September
I allowed Leonardo to send a letter to his workshop and his patron to inform of his absence. I read them, of course, without his knowledge, before sending the messenger off. They were uncharacteristically laconic. I have no doubt I will hear from his patron about ...borrowing an artist of the court. Although I have a spy in the Duke's entourage, I am annoyingly uninformed about Leonardo's status there. In the end it doesn't matter. He cannot touch me, especially not with my French support.
Leonardo has been working for about a week now and I wish to inspect his progress. He has been avoiding my evening questions about his work with intimate distractions and although I have no complaints about that, I need to see what he plans to do with my artefact.
He chose his own workplace, a room at the top floor of the keep, away from prying eyes. I had a new lock installed and only he and I have a key.
Although I was hardly secret about my entry into the room he seems not to notice me. He simply stares at the Apple in front of him on the desktop, lost in thought. I watch him. There is a stack of papers next to him on the desk but they are unpromisingly blank. I briefly wonder whether this is really work, or if he somehow intends to fool me; to only pretend to do his duty. It's almost as if he is having a staring contest with the sphere. I open the door again and slam it shut to get his attention. He jumps in his chair, a look of alarm in his features.
"...Still not knocking, I see." he says.
"Have you learned anything?" I ask, ignoring his impudent comment.
"Well, I can read and write." he says, serious for a second before a grin breaks through.
"...In the last week?" I add and take a seat next to him, leaning on the table and staring at the metallic orb with him. It has a knack for attracting your attention.
He rubs his eyes, looking suddenly tired. "A bad tree yields bad apples?" he asks and I smile.
"Have you considered actually... touching it?" I ask and my fingers interlock with his, holding his hand poised over the artefact.
He quickly moves back in his chair and twists his hand free: "I have. And I will. But I am trying to get a feeling for it. To figure out what I know about it. And think a little further than that."
"I trust your methods." I say. His services were remarkable last time and I have no reason to expect that this will be different. His attention travels back to the Apple and I watch him for a while, the faraway frown of concentration. It seems he has already forgotten me. I stand up, run my fingertips down the back of his neck and have his interest back. There is a promise for tonight in his gaze.
I wish to think of the Apple as a tool, not a competitor to his attention, although I know how childish this thought is when I have employed him to figure the tool out.
I will enjoy him tonight.
October
Leonardo is tentatively approaching the sphere. I find him on some days with his fingertips resting on the surface of the metal, so far away in his thoughts that I have to touch him to get his attention. When he is not working he seems restless. Distracted. It annoys me.
I find him in his study. Every time I enter it seems a few new things have been added. Today's new addition is a pair of smith's tongs and a bellows which lie on the floor at the narrow fireplace with a sturdy pair of foundry gloves.
His hand is resting on the apple. A confusing wealth of papers are scattered around the tabletop, all littered with his lopsided script. There are ink stains on his fingers. To my surprise he looks up as I enter the chamber, sighs and withdraws his hand from the apple. He is about to rub his eyes but notices the ink on his skin before he can smear it all over his face. He gives a laugh.
"What have you learned?" I ask.
"This piece of shit doesn't bounce..." he tells me.
I say nothing but my face apparently shows my lack of understanding. He picks the Apple up and in a quick, fluid motion he flings it at a wall. An angry shout leaves my lips, but the Apple doesn't even make a sound on impact with the stone. Ignoring normal laws of movement, it falls to the ground in a completely straight line and immediately lies still. I suck my breath in to berate Leonardo for his careless behaviour, but he simply points at the fallen artefact. I watch as it gently rolls a few feet towards me before coming to a stop.
"I guess it also has a build-in impulse towards finding a user." Leonardo says tonelessly. "Oh, and it seems predictably indestructible. It didn't even retain the heat after I pulled it out of the fire."
I pick the Apple up. Its return to me is almost endearing and the anger that flares in my chest seems in my mind to fuel something in the warm, ethereal sphere. The anger is pulsing through me and I turn and slam the artefact down on the table before him: "What the hell were you thinking! You could have destroyed it!" I shout at him, my fingers curled around the metal: "You are a madman! I did not authorise this!" I yell and he sends me a quick look before turning his full attention to the sphere under my fingers.
