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And Piero is attending
the festival." Laurenzo's attitude was thoughtful and his strong Medici jaw
thrust even farther forward. "I will not live forever, and Piero must learn. It
is time he discovered that this city is not merely his plaything. He must become
accustomed to his civic duties." He twitched the end of his reins with crippled
lean fingers. "You see, mio caro stragnero, my son Piero is something of a fool.
Perhaps it is not too late to change him."
    Agnolo's angry laugh cut into this. "I would not depend on that, and I
tutored him. Look at what he has. Think of the adulation. He is beautiful, and
all Fiorenza loves him."
    "By which you mean that Piero is beautiful and I am not?" Laurenzo did not
wait for a response. He tapped his horse with his heels and began to move
forward through the steady stream of people making their way toward la Piazza
della Signoria. "I know well enough what I look like. Giuliano was the beautiful
brother. Va ben'. Perhaps it is my face that makes me love beautiful things.
Come, take this turn. We'll go through la Piazza della Santa Croce." Plainly he
wanted to end the bickering.
    Agnolo was not through with his barbs. "Such modesty, Laurenzo, Magnifico.
But you have read Plato many times. You know that Socrates was sought after by
every handsome young man in Athens. You must not despair. Your virtues will save
you." With an impatient slap of his reins Poliziano sent his horse trotting
ahead.
    "Undoubtedly in Athens my face would be as ugly as it is now." There was
neither rancor nor self-pity in this admission. At the next turn Laurenzo
contrived to take the lead, shifting in his saddle so that the gold embossed laur. med. that marked all his possessions would
be visible.
    Ragoczy followed, a faint smile curling his wry mouth. He shook his head as
Poliziano once again maneuvered to get ahead of Laurenzo, and Medici let him
keep that lead for a bit, and then skillfully reclaimed it. In a few more blocks
the whole pattern was repeated, Laurenzo, as always, regaining the lead.
    They were almost abreast of la Chiesa di San Marco when Poliziano tired of
the game. He let his horse fall back and he shrugged. "What does it matter,
after all? You ride better than I do, Laurenzo. You always have. I know it. But
I want to be the better." His smile had an innocent delight. "Damn your infernal
tolerance, Medici. If I were you, I would not have allowed me back in Fiorenza,
no matter what the debt."
    "Someone had to take Piero in hand. And he is hardly a reward for anyone." He
shook his head and was about to address a remark to Ragoczy, still a few lengths
behind them, when Poliziano began again.
    "San Marco. How can anyone bear to live so near these sanctimonious
Domenicani?" This attack was plainly directed at the man behind them. "Or do
they like monks in your country, da San Germano?"
    Ragoczy raised his fine brows. "That depends on whether you are a Turk or a
Christian, I suppose. They do not bother me."
    "They bother
me
," Poliziano said in a louder voice. "That boring
preacher. The new one. He came here last year. What's his name, Laurenzo? The
one who's always describing disaster. He was here for a while some years ago.
You know which I mean."
    "Girolamo Savonarola." Laurenzo sighed. "Give him credit, Agnolo. He may
preach about the suffering of the damned and the worthlessness of the world, but
he is sincere and he does not meddle in what does not concern him."
    "You mean he stays out of politics?" Poliziano made an obscene gesture toward
the church. "That's because he hasn't tasted power yet. You should not have
allowed him to come back, Laurenzo. It was a mistake."
    "Turn into the next street, Magnifico," Ragoczy called, even though Laurenzo
undoubtedly knew the way.
    "Of course." He nodded to Ragoczy, but continued his conversation with
Poliziano. "You should not say such things, Agnolo. To me you may say what you
like. But do not make remarks like