The Secret Supper (20 page)

“What are you suggesting?”

Jacaranda sat down at his desk, satisfied at having captured my full attention.

“I see that you begin to understand my concern, Father Agostino. Tell me. How well have you gotten to know Master Leonardo?”

“I’ve only spoken with him once. This very morning.”

“You should know then that he’s an odd bird, the strangest, most extravagant bird ever to land in this place. He employs every God-given minute of the day to work, read, draw and reflect on the most absurd subjects you might imagine. He invents cooking recipes with which he delights the duke, as well as modeling extravagant war machines out of almond paste for his banquets. He’s also a very suspicious man, very jealous of his things, of all his property. He never allows anyone to go through his notes, and even less into his library which, as you can imagine, is very large and valuable. He even writes from right to left, like the Jews!”

“Does he?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that. To read one of his notebooks, you’d need a mirror: only through a reflection can you understand what he’s written. Isn’t that a devilish device? Who do you know who’s capable of writing like that, without an effort? That man, believe me, hides many terrible secrets.”

“I still cannot comprehend why you’re telling me all this.”

“Because—” And here he made a theatrical pause. “I believe that Father Alessandro was murdered by order of Leonardo da Vinci. And I believe that the cause is that damned book, the same one the duchess desired and which ended up costing her her life.”

I grew pale.

“That’s a very serious accusation!”

“Prove it yourself,” he replied. “You are the only one who can. You live in Santa Maria delle Grazie, but you are not sold to the duke, like all the others. The Father Prior wants the monastery to be finished with Ludovico’s money, and I doubt if he would dare attack his favorite artist and risk losing the subsidies. I’m inviting you to solve this puzzle, the two of us working together. Find the book and not only will you shed light on the deaths of the duchess and Father Alessandro but you will arm yourself with proof enough to accuse Leonardo of murder.”

“I dislike your methods, Signor Jacaranda.”

“My methods?” He laughed. “Did you have a good look at the man defeated in the duel?”

“Forzetta?”

“The same. Well, I’ll tell you something about my methods. I ordered him to get for me the ‘blue book’ from Leonardo’s bottega. You see, Forzetta had been one of Leonardo’s old apprentices and knew all the possible hiding places.”

“You ordered him to rob Leonardo da Vinci?”

“I wanted the matter resolved, Father Agostino. But I’ll admit my failure. That useless fool took from the bottega a different book, the Divini Platonis Opera Omnia, a book printed in Venice years ago, of very little value. And then he tried selling it to me as if it were the precious volume I was looking for.”

“Divini Platonis…,” I repeated. “I know the work.”

“You do?”

I nodded.

“It’s the famous translation of Plato’s complete works that Marsilio Ficino made for Cosimo de’ Medici of Florence.”

“Well, the scoundrel says that Leonardo held it in great esteem, and that he spent many days using it to shape one of the apostles in his Cenacolo. And what do I care about that! I’ve lost a friend, thanks to Leonardo, and I want to know why. Now: will you help me?”

29

Porta Romana was the city’s most elegant quarter. Crossed day and night by the most splendid carriages in Lombardy, it boasted of being the only monumental entrance into Milan. Its porticos were always crowded with well-attired gentlefolk, and the ladies enjoyed wandering under them in order to feel the city’s daily pulse. Papal nuncios, foreign ambassadors and noblemen of every kind let themselves be seen there, hoping to be admired. It stood next to the city’s main canal and was an unparalleled gallery of vanities.

In the very center of the road stood the Palazzo Vecchio. This was a public building much beloved by the Milanese, the habitual meeting place of fraternities, guilds and even the law courts. It was two stories high, possessed six vast halls and a maze of offices that changed ownership frequently.

On the night that I spent at Oliverio Jacaranda’s house, all the rooms in the Palazzo Vecchio were bursting with expectation. More than three hundred people were lining up in the street to admire the latest masterpiece of Leonardo; many of the notables of the city had made an appointment here, using as a pretext the wish to comment on the latest court events. There was not a single citizen who did not long for an invitation to the event.

