Leonardo and the Death Machine

by Robert J. Harris

  “It’s best you go quickly,” she advised while he was eating. “Once you’ve set the boat loose, hurry back and keep out of sight as much as you can.”

  Leonardo wolfed down his breakfast before anyone else awoke. Caterina saw him out of the door. She pushed back his hair and kissed him on the brow, just as she had done with her other children.

  Leonardo felt his face redden. He gave her an impulsive peck on the cheek and hurried off down the track.

  It was taking the sun a long time to find its way up over the hills and there were still only a few stray shafts of light breaking the darkness of the sky. After about twenty minutes Leonardo found that he had lost his bearings. Stifling a yawn, he looked around for a landmark.

  As quick as a snake, a figure stepped out of the shadows behind him and pinned his arms in a determined grip. Leonardo felt the cold touch of sharpened steel at his throat.

  “Where is the girl?” rasped a chillingly familiar voice. “Tell me or by Christ’s wounds, I will kill you!”

  14 DAGGER’S POINT

  Leonardo knew at once that it was Rodrigo, the Spaniard he had already seen murder a man in cold blood at the Torre Donati. He swallowed hard and tried to hold his nerve.

  “I don’t know where she is,” he answered. His voice sounded small and far away.

  The pressure increased, prickling Leonardo’s throat like the touch of a nettle. He felt a bead of blood trickling down towards his collar.

  “I never ask a question more than once,” said Rodrigo.

  “We got separated,” said Leonardo. “I think she ran off towards the church of San Marco.”

  “You think?” the Spaniard echoed acidly. “Do you know what I think? I think I will kill you now and go looking for her by myself.”

  Leonardo tensed in anticipation of the blade cutting his throat, his head spinning with fear. He tried desperately to control his thoughts, but it was like trying to herd a flock of frightened sheep along the edge of a precipice.

  “You’re right,” he gasped. “She is here and I can lead you to her.”

  With a satisfied grunt Rodrigo removed the blade from Leonardo’s neck and released him. Leonardo lurched away, clutching his throat and panting with relief.

  “So where is she hiding?” the Spaniard asked.

  “In a cottage. I’ll point it out for you, sir.” Leonardo’s voice was quavering, but in spite of his fear he was forming a plan.

  He knew that as soon as he found Fresina, the Spaniard would kill them both as easily as a man swats a fly. If he fought back and forced the Spaniard to kill him now, Caterina and her family would be unaware of the danger that was stalking them. It was only a matter of time before Rodrigo found them. But perhaps there was a way to turn the tables.

  “Before we collect our runaway slave,” said Rodrigo, “I have a lesson for you.” He displayed his hands, both empty. Then he pointed to a tree about five yards away. “Do you see that knothole halfway up the trunk?”

  Leonardo nodded mutely. He saw Rodrigo’s left eye narrow a fraction.

  There was a metallic flash. As if from nowhere, a slender throwing knife buried itself up to the hilt right in the middle of the target. The Spaniard sauntered casually over to the tree and retrieved the weapon.

  “If you try to run off or cross me in any way, I will put that blade in your heart before you can blink,” he threatened. He stood before Leonardo and fixed his cold gaze upon him. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes. I do, sir,” Leonardo responded meekly. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Good. Then follow me.”

  As he trailed his captor through the trees, Leonardo tried to detect some weakness in his enemy that he might exploit. He recalled the contemptuous look the Spaniard had given him when they first met in Silvestro’s workshop. Yes, he had made it clear then that he regarded Leonardo as no threat at all. If he had a weakness, it was his arrogance.

  They came to a hollow where the chestnut gelding was tethered. Rodrigo unhooked a water flask from the saddle and took three swallows. Then he splashed water over his face to refresh himself.

  Leonardo stroked the horse’s sleek neck. The animal turned its head and nuzzled against his ear, making him smile in spite of his predicament.

  “The beast is too friendly for my liking,” said Rodrigo.

  “I’ve got a way with animals, sir,” said Leonardo, rubbing the horse’s muzzle. “Always have.”

