Moby Jack & Other Tall Tales (4 page)

‘You know the value of numbers. Three—the Perfect Harmony.’

‘Or union of unity and diversity...’

‘Both. And here we have the perfect number—three threes.’

‘Angels, cherubim, seraphim,’ said Niccolò. He began to arrange them in a large circle on the marble floor. ‘As you see,’ he continued as he worked, concentrating, not looking up at da Vinci, ‘they are also an interlocking puzzle. Each angel fits into another, but only one other. You will notice that the pattern of the marble flows through the figures, like an ocean current, following the holy circle. I defy you to find where the pattern begins and where it ceases, for it is one continuous flowing band.’

‘Marvellous...’ Niccolò heard the High Priest breathe.

There were angels of every kind, some nude, some clothed in flowing robes, some wielding swords of justice. There were seraphim brandishing spears of truth, and cherubim with little wings, drawing on cupid bows with tiny arrows.

‘But look closely my lord, at the features...’

The High Priest did as he was bid.

‘...
every
one of them,’ continued Niccolò, ‘has your face, when you were a young and beautiful youth.’

There was silence in the room for a long time.

Finally, da Vince walked past his prisoner, looked down on the multitude of marble figures at his feet, all bearing his features from a time when he was at his most handsome.

‘Superb,’ he whispered, stroking the one in his hand lovingly. ‘Wonderful—’ But then he cried out, as if in pain, as he plucked a cherub from the holy ring.

‘There ’s one with a broken wing,’ he cried.

A guard near to Niccolò moved uncertainly, as if he believed he was expected to do something about his master’s anguish, but da Vinci held up a withered arthritic hand.

Niccolò spoke quickly.

‘An accident, father.
I shall carve another to replace it. I brought enough of the marble with me to carve three more statuettes, should it be necessary.’

‘But the patterns...?’

‘I can match them. As a sculptor of figurines I have no equal, save yourself in the days when your joints were supple. I am you, when you were younger, without your arthritis.’

Once more the middle-aged man studied the statuette, minutely, weighing it in his hands. Then he picked up another and did the same.

‘This is truly a great work of art,’ he said when he had finished, ‘but I shall have them inspected closely before I allow them into my chambers. After all, you may have hidden a spring-loaded trap amongst them? One of those cherubs perhaps,
lets
loose its arrow as I hold it up to my eye?
Or some devious device to administer poison?
Perhaps if I pricked my finger on one of those spearpoints?
I have lived so long, because I am without trust.’

‘It is part of your genius.’

‘Which has rubbed off on you, it seems.’

‘Am I not my father’s son?’

Da Vinci placed a hand on Niccolò’s head.

‘You are indeed. You took a great risk coming here, to give me these. I almost had you beheaded before I saw you. There are many plots against me. Many. But there was something very audacious in the manner in which you
expected
an audience. I was curious to see you before you died.’

‘Am I to die, my lord, for being your loyal son?’

Da Vinci snorted.

‘Don’t put too much faith in flesh and blood. You can’t prove I’m your father, and it means nothing to me anyway. There are a thousand like you, by women whose faces I hardly looked at.’

He paused and strolled across the room.

‘However, you have, as you say, great talent—no doubt inherited from me. I am an artist too. A genius. I have decided to let you live, at least until you carve the last figure. What use is three hundred and thirty-two?
A broken circle?
It must be 333—all with
my
face. Go down from the tower, find your marble, and do the work. Once you have completed your task, we shall see if you are to live.’

‘I understand, my lord.’

The High Priest then said to his guards, ‘When you take him down, send me up a
stone mason
. I want to construct a raised circular platform, to display these pieces.’

They then led Niccolò away.

They released Romola, and she found Niccolò. He was pleased to see her. She had holes in her hands and feet, where they had tortured her, trying to extract some kind of confession. She knew the ways, knew the limits, having been one of them herself. She professed a profound hatred for her old master, wishing he would rot in hell for his treatment of her.

‘I sent him a message, telling him I was in the dungeon, and he ignored it for the first few hours, knowing they would torture me.’

She went with Niccolò and watched him, as he spent the next week, carving the final figure to complete the circle. As he worked, he told her what had passed between his father and himself, high in that room above the world. They were staying at an inn, on the far side of the river. Accommodation for those not directly connected with guarding the Tower was on the north bank, while the Tower itself stood on the south bank. It was another safety measure, to protect the High Priest. All river traffic ceased at sundown, and anyone found on the south bank, after dusk, was immediately put to death.

‘When we were out in the desert,’ she told him, ‘I often wondered... well, why didn’t you bring the statuettes by river, on a barge? Why risk that terrible journey over the wasteland?’

