David (17 page)

‘Who did this then?’ he asked, looking as if he would like to take a weapon and go and deal out summary justice to them.

‘Fellow republicans,’ I said. I would have smiled wryly if I could.

‘
Frateschi
?’ he asked. ‘But why? Did they think you had betrayed them?’

‘I am not sure. It was no one I knew. They saw me coming out of de’ Altobiondi’s palazzo. Maybe that was why they jumped to the wrong conclusion.’

‘And what would have been the right conclusion?’ Gismondo asked.

I had no desire for anyone else to know about my past liaison with Clarice so I said, ‘I was spying on him and his friends.’

I groaned. I had so much to tell my own cell of
frateschi
, but that too would have to wait. My ribs were aching and it would take a long time for my bruises to subside. Another thought struck me: I could hardly pose for Leone’s Mars looking like this. Even though the God of War must have been in a fair few scraps, I’d wager he was never shown as having come off worse.

Angelo came in while we were talking.

‘Who has ruined your beauty?’ he asked, pouring me a cup of wine. He sent to the cook to make me a bowl of gruel since there was no way I could chew crusty bread.

I told my story again and the two brothers were both sympathetic. Angelo promised to call in at the
bottega
on his way to the Duomo and tell my
maestro
that I had been set upon by robbers and beaten and would not be able to work for the rest of the week.

Gismondo undertook to take a message to Ser Visdomini and also to get in touch with my cell of
frateschi
. Perhaps one of them would come and visit me and I could tell him my news? Being well-off young men they had no work to employ their hands during the day, unlike Gismondo, who was supposed to go to the wool shop but much preferred to think of pretexts that kept him busy around the city.

The cook herself brought me the bowl of slop and tut-tutted over my appearance.

‘You must rest,’ she said when I had eaten what I could. ‘I will bring you a cold compress for your poor eyes.’

I went back to bed, very sorry for myself, but wondering – true Florentine that I had become – how to turn this attack to my advantage. I must have slept heavily and long, because a servant came to tell me I had visitors.

There was a little cry, which I recognised as Grazia’s voice, as they were shown into the room.

‘Oh, poor Gabriele!’ she said and immediately took over nursing duties from the cook.

As she bathed my eyes in an infusion of herbs in cold water, I gathered that my other visitor was Gianbattista. He clasped my hand.

‘Who did this?’ he asked. ‘Ser Buonarroti told me it was
piagnoni
.’

His use of that term showed me that he disapproved and, as I thought, had nothing to do with the attack.

‘They shouted “Death to the de’ Medici” as they ran away,’ I said. ‘And I was coming out of de’ Altobiondi’s palazzo.’

I heard the sharp intake of breath, though my eyes were being soothed by Grazia’s attentions.

‘Who is this young woman?’ asked Gianbattista. ‘Is it safe to speak in front of her?’

‘I work for Ser Visdomini,’ said Grazia, putting a finger to my wounded mouth. ‘He is a
compagnaccio
, like many of his class. But I am as republican as Gabriele is, or yourself, sir, if you are indeed a
fratesco
.’

‘I am indeed,’ he said and I could hear he had decided to trust her. ‘Visdomini’s is where you go to pose for the painter, isn’t it?’

I nodded. It was still hard to speak.

‘I will put word out across the city to all the
frateschi
that you are on our side,’ said Gianbattista. ‘You will not be set upon again.’

‘I was thinking that I might be able to use the misunderstanding to my advantage,’ I said as best I could.

‘Yes?’ said Gianbattista.

Grazia, quick to grasp the possibilities in any situation, said, ‘I could tell my lord that you had been set upon for your support of the de’ Medici. He need not know where you had been or how the mistake arose.’

‘You would do that for us?’ said Gianbattista.

‘I can do it for Gabriele,’ said Grazia and though I couldn’t see him I knew that the
fratesco
must see how it stood with us.

And it appeared that Grazia had forgiven me my jealous outburst the last time we had been alone together. I had not been back to her room since. She was tending me so gently and had not even questioned why I had been at de’ Altobiondi’s palazzo. After Gianbattista had left, I launched into an account of what I had learned while hiding there.

Not one but two artists wanted to draw my battered face. First Angelo, after his day’s work. And later, Leone himself came to see me. The two men got on surprisingly well. Leone had a deep respect for my brother’s work and showed himself well informed and intelligent in his appreciation. Angelo was not one for flattery but he liked a fellow artist who could speak knowledgeably about techniques and themes in painting and sculpture.

‘Do I mind if I draw you, Gabriele?’ Leone asked at last. ‘I see Ser Buonarroti has been sketching.’