  He was doing his best to speak in the rustic accents he had worked so hard to rid himself of. He needed to convince Rodrigo that he was a simple country boy, who would not even think of defying him.

  The Spaniard wiped the droplets of water from his face. “Now take me to the slave,” he commanded.

  “Are you taking us back to stand trial?” Leonardo asked, as he led the way to Campo Zeppi.

  “Yes, that’s it,” said Rodrigo. “I’m going to hand you over to the Constable.” He did not even try to sound convincing.

  “That’s good,” said Leonardo with a slow nod. “She was afraid even when I told her there was no reason. It was smart of you to find me, sir.”

  “Silvestro had your name and that took me to Verrocchio’s workshop,” Rodrigo explained with cool satisfaction. “One of your fellow apprentices was only too happy to tell me where you came from, once I had let him dip his hand into my purse.”

  Leonardo’s fist clenched. He had no doubt that it was Nicolo who had betrayed him. That was something else to pay him back for.

  “The da Vinci family is well known in these parts,” Rodrigo continued. “I kept watch over your family home and last night I investigated it while they were all asleep.”

  “You must be as quiet as a cat, sir,” said Leonardo, allowing his voice to shake.

  “When I found you were not there, I decided to lie in wait on the main track from Empoli and the river. I knew I would eventually catch you coming or going.”

  “You are very clever,” Leonardo congratulated him.

  At last they drew close to the cottage. When he judged they were within earshot, Leonardo announced loudly, “This is the place, I swear it by the Blessed Virgin.”

  “Keep your voice down, fool,” growled Rodrigo. “If the slave runs off, you will pay dearly.”

  Leonardo bowed like an incompetent servant. “My apologies, sir. I did not know that you cared so little for the Blessed Virgin.”

  “Be quiet about the Blessed Virgin!” the Spaniard grated.

  “Forgive me, sir. How could I know you would take offence at the name of Our Lady?” He added on a louder note, “I did not know that you held the Blessed Virgin in contempt.”

  “Silence, you prattling fool—”

  The next instant the cottage door flew open and the Brawler burst out like a bull crashing through a fence. “Who dishonours the name of the Blessed Virgin?” he demanded, his eyes aglow with righteous fury.

  Rodrigo’s lip curled. “Step aside, oaf. I have business here.”

  “The only business you have is with my fist, blasphemer!” the Brawler bellowed, brandishing a fist the size of a bucket.

  As if by magic, a long-bladed dagger appeared in Rodrigo’s hand. He made a lightning feint with it, too fast even for Leonardo’s eye to follow.

  Brawler cocked an eyebrow and laughed. “Do you plan to darn my breeches with that needle?”

  “Buffoon! I will gut you like a pig if you do not move aside,” Rodrigo warned.

  A growl started up at the back of the Brawler’s throat. His brow buckled into deep furrows and his bushy eyebrows collided in the narrow space above his nose. His nostrils flared like a dragon’s preparing to expel a blast of flame and his lips tightened into a ferocious grimace that exposed the great blocks of his teeth.

  “Infidel!” he roared. “Heretic!”

  Brandishing his granite fist, he charged.

  Taken aback by this display of insane fearlessness, Rodrigo paused for a split second before striking.

  Le
onardo leapt and tried to grab the Spaniard’s wrist, but, lithe as a snake, Rodrigo twisted loose, raking the steel point down Leonardo’s sleeve. A thin, red line seared his arm like a streak of fire.

  Even as Leonardo cried out, the Brawler’s fist smashed into the Spaniard’s cheek with a sound like a mallet smacking a side of beef. Rodrigo was knocked completely off his feet. His weapon went flying, casting off droplets of blood as it fell.

  The Brawler stood over the senseless body and rubbed his head. “Who is this sinner?” he asked.

  Before Leonardo could think of an adequate reply, Caterina ran up to him. She ushered him inside and made him sit down, clucking irritably over his wound, as though he had torn his jerkin in some boyish prank.

  Fresina pushed aside her breakfast and leaned towards him. “What has happened? Did you hurt yourself.”

  Leonardo gritted his teeth against the pain. “No, I didn’t hurt myself,” he told her. “It was Rodrigo, Neroni’s man.”