He puts his hand over mine: "Listen..." he says softly. "Does it talk to you?"
I look at the artefact. It seems to glow strangely and there is a whisper of possibility coursing through my mind that has been hiding itself, playing with my thoughts, ever since I picked the Apple up. I could easily use it. I could use it on him. I could make him stay with me. I could use it to gain whatever I wished. I could force the infuriating calm from his mind and make him fear me...
"What is it telling you?" Leonardo asks softly, rising from his chair, our eyes at level; his hand still resting over mine.
I look at him and a sudden revulsion for the Apple floods my mind. I remove my hand forcefully.
"I don't want to be given things." I tell him, the loathing loud in my voice: "I want to conquer!"
I step away from the table: "And when I tell you to study something it doesn't mean by fire and impact."
He quickly rolls the Apple into its bag, leave it on the table and goes to stand in front of me: "I expected that it reacts to emotions. And your anger is closer to the surface than mine is, Your Grace." he says.
"Don't ever include me in your experiments again!" I tell him hotly, though the anger is fading.
He looks at me with his frustratingly evaluating gaze. I wish I could keep the anger and not just the show of it. The appraisal turns into a smile in the corner of his mouth. I hate how he sees through me.
"Tell me what the Apple did." he says.
"It told me I could get whatever I wanted." I tell him and quickly grab him and push him down in a chair. He looks up at me. He knows he is going to pay for using me as a part of his experiment; and he likes it.
"But why would I want a coward's tool when I can just take what I want instead." I say as I undo my belt.
He says nothing but there is a feverish promise of pleasure in his eyes. His lips touches me, teases me, receives me; his hands on my hips, his tongue so hot. He is unbelievably good at this! I have to control him or he would make me come far too quickly. I savour the pleasurable pain of holding back as long as I possibly can, until I cannot endure it anymore.
When I'm done he lets me go without words and apparently not expecting anything in return even though his breath is quick and his hands are shaking. I grin as I buckle my belt again and he gives me a frustrated laugh, shaking his head.
I'm quite satisfied as I close the door behind me.
November
"...the Swiss units are happy on winter-pay and well encamped outside the city. The Roman units stationed within the walls consist mostly of craftsmen and they are capable of supporting themselves. I'd suggest keeping a close eye on Vitelli, though. His troops are getting rowdy. So is he." Micheletto gives me a serious stare. The sort he gives when he awaits an order.
I think for a moment as my gaze goes to the almost leafless forest horizon beyond the windows, tinted golden by the last rays of the setting sun. The moment a commander becomes unhappy he slacks the discipline and the soldiers under his command become bold and forget their place. Insurrections are born this way and I must be ever careful to keep my officers happy and severe in their punishments of disobedience. Especially during the winter months when the troops that have not been disbanded are bored and on half pay.
"No. No action yet." I finally say. "There are no immediate successors I can replace Vitelli with, so for now I will treat him like the dog he is. Keep him under observation and the moment you see him enforcing the discipline, reward him. That might encourage him to do it more often."
"Weigh him down with feisty whores?" Micheletto asks and empties his wine glass, his tone businesslike.
"Whores, nuns, donkeys, boys, whatever tickles his fancy..." I tell him.
"As you wish." he nods. "I will keep my eyes on him."
When I look at Micheletto I sometimes wonder if he is dear to me or simply a means to an end. A tool. If what I feel for him is not the same affection I have for my favourite blade?
I was in my fifteenth year when I was sent off to the University of Pisa. It was a natural development, I suppose. I had been careless enough to enable my aunt to walk in on me while I was fucking my sister. My father berated me for my poor planning before sending me off. In Pisa I met Micheletto Corella and the first time I saw him kill I knew I had to gain his loyalty. The cool and calm way in which he acted out his cruel passions impressed me beyond measure.
I still enjoy watching him work and he has never wavered in his devotion to me. I happily turn control of the city over to him when I have to leave for Roma.
He is quite easy to read, though; I know his moods. The look in his face right now is the same as the one he wears when he is weighing the risk of an engagement, assessing a threat.
"What is it?" I ask: "Anything else I should worry about?"
He looks away for a second as though I have caught him doing something he shouldn't.
