Leonardo and the Death Machine

by Robert J. Harris

  “You brag of what a great soldier you are, but how did you fare as a sailor?” Leonardo asked in a mocking tone. “Did you enjoy your voyage?”

  Rodrigo clenched his teeth.

  “How did you enjoy Pisa?” Leonardo pressed him. “Did you visit the famous tower?”

  The whole time his head was growing clearer, his eyes alert for any opening he could use.

  “By Christ’s wounds, you dog, I’ll pay you a cut for every one of your taunts!” Rodrigo roared.

  A tensing of the right shoulder gave warning of the Spaniard’s next attack. Ducking away, Leonardo evaded a vicious slash that would have cut his throat wide open. He swung the shovel, struck a glancing blow off his enemy’s ribs, then retreated as fast as he could.

  Rodrigo’s eyes blazed like coals in a furnace. A feral snarl rattled in his throat, and he launched a flurry of ill-aimed blows at the boy who had so frustrated him.

  Leonardo dodged this way and that, using his clumsy weapon to fend off the Spaniard’s furious blade. Their battle took them to within a few paces of the quarry’s edge, where the blackness yawned like a vast, empty pool. Rodrigo pressed his attack, his movements becoming wilder as his anger possessed him.

  Leonardo wondered if the man was blind to the danger that lay so close. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Lucrezia and Fresina had almost reached the shelter of the trees. Soon they would be safe and all the danger would be worthwhile.

  Through the haze of his rage, Rodrigo spotted them too.

  “I have no more time to waste with you, boy,” he spat. “I must be after my prey.”

  Just as Leonardo’s keen eyes could pick out every movement of a bird in flight, so he was now attuned to every twitch of Rodrigo’s body. To his amazement, the Spaniard lowered his sword. Then his left eye narrowed, just as it had at Anchiano when a throwing knife had sprung into his hand.

  Reacting by sheer instinct, Leonardo whipped the shovel head up to cover his breast. The steel point intended for his heart clanged against the metal and dropped harmlessly to the ground.

  Before the Spaniard could recover, Leonardo charged him, driving the shovel hard into his enemy’s belly. Rodrigo reeled back, winded, and raised his sword to strike.

  But there was only empty air under his feet. Limbs flailing wildly, the sword flying from his grasp, he plummeted down the sheer slope. The jagged rocks ripped his tunic and raked his body. An anguished cry burst from his throat as the darkness of the pit swallowed him up.

  For a few moments there was silence. Leonardo stood swaying with exhaustion, barely able to take in his victory.

  Then there came a great roar from behind him. He turned wearily to see a mob of men with torches and swords running towards him from the palace. Neroni was at their head, urging them on with blood-curdling threats.

  Leonardo tried to flee, but the wound in his thigh sent a shock of pain through his body. The shovel slipped from his numbed fingers and he crumpled to his knees.

  26 THE MACHINERY OF DEATH

  Leonardo waited resignedly for violent hands to seize him and drag him off to the palace. At least we rescued Lucrezia, he thought. It was some consolation to know that he had repaid his debt to Lorenzo.

  Unexpectedly his ears were filled with the thunder of hooves. As he looked up, a dozen horses burst out of the trees and came streaming past him, their riders armed with lances and swords. At the sight of them, Neroni’s men, all on foot, reared back as if a wall of fire had erupted from the earth right in front of them.

  Neroni brandished his sword in futile rage when he saw Lorenzo de’ Medici in command of the rescue party. “This will not help you, Lorenzo!” he yelled. “Mark my words – you will be sorry you did not remain at home!”

  Leonardo heard a voice close by. “Come on, Leonardo,” it urged. “This is no time to dawdle.”

  It was Sandro peering down at him from the saddle of a grey mare. He looked far from secure and was clinging tightly to the pommel. In his left hand he held the reins of a second horse, the very one Leonardo had ridden from Careggi. The animal seemed to recognise him and bent down to nuzzle his face.

  Leonardo grabbed the stirrup to haul himself upright then climbed painfully into the saddle. “Sandro, how did you get here?”