‘No,’ I muttered. ‘Will it count? Will you tell Visdomini I still posed for you?’

‘Always thinking of the money,’ said Leone, which was a bit harsh, but that was what I had meant. ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure that I will be able to make use of a battered face in a painting one day. It is really interesting the way the bruises round your eyes have so many colours too. I will make a note of them.’

So the two men drew and I think I must have nodded off again because when I was next aware of my surroundings, they had gone. Leone had left a bag of money which he said his master had sent for me. I was glad to add it to my savings but struck again by how much largesse Visdomini could afford to dispense.

My next visitor in the evening was old Lodovico. Gismondo had told him what had happened and he came to bring me soup and a little pasta. It was painful to eat but I was very hungry, in spite of not having worked all day.

‘My poor boy,’ said Lodovico. ‘How distressed your poor mother would be if she could see you!’

And Rosalia
, I thought.

‘This is a wicked city,’ the old man said, shaking his head. ‘But my sons tell me you did nothing to provoke the attack? They say you were just set upon in the street when walking home?’

They obviously had kept the de’ Medici connection from him.

‘That’s right, sir,’ I said. ‘But I’ll be all right. There is nothing broken – only bruised.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose,’ he said. He lowered himself into an armchair. ‘Eat, boy, eat,’ he said. ‘I’ve promised the cook to see you get it all down you. My word, but those eyes of yours will be all the colours of the rainbow in a few days.’

‘Thank you, sir, I will eat,’ I said.

‘And to think the Republic can do nothing to stop such violence,’ he went on, talking to himself as much as to me. ‘We should be able to make the streets safe for citizens or what’s the point of having rule by elected representatives? We might as well go back to the bad old days under Piero. But don’t tell anyone I said so, heh, Gabriele? Walls have ears and I must not be denounced as a traitor to the Republic. That would not be fair.’

Any more than it was fair for me to get beaten up as a de’ Medici supporter
, I thought. But I promised not to tell anyone.

Next day, when I felt rested, I got up and sat for a while in the courtyard garden. It was good to feel the warmth of the late September sunshine on my skin.

There was a slight commotion and Lodovico came bustling out into the courtyard looking very flustered (I could open my eyes a bit better by then).

‘Come indoors into the
salone
,’ he said. ‘Your master is here.’

‘From my
bottega
?’ I asked. It seemed most unlikely.

‘No, no,’ said Lodovico testily. ‘Your patron – Andrea Visdomini. He wants to speak to you. Get inside while I order up some decent wine from the cellar.’

When I arrived in the
salone
, Visdomini jumped to his feet and turned so pale I thought he was going to faint.

‘My poor Gabriele!’ he said. ‘They told me it was bad but this is awful! Your beautiful face.’

‘It looks worse than it is,’ I said.

‘Leone showed me his sketches,’ he said. ‘But it’s so much worse seeing it in reality.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t come and pose for him just yet but later in the week I could still come and model for Mars’s body. He doesn’t have to paint the bruises.’

‘Your body too!’ said Visdomini, his hand to his mouth. He held a scented handkerchief, as if he was trying not to be sick.

It was quite clear to me that he knew nothing about street fights; he had never been in one or witnessed one. And he seemed such a milksop I couldn’t help hoping he never did.

‘Show me,’ he said.

I was reluctant but he was looking at me very intensely and he was the man who gave me the money.

So it was that when Lodovico came back in with a couple of dusty bottles of wine followed by a servant with a tray of glasses, he found me with my shirt off and Visdomini looking at the array of colours around my ribs.

‘Ah, Ser Lodovico,’ he said easily. ‘I was examining the damage to my poor model. That was a bad beating he got.’

I had the curious feeling this was not the first time he had smoothed over the discovery of himself with a half-naked young man.

‘Indeed, indeed,’ said Lodovico, fussing round with the bottles. ‘It has come to something when a boy can’t walk home from his work unmolested.’

‘The time is coming,’ said Visdomini, ‘when Florence will again know peace in her streets.’

‘Again?’ said Lodovico. ‘When did she last know peace like that? Not in my lifetime.’

‘Well, under the de’ Medici, of course,’ said Visdomini stiffly. ‘Only with a rich and powerful family at the helm will we know such times again.’

I was willing Lodovico not to say anything more but he pulled himself together, remembering the allegiance of his guest.

‘Well, this wine is from Lorenzo’s time,’ he said, pouring a large glass for Visdomini and a smaller amount for me. ‘We can drink to his memory.’

That we could all do. Even Angelo would have joined in that toast. But I saw Visdomini eyeing me up as I scrambled back into my shirt and I wondered if Grazia had already told him I had been set upon as a de’ Medici supporter.