"Well?" I demand, half laughing at his odd reaction.
"There is something I... Something I would be disloyal not to point out to you." he says.
"Yes?" I ask, smiling, trying to put him at ease: "What is it?"
"Leonardo da Vinci." he simply says, leaving the name hanging in the air between us.
I finally laugh: "Are you asking if I am aware of his possible prior allegiance?"
"No. I'm asking if you're aware how dangerous he is." Micheletto says and finally has the courage to look at me.
"And why is that?" I ask, trying hard to remind myself that his main interest is my safety.
"He is intelligent. He knows the assassins. None of us can know where his real loyalties lie. And he becomes even more threatening when you consider that his main production isn't paintings but weapons."
"I'm aware of that since I hired him to make siege engines which helped wipe the nest of assassins out. I shot their leader with the pistol he made for me. What more can you possibly expect from the man!" I demand.
"I can expect him to come when you call him! Instead you had to drag him here in chains. There is every reason to beware that his loyalty might be hollow and that he is plotting against you. And just because he is likable-"
"Plotting against me!" I interrupt heatedly. Corella is practically calling me an idiot for hiring one of the most brilliant men alive. "How dare you question my judgement! He is working to-"
"He is playing with the most powerful weapon in existence because you put it into his hands!" Micheletto interjects loudly: "You should-"
My hand shoots out, wiping the glasses and the bottle to the floor as I get up: "What should I do, Corella! Do you give me orders now?"
Micheletto stands up too, anger twisting his features: "No!" he shouts: "I caution you because I'm your friend. And you should listen to me! Restrict his movements. Keep him under observation. Make certain-"
I close the gap between us, outraged at his boldness, kick the side of his knee. When he falls I pull him by the hair and press my dagger to his neck: "You do not give me orders!" I hiss at him.
He keeps still and there is fear in his eyes: "He might be trusted. I cannot know." Micheletto says pleadingly: "But why does he disappear into the village every other day?" he says, holding up his hands but doing nothing to protect himself: "Have you authorised him to send messages?"
"The village?" I ask.
Micheletto nods very carefully, casting a quick glance down at the steel to his throat. "It might be innocent. It might not. But do you know where he is?"
"I assume he is working..."
"He wasn't when I came here an hour ago."
I look at Micheletto. He has proven his loyalty often and I have no doubt he is sincere. I also know that my anger comes from not wanting to believe that Leonardo could be a traitor. And from knowing that he possibly is. Why would he resist coming to me if he were really loyal?
I don't fully believe it, though. Leonardo's honesty is his greatest flaw and he has given me his word and sworn an oath of loyalty.
I still can't ignore it if he is running around playing his own game and attracting attention. If Micheletto knows, so does the informants I am confident the Pope keeps in my court. And I have no desire to give him that card to play against me.
I sheathe my knife and take a step back, hold out my hand to help Micheletto to his feet. He tries to hide a sigh of relief and I laugh, put a hand on his shoulder: "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."
He bows his head.
"And put my engineer out of your mind until I tell you otherwise."
Again he bows his head in acquiescence, but there is a sudden hardness lurking in his features. I turn to leave. I've spent too long on this already.
"Oh-" I stop myself in the doorway: "Let us agree that if anything happens to my engineer without my express order, I will assume you had a hand in it and personally rip your eyes from your skull and feed them to you."
"I have already forgotten him." Micheletto states, seating himself painfully, rubbing his injured knee.
I smile at him and leave. I need to find Leonardo.
I-O-I
I would have never enquired after Leonardo if Micheletto had not brought it up. I would have assumed him hard at work in his study, but when I went to look for him, he was gone. The Apple is safe in its locked chest, though; a fact which brings me a modicum of comfort.
It took almost an hour to locate him. I had a few trusted people discreetly look for him in the village below the keep. It's early evening, though the autumn darkness has already settled heavily.
I'm told he's in a small shop near the crumbled wall where my artillery broke through many months ago. The moment Leonardo returns he will be shown to my office.
I have sent my secretary and advisors away to be alone with my thoughts. I need to know what Leonardo is doing. It's probably innocent. But I cannot be certain. Nor can I know how often he has been going off on his own errands. The assassin's shadow hangs darkly between us and I'm not sure Leonardo would decline helping him if given the chance. If he is somehow plotting against me, or communicating with the assassins, I will at least have leverage against the Murderer in knowing it.
