Leonardo and the Death Machine

by Robert J. Harris

  Lorenzo nodded. “Yes, I shall arrange it.” He fixed Leonardo with a searching gaze. “This is not a favour I would willingly ask of anyone, not even one of my own family.”

  Leonardo recalled what Maestro Andrea had told him, about the angels who refused to join the war in Heaven and how they had lost their wings as a result. “It’s not a matter of favours,” he said. “It’s a matter of choosing sides.”

  23 THE UNHOLY MOUNTAIN

  Leonardo wrapped a grey cloak round his shoulders and yanked the hood up over his head. Underneath he wore the garb of a servant of a wealthy household, which was what he would pretend to be once he reached the Pitti Palace. Then he headed out into the courtyard where Lorenzo and Sandro were waiting by the wagon.

  “My father took some persuading to go along with this plan,” Lorenzo said. “He only agreed on condition that absolutely no one else be involved. I’m to warn you that if you’re caught, he will disclaim all knowledge of you.”

  “I understand,” said Leonardo.

  “Good luck,” said Sandro, giving his friend a quick embrace. “I’ll be praying for your safe return.”

  “Don’t worry,” Leonardo joked. “I’m the Lion of Anchiano, remember?”

  “You should have a sword,” Lorenzo said. “Let me give you this.” He began to unbuckle his own sword belt.

  “No, keep it,” said Leonardo. “It would just make me more conspicuous. Besides, I don’t know how to use one.”

  Lorenzo clasped him firmly by the hand. “I am sending you in my place to do what I would dearly wish to do myself,” he said. He reached inside his tunic and brought out a small brooch fashioned from gold with three rubies in the centre. “Give this to Lucrezia,” he said, “and she will know I have sent you.”

  Leonardo found his voice catching as he accepted the brooch and tucked it away in a pouch. “You stood against Neroni to protect me,” he said. “I will try to be worthy of that, for your sake and Lucrezia’s.”

  He clambered up into the wagon and flicked the reins. The two stout horses started forward, hauling their load through the open gateway and out into the Via Larga. Night was falling over the city and it seemed unnaturally quiet. Few would risk setting foot outside their homes while two armed camps stood ready to turn Florence into a battlefield.

  The hoofbeats of the horses echoed emptily off the walls as Leonardo passed the church of San Lorenzo. Suddenly, a figure appeared from the shadows and scurried towards him. Without breaking stride, Fresina gripped the side of the wagon and swung herself up on to the seat beside him.

  Leonardo reined the horses in sharply. “Fresina, what are you doing here?”

  “I knew Il Gottoso was not allowing anyone to go with you, so I sneaked out and hid till you came by.” She hunched over and darted her eyes furtively from side to side.

  “I don’t want anyone else along – you least of all,” said Leonardo. “Aren’t you in enough trouble already?”

  Fresina folded her arms and scowled like a thundercloud. “I know that you will need my help, so here I am.”

  “Why should I need your help?”

  “Because you do not know my mistress,” Fresina replied. “You only know brushes and paint.”

  Leonardo shook his head. “You would be taking a terrible risk.”

  “It is my risk to choose,” Fresina insisted. “I told you my mistress did me a kindness, and that I will not forget.”

  Leonardo thought for a long moment, seeing the determination in the girl’s face and in the stubborn set of her shoulders. Her mind was made up as surely as his own, and perhaps for better reasons.

  “Very well,” he said, “but stay close to me the whole time, and do only what I tell you to do.”

  He gave the reins a flick and the wagon rolled southward through the darkening streets. They passed the stores of the wool merchants on the Via Calimara and the warehouses of the clothmakers.

  On the Ponte Vecchio the butchers, tanners and blacksmiths were shutting up shop for the day. The wagon rolled past them over the river. On the far side stood a band of men who were lighting lanterns and keeping watch for any sign of an attack by the Medici.

  “Do you think they will know us?” Fresina whispered.

  “There’s no reason why they should. After all, we’re the last people on earth anyone would expect to come calling on Luca Pitti.”

  A man stepped out in front of them, hefting a lantern up above his head. “Ho! What is this you have in your wagon?”

