by Mary Hoffman
Giocondo himself welcomed me warmly enough and even said, ‘I think you know my wife’s cousin?’
The recorder-playing Gherardo was there again, entertaining Lisa as before. I had struck lucky to find Leonardo at work so late in the evening and without Salai or any other of his hangers-on.
‘Welcome, Gabriele,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Come to see the picture of Monna Lisa?’
It was glorious. He had captured a quality in the sitter that would have been easy to overlook. Truthfully, she wasn’t as lovely as Gandini the baker’s wife but she had a restful presence – I can’t explain it any other way – that had nothing to do with any of her features nor yet her figure.
She was past her first youth and had borne several children but was not yet quite matronly. Yet she radiated tranquillity, sitting still as one of Angelo’s marbles while the painter corrected something he felt he had not got quite right about her face. She acknowledged my presence with the slightest possible widening of her eyes and intensifying of her smile. I was spellbound.
She inspired no desire in my admittedly lustful younger self – just a deep sense of peace in her presence, which had been given by her to the portrait but was now given back to her a hundred-fold by Leonardo’s art for anyone who had been fortunate enough to see his depiction of her. He had enabled me to see that within her which he saw himself. Her husband would be delighted with the portrait.
‘It is wonderful,’ I said to the painter who had been watching, amused, while my eyes had travelled again and again from the canvas to the sitter and back again. ‘I don’t know how to express myself, maestro, in words that would mean anything to someone with your genius. But you have made me see not Monna Lisa herself, although that itself is a gift, but – how may I say it without seeming to presume? – something of the quality of womanhood itself.’
I stopped, feeling that I had made a poor job of expressing my admiration for all three – the woman, the portrait and the artist.
And in my confusion, I did feel desire – something more overwhelming than I had ever experienced before, even in the presence of Angelo’s great works. I wanted to own something so beautiful for myself – though whether it was the woman or her picture I couldn’t have said – to clasp this vision of the eternal in my own mortal grasp. In fact, I think that was the first time I saw myself as mortal, like other men, in the presence of something as enduring as a great work of art.
Then Gherardo made a bad note on his recorder because, I’m sure, he was so amused by my awkwardness, and the moment passed. Monna Lisa’s smile turned to laughter and she looked like an ordinary woman again.
‘We shall take a break,’ said Leonardo and the hospitable housewife bustled off to organise some refreshment for us all.
But I had learned something that day that I never forgot – that a true artist can see the spark of the divine in each human soul and not just see it but render it in such a way that others can see it too.
Leonardo sensed my mood – he was a very sensitive man, for all that he had companions like the coarse-natured Salai – and he waited till I had recovered my composure before speaking to me. Gherardo had gone with Monna Lisa.
‘You were at the practica with your master,’ he said eventually.
I nodded. ‘It will be a great day when the statue is revealed,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to see it in all its glory. All Florence has been speaking of it since the day of the public viewing.’
‘As they have of your portrait,’ I said. ‘The city is blessed to have two such great works created in it at the same time.’
I no longer thought that the painting looked like Salai’s face but there was still something underlying the features that suggested the beautiful young man. Was it something the painter had seen in del Giocondo’s wife reminding him of that beloved young man that had made him accept the commission? Or had he superimposed the admired features on another because of his infatuation?
I remembered the Madonna with my face and felt uneasy. I would look closely at Monna Lisa when she came back to scrutinise her for any signs of a resemblance to the little devil.
‘If I owned such a painting,’ I said, ‘I would keep it close to me till I died and even then I would hope to see it again in heaven.’
Leonardo laughed. ‘You are a poet, Gabriele! Truly you have a mind as fair and open as your face. I should love to draw you.’
But then he looked thoughtful to the point of sadness. ‘I am close to this painting myself. It will be hard to part with it when the time comes.’
I remembered Angelo’s words then: ‘If del Giocondo ever gets that, I’ll eat my boots.’
But Leonardo had changed mood again and now looked at me intently.
‘You are in some danger, I think.’
Was he a seer or soothsayer?
‘There was a lot of talk after the practica,’ he said. ‘Not all of it very discreet. Soderini has been boasting of how the David will be seen for what it is – a symbol of the Republic – and the de’ Medici supporters don’t like it.’
That I knew already.
‘I know you move in their circles,’ he said. ‘And are for the moment their blue-eyed boy. But let them once guess that you are not what you seem and you will see that they will take their revenge – not just on you but on the statue.’
And after what had passed between us in the last hour I knew that we both understood which would be the greater tragedy.
At my next meeting with the compagnacci, the atmosphere was charged.
‘We have heard from Giovanni,’ whispered Gherardo, who now seemed to consider me a friend.
‘Have we?’ I said, a little mockingly; it had been only a matter of weeks that this young cousin of Monna Lisa had been in the conspirators’ confidence.
It was lost on him. ‘The Cardinal is going to have a secret meeting with Altobiondi and Visdomini,’ said Gherardo.
This was some progress at last.
‘Gabriele,’ said Altobiondi, coming to greet me, ‘I see you have heard our news. We are to ride out and meet the new head of the de’ Medici family.’
