"Mercy!" he begged. "I surrender! Leo!"
His unwounded right palm spread itself against a stout timber. I darted my point at it, all my weight behind.
A tremulous, unmanned howl from Guaracco—his hand was spiked to the wood by my blade, like a big pale spider on a bodkin.
Then I let go my hilt and stepped back. I spared no eye to my enemy's plight, nor ear to his prayers.
Lisa lay still and misty pale, but there was no blood on her calm face.
I closed her eyes, straightened her body and folded her hands upon her quiet breast. In her last instant of life her mouth had fallen into the little close-lipped smile I had known.
Kneeling almost to earth, I kissed her once, and her face was still warm.
"Leo, Leo!" sobbed Guaracco in shameless entreaty. "What will you do?"
He was trying to seize my sword and wrench it away, but the point was tightly wedged in the wood and his free left hand, shorn half in two by my previous stroke, could not grip the hilt. He remained a prisoner.
I let my actions answer him. From its peg I snatched the lantern. With my foot I stirred some straw and rubbish into a mass against the foot of a barrel. He saw what I intended.
"There is gunpowder in that barrel!" he shrieked.
I knew it, but still I spoke him no word. With all my strength I dashed the lantern down. The glass shattered, the straw blazed up. And then I raced away up the steps. Behind me fire gushed up luridly.
AT the door of the house I almost trampled upon Guaracco's remaining dwarf, the handsomer one.
He stared at me in mute horror, then at the glow behind me. He seemed to read in my face what had happened, for he scuttled past and dived into that flaming cellar as into a swimming bath.
"Master! Master!" he screamed.
I gained the street, ran along it for more than a score of paces before the whole world seemed to turn into thunder and lightning. I was flung to my face, skinning my cheek on the pavement, but I rose and ran on. That was the end of Guaracco's house—his weapons—his dwarf—himself—Lisa. Nothing remained for me to do save to go and give myself up to Lorenzo.
In the evening I stood in the groined, frescoed chamber where first the ruler of Florence had given me audience. Lorenzo de Medici was seated opposite in his chair of state, across the ebony and ivory table. His collar hung loose over his neck bandage, but otherwise he was the same
Lorenzo as ever—alert, self-contained, far-thinking, "I am driven to believe all points of your strange story," he said gently. "And no one can deny that you have saved Florence and me. Poliziano says so, and so do the officers of the guard. I grant you full pardon, and I ask you to pardon me. It seems that I drove you away once by my misjudgment. It shall not happen again."
I bowed thanks, but I could think only of Lisa. He read that tragic thought.
"Sorrow touches you, my friend, as it has touched me. My brother died today, as did your sweetheart. But perhaps work will comfort us both, and Florence hath need of my rule and your science."
"You are right, Magnificence," I agreed.
"Yours will be a great laboratory," he promised. "Aye, and a studio of your own, in the gardens of San Marco. Above all, honor and safety. But one chief change must be made in you."
"And that?"
"This matter of your strange journey from another age which, though I believe, I do not begin to understand. It must remain a secret between us. Since the death of Guaracco and your lady Lisa, you and I alone know it. Others might think you a devil's apostle, and urge that you be borne to the stake." He paused, pursed his lips, as if completing some decision. "Therefore it is expedient that we provide you with an ordinary birth and family among us—a father, and all the rest."
"A father?" I echoed him, not comprehending.
"Aye, that. I know the very man—an attorney who is in my confidence, and who has several children already. If I ask it, he will gladly own you as yet another son. The records can be arranged in various offices to make it believeable. Forget that barbarous,
unpronounceable surname of yours. The name of the attorney, your new father, is Piero da Vinci."
"Da Vinci!"
I sank back into my chair, implications rushing upon me with bewildering shock and speed.
"Leave all arrangements to me," said Lorenzo. "It is my peculiar talent to make perfect all such little things." His bitterly ugly face grew suddenly beautiful with that warm smile of his. "From this day forward you are Leo—no, Leonardo da Vinci."
And I knew the rich life given me to lead, as crown of the age and inspiration of ages to come. My scientific gropings will show the way to doctors, master engineers. My paintings will dazzle nations. Michelangelo will hate me too much, and Raphael admire me too much, but both will be the better for my examples.
One greatest picture I shall create, with LaGioconda as model to be sure, but preserving the smile and spirit of Lisa, Mona Lisa. And I shall die old and great, with kings weeping for me.
I am Leonardo da Vinci.
Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1940 Page 15