Leonardo's Swans (35 page)

Ludovico seems angered that Leonardo’s tangle of leaves offers him no answer. Frustrated, he walks out of the chamber, leaving his wife behind as if he had forgotten altogether that she had been with him.

FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF LEONARDO:

1. Apply to Commissioners of Works at Piacenza Cathedral to make bronze doors.

2. Design sets for production of
The Danae
at the home of Count Caiazzo. Ask for money to rebuild theatrical machinery from Feast of Paradise currently in storage. Test flame-resistant bodysuit for players to emerge from clouds of fire.

3. Present brothel design to Messer Jacomo Alfeo. Convince him that a proper House of Pleasure, one based on discretion, with secret entrances to the female of one’s choice, would cause profits to soar.

4. Test flying machine. Make new leather strap for wings. Present design to generals. (Uses: Outfit cavalry with wings to surprise the enemy in battle. Flying cavalry much more effective than one on horse. Wing all messengers, like Hermes, to deliver urgent news to princes and kings.)

5. Present plans for weaving machine to Messer Soderini the cloth merchant.

6. Collect remainder of money from the foundry for the system of hoists and pulleys built to lift quantities of metal.

7. Finish masks for Count Bergamini’s ball.

8. Make set of gold plate and eating utensils for la Contessa Bergamini that she craves for entertaining the Venetians next month.

9. Finish bath with hot-water pipes for Duchess Isabel of Aragon.

O human misery! Of how many things do you make yourself the slave for money?

From: Milanese Envoy to Florence

To: Ludovico Maria Sforza, Duke of Milan

Re: Available Artists

In accordance with Your Excellency’s request, I have investigated the availability of several artists of the caliber you require. Sandro de Botticelli, the most excellent master, is accomplished in panel and wall painting. His figures have a manly air that Your Highness might admire. Filippino di Frati Filippi is a disciple of Botticelli and a son of one of the great and rare masters of our time. His figures, heads in particular, are gentler and suave. Perugino, rare and singular, excels in wall painting. His faces are angelic and sweet beyond compare. I know you prefer him, but I believe the monks of the Certosa at Pavia are occupying his time. You might use your sway over them and convince them to relinquish him so that the duchess will not have to spend her confinement in unfinished rooms. Ghirlandaio is a good master in panels but even better at wall painting. He is industrious, which should provide a much-needed contrast with Magistro Leonardo. All of these masters with the exception of Filippino have proven their talents at Pope Sixtus’ chapel in Rome. Please let me know your thoughts. One must be swift in procuring the services of such men.

“Messer Gualtieri, I’d like you to take me into the Treasure Tower,” Beatrice says, sweeping into the man’s office.

Beatrice has made up her mind to take matters into her own hands. She does not want Botticelli or Perugino or even her sister’s beloved Andrea Mantegna to come to Milan. Which among those great men would even consider completing a project begun by the one whom they consider their master? Besides, it’s been weeks since Ludovico sent his messengers with offers to the artists and there have been thus far no replies. Beatrice wants the Magistro to finish his extraordinary canopy of leaves in her rooms, and she wants to sit for him and have him make the family portrait in the Crucifixion scene opposite the mural of Our Lord’s Last Supper. Oh, she does not want to sit for him, exactly, but she thinks that if she can get the Magistro back to work, Ludovico can no longer blame her for interfering with his ambitions. It should be simple enough, and once done, Ludovico will not be angry with her but grateful.

She has not been to the Treasure Tower in more than a year. What with the war, there have been no occasions to collect a bucket full of jewels to adorn a gown for one ceremony or another. There have been few reasons to celebrate lately. The defeat of the French came at such a high cost that relief and not jubilation had followed. All of Italy had made great sacrifices. In fact, Beatrice has a secondary mission today. She plans to pick out a small jewel for Isabella, who selflessly allowed Francesco to pawn her entire collection of gems to outfit his soldiers for the campaign against France. Isabella has given birth to another girl, Margherita, and has seemed even more disappointed with the gender of her child this time than the last. In correspondence, she does not even mention the child at all, despite Beatrice’s sincere offerings of congratulations and the gifts she has sent. Beatrice thinks she will find something lovely for Isabella, and perhaps a tiny pearl necklace for the baby too. If Isabella thinks that others are pleased with her for producing another daughter, maybe she will begin to warm to the girl herself.