Leonardo had organized the exhibition in a hurry, perhaps at the suggestion of the duke who, barely forty-eight hours after his wife’s burial, was already thinking of reanimating public life in Milan.

Master Bernardino Luini arrived in the company of a radiant Elena Crivelli, who had insisted so ardently on coming with him that the painter had agreed. He still blushed at the thought of what had taken place between them barely a few days ago, and his mind was still in torment. To make matters more difficult for him, Donna Lucrezia’s daughter had chosen a dazzling outfit for the occasion: a blue dress trimmed in fur with a low-cut bodice embroidered in gold. With her hair done up in a net of precious stones and her lips painted scarlet, she looked like a young goddess. Luini tried hard to keep his distance and not even touch her.

“Master Luini!” Leonardo’s loud voice stopped them on the second floor of the Palazzo Vecchio. “I’m pleased to see you. And in such fine company! Whom have you brought with you?”

Luini bowed ceremoniously, surprised at his teacher’s undisguised curiosity.

“This is Elena Crivelli, Master,” he said, introducing her. “A young lady who admires you and has insisted in accompanying me to your exhibition.”

“Crivelli? What a delightful surprise! Are you by chance related to the painter Crivelli?”

“I’m his niece, sir.”

Elena’s pale eyes stirred certain old memories in Leonardo.

“Then you’re the daughter of—”

“Of Lucrezia Crivelli, whom you know well.”

“Donna Lucrezia! Of course!” he said, turning his eyes toward Luini. “And you’ve come with Master Luini, for whom you’ve sat! You’re the new Mary Magdalene!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wonderful! You’ve come at a very opportune moment.”

Leonardo examined the girl once more, looking for the features that had so impressed him in her mother. A quick glance allowed him to see the same forehead, the same nose, the same cheekbones and chin. The geometrical marvel of Donna Lucrezia’s face now had a double in that of her daughter.

The Master pointed to a small room, next to the gigantic landing, which had been lovingly decorated. Each of its walls had been covered in black cloth, displaying in the room’s center a small painting framed in polished pinewood.

“You see,” Leonardo said. “I thought this would be the best moment to show it. Donna Beatrice’s death has saddened us so deeply that we need as much beauty as possible to gladden our spirits once again. Perhaps Master Luini has told you that I need to have happiness around me. I need life. And since every time I show one of the paintings from my studio it receives such acclaim—”

“—You thought that showing a new work of yours might bring people out into the streets again,” Luini concluded, approvingly.

“Exactly. And in spite of the cold weather, it seems that I’ve succeeded.” Leonardo now changed his tone, pointing toward his new work. “Well? What do you think of it?”

They looked carefully at the painting. It was a thing of splendor. A young woman attired in a red dress, to which Leonardo had managed to lend not only the quality of velvet but also the stitches in the brocade collar, watched them serenely at eye’s level. Her hair was gathered in a long tress and a fine diadem crowned her forehead with infinite delicacy. It was an extraordinary portrait, one of Leonardo’s masterpieces. If instead of a frame she were surrounded by a window, no one would have said that she was not truly there, watching them.

Elena and Luini stared at one another, at a loss for words.

“We thought—” Luini stammered, “we thought you’d show us a portrait of Donna Beatrice, Master.”

“And why should I, tell me?” He smiled. “The Duchess d’Este never found a single moment to sit for me.”

Elena’s eyes grew moist with emotion.

“But she’s—she’s—”

“She’s your mother, Donna Lucrezia. Yes,” said Leonardo, wrinkling his large nose, “no doubt one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known. Beauty and harmony: isn’t that what we need right now, in these times of mourning?”

Elena could not take her eyes away from the portrait.

“I would never have shown this in public if it hadn’t been necessary. Believe me.”

“Is it—?” Elena hesitated. “Is it because of your theory of light? Master Luini told me how important it was for you.”

“Did he, now?”

A curious glint shone in Leonardo’s eyes.

“For you, light is the essence of what is divine. Its presence or absence in a painting reveals everything about the artist’s final purpose. Am I right?”

“Well…You surprise me, Elena. And tell me: what secret purpose can you guess is in this picture?”

The young countess examined the painting once again. Her mother’s radiant face lacked only speech.

