Chapter Twenty

Florence, 1501

After four days of hard riding through the rugged Italian countryside, in weather that ranged from brilliant sunshine to a torrential downpour and unbearable humidity, Michelangelo found himself approaching the outskirts of Florence. He had not been home in more than a year. Reflecting, he realized that he had not set eyes upon the Old Man in more than five years.

Although their relationship, if you could call it that, had always been contentious at best, Michelangelo knew that he needed help and the Old Man was one of the few people in Italy who could accomplish what Michelangelo wanted done.

Michelangelo also knew that he had something to offer. All he had to do now was convince the old bastard to agree to the trade.

It was after dark, when he finally arrived at the palazzo on the outskirts of Florence. After he had knocked, Salai, who had caused the Old Man more grief than any one individual deserved, greeted him at the door.

“Michelangelo! Welcome!” he exclaimed hugging him,

“Have you come to free me from the clutches of that tyrant?”

Salai, whose real name was Gian Giacomo, had been with the “tyrant” for more than a decade. During that time he had stolen from and lied to the Old Man on countless occasions, thus earning the sobriquet il Salaino or the little devil.

“No, my friend. I am not your savior. Besides, I would never tolerate your antics. Why he has put up with you all these years is beyond me. Is he at home?”

“He’s in his workshop,” Salai replied, “Shall I announce you?”

“I’d rather surprise him,” Michelangelo answered. Walking down the hall, he knocked on the door.

“Come in,” bade a sonorous voice from within.

Opening the door, Michelangelo saw the familiar figure hunched over his workbench “Hello, Leonardo,” he said.

The Old Man turned, appraised Michelangelo, and said, “So it is you. What do you want?” With that, he turned his back on Michelangelo and resumed his labors at the bench.

The hair was longer and a bit whiter than Michelangelo remembered, but the piercing blue eyes were still sparkling with an uncanny intelligence - and did he detect a hint of malevolence?

Deciding that directness would be the best course of action, Michelangelo replied, “I need your help.”

Leonardo turned to face him and said, “And why on Earth would I want to help you, you arrogant little shit?”

“You are right. I was an overbearing ass, but I would like to think that I have changed. I am older now, and I regret everything that transpired between us.”

“Well, that’s a start,” Leonardo said.

“I am truly sorry, for everything that happened and everything I said, and I was also hoping that we might put the past behind us. Besides, I think I may have something to offer in return that might interest you.”

“I don’t believe that you have anything I want,” said Leonardo.

“I have an important papal commission and the implied promise of others if I am able to execute this one successfully. Given the current state of affairs in Italy, I see a way that we might turn that situation to both our advantages.”

When Leonardo didn’t respond, Michelangelo could see that he was on the right track.

The silence continued for nearly a minute. All the while Leonardo, who had turned to face Michelangelo, was looking hard at him. Finally, he said simply, “Continue.”

“I have been asked to fashion seven cameos for His Holiness, Pope Alexander. Each of the cameos is to depict one of the Seven Deadly Sins.”

“Go on. I still don’t see why you need my assistance. Surely the artist who created the Pieta can carve cameos for the Borgia Pope.”

“I can, but I want these cameos to be very special. I also want to build in a degree of protection for myself, and that is where I need your help.”

Michelangelo then proceeded to outline his vision for the cameos, telling Leonardo only what he needed to know. He also emphasized his fear of retribution should Cardinal della Rovere or anyone else outside the papal family discover the plan.

When he had finished, he looked at Leonardo and said, “I know you can do it, but will you?”

“With the right materials and a proper forge that would be child’s play. I could also do the construction in such a way that no one would even suspect. Still, the more important question is: Why should I?”

“As I said, this could work to both our advantages.” Michelangelo knew the next part would be tricky and his entire plan could collapse were he to use the wrong word or utter a phrase that might offend.

“Your name will live forever because of your many accomplishments,” said Michelangelo.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” snapped Leonardo. “Get to the point.”

“’The Last Supper,’ the silver lyre in the shape of a horse’s head, ‘The Virgin of the Rocks’ all stand as testament to your genius, but I think even you would agree that had you finished le Gran Cavallo, that would be considered your crowning achievement. That would be your artistic legacy.”

“Damn that horse,” exclaimed Leonardo. “I wish Ludovico Sforza had never asked me to sculpt it. Honor his father, indeed! I should never have ventured to Milan.”

Deciding a little white lie might go a long way, Michelangelo said, “I saw the model before the French soldiers destroyed it. I must tell you it was magnificent.” “Did you know those French barbarians used my horse for target practice? Target practice!! Day after day, they fired arrows at a clay horse 24 feet tall - until it just collapsed. Bastards!! It was rather hard to miss,” he added.

“Would you like to rebuild it?’

“Not for the Sforzas,” Leonardo said bitterly, “And certainly not in Milan.”

“How about for Pope Alexander? In Rome?” Michelangelo asked.

“Leonardo’s eyes flashed, and Michelangelo knew that he was close to securing the old man’s assistance.

“I think Pope Alexander might be interested. He does have a rather sizable ego, after all, and you know that he bears little love for the Sforza family - especially after that disastrous marriage to his daughter,” said Michelangelo.

“And you would help me?” inquired Leonardo.

“If you will assist me,” Michelangelo said, “One hand washes the other, and both hands the face. Not only will I plead your case to His Holiness, but I will be your silent assistant on the project - if you would like.”

“I must admit, you have piqued my interest, Michelangelo. May I sleep on it?”

“Of course. I am rather tired, myself. Can you suggest an inn close by?”

“An inn? Nonsense! You must stay here. After all, we might be working together in the very near future.”

“Salai,” yelled Leonardo, “I know you are listening at the door. Now, bring us some wine, and if you are smart, you will forget everything you have just heard. Do you understand me, you devil?”

“From the hall, Salai answered, “Yes master. Would you prefer red or white?”

“Red,” yelled Leonardo.

“If we do this, you must impress upon him the importance of silence,” Michelangelo said.

“If we reach an agreement, I shall,” said Leonardo.

“A few moments later, Salai entered, carrying a tray with two cups of wine.’

Leonardo handed Michelangelo a cup and taking the other, looked at him and said simply, “To possibilities.”

“To His Holiness,” said Michelangelo, “who makes all things possible.”

“To His Holiness,” added Leonardo.

“Now, let me get back to my work, and we can finish our discussion in the morning. Salai, help Michelangelo get settled in the guest room and then come back here.”

As he tried to fall asleep, Michelangelo thought back on the day and decided that it had gone pretty well.

If Leonardo could work his magic on the cameos, that would certainly afford me a layer of protection that I do not have at the moment, he thought. And if unexpected visitors should arrive at my home, hopefully, there would be nothing to see.

The last thing Michelangelo saw before sleep overtook him were the faces of Cesare and Lucrezia Borgia kissing passionately.