  Leonardo reined in the horses and smiled innocently. “Meat, bread and many casks of wine to be delivered to the Pitti Palace.”

  “The palace? Do you have a written order?”

  “No, but I was told the noble Luca Pitti himself had sent for these goods. He is planning a victory banquet for his followers.”

  The man walked around the wagon, lifting the covers from the baskets and sniffing at their contents.

  “You had best let him through, Carlo,” said one of his companions. “There will be hell to pay if anyone finds out we held up their food.”

  “All right, go ahead,” said the first man gruffly. As Leonardo started the horses moving again he shouted after him, “Be sure and tell them to send a change of watch. We’re not standing here starving all night while they stuff themselves.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Leonardo called back.

  As the wagon drew away, Fresina said, “You lie like a Circassian.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It is very good. It gives me confidence. A man who cannot lie well cannot do anything well.”

  Soon the square bulk of the Pitti Palace rose up imposingly before them. It was forty feet high, built from four-ton blocks of stone that had been cut from the hillside that rose up behind the grandiose structure. Florence had never seen anything like it. It was as though Luca Pitti had raised up a mountain, a personal Olympus, within the walls of the city.

  The arched windows – all of them bigger than the main doors of the Medici house – were ablaze with yellow light. In the forecourt, bands of men were gathered around braziers, the glimmer of the coals reflecting ruddily from steel blades and polished shields.

  The arrival of the wagon drew immediate attention. A man in a crimson cloak and plumed helmet signalled Leonardo to stop, and a circle of men formed around them.

  “What’s this, fresh supplies?” said the man in the helmet. “I wasn’t informed of this. Who authorised it?”

  “Ser Luca Pitti arranged it,” Leonardo said confidently.

  “Is that so?” queried a lofty voice.

  The crowd parted to make way for a grand figure in a fur-lined cloak, a gold-hilted sword hanging at his side. Leonardo recognised the man instantly as the one he and Sandro had seen riding in procession past the Duomo the previous day.

  It was Luca Pitti, the Saviour of Florence.

  “You say I ordered all of this?” Pitti asked, eyeing the packed wagon uncertainly.

  Leonardo decided to stake everything on Pitti’s notorious vanity. “No doubt you delegated one of your underlings to deal with it,” he answered. “Naturally, you are far too busy a man to attend to such details personally.”

  He raised his voice so that all those who were crowding round could hear him clearly. “This is the very best of food and the sweetest of wine,” he proclaimed. “What else is worthy of the heroic defenders of Florence? And who else but Luca Pitti would be so generous as to provide it all at his own expense?”

  A huge cheer went up. Pitti’s face flushed with satisfaction at the approval of his men. That was clearly more important to him than the details of how these supplies had come to be delivered.

  Fresina leaned close. “It is true,” she whispered. “He is a vain fool.”

  “These goods had best be taken to the kitchens,” Leonardo announced, setting the wagon in motion.

  Pitti’s voice rang out sharply. “Stop!”

  Men moved to block Leonardo’s way and the wagon came
to a halt. Pitti wove his way through the ranks and grabbed him by the wrist.

  “Not so fast, my young friend,” he said.

  Leonardo’s heart pounded. His mouth was dry as dust. If Pitti had seen through the deception, there was no way they could escape.

  He felt something being pressed into his palm. He looked down and saw a coin, a five soldi piece.

  “Take this for your trouble,” said Luca Pitti with a benevolent smile.

  Releasing his grip on Leonardo, he waved the wagon on and turned to acknowledge the applause of his men.

  The officer in the plumed helmet beckoned a dozen men forward. “Come on, lads!” he urged them. “The sooner we get these viands unloaded, the sooner we eat!”

  “And drink!” added another with a chortle.

  Noisily, they closed in around Leonardo and Fresina. The man in the helmet personally led the wagon through an arch to the kitchen entrance. Here the men started hauling casks and baskets down from the wagon and ferrying them indoors.

  Leonardo and Fresina climbed down from the driving seat. “What now?” Fresina asked.