I wondered that he couldn’t see how puffed up he was with pride at his connection to the great family and his closeness to a cardinal.
‘I shall need a band of strong supporters to accompany me,’ Altobiondi went on. ‘Would you be one of them?’
‘I am no soldier,’ I said, wondering if I should do this thing or try to get out of it. ‘That is to say I am not experienced with weapons.’
‘I hope we shan’t need them,’ he said. ‘Sharp eyes and strong muscle – that’s what is required. We leave the day after tomorrow.’
So it was an order, not a request.
When I told Angelo, he was willing enough to release me from a few days’ service, but worried about my safety.
‘You must let your frateschi friends know what you are doing,’ he said. ‘If they find out any other way, they might suspect you have really gone over to the other side. In fact, take today off too and go and see them straight away.’
His nervousness had infected me and I set off immediately for the house near San Marco, forgetting my resolve never to call uninvited. But, luckily, Gianbattista was there and I didn’t have to face Simonetta alone.
‘This is a wonderful opportunity, Gabriele,’ he said. ‘Of course you must go. And you must get as close to the Cardinal as you can.’
‘I think I am to be part of Altobiondi’s bodyguard,’ I said, ‘so that should not be difficult.’
‘Excellent,’ said Daniele, who seemed to spend most of his time at Gianbattista’s house. ‘I think you should assassinate Cardinal de’ Medici! We can make all the arrangements for you. All you’d have to do is the actual killing.’
Chapter Nineteen
The Giant Walks
I had never ridden a thoroughbred horse before. You can’t live in the countryside surrounded by farms and not have some experience with horses but the brown mare they gave me to r
ide out on as one of de’ Altobiondi’s band of followers was nothing like the placid great beasts I had sat astride at haymaking.
She was called Brunella and was as skittish as a flirtatious woman, seeing dangers in every pebble by the wayside and every little bird that flew across our path. I tried gently rubbing the spot between her ears and she eventually calmed down enough to walk in a straight line. But I could see she was going to cause me problems on a day when I already had enough to think about.
Kill the Cardinal! That’s what the frateschi wanted me to do. And if I did, amidst all his supporters out at the old de’ Medici hunting lodge where the meeting was to take place, what would be the outcome for me? Instant reprisal and death if I was lucky. Long slow torture to reveal the names of my fellow conspirators if I was not.
I thought of Savonarola and shuddered.
‘You have a lively mount,’ said Gherardo, who had been thrilled to be picked as one of the bodyguard.
Brunella had spotted a particularly menacing twig on the path and was dancing sideways away from it.
‘I’m not used to riding a gentleman’s horse,’ I admitted. ‘She is a handful.’
‘Do you think we’ll really be needed on this expedition?’ Gherardo asked.
‘No,’ I said, and truthfully. Because the frateschi were expecting me to do their dirty work there was no likelihood of their attacking the riders, even though they knew all about our meeting with the Cardinal.
Gherardo didn’t question my reasons – just nodded. I wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. For all that he was a cousin of the tranquil Lisa del Giocondo, he was a hotheaded young man and I would have thought he would relish a fight.
We neared the lodge after a few hours’ riding and I could see that the Cardinal was already there. He had travelled in a carriage, with two hunters being led behind. Perhaps he really did intend to hunt when the meeting was over?
It was a grand building for such a practical purpose, more like one of the villas the de’ Medici had had built for themselves all around Florence and only a little smaller. Cardinal de’ Medici had evidently sent a small army of servants ahead of him, because they were swarming everywhere, laying out food and drink.
I thought of the packet of white powder in my jerkin.
‘Poison would be best,’ Daniele had said. ‘Because it could not be so easily traced to you. But if you can’t get close enough to put it in Giovanni’s drink, then just stab him.’
I had the dagger they had given me too, not knowing that I already had a blade in my boot – the one Angelo had given me soon after my arrival in Florence. Altobiondi had furnished me with a weapon too. There would be no shortage of means to kill the Cardinal, only the will to do it.
And here he was – my first de’ Medici!
I was a bit disappointed. The Cardinal was fat and heavily jowled like a much older man, though he was in fact less than a year older than Angelo. And when I saw the feast laid out for us Florentines I could guess how he had become that way. He spared no expense on the luxuries of his table and set to with a will as soon as the delegation was seated, after a quite perfunctory grace.
One other thing delayed him and that was that he had a taster! So much for Daniele’s poison; it was ludicrous to suppose I could administer my packet of powder to such a well-defended man. One servant stood at his right, to sample every dish of food and every goblet of wine, while another, burly and well armed, guarded his other side.
Giovanni de’ Medici grew impatient with his taster, scarcely giving time to see if he had any ill effects from the food and drink before plunging into it himself. But after a long and indulgent meal, he leaned back in his chair, satisfied – at least for now.
Those of us who were there to protect the Florentines had been seated much further down the table but had still made a good meal. Now that the preliminaries were over, the Cardinal withdrew, with his bodyguard, to a private room, to talk to de’ Altobiondi, Visdomini and the rest, while we younger ones took up a position outside the doors.
It was a long afternoon and we had eaten and drunk well. If there had been any attack, we would have been easily overcome but our most serious problem was boredom. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who slid to the floor and dozed.
