1494
The short week which had elapsed between the king's departure from Pavia and the return of Lodovico to the French camp had effected a complete change in the situation. Suddenly the Moro found himself at the height of his ambition, elected duke by popular acclamation, and in actual possession of the throne, while he held in his hands the imperial diploma that was to give him a surer and safer title to the duchy than any of his race had possessed.
"All that this man does prospers, and all that he dreams of by night comes true by day," wrote the Venetian chronicler. "And, in truth, he is esteemed and revered throughout the world and is held to be the wisest and most successful man in Italy. And all men fear him, because fortune favours him in everything that he undertakes."
But already ugly rumours began to be whispered abroad. The unhappy duke, it was openly said at Florence and Venice, had, it was plain, died of poison, administered by his uncle. The moment of his death was so opportune, and fitted in so exactly with Lodovico's plans; the promptness with which the Moro had acted in seizing the crown which ought to have belonged to Giangaleazzo's son, helped to confirm the suspicions that were aroused in the minds of men whom the new duke's policy had inspired with distrust, and who looked with jealous eyes on the success of his diplomacy. The French king's doctor, Theodore Guainiero of Pavia, was quite sure he had detected signs of poisoning in the sick duke's face when he had been present at the interview between his royal master and poor Giangaleazzo at Pavia. Contemporary chroniclers, improving upon this remark, with one voice asserted that the doctor had found evident traces of poison on the body at a post-mortem examination held after the duke's death, ignoring the fact that at that moment Theodore Guainiero was with King Charles at Piacenza. So the legend grew, and found ready acceptance among both French and Italians, who alike hated the Moro with deadly hatred.
"And if the duke were dispatched by poison, there was none," wrote the Florentine historian, "that held that his uncle was innocent, and either directly or indirectly, as he, who not content with an absolute power, but aspiring, according to the common desires of great men, to make themselves glorious with titles and honours, and especially he judged that both for his proper heritage and the succession of his children, the death of the lawful duke was necessary, wherein ambition and covetousness prevailed above conscience and law of nature, and the jealous desire of dominion enforced his disposition, otherwise abhorring blood, to that vile action."
The careful examination of the various documents connected with Giangaleazzo's death has led recent historians to a different conclusion. "Nothing is further from the truth," writes Magenta, in his history of the "Castello di Pavia," "than that Giangaleazzo died of poison." And Delaborde, Porrò, Cantù, as well as those able and learned scholars, Signor Luzio and Signor Renier, all endorse these statements, and ascribe the duke's death to natural causes. Even Paolo Giovio, who hated the Moro as the man who had betrayed his country to the French, owns that there is much reason for doubting the truth of the accusation brought against him in this instance. Charles VIII., it is plain, did not himself believe in Lodovico's guilt. When the news of Giangaleazzo's death reached him, he caused a solemn requiem mass to be held in the Duomo of Piacenza, and distributed liberal alms to the poor of the town in memory of his dead cousin. And Galeazzo di Sanseverino, who had remained in attendance upon the king, informed Lodovico, in one of his letters, that the only remark which His Most Christian Majesty had made on the subject was to express his sorrow for the duke's orphan children, and to say that he hoped Signor Lodovico would treat them as his own, to which Galeazzo replied that he might rest assured they would want for nothing. But the suspicion that the duke's end had been hastened by his uncle's act found general acceptance in the French army, and deepened the distrust with which Lodovico was already regarded. At this critical moment, the unexpected action of Piero de' Medici helped to bring about a breach between the Moro and his allies.
When, on the 31st of October, the new duke reached the French camp before the Tuscan castle of Sarzana, he found to his surprise that Piero de' Medici, who up to this time had been the staunchest ally of Naples, had arrived there the day before, to make his submission to King Charles. Sanuto relates how this craven son of the magnificent Lorenzo threw himself at the feet of the French monarch, and promised to accept whatever conditions he chose to impose. Not only did he agree to give the army of Charles free passage through Tuscany, and to dismiss the Florentine troops which he had levied, but he actually promised to surrender the six strongholds of Sarzana, Sarzanello, Pietra Santa, Librafratta, Leghorn, and Pisa. Thus, without a single blow, the city and state of Florence was placed at the mercy of the invaders. Even the French councillors who negotiated the terms of the treaty, were amazed at the readiness with which their demands were accepted, and told Commines afterwards that they marvelled to see Piero de' Medici settle so weighty a matter with so much lightness of heart, "mocking and jeering at his cowardice as they spoke." Lodovico, on his part, received the news of Piero's disgraceful concessions with ill-concealed disgust. Now that he had attained his own objects, and had nothing to fear from Alfonso, whose armies were in full retreat, he would willingly have seen the progress of the French delayed, and the king forced to winter in Tuscany, and was bitterly annoyed to find that the passes of the Apennines were in the hands of Charles, as well as the castles and ports which he had hoped to obtain for Milan as the price of his alliance. Guicciardini relates how he met Piero de' Medici that day in the camp, and how his old friend's son, anxious to ingratiate himself with the powerful duke, made excuses for not having given him an official welcome into Florentine territory, saying that he had ridden out to meet him, but had missed his way. "One of us certainly missed the way," replied the duke, with a bitter meaning under his courteous phrases; "perhaps it is you who have taken the wrong road."
But he hid his vexation as best he could, when he entered the French king's presence, and boldly asked Charles to give him the castles of Sarzana and Pietra Santa, which had formerly belonged to Genoa. When the king replied that he preferred to keep these forts in his own hands until his return from Naples, Lodovico once more disguised his feelings, and contented himself with asking for a renewal of the investiture of Genoa, formerly granted to his nephew, which he obtained on payment of 30,000 ducats. After this he saw no reason for remaining in the French camp any longer, and, pleading urgent State affairs, he left again for Milan on the 3rd of November.
"Et merveilleusement malcontent," says Commines, "se partit du Roy pour le reffuz."
Only the Count of Caiazzo, with a troop of fifty horse, remained in the French camp, while Galeazzo di Sanseverino and Duchess Beatrice's brother, Ferrante d'Este, were the sole Italians to be seen riding in the royal procession when Charles made his triumphal entry into Florence. "Many thought then," adds the Sieur d'Argenton, "that he wished the king out of Italy." A week later he recalled the Milanese troops from Romagna, saying that their presence was no longer needed. For the present, however, the new Duke of Milan took a strictly neutral line, and while he outwardly maintained friendly relations with France, at the same time received congratulatory messages on his accession from the Pope, the Doge and Signory of Venice, and his old enemy, Alfonso of Naples, who forgot all the grievances of the past in his dismay at the approach of the French invaders.