  Leonardo looked up at the wall of the Pitti Palace with its rough stonework looming over them like a cliff face. “It’s time to enter the lion’s den,” he said.

  He and Fresina took a basket each and joined the line of men filing into the kitchen. Inside, the hubbub of voices mingled with the sizzle and sputter of roasting meat and the clang of pots and spoons.

  Pheasant and guinea fowl revolved on loaded spits and cauldrons of pasta bubbled on the open hearth. Firelight glistened on copper pans and pewter tankards. The air, heavy with steam and drifting clouds of flour, was shot through with the pungent scent of spices and the sweet smell of baking bread.

  Servants stood at long tables, washing vegetables and carving up slices of lamb and roast beef. Others were bustling this way and that with buckets of water and bowls of herbs. In the midst of them, a florid-faced cook was waving his arms frantically at the new arrivals, who crowded in with their bundles of produce.

  “What is this? Fresh supplies? Why did no one warn me?”

  “It is not possible to anticipate the generosity of the noble Luca Pitti,” said Leonardo, weaving his way through the congestion.

  “No, no, you fools, carry it over there!” the cook cried in exasperation. “And the wine goes through that door there – to the cellar! No, the other door! Mules! Donkeys!”

  Fresina plucked a rosy apple from a salver. Instantly, the cook stretched over and snatched it from her hand as though it were a purse full of gold florins.

  He wagged an angry finger at her. “There is no eating in the kitchen, only cooking!” He rounded on one of the men who was lurching past him with a tub of onions. “Imbecile! Watch out for that pot!”

  Fresina’s eyes flickered towards another apple. Leonardo pulled her away. “Here take this,” he said, shoving a tray into her hands.

  A man squeezed past and set a cask of wine on a nearby table. Leonardo plucked up a flagon, filled it from the bung and sat it on the tray.

  “Hey, what are you up to?” the cook demanded.

  “Ser Luca Pitti has ordered me to take wine to his honoured guest Lucrezia Donati,” Leonardo explained innocently.

  The cook scowled at him. “Who are you? I don’t know you from a pig’s behind.”

  “With all these people gathered here, Ser Luca has had to take on extra staff,” Leonardo explained. “I am Luigi Pangini from the village of Cafaggiolo. My father is the blacksmith there and can bend a horseshoe with his bare hands. My grandfather was—”

  “Enough, idiot!” the cook sputtered impatiently. “I don’t want your family history. Take the wine and be gone. And don’t forget to take cups for Signora Pitti and her daughter.”

  “Oh, are they keeping their guest company?” said Leonardo airily. “Where exactly are they entertaining her?”

  “Can I have no peace?” the cook exclaimed. “They are in the Peacock Chamber. Do you know where that is or do I have to lead you by the hand like a blind man?”

  “It’s on the third floor,” said Leonardo, “to the east. I can find it easily.”

  “Good. Then go!” The cook turned and yelled over at the far side of the kitchen. “Armando, you simpleton! The sauce – it is boiling over! Stir it! Stir it!”

  Leonardo plucked three cups from a shelf and placed them on the tray. He snapped his fingers under Fresina’s nose. “Come, girl. Follow me,” he commanded.

  They hurried out into a passage and walked briskly away. It was strangely quiet after the uproar of the kitchen.

  “That fat fool, could he not see I was hungry?” Fresina exclaimed in disgust.

  “Forget about food,” said Leonardo, tugging her sleeve. “We don’t have time.”

  “That is not so easy – I can still smell it,” said Fresina, sniffing. “Do you know where you are going?”

  “Of course. I’ve memorised the plans of this palace. How do you think I knew the way to the kitchen?”

  Fresina was unimpressed. “The captain led us there.”

  “Well, trust me, I can get to the room where they are keeping Lucrezia.”

  Suddenly, a coarse voice came echoing down the empty passage. “I knew it! We’re lost!”

  “No, we’re not,” said a second voice. “I know exactly where we are.”

  Leonardo saw two scruffily dressed youths strolling towards them. He recognised them at once. Pimple-face and the Twitcher!

