Leonardo and the Death Machine. Robert J. Harris

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      Leonardo pulled up short and ducked behind a trio of black-robed nuns whose way had been blocked by a wheedling pedlar. When the sisters moved off, Leonardo was relieved to see that the sinister stranger now had his back to him. He had fallen in with a gang of men led by a lanky fellow with bright red hair and a long, pointed nose.

      Are they involved in the same plot as Silvestro? Leonardo wondered.

      He edged nearer, trying to catch what they were saying. The distinctive rasp of the green-cloaked man stood out from the voices of the others, but Leonardo could not distinguish his words. Suddenly, the stranger made a chopping gesture with his hand and departed, heading off towards the north side of the square.

      Leonardo hesitated only a moment. He would surely be expected back at the workshop by now, but for what? So he could spend the rest of the day spreading paste over canvas with a hogshair brush?

      See and understand, Maestro Andrea had told him. And that was what he would do. He would follow this man, and in doing so, learn what it was Silvestro was so anxious to hide.

      He started to tail the stranger, but he had only gone a few steps when the red-haired man stepped directly into his path. “Ho! Here’s a fine young peacock! And yet he skulks about like a rat!”

      Leonardo pulled up short and blinked at him. “I was proceeding about my business,” he said, straightening his tunic. “By what right do you block my way?”

      “The right every loyal citizen of Florence has to protect the public interest,” the redhead answered. He leaned forward, his nose weaving from side to side as if he were trying to spear a fish. “Tell me, my young peacock, who you are for – the Hill or the Plain?”

      The question was so ludicrous, Leonardo was actually annoyed. “If you want to argue about geography, go and bother someone else,” he said curtly.

      He immediately regretted his words, for the redhead’s four friends now drew in around him. Some of them had cudgels stuck in their belts and they were fingering their weapons with an air of menace.

      “I asked you a simple question,” the red-haired man growled. “Are you for the Hill or the Plain?”

      Leonardo had no notion what they wanted, but he was sure it would be a bad idea to give the wrong reply. He swallowed. “That’s an important question.”

      “He is for the valley!” interposed a voice.

      A burly young man with a thick, black beard elbowed his way into the circle. He was followed by a shorter fellow with a head of feathery golden curls that shone like a halo above his plump, cherubic face.

      “What do you mean he is for the valley?” the red-haired man demanded. “What valley?”

      The newcomer displayed a fist big enough to knock all of them flat with one blow. “The one between your ears,” he replied, his broad chest swelling with laughter. He rapped his knuckles on top of the man’s head and threw a brawny arm around Leonardo’s shoulders.

      “Come along,” he said heartily, “I have better things for you to do than waste time with these idlers.”

      Leonardo beamed with relief. The golden-haired youth was his friend Sandro Botticelli and the other was Sandro’s brother Simone. Together the three of them tried to move away, but the ruffians blocked their path.

      One of them whipped out his cudgel and brandished it at Simone. Simone snatched the club from his hand and jabbed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Redhead and his friends uttered outraged curses, but none of them appeared eager to tackle the muscular Simone now he was armed.

      Leonardo’s eyes darted this way and that in expectation of an attack. He saw that more people were converging from every side, shouting challenges and threats.

      “What’s this? Pitti’s thugs looking for trouble?”

      “We’ll put them in their place!”

      “We’d like to see you try, you Medici lackeys!”

      Supporters of the two sides began jostling and shoving each other, buffeting Leonardo and his friends from side to side like boats caught in a storm. Someone made a lunge for Simone only to be laid flat with one punch.

      “We have to get out of here!” Sandro exclaimed as a rock flew past his head.

      “Yes, but how?” asked Leonardo.

      “Order! Order!” a voice barked over the hubbub. “Give way or be arrested!”

      “Give way, I say!” bellowed another.

      Both had foreign accents, German or Hungarian. Leonardo couldn’t say which, but he could see a body of uniformed men driving a wedge between the rival factions.

      “Praise Heaven!” gasped Sandro. “It’s the city guard!”

      The guardsmen were all foreign mercenaries under the command of a Constable who was also recruited from outside Florence. This was to ensure that the forces of law had no ties to any family or party in the city.

      “Come on!” said Simone, seizing the other two by the arm and hauling them through the crowd.

      Fortunately the mob was breaking up as the guardsmen pressed forward, seizing anyone who resisted. Once they were in the clear, Leonardo breathed a sigh of relief.

      “You push things too far, Simone,” said Sandro with a shake of the head. “It would have been enough to get Leonardo away from there without provoking them.”

      “Hah!” scoffed Simone. “We were in no danger from those lackwits.”

      The brothers were entirely unlike each other except in one respect. They had a similarly stocky build which had earned them the nickname Botticelli – the Little Barrels. In Simone’s case it was mostly muscle.

      Sandro was one of the young artists who assisted at Maestro Andrea’s workshop. It was there that he and Leonardo had met and become friends. Leonardo had dined several times at the boisterous Botticelli household with Sandro, his parents, his three brothers and their wives.

      “What was all that about hills and plains?” Leonardo asked.

      “Pitti and his cronies are called the party of the Hill,” Simone explained, “because he is building that monstrosity for himself on the high ground in the Oltrarno.”

      Leonardo nodded. “And what about the Plain?”

      “That is the party of the Medici family,” said Simone, “who built their great house on the flat ground on this side of the river. Everybody is supposed to support one side or the other. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

      “Dangerous, I’d say,” said Leonardo. “It’s a lucky thing you came by.”

      “Yes, I was just fetching my brother here from the home of the wealthy Donati family,” said Simone with a sly wink.

      Leonardo saw then that Sandro was carrying a satchel filled with all his artist’s equipment. “What were you doing there?” СКАЧАТЬ