paul continues, he will travel to Florence. He will go to San Marco. And in a final attempt to defend his cause, he will confront Savonarola. By appealing to the man's love of learning, his respect for truth and beauty, Francesco will persuade him to remove the objects of lasting value from the bonfire. He will stop the preacher from destroying what the humanists consider sacred.

But Francesco is a realist. After hearing Savonarola's sermons, he knows how fiery the man is, how convinced he is that the bonfires are righteous. If Savonarola won't join him, Francesco knows he has only one choice. He must show Florence how barbaric the prophet really is. He will go to the bonfire and remove the objects from the pyramid himself. If Savonarola tries to light the fire anyway, Francesco will be martyred on the pyre, in front of the entire city. He will force Savonarola to become a murderer. Only this, he says, will turn Florence against fanaticism-and with Florence, the rest of Europe.

He was willing to die for it, I say, half to myself.

He was willing to kill for it, Paul says. Francesco had five close humanist friends in his confraternity of brothers. One was Terragni, the architect. Two were a pair of real brothers, Matteo and Cesare. The final two were Rodrigo and Donato, and they died for betraying him. He would've done anything to protect what he believed in.

The tiny space of the carrel seems to warp for a second, angles colliding like fragments of time intersecting. I see my father again, writing the manuscript of The Belladonna Document on the old typewriter in his office. He knew exactly what that letter meant; he just didn't know its context. Now Paul has found its place. Though there's a sudden satisfaction to that, there's also a growing sadness I feel as Paul continues his story. The more I hear about Francesco Colonna, the desperate man who couldn't trust even his friends, the more I think of Paul, slaving over the Hypnerotomachia the same way Colonna did, on either end of a single thread in time, a writer and a reader. Vincent Taft may have tried to poison Paul against us, telling him that friends were fickle, but the more I see what Paul has done for this book-how he has lived in it for years now, the way I only lived in it for months-the better I understand. It was Francesco Colonna, as much as any living man, who made him doubt.

Chapter 23

In the months before Francesco leaves for Florence, Paul says, he takes the one precaution he thinks is foolproof. He decides to write a book. A book that will disclose the location of the crypt, but only to a fellow scholar-not to a layman, and above all, not to the fanatics. He's convinced that no one could solve it except a true lover of knowledge-one who would fear Savonarola as much as Francesco does, and who would never allow the treasures to be burned. And he dreams of a time when humanism will reign again, and the collection will be safe.

So he finishes the book and asks Terragni to have it delivered anonymously, by courier, to Aldus. By pretending to be its patron, he says he will urge Aldus to keep the book under wraps. He won't identify himself as the author, so that no one will suspect what's in it.

Then, as Carnival nears, Francesco enlists the architect and the two brothers, the only three remaining members of his Roman Academy circle, and travels to Florence. They are men of principle, but Francesco understands how difficult their task is, so he insists that every man take an oath to die, if necessary, at the Piazza della Signoria.

On the night before the bonfire, he asks all three friends to join him for a meal and a prayer. They tell stories of their adventures together, their travels, the things they've done in their lifetimes. That entire evening, though, Francesco says he can see a dark shadow gathering over their heads. He doesn't sleep that night. The next morning, he goes to meet Savonarola.

From that point forward, all of the text is written by the architect. Francesco says Terragni is the only man he can trust with such a task. Knowing he'll need someone to oversee his interests should anything happen in Florence, he gives Terragni a huge vote of confidence. He gives the architect his final cipher and asks him to add a postscript, coded into the final chapters, to describe what becomes of the friends from the Roman Academy. He gives Terragni the responsibility of supervising the Hypnerotomachia after it reaches Aldus, to be sure it makes it into print. Francesco says he has had a vision of his own death, and knows he can't accomplish everything he wants by himself. Fie takes Terragni with him to record the meeting with Savonarola.

By then, Savonarola is waiting for them at his cell in the monastery. The meeting was arranged ahead of time, so both sides are prepared. Francesco, trying to be diplomatic, says he admires Savonarola and shares the same goals, the same hatred of sin. He quotes Aristotle on virtue.

Savonarola counters by quoting Aquinas, almost an identical passage. He asks Francesco why he prefers a pagan source over a Christian one. Francesco praises Aquinas, but says that Aquinas borrowed from Aristotle. Savonarola loses patience. He delivers a line from the Gospel of Paul: I am going to destroy the wisdom of the wise and bring to nothing the understanding of any who understand. Do you not see how God has shown up human wisdom as folly?

Francesco listens with terror. He asks Savonarola why he won't embrace art and scholarship, why he is bent on destroying them. He tells Savonarola that they should be united against sin, that faith is the source of truth and beauty, that they can't be enemies. But Savonarola shakes his head. He says truth and beauty are only servants of faith. When they are anything else, pride and profit lead men into sin.