Painting Mona Lisa. Jeanne Kalogridis

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СКАЧАТЬ his vision, a robed figure step forward on Giuliano’s right, and that he believed it was this man who had delivered the first blow. As Giuliano tried to back away from Baroncelli, the figure had stood fast – pressed hard against the victim and trapped him. The unknown did not even recoil when Francesco struck out wildly with the dagger, but remained firmly in place until Francesco and Baroncelli moved on.

      Once Giuliano had died, Leonardo had glanced up and noticed the man moving quickly towards the door that led to the piazza. He must have paused at some point to look behind him, to be sure that his victim died.

      ‘Assassin!’ the artist had shouted. ‘Stop!’

      There was such outraged authority, such pure force in his voice that the conspirator had stopped in mid-stride, and glanced swiftly over his shoulder.

      Leonardo captured his image with a trained artist’s eye. The man wore the robes of a penitent – crude burlap – and his clean-shaven face was half-shadowed by a cowl. Only the lower half of his lip and his chin were visible.

      Held close to his side, his hand gripped a bloodied stiletto.

      After he had fled, Leonardo had gently rolled Giuliano’s body onto its side, and discovered the puncture – small but very deep – in his midback.

      This he relayed to Lorenzo. But he did not admit what he knew in his tortured heart: that he, Leonardo, was responsible for Giuliano’s death.

      His guilt was not irrational. It was the product of long meditation on the events that had occurred. Had he, the artist, not been so overcome by love and pain and jealousy, Giuliano might have lived.

      It was Leonardo’s habit to study crowds – faces, bodies, posture – and from this, he usually learned a great deal of information. Almost as much could be read from a man’s back as from his front. If the artist had not been absorbed by thoughts of Giuliano and the woman, he would surely have noticed the exceptional tension in the penitent’s stance, for the man had been almost directly in front of him. He might have noticed something peculiar in Baroncelli or Francesco de’ Pazzi’s demeanour as they waited beside Giuliano. He should have sensed the anxiety of the three men, and deduced that Giuliano was in great danger.

      If he had been paying attention, he would have seen the penitent surreptitiously reach for the stiletto; he would have noticed Baroncelli’s hand tensing on the hilt of his sword.

      And there would have been time for him to take a single step forwards. To reach for the penitent’s hand. To move between Giuliano and Baroncelli.

      Instead, his passion had reduced him to a witless bystander, rendered helpless by the panicked, fleeing crowd. And it had cost Giuliano his life.

      He bowed his head at the weight of the guilt, then raised it again and looked in il Magnifico‘s sorrowful, eager eyes.

      ‘I am certain this man was disguised, my lord.’

      Lorenzo was intrigued. ‘How can you possibly know that?’

      ‘His posture. Penitents indulge in self-flagellation, they wear hair shirts beneath their robes. Then slump, cringe, and move gingerly, because of the pain each time the shirt touches their skin. This man moved freely; his posture was straight and sure. But the muscles were tensed.

      ‘I believe, as well, that he was from the upper classes, given the dignity and gentility of his aspect.’

      Lorenzo’s gaze was penetrating. ‘All this you have ascertained from a man’s movements, a man who was draped in a robe?’

      Leonardo stared back unflinching. ‘I would not have come if I had not.’

      ‘Then you shall be my agent.’ Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed with hatred and determination. ‘You shall help me find this man.’

      So, over the past year, Leonardo had been summoned several times to the prison in the Bargello, to carefully examine the lips and chins and postures of several unfortunate men. None of them had matched those of the penitent he had seen in the cathedral.

      The night before Baroncelli’s execution, Lorenzo, had sent two guards to bring Leonardo to the palazzo on the Via Larga.

      Lorenzo had changed little physically – save for the pale scar on his neck. If his unseen wound had similarly healed, this day had torn it open, rendered it fresh and raw.

      Had Leonardo not been so stricken, he might have delighted in il Magnifico‘s unique features, especially his prominent nose. The bridge rose briefly just beneath the eyebrows, then flattened and abruptly disappeared, as if God had taken his thumb and squashed it down. Yet it rose again, rebellious and astonishing in its length, and sloped precipitously to the left. Its shape rendered his voice harshly nasal

      That evening, il Magnifico wore a woollen tunic of deep rich blue; white ermine edged the collar and cuffs. He was an unhappy victor this night, but he seemed more troubled than gloating. ‘Perhaps you have already deduced why I have called for you,’ he said.

      ‘Yes. I am to go to the piazza tomorrow to look for the third man.’ Leonardo hesitated; he, too, was troubled. ‘I need your assurance first.’

      ‘Ask and I will give it. I have Baroncelli now; I cannot rest until the third assassin is found.’

      ‘Baroncelli is to die, and rumour has it that he has been tortured mercilessly.’

      Lorenzo interrupted swiftly. ‘And with good reason. He was my best hope to find the third assassin; but if he does know him, he will take the secret to Hell.’

      The bitterness in il Magnifico‘s tone gave Leonardo pause. ‘Ser Lorenzo, if I find this third assassin, I cannot in good conscience turn him over to be killed.’

      Lorenzo recoiled as if he had been struck full in the face; his pitch rose with indignance. ‘You would let my brother’s murderer go free?’

      ‘No.’ Leonardo’s own voice trembled faintly. ‘I esteemed your brother more highly than any other.’

      ‘I know,’ Lorenzo replied softly, in a way that said he did know the full truth of the matter.

      Gathering himself, Leonardo bowed his head, then lifted it again. ‘I want to see the man brought to justice – to be deprived of his freedom, condemned to work for the good of others, to be forced to spend the remainder of his life contemplating his crime.’

      Lorenzo’s upper lip was invisible; his lower stretched so taut over his jutting lower teeth that the tips of them showed. ‘Such idealism is admirable.’ He paused. ‘I am a reasonable man – and like you, an honest one. If I agree that, should you find him, he will not be killed but instead imprisoned, will you go to the piazza to find him?’

      ‘I will,’ Leonardo promised. ‘And if I fail tomorrow, I will not stop searching until he is found.’

      Lorenzo nodded, satisfied. He looked away, and stared at a Flemish painting of bewitching delicacy on his wall. ‘You should know that this man …’ He stopped himself, then started again. ‘This goes far deeper than the murder of my brother, Leonardo. They mean to destroy us.’

      ‘To destroy you and your family?’

      Lorenzo faced him again. ‘You. СКАЧАТЬ