  There was nowhere to hide and if he turned back now it would look suspicious. Like Lorenzo, he would have to be bold and head straight into the danger. He yanked up his hood and hunched forward to hide his face.

  “Walk quickly!” he whispered to Fresina.

  Together they strode briskly up the passage as if on an urgent errand.

  “The kitchen’s down this way,” Pimple-face was saying, “and they just had a load of grub delivered.”

  “Do you think we should sample it, just to make sure it’s not rotten?” Twitcher suggested.

  While they convulsed with laughter at their joke, Leonardo ducked past. As Fresina went by, Pimple-face Suddenly called out, “Hang on, girly, what’s that you got there?”

  24 INTO THE DARKNESS

  “Wine,” Fresina answered curtly.

  Leonardo slowed and risked a backward glance. He could not stop in case the apprentices recognised him.

  “Spare a drop for a poor working man, my little beauty,” Twitcher pleaded in a mocking tone. He tried to put an arm around Fresina’s shoulders, but she drove him off with a kick to the shins.

  “It is not for you, flea-bitten dogs!” she shrilled at them. “It is for my mistress. And if you try to lay a hand on me again, I will put the curse of a thousand sores upon you!”

  She half-turned her head and fixed one baleful eye upon them. She was huffing like an enraged bull.

  Pimple-face plucked at his friend’s sleeve. “Best steer clear of that one,” he advised. “She’s got the look of a witch.”

  “You’re right,” Twitcher agreed. A nervous tick tugged the side of his mouth. “We can get plenty of wine without her.” The two apprentices backed away carefully then turned and scuttled off towards the kitchen.

  Fresina caught up with Leonardo. “You know them?”

  Leonardo nodded. “I couldn’t take the chance they would recognise me.”

  “Pah!” Fresina spat contemptuously. “You should not have worried. They have the bodies of men but the souls of maggots.”

  Leonardo stopped to consult the map in his head and moved on. The further they went, the more concentrated effort it took to match what he saw before him with the abstract diagrams he had seen at the Medici house.

  He wasn’t helped by the fact that work on the palace was not yet completed. Some of the corridors were littered with ladders, scaffolding, sacks of plaster and tubs of paint. It looked as if the workmen had abandoned their labours to join the brewing festivities. However, on
ce he had made allowances for that, Leonardo found that the layout was exactly as he had expected.

  “Filippo planned every detail of this place, right down to the decoration of the rooms,” he said. “Luckily for us, Luca Pitti has followed his instructions like a holy man follows the commandments of God.”

  Occasionally, they passed a member of the household or a wandering soldier, but everyone was too busy to pay any attention to a pair of humble servants. They could hear songs being sung in front of the palace. Spirits were running high and the atmosphere was one of imminent victory for Luca Pitti and his friends.

  They headed down a brightly painted gallery. Leonardo counted the doors and pointed to the third one on the right, which was painted with the image of a peacock. They approached stealthily, keeping their eyes peeled for anyone coming from either direction. From inside the room they could hear the buzz of female voices.

  “What will you do about Pitti’s womenfolk?” Fresina asked darkly. “Kill them?”

  “Of course not. But we must get them out of there before Lucrezia has a chance to raise the alarm. After all, she may still believe we’re a pair of murderers.”

  “If only we were!” said Fresina with feeling. “How much simpler things would be.”

  “Put the tray down by the door and wait out of sight,” Leonardo instructed her. “As soon as the Pitti women come out, run in and shut the door after you.”

  He drew himself up and straightened his tunic. Then he took a deep breath and barged into the room.

  A plump woman sat on a divan with her round-faced daughter. To their left Lucrezia sat in a chair. All three of them had embroidery in their laps, but their needles froze in position when the door banged open.

  “Signora Pitti!” Leonardo cried. “Your husband has been taken gravely ill! He is crying out for you!”

  The plump woman jumped to her feet, her needlework tumbling to the floor. “Ill you say? Where is he?”

  Leonardo let his voice rise to a panic-stricken shriek. “In the banqueting hall, at the other end of the palace.”

  Lucrezia and the daughter also sprang up. Lucrezia stared at Leonardo in bewilderment.