“It’s like a sign, Master Leonardo.”

“A sign?”

“Yes, a sign. As if you were sending signs of light in the midst of the darkness. Like a lighthouse in the night. You’re sending signals to those of faith. To those who choose light over the shadows.”

The Master was taken aback.

Suddenly, his astonishment turned to concern. And Elena noticed the change. The Master looked around to see that no one was listening and then begged the little countess to allow him a moment with Luini. Elena withdrew to one of the windows overlooking the Porta Romana.

“What have you done, Master Luini?”

Leonardo’s whisper was sharp and cold. Luini winced.

“Master, I—”

“You’ve spoken about the light! To a child!”

“But I—”

“No buts. Does she know that light is one of her family’s attributes? What else have you told her, you madman!”

Luini was horrified, unable to move. All of a sudden he realized the terrible mistake he had made in allowing Elena to accompany him here. He lowered his head in shame and said nothing.

“I see,” Leonardo said. “Now I understand.”

“What do you understand, Master?” Luini asked with a knot in his throat.

“You’ve slept with her, haven’t you?”

“Slept?”

“Answer me!”

“I—I’m sorry, Master.”

“You’re sorry? Don’t you realize what you’ve done?”

Leonardo choked his words down so as not to startle the young woman.

“You’ve slept with a Magdalene! You! A devotee to the cause of John!”

Leonardo swallowed hard. He needed time to think. His mind tried to fit in this piece of the puzzle just as it tried to fit the cogs in his machines. What could he do? He would consider it yet another sign of Providence. Another proof that times were changing fast and that soon the great secret would escape from his hands.

How could he have been so innocent, he who had willingly rejected carnal love? How could he not have foreseen the possibility that this young apprentice, charged with watching over Donna Lucrezia’s daughter, might himself fall into her tempting arms? Now he needed to hurry. He would have to initiate Elena into the mysteries of her apostolate before other lovers steered her away from her rightful path. Yes. He would call the little countess to his side and do what no one had seen him do before: he would speak to her of his concerns.

He called her back.

“Forgive me,” he said, addressing himself to both of them. “I want to tell you how well-timed your visit has been. I needed someone to speak to in confidence. I believe I’m being spied on. I believe my movements, and those of my helpers, are being watched.”

“You, Master?” Luini said, aghast.

“Yes,” Leonardo continued. “I’ve been suspecting it for years. You know well, Bernardino, that I’ve long been wary of people in general. For a long time now I’ve been writing all my correspondence in code, and I jot down my notes so that very few can read them. And I distrust anyone who comes near me only to sniff around my things. On Sunday, when we buried the duchess, those old fears were suddenly rekindled. Within a day of each other, two holy men died in very strange circumstances.”

Luini and Elena looked incredulous. Neither of them had heard of this before.

“One was found hanged in the Piazza Mercanti. He was carrying a card that you, Master Luini, know as well as I do. It belongs to a deck designed for the Visconti family almost half a century ago, and depicts a nun of the Order of Saint Francis carrying the cross of John the Baptist in one hand and the book of John the Evangelist in the other.”

“Mary Magdalene!”

“Indeed, that is one of the many ways in which she’s represented. The knots on the cord around her swollen belly tell us as much. But few, very few are those who know the code.”

“Please, tell us more,” Luini insisted.

“As you can well imagine, Master Luini, I interpreted the card as a signal. A warning from someone trying to approach me. I tried to convince the duke’s men that the priest had committed suicide. I wanted to gain some time to investigate, but the second death confirmed my fears.”

“What fears?” asked Elena dauntlessly.

“You see, Elena, the second murdered man was also a friend of mine.”

The little countess drew in her breath.

“You—you knew them both?”

“Indeed. Both. Giulio, the second victim, died bleeding in front of my Maestà. Someone pierced his heart with a sword. The murderer didn’t rob him of any money, of any belongings—except—”

“Except?”

“Except the Franciscan card that was later found next to the priest. I have the disagreeable impression that the murderer wanted me to be fully aware of his crimes. After all, the Maestà is a work of mine and the priest belonged to the community of Santa Maria.”