  Fresina put a hand to her mouth. “They have found us?”

  “He was alone,” Leonardo assured her. “I think his coming here was a gamble, but it almost paid off.”

  “Hush!” said Caterina. “Hold still while I tend this. Madalena, fetch fresh water from the stream. Gemma, get some linen.” The two girls jumped to obey.

  While Caterina washed and dressed the wound, the Brawler came in, dragging the unconscious Spaniard by the scruff of his doublet.

  “Is he dead?” Fresina asked.

  “No,” the Brawler assured her heartily, “but he will not speak ill of the Blessed Virgin again.”

  The little boy, Maffeo, came scampering in waving his arms excitedly. “Mama! Papa! Another stranger is coming!”

  Fresina turned on Leonardo. “I thought you said he was alone?”

  “He was,” Leonardo insisted. He tensed as a shadow appeared in the doorway. Then he relaxed.

  “It’s all right. It’s my Uncle Francesco.”

  Francesco entered and bowed politely to both Caterina and the Brawler.

  Caterina narrowed her eyes. “Francesco da Vinci,” she said in a brittle voice. “I never thought to see you within these walls.”

  “Did Father send you?” Leonardo asked.

  “No, he thinks you’ve gone back to Florence,” said Francesco. “But I thought if you were really in trouble, you might come here.” A proud smile lit his simple face. “Maybe this time I was smarter than Piero for a change.”

  “And why did you come?” Caterina asked him icily.

  “To help, if I can,” said Francesco with such obvious honesty that Caterina’s expression immediately softened. Francesco looked down at Rodrigo. “Who is this?”

  “A blasphemer,” the Brawled announced.

  “He came here to kill us,” said Leonardo.

  “What are you going to do with him?” Francesco asked.

  The question silenced everyone except Fresina. “We should cut his heart out and feed it to the wolves,” she declared. She made a stabbing motion with her hand as if to indicate that she was prepared to do the deed herself.

  “We’re in enough trouble already without committing murder,” said Leonardo.

  “Oh, so you will offer him a good meal and send him back to the city to bring an army after us?” Fresina asked mockingly. “He is an enemy and he deserves no mercy from us.”

  “He is no danger now,” said the Brawler. “If he wakes, I will hit him again.”

  “You can’t stand over him all day, punching him every time he stirs,” said Leonardo.

  Caterina had been thinking in silence. “Leonardo, you did not reach the boat?” she asked.

  “No, he ambushed me on my way there.”

  “Then we should tie this man up and gag him,” said Caterina. “Place him in the boat, cover him up and set it adrift.”

  “Yes!” Leonardo agreed enthusiastically. “With any luck it will carry him all the way to Pisa before it runs aground.”

  “I’ve a wagon up the road a ways,” Francesco offered. “We can take him in that.”

  While Francesco fetched his wagon, the Brawler trussed Rodrigo up so tightly with rope and leather straps Leonardo wondered if he would be able to breathe. A rag tied across his mouth completed his bondage.

  At the sound of Francesco’s return, the Brawler hefted the Spaniard on to one brawny shoulder. He carried Rodrigo outside and dumped him into the wagon like a sack of turnips.

  As the two men set off with their prisoner, the Brawler laughed and gave Francesco a friendly clap on the back that almost knocked the wind out of him.

  Leonardo turned to his mother and Fresina. “I have to go back to Florence,” he said.

  “You are mad,” said Fresina. “We should run as far away from the city as we can.”

  “If Neroni and his friends take over Florence, we will never be safe, no matter how far we run,” said Leonardo.

  Fresina hung her head dejectedly. “You are right.”

  “But how will you get there?” asked Caterina.

  “I know where Rodrigo’s horse is,” said Leonardo. He smiled weakly. “I think it likes me.”

  Fresina stepped between Leonardo and the door. “If you are going back, then I must go to.”

  Leonardo shook his head vigorously. “It’s dangerous enough just me going.”

  Caterina laid a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You can stay here with us. I know a place we can hide you if anyone should come.”