  “No time for questions,” said Sandro. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They wheeled about and headed for the trees. As soon as they were out of danger, Lorenzo turned his horsemen around and galloped after them, leaving Neroni fuming in their dust.

  In a clearing beyond the trees, Lucrezia waited on horseback with two mounted attendants guarding her.

  “Where’s Fresina?” Leonardo asked, reining in.

  “Here!” The slave girl appeared out of the shadows and stood by her mistress.

  “How did you get out of the palace?” Leonardo asked.

  “Everybody was running around thinking they were under attack,” Fresina laughed. “Nobody paid attention to a small, unarmed girl.”

  Sandro clambered down from his horse and examined Leonardo’s leg. “That’s an ugly wound,” he said, unwrapping a kerchief from around his neck. He wrapped the material around the wound and knotted it tightly. “This will have to do until we can get to a physician.”

  “I see you’ve picked up a thing or two from your mother,” said Leonardo.

  “Just be glad I don’t have any nettles,” Sandro chuckled as he got back in the saddle.

  Lorenzo pulled up beside them, his horse rearing and beating the air with its front hooves. He settled the animal and moved close to Lucrezia.

  A teardrop glinted on the girl’s cheek. “Lorenzo, they told me nothing of what was happening in the city. I hardly dared hope that…”

  Lorenzo silenced her by leaning forward and brushing her lips with a feather-light kiss. He gently tapped the jewelled brooch that was pinned to her dress. “I told you when you gave me this that we would always find each other, no matter what.”

  He turned to Leonardo. “Where other men would have shunned the danger, you have succeeded,” he said. “You have my gratitude.”

  “And you have mine for showing up when you did,” said Leonardo. “I thought you were forbidden to come here.”

  “Shortly before supper I retired to my rooms with an upset stomach,” said Lorenzo with a grin. “Who should I meet on the way, but these good friends of mine who persuaded me that a ride in the fresh air would restore my health.” He gestured at his companions, who all laughed good-naturedly at his joke. “By a lucky coincidence our ride took us to the Oltrarno, just in time to get you out of your difficulties.”

  “We’d best be off before Neroni gives chase,” Bartolomeo’s gruff voice warned.

  Lucrezia offered a hand to Fresina and pulled her up on to the saddle behind her. The girl wrapped her arms around her mistress’s waist and the party set off towards the river.

  When they reached the Ponte alle Grazia, they saw Neroni’s guards bound and gagged with a pair of Medici soldiers keeping watch over them. Lorenzo led everyone to the far side of the river then reined in.

  “Neroni may try to pursue,” he told Leonardo and Sandro. “I will stay here with my men and hold the bridge secure while you see the ladies safely back to my father’s house.”

  Leonardo felt honoured by Lorenzo’s trust and led the way through the dark streets with Sandro riding at his side. Lucrezia and Fresina followed a few paces behind.

  Lucrezia was safe now, but Leonardo was still uneasy. He remained convinced something was missing, something as central to Neroni’s plot as the vital cog Silvestro had left out of his diagram.

  Despite the pain and fatigue, his mind was racing once again. Piero’s unvarying routine, Silvestro’s carefully constructed device…and Fresina, keeping Neroni at bay with a piece of statuary. Time, a spring – and a god!

  Leonardo jolted as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt. All the clues he had been chasing for days were falling into place like the workings of a clo
ck. He gasped aloud.

  “What is it, Leonardo?” asked Sandro. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything is wrong!” Leonardo exclaimed. “The burglars at the Medici house, they weren’t stealing something, they were replacing something.”

  “Replacing what?”

  “It’s so obvious. Don’t you see? The symbols on the back of Silvestro’s drawing aren’t planets, they’re gods. What Fresina heard them say was that Piero would be struck down by the hand of a god. One of the bronze statues in the Medici dining hall has been replaced with a duplicate.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “To kill Piero de’ Medici while he’s at supper, of course. To fire a missile and kill him!”

  Sandro stared back at him blankly. “Are you sure that is its purpose?”