I woke up with Leonardo this morning. My arm around him. If he has been conspiring with the Murderer I have no choice but to have him tortured. Broken. Killed.
I push the thought away. Force my attention back to the letter to my sister. Her last communiqué was very formal and businesslike. That usually means she has found a lover. I will instruct Micheletto to take care of it after he delivers my letter.
I finally manage to push the thought about Leonardo away sufficiently to concentrate on what I'm doing. Enough so that I'm almost startled by the knock on the door. He enters. He is still wrapped in a heavy cloak, a worn leather bag hanging from his shoulder. He stands still for a moment, studying me. Then he crosses to the table and nods when I gesture with the wine glass.
"I'm told this was urgent. They wouldn't even let me throw my cloak in my room." he says, putting his bag on the floor and taking a seat.
"Is your grasp on petty politics as firm as it is of everything else?" I ask him.
"It seems in politics people often get hurt." he comments evenly, leaning back in his chair, calm.
"You are a part of my politics, whether you like it or not." I tell him. He responds only by a slight nod.
"Where have you been?" I ask.
"The village." he says. "But you already know that. Don't you?"
I nod: "What were you doing there?"
"Plotting your untimely demise with my band of secret, bloodthirsty assassins, Your Grace." he says and calmly takes a sip of wine. "That's what you expect, isn't it?"
He is so unbelievably provoking. As though I had wronged him. I fight to stay calm. I have often tricked people by hiding my anger. Made them at ease before striking. But I have no reason to expect that Leonardo wouldn't see through it.
"Isn't it?" he asks again.
"Of course it was!" I snap: "Do you think I would still be alive if I wasn't careful?"
"Do you trust anyone? Anyone at all?" he laughs, incredulous. "What a life power gives." He stands up, empties the contents of his bag on the table. Notebooks, tools for drawing, a book, a small wooden box. "There! My conspirator's kit. Confiscate at your leisure, Your Grace."
"Stop this. It's ridiculous." I tell him hotly, getting to my feet and leaning towards him across the table: "If I know that you are running your own errands, sending messages out of the city, then others know too. So what is going on!"
"There is absolutely no mention in my contract of being limited to any particular area." he says, voice suddenly full of barely contained anger, leaning over the table menacingly: "There is no mention of my communication being restricted, as long as I don't reveal anything about my work. And I am capable of holding a conversation or sending money to the woman who puts flowers on my mother's grave without mentioning weapons of any kind." he almost shouts.
There is fury in him but he seems to be struggling to contain his indignation.
It's a relief. Real anger is honesty. I know I can trust him now. But the rare anger in him is too precious a fire to extinguish: "I did not authorise it!" I shout at him.
"No!" his fist pounds the table: "Neither did you authorise it last year where I did exactly the same. And if I cannot get away from that beastly sphere from Hell to work on my own projects on occasion, then I will-"
"What! What will you do, painter!"
His face is close to mine as we both stand leaned over the table.
"I will take my contract, dip it in gravy and feed it to your favourite dog!"
We stare at each other furiously in silence. I wish to continue. To keep his anger blazing. But a sudden, treacherous bubble of laughter forms in my chest. I look down quickly, hoping he hasn't seen the change. When I look up again to meet his harsh stare his expression has softened, his shoulders lowered. He looks away, biting his lip. The moment our eyes meet again, the last of the anger suddenly falls apart between us.
"I'm not blind to how it must appear from your field of vision. But I will not be treated like a prisoner." he finally says.
We both sit down again, staring at each other for a long while. The contents of his bag still strewn across my desk makes me laugh inwardly. It may be true that he sent the same kinds of messages last winter. I never thought about it back then. The thing that has changed between us this time is Monteriggioni.
"You never explained why you were in the village." I finally say, breaking the silence.
He gives me a hesitant smile and picks up the wooden box from the table: "It's not quite done, it hasn't been fastened properly yet." he comments as he pours the content of the box onto table. Little metal components, a small cylinder and a confusing assortment of tiny pronged wheels. He assembles a small contraption from the parts; a grooved metal barrel being wound around itself on a series of cogwheels and a fan of flat metal strips touching it.