  Fresina thrust out her lower lip defiantly. “Without me to watch him, he will just get in trouble,” she declared. “What if he falls down a well? Or is eaten by bears? Must I then stay hidden for ever?”

  Leonardo looked hard at Fresina and for the first time believed he was seeing her as she truly was. Ever since the Torre Donati he had thought of himself as her rescuer. He had not stopped to think of the courage she had shown in striking down Neroni. And now she was ready to return to Florence with him, even though she knew only too well the awful fate that awaited her if she were caught. Of the two of them, he realised, she was the brave one.

  “All right,” he said, “you can come. I suppose I need someone to protect me from the bears.”

  Caterina took them both by the hand and drew them close. “I cannot see where this will all lead,” she said, “but remember there will always be a place here – for either of you.”

  15 COGS AND WHEELS

  By the time Sandro answered the rapping at his window, Leonardo’s knuckles were red from knocking. When he threw open the shutters, Sandro almost choked at the sight of his friend. Leonardo did not wait for a greeting but climbed nimbly inside and made his way to the nearest chair.

  Fresina clambered in after him. She was dressed in a threadbare smock with a sackcloth scarf wrapped around her head. Sandro’s eyes bulged as if a wildcat had just bounded into the room. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you to let us in,” the girl answered sharply. She pulled off the scarf and shook her hair loose. “What took you so long?”

  Sandro slammed the shutters on the stink of the canal and turned up the lantern. “I was finishing breakfast,” he said, displaying the sweet pastry in his hand.

  Fresina snatched the pastry from his fingers and wolfed it down hungrily. “We have not eaten for hours,” she said, perching herself on the edge of Sandro’s drawing table.

  Sandro turned to gaze quizzically at Leonardo’s garb: a simple peasant smock and a wide-brimmed straw hat that threw his face into shadow. “I can only imagine how you must be suffering in that outfit.”

  “It makes a good disguise,” said Leonardo. “We sneaked through the gate in the middle of a band of farmers on their way to the market.”

  Sandro shook his head. “You’re mad to come back. Do you know what will happen to you if you’re caught?”

  “We tried to run,” said Leonardo, “but the Spaniard came after us.”

  “That one!” spat Fresina. “He is an evil spirit in t
he flesh of a man!”

  Sandro raised his eyebrows. “Does she always talk this way?”

  Fresina snorted and picked up a cup of water from the table. She sniffed at it then drained it in one draught.

  “I was planning on washing my brushes in that,” Sandro objected lamely.

  “What’s been happening while I’ve been away?” Leonardo asked.

  Sandro raised his hands in the air. “What hasn’t been happening! The Constable’s men are out looking for you and Luca Pitti has offered a reward to anyone who captures either one of you.”

  “What about Neroni?”

  “He says this is typical of the lawlessness encouraged by having a sick man like Piero de’ Medici ruling over Florence. I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s politics.”

  “What does he say happened that day?”

  “The story is all over the city, just as he reported it to the Constable. He claims that he was paying a call upon Lucrezia’s father, Ser Paolo Donati, accompanied by his manservant Rodrigo. They were admitted by the chamberlain Tomasso who informed them that his master was away in Siena.”

  “Pah!” Fresina exclaimed. “He knew that when he came. Everyone knew.”

  Sandro ignored her and continued. “Neroni claims he sent Tomasso upstairs to fetch paper so he could leave a message for Signor Donati. There then came a cry and the sound of a struggle. Neroni and his man ran upstairs to see what was amiss. They entered the room to find the slave girl and a vicious-looking youth standing over Tomasso’s bleeding body.”

  “Vicious-looking!” Leonardo exclaimed.

  “I’m only telling you what I heard,” said Sandro. “The two criminals, he says, barged past them and escaped into the street. When Lucrezia Donati returned home she discovered that several items of jewellery had been stolen, presumably by the runaway slave girl and her accomplice.”

  Leonardo noticed that Sandro was rubbing his injured arm as he spoke. “How’s your wrist?” he asked.

  “A lot better,” Sandro said, brightening. “I think those old remedies of my mother’s really work. I only wish they didn’t stink so much.”