But Gualtieri does not move. “I wish to select a small gift for my sister,” Beatrice says, wondering why the man does not leap to fulfill her request, as he would normally do, but stares at her as if she has caught him in an unseemly act.

“And then there is the matter of the Magistro,” she adds. “My husband is being rather foolish. I thought we might, just the two of us, arrange to forward a few ducats to the Florentine so that he will come straight back to work. I thought we might not trouble the duke with the matter. Leonardo frustrates my husband. I am trying to relieve him of the pressure of dealing with a temperamental artist. We do not wish to see the duke ill again, I am sure.”

Gualtieri’s expression changes to one of sadness, if Beatrice reads him correctly. “Your Excellency, as you know, I cannot refuse any request made by you.”

“That is correct, sir, so let us be on our mission.”

Gualtieri turns his somber eyes to his secretary, a thin man seated at a small desk, eyes glued to a ledger book. “Send for the keys,” he says, waving the man out of the room. “Your Excellency, has the duke discussed his finances with you of late?”

“No, he has not. The duke is fond of complaining that he is not made of money, but then continues to act as if he is. He has had nothing fresh to say upon the subject in recent times.”

“Then perhaps it is in everyone’s best interest for you to tour the tower,” Gualtieri says, sighing as if he is suddenly very, very tired.

The first thing she sees as Gualtieri opens the door is the faint mist of dust floating in the last of the afternoon sunshine wafting through the high windows. The particles, dancing and twinkling like tiny stars in the shafts of sunlight, seem unfazed by that force which draws all objects to fall to the ground. She steps into the room, eyes drawn to the corner where she knows that from one of the tall wooden barrels of silver she will be able to fill a purse for Leonardo that will easily draw the artist back to his projects.

But the barrels are gone. A single wooden tub lay on its side, empty. The tables, once covered in gems of every type and color, are bare, collecting dust. Beatrice gasps, rushing into the second room of the great vault, where she finds the cabinets of treasure—designed by the Magistro—open and empty. The rooms are desolate, like ancient quarters abandoned and locked up for years upon end.

“Where is everything?” she asks Gualtieri, who has slowly followed her.

“Spent. Gone.”

“But where?”

“Everything costs money. The wars were paid for by the loot that the Marquis Gonzaga took from the French, but that, too, is gone, mostly to pay a mercenary army. If you don’t pay them, they turn against you. The duke is aware of that. The rest of the money was to defeat Louis of Orleans at Novara.”

“But that’s impossible. There was simply too much for it all to be gone!”

“Your Excellency, you must discuss this with the duke. All I can tell you is that much money was borrowed from the nobility of Milan to pay for the many improvements the duke initiated in this city—the renovation of the canal system, the cathedral, the church and refectory at Santa Maria delle Grazie, the monuments, the celebrations, and most of all, the loans to the French, which will never be repaid now that they are defeated and in tatters. Let us also not forget the money that went to Bianca Maria’s dowry when she married Emperor Max. That was considerable. After that, the Treasure Tower was all but bare. Recently the patriarchs of Milan demanded to be repaid for the loans the duke forced them to make to him. There was not much left, but since the duke wished to avert a revolt, he divvied up the rest of what was in the coffers to appease them.”

“What are we to do now?”

“It isn’t a very popular idea, but the duke is raising taxes. Oh, there will be complaints, but it’s too bad. It’s impossible to run a kingdom—especially this one—without money.”

“But at the moment, you are telling me that we are . . .”

Gualtieri finishes her sentence. “Broke.”

B
EATRICE
runs through the halls of the Castello, uncertain of her destination. She is looking for Ludovico, but is afraid to find him. She must confront him, she knows, but what, exactly, she will say, she cannot imagine. Anything she blurts out in this state of mind will sound recriminating and will push him farther away.
The point is to help
, she thinks as the puzzled members of the Castello staff watch the duchess hurtle past, ignoring their salutations.
The point is to band together and create solutions
.

One of Beatrice’s secretaries links his arm through hers, yanking her backward. She pulls her arm away and squares off against the man, who bows.

“Your Excellency did not appear to hear me when I called out to her.”

“No, I did not.” Beatrice’s heart is pumping hard against her chest and her lungs hurt. How long was she running?

“The Countess Bergamini waits in your quarters.”

“Oh, I cannot see her today,” Beatrice replies, trying to control her breathing. “Tell her I am not feeling well.”

As if to illustrate that point, Beatrice engulfs her belly with her arms, hoping this attack of nerves has not harmed her baby.