At last the double doors were flung open and the Florentine delegation came out. We were all smartly on our feet then, looking alert and ready to do whatever was asked of us. The Cardinal passed us and then stopped, looking up at my face.
‘Who is this young man?’ he asked in his rather surprising deep voice.
‘It is Gabriele, a loyal supporter of Your Eminence’s family,’ said Visdomini.
‘Really?’ said Giovanni, looking at me as if he too would like to draw me. ‘Nice-looking boy.’
He gave me a gold coin. I was as near to him as if we were about to perform a dance. This was the moment in which, if I had wanted, I could have drawn out any of my weapons and stabbed the head of the de’ Medici family to death.
But I didn’t.
It wasn’t fear that stayed my hand. It was just that I didn’t want to kill him. It was clear that he would not be a leader like his father, that he was a worldly and self-indulgent man, who thought more of his bodily pleasures than he did of God.
But was that a reason to kill a man? I bowed my thanks for the coin, which would join my hoard under the mattress, and he had passed on out of the doorway.
Later, as the delegation was mounted up, I saw the Cardinal himself, now in hunting clothes, on his own fine grey mare. Brunella, no calmer than she had been in the morning, went mincing up to Giovanni’s mount and I was too poor a horseman to guide her away.
The Cardinal laughed at my inexperience and reined in beside me. He took my chin in his pudgy hand.
‘Sweet boy,’ he said, as our horses nuzzled each other, giving me another assassin’s gift of a chance. ‘Come to me in Rome if you ever need help.’
Everyone was looking at me and I was embarrassed but Brunella saved me from bloodshed or something else by shying away. I showed all the regret I could manage in my face as she took me out of harm’s way and the Cardinal laughed.
‘Gabriele is a great favourite,’ said Altobiondi. ‘But not the world’s best horseman.’
And then the parties separated, the Florentines headed for home and the Roman delegation for the chase. I hadn’t wanted to kill the de’ Medici myself but I wouldn’t have grieved if he had been gored by a wild boar.
Back in Florence, we went with the compagnacci back to their houses and I handed Brunella to Altobiondi’s stableman with some relief. As the horses were led away, a servant ran out from the house to give his master an urgent message. Clarice was in labour. Altobiondi rushed indoors.
He had already invited us in to dine so we hung around uncertainly, wondering whether we should leave. But a message soon came that we should all stay.
‘I hope to have another son before we have finished dining,’ he said, greeting us in his salone. ‘You must all join me in drinking his and my wife’s health. The child is rather early but Clarice is strong and in good hands. We shall drink to a happy outcome.’
I would have made some excuse but then he sent for little Davide. He was brought in by his nurse, bemused by suddenly arriving in the midst of so much male company. Everyone made much of him and I could see that Altobiondi was fond of the boy. When he put Davide on to his lap and told him, ruffling the boy’s curls, that he would soon be a big brother, my heart lurched.
I knew it was best for Davide to have a father, and a wealthy and loving one at that, but I felt a much greater desire to plunge a dagger into Antonello de’ Altobiondi’s chest than I had earlier towards the Cardinal.
The little boy clambered down, his shyness gone, and toddled about the room, accepting caresses and sweetmeats from his father’s friends. He came to me in turn and I wondered if he recognised me. I hadn’t seen him for nearly a year. He put his arms up to me and I picked him up. Altobiondi
laughed.
‘You should marry and get a son yourself, Gabriele,’ he said. ‘Fatherhood would suit you.’
I felt a fraud in so many ways. But I let the child snuggle into me and I stroked his hair tenderly.
‘They still don’t know where they want to put it,’ said Angelo. ‘But it won’t be anywhere on the Duomo. So we’ve got to work out how to get the thing to the Piazza della Signoria.’
He had invited the Sangallo brothers, with their engineering skills, to come and help solve the problem.
The ‘thing’ was the seventeen feet of heavy marble that stood in the workshop, towering over us behind its scaffolding. We all looked at it and I certainly felt daunted as to how it could possibly be moved to anywhere else. The Piazza della Signoria was only about five hundred yards away but at the moment it would have been impossible even to get the Giant out of the workshop; we’d have to break down the wall above the doors. I myself had to duck my head to get through them.
But I was no engineer.
‘Take heart, Gabriele,’ said Angelo. ‘The block came down from the mountains in Fanti Scritti, didn’t it? And was transported all the way from Carrara to Florence. All we have to do is get the carved block from here to the piazza.’
It was no longer a block that could be heaved around on slings and chains by strong men, was it? It was a statue – with all the dangers to its limbs that a real man would face, but magnified many times.
‘If only we could ask him to bend down and go through the door and walk to the Signoria!’ I said.
‘It may be lifelike,’ said Angelo, ‘but I don’t think we can hope for that.’
Now that the statue was virtually finished I noticed he had stopped referring to it as ‘him’ or ‘David’. I supposed it was his way of detaching himself from the work, of moving it in his mind from something he was perfecting, to something in his past, a separate object that could and would be judged as a work of art, one to compare with Donatello’s or Verrocchio’s interpretation of the shepherd boy that killed Goliath.