Niccolò had left the carving of the facial features until last, and this he had completed within the last five hours of close work. He held the statuette up to the light coming through the dusty window, inspecting it. The piece, as always, was pristine, immaculate. It would fit, patterns matching exactly, into its place in the holy ring of angels. It was the sibling of the other 332 figurines—with one exception.

Instead of da Vinci’s youthful countenance, it had the face of a monkey. Worse still, a monkey whose features resembled those of the High Priest.
A cruel caricature.

He wrapped the statuette in a piece of cloth, before she could inspect his final work, and answered her question.

‘The river is crowded, full of his agents and spies. I know how fanatical they are. I knew I could convince
him
, once I was here, but they would never have allowed me to reach this far. Besides, one is only permitted to carry agricultural goods by river craft, unless one bears the authority of the High Priest. I had no such authority. They would have killed me simply on suspicion, before I reached the Tower.

‘The river is a deadly place, as you know. Then there are the pirates...I stood far more chance of being murdered on the water, than I did of dying of hunger or thirst out on the sands.’

‘That’s true, and it’s also true that you could cross the desert relatively undetected, until you came within sight of the Tower, of course. Yet...you

took
me along with you, knowing the risk. I might have been one of his spies.’

He stared at her.

‘Yes, you might. I think you were—and still are. It is fascinating, and horrifying to me, that people like you are prepared to go through torture for the sake of discovering his enemies. It’s a enigma I don’t think I shall ever solve... but I am glad for my father’s sake that he has his devoted servants.’

‘You wrong me,’ she said, looking into his eyes.

‘No,’ replied Niccolò, ‘I don’t think so. You are still besotted with the mystique of the man, and you think that if you can uncover some plot against him, he will reinstate you, and you’ll return to his favour. You have been blinded, Romola, but I shall restore your sight.’

Niccolò dispatched the statuette to da Vinci by courier. Then he asked Romola to walk down to the river with him, so that they might cross, and gain audience with the High Priest, once that man had had time to gaze upon the final figurine.

On their way down to the river, Niccolò said to her, ‘You have been asked to guard me, haven’t you?’

She stared at him,
then
nodded.

‘Yes. That’s why they let me out of prison.’

‘I thought so. Da Vinci would never let me run around loose, of that I was sure. So it had to be you.’

They reached the jetties, and waited for a boat to
come which
would carry them across.

A short while afterwards a barge came down the river with a giant man at the tiller. He had a gentle face, a good face, and he was wearing a knitted waistcoat that looked new. When his boat reached the jetty he clambered ashore. The Holy Guardians swarmed over his craft, inspecting every spar, every beam, before allowing the dockers to unload his cargo. The only goods
permitted to be carried
by river barge were food and drink, and if you were found with any other freight you were executed on the spot, no excuses accepted. The big man nodded to the two people who watched him amble past them.

When the big man returned, his barge had been unloaded, and his craft stood high in the water.

‘Will you take us across?’ asked Niccolò.

‘Two sesterces,’ growled the giant.

‘Agreed.’

The three of them boarded the barge, and the giant raised the lateen sail, and the craft caught the current. They headed downriver, towards the sea.

Romola looked puzzled, stared at the far shore, then into Niccolò’s face.

‘Where are we going?’ she snapped.

‘Away from here,’ answered Niccolò.

‘Out to sea?’

‘Yes. We shall be island-hopping for as long as necessary, staying one jump ahead of da Vinci’s people, I hope.’

She nodded towards the giant at the tiller, with his knitted waistcoat and benign expression. Romola became angry, clenching her hands, making them into fists. Niccolò stepped away from her, warily.

‘The two of you are together—conspirators?’ she said.

‘We came to help da Vinci destroy himself, and now we are making our escape. Now, I realise you’re an ex-soldier, and I still have the lumps to prove it, but my friend Domo here,’ he indicated the giant, ‘is not an effete artist. He could snap you in two, like a twig, so no violence please.’

She stared at Domo, who smiled broadly. He did indeed appear to be a man of enormous strength, and while all three of them knew Romola would put up a spirited fight, the outcome could not be in doubt. Especially since Domo had a wicked-looking baling hook in his free hand.

Niccolò said, ‘We don’t want to kill you, Romola—at least, I don’t, though gathering from the looks Domo has been giving me, he thinks I am a fool, and jeopardising our mission. I’m afraid you got under my skin, out there in the desert, and I’ve fallen in love with you. However, if you try anything, anything at all, Domo will kill you where you stand, and throw you to the fish. Is that understood? I shall be unable to prevent him, or help you.’

She stood a long while, as if weighing up the situation, and then turned her head.

The craft eventually reached the ocean, and Domo set a course for the outer islands, behind which the sun was settling for the night. Niccolò stood in the bows, watching the prow cut through the water as the wind carried them westwards, into the red glow of the evening. When it was almost dark,

Romola came and stood beside him.