  “Yes, and for the first time I’m sure of my purpose too,” said Leonardo. “To understand all this, and by understanding save a life – perhaps even a city.” He gave his mount a kick and started it forward.

  “Not so fast, Leonardo,” Sandro called after him. “This horse has little respect for my directions.”

  Leonardo raced off through the dark streets and galloped into the Via Larga. The men patrolling there were taken by surprise as he flew past them towards the Medici house. He pulled back on the reins and the horse reared up before the closed gate, snorting furiously.

  “Let me in!” Leonardo shouted. “I have an urgent message for Ser Piero!”

  Sandro caught up as the guards were opening the gate and they rode together into the courtyard. Leonardo slipped down from the saddle, his injured leg almost giving way beneath him as he touched the ground.

  Sandro dismounted laboriously and took his friend’s arm to support him. One of the Medici servants approached with a concerned frown.

  “Let me fetch a physician,” he offered.

  “No time for that,” said Leonardo. “I must see Piero de’ Medici at once.”

  “Impossible,” said the servant. “He is at his supper and must not be disturbed for any reason. There are guards on the door with strict orders to that effect.”

  Leonardo did not waste time arguing. Pulling away from Sandro, he barged into the house and ran as fast as he could down the corridors. The wound Rodrigo had inflicted on him blazed like a fire in his leg and he could feel blood seeping through the makeshift bandage, but desperation drove him on. He raced ahead like a man leaping through flames to escape a burning building while Sandro struggled to catch up.

  “Leonardo, stop!” Sandro pleaded. “You’re going to bleed to death at this rate.”

  They turned a corner and saw the door to the dining hall guarded by two armed men. At the sight of the intruders the guards lowered their spears and fixed the intruders with a menacing grimace. The two young artists skidded to a halt.

  “They’re not going to let us past,” hissed Leonardo. “Maybe if you talk to them, Sandro, distract them…”

  Sandro swallowed hard, like a man who has just made a fearful decision. “No, Leonardo, this time I’m going to do things your way.” His jaw was set in a determined grimace Leonardo had never seen on his friend’s face before.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m going to charge in without thinking,” said Sandro. “It’s like a game of football. I’ll lead the way and you follow with the ball. If you can be a lion, so can I.”

  With that, he lowered his head and barrelled forward. The guards were so astonished they hadn’t time to react before Sandro dived under the spearpoints and clipped their legs out from under them. All three of them crashed to the floor, Sandro doing his best to pin the guards down.

  Leonardo sprinted after, jumping over the struggling trio and slamming through the door. Guests jumped up from their places at table. Several men drew their swords and cried out in alarm. Only Piero de’ Medici remained calm, barely turning his head to see what the uproar was about.

  Leonardo paid no attention. All he saw were the three bronze statues perched upon their marble pedestals. He had noticed them before without realising their significance. On one side, Mars the god of war, on the other, Venus the goddess of love, and in the centre, Jupiter the king of the gods.

  And in Jupiter’s upraised right hand – as sharp and deadly as an arrow – was a thunderbolt, a jagged missile of bronze.

  Leonardo bounded across the room. Two servants moved to intercept him, but they were not quick enough. Every step was a jarring jolt of agony, but Leonardo’s ever acute ears detected the sound of the mechanism concealed inside the bronze Jupiter finishing its cycle.

  A dropping weight, the whirr of spinning cogs.

  Leonardo threw himself onward at full stretch. Even as the spring-loaded arm snapped forward, his fingertips struck the pedestal. The pedestal rocked and Jupiter tilted backwards just as the thunderbolt shot from his bronze fingers.

  Like a dart from a crossbow the missile streaked through the air. With a thud it pierced the wooden panel two feet above Piero de’ Medici’s head, missing the heart that had been its intricately calculated target.

  Leonardo sprawled flat out on the floor, his strength exhausted. As pandemonium erupted all around him, his eyes closed and blackness engulfed him. He was falling endlessly through a dark and empty sky. He was falling, but he was not afraid, for at his back he could feel the beating of wings.