I look at the small thing, an eyebrow raised. Leonardo smiles and holds it between his long fingers, reaches it across the table for me to see. It has a small handle and when he twirls it, the metal sheets touch the grooves in the barrel, playing a crisp little tune.
I stare at him: "You are sneaking out of the fortress under the cover of darkness to make completely pointless toys?"
"Well..." He sets the small contraption down. "I wouldn't exactly have put it like that..."
We both stare transfixed at the little metal thing for a moment. Then our eyes meet and we grin at each other.
"Why?" I ask. "It doesn't make sense."
"You'd do it too if you were stuck with the Apple!" he smiles.
"But why there? I told you that you could have whatever materials you needed. Why go to the village when you could have been sitting comfortably in the keep?"
"I needed special tools to make this. So I made friends with a clock-maker. He had what I needed to complete it. It would take too long to send for it."
I shake my head. Even though I try one last time to believe him false and disloyal, I cannot make myself accept that he is telling me anything but the truth.
"So what now, Your Grace?" Leonardo asks: "Have you decided to make me a prisoner; or do you trust me to do my job?"
"I trust you. But let's return to politics."
"The politics of trust?" he asks, bemused.
"Several opponents, if not enemies, have spies in my court. You must know that."
"I suppose it goes without saying."
"It's obvious I value you. It's obvious that we spend time together beyond what's purely professional." I say and the small smile in the corner of his mouth makes me wish there wasn't a desk between us.
Leonardo shrugs: "Which means they will easily find out that I had dealings with the Auditores if they have any interest in that particular conflict. Which in turn would lead anyone to think I was not bothered by it."
"Possibly. But it would also lead the Pope to be wary of you and consider you a danger. Especially if his spies can report that I have no knowledge of your doings."
He shakes his head slightly and looks at me: "I have no need for secrecy concerning my activities. All you ever needed to do was ask."
"I just did. But now you have given me an opportunity. I need to control the information the Pope receives. Therefore I will use you to find out who my father's spies are if you continue your private outings, if you continue attracting attention." I tell him.
There is a strange parade of emotions flitting across his features: "I will continue as before and let you play your game. But I want no part in it." he finally says. "I will not be the cause of anyone else getting hurt."
"I will not hurt anyone because of this. As long as they believe themselves undetected I can use them. If they were removed, I would have to spend resources figuring out who else he has bought."
He shakes his head: "...I thought you were on the same side, you and the Pope." He gets to his feet and gathers the table-strewn things into his bag: "Perhaps I will see you later tonight, Your Grace." Leonardo says softly and leaves me with the silence.
If the threat of being a piece on the game board keeps him close, I win. If it leads to certainty about my father's network, I win. This is a better outcome than I had dared hope for.
I-O-I
When night descends I go to him in his study. He silently kisses me. I am gentle with him tonight and, passion spent, we keep each other warm under the blankets, no words between us.
An autumn storm rises in the night-world outside; rattling the shutters, howling around corners, beating everything it meets. When the rain starts drumming and the candles are almost drowned in their own wax, Leonardo falls asleep, curled up against me, his back against my chest. My mind wanders quietly over the events of the evening and how to best employ my informants as sleep comes creeping up on me.
I slowly realise that I'm not completely certain where I end and Leonardo begins. Not certain whose heartbeat I feel in my body.
It terrifies me.
I forcefully disentangle myself from the embrace. Push away from him. Jump out of the bed, my breath fast. He wakes, alert. I can see his outline, half sitting in the bed, looking at me.
"Bad dream?" he finally asks; his voice soft.
I sit down on the bed again, reluctant. I should throw him out. Out into the storm. I should terminate the contract; get rid of him. Get rid of this risk he still poses. I know it.
"Bad dream." I tell him tersely as I reach for my clothes and quickly get dressed. "Go back to sleep."
I call for my scribe and my advisors and spend most of the night pretending to be interested in the diplomatic situation facing me with the other nobles holding lands next to mine. To dispel the feeling of weakness and dependence in my mind. To dispel the sensation of missing something important.