  27 THE AGE OF WONDERS

  “Leonardo, you’re up at last!” Sandro exclaimed as he entered the chamber.

  Leonardo was making his way gingerly around the bed in a series of small, careful steps. “Yes, the Medici family physicians say I can leave today. But don’t tell your brother. He’ll have me back on the football field before I can run.”

  Sandro rubbed his wrist. “Yes,” he agreed wryly, “I think we can both do with a break from that.”

  Piero de’ Medici had insisted that Leonardo stay at their town house while he recuperated from his wound. It was two days since the escape from the Pitti Palace and much had happened in that short time.

  With Lucrezia free and his father safe from harm, Lorenzo had summoned a gathering of all the citizens of Florence and personally supervised the election of the new Signoria. Neroni, seeing the tide of events going against him, had fled the city with his henchmen. Luca Pitti came to beg forgiveness of Piero. He denied any knowledge of the murder plot and claimed the whole business was a dreadful misunderstanding. Today, the fate of the conspirators was to be decided.

  Sandro spotted a bowl of fruit on the bedside table and helped himself to a juicy apple. “I’ve just come from the meeting of the Signoria,” he reported. “They granted a pardon to Luca Pitti, at Piero de’ Medici’s request, but he will never hold public office again.”

  “What about Neroni?”

  “He was unanimously sentenced to death, but Piero exercised his influence again to have the sentence commuted to exile.”

  “I suppose he still doesn’t want anyone’s blood on his hands, not even that of his worst enemy,” said Leonardo. “Has there been any sign of Rodrigo?”

  Sandro shook his head. “I assume he survived the fall and fled along with Neroni.”

  In spite of everything the Spaniard had done, Leonardo was relieved. Like Piero, he had no desire to be responsible for anyone’s death.

  “All of this is good,” he said, “but none of it explains why you’re looking so pleased with yourself.”

  “Well, now that all these madcap adventures are done, I have to get back to my proper work,” said Sandro. He paused to take a bite of the apple. “First I have to paint a fresh portrait of Lucrezia to replace the one that was damaged. Then Piero wants me to do a special painting to commemorate their escape from Neroni’s plot.”

  “And so begins the career of the artist Alessandro Botticelli!” Leonardo declared grandly.

  Sandro took a mock bow. “There would be only a disaster to commemorate if not for your quick thinking.”

  “Quick thinking?” Leonardo sank down on the edge
of the bed and absently stroked his bandaged thigh. “I should have seen it long before. Silvestro was an apprentice of Donatello, who made all three of those Roman gods. Silvestro probably assisted in casting the bronze Jupiter, which made it easy for him to fashion a copy.”

  “I don’t think Piero will feel any less grateful for the delay,” said Sandro. “I’m sure he’s offered to reward you handsomely.”

  “The subject has come up,” Leonardo responded evasively.

  “Well, what did you ask for? A post in his household? Gold? Jewels? A villa in the country?”

  “You know what my price is, Sandro,” Leonardo replied. “I asked him to buy me a bird.”

  “A bird?” Sandro was incredulous.

  As if in response to their words, Fresina came flying excitedly through the door. She pulled up short when she saw Sandro was there.

  “Fresina, what are you doing here?” Sandro asked.

  “My master sent me,” the girl replied. She walked up to Leonardo and tapped a finger on his chest. “My old master. He said that you bought me from him.”

  Leonardo shook his head. “It was Piero de’ Medici who bought you. He gave you to me as a gift.”

  Fresina shrugged. “Either way, I am your slave now.”

  “Not at all,” said Leonardo. “I’ve already set you free. The papers have all been signed.”

  Fresina blinked. “But why would you do that?”

  Leonardo stood up. “Because I want to see you fly,” he answered simply.

  Fresina’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Leonardo couldn’t help feeling a glow of satisfaction at seeing her speechless at last.

  “Lucrezia would have granted you your freedom, if that were within her power,” he said, “but only her father had the authority to do that.”

  Fresina still looked more confused than happy. “I should go back to the Torre Donati,” she said, touching a hand to her brow, “to pack my things, such as they are.”