CHAPTER 13 #6
Dechio had dozed off in the bumpy ride, while Atalante tried playing a tune on the leaves.
Da Vinci glanced at the countryside scenery, then pulled out his sketchbook and started drawing quickly.
After listening to the sound of Atalante’s leaf playing, with splutters of spit flying, he leaned out of the carriage and casually picked a leaf from a wild orange tree. He lowered his head, adjusted the angle, and began to play a lively and pleasant folk tune.
Hedy, who had been aimlessly sorting her thoughts, snapped back to attention when she heard the tune. She gestured for him to pick a leaf for her as well.
Da Vinci leaned out again and plucked a leaf from an olive tree for her.
Atalante furrowed her brows, trying to figure out the trick to playing the leaves.
Hedy thought the task was probably as easy as whistling, so she mimicked him by holding the leaf with her hands and attempted to produce a series of interrupted sounds.
It took her a little longer to find the trick, but soon, with small adjustments of her tongue and fingers, she was playing the cheerful tune of Take Me Home, Country Roads.
The song, born in 1971, had a country flavor that was both classic and fitting for the moment.
Da Vinci tilted his head, listening to her rendition, and instinctively began to hum along.
The young man scowled and tried to blow out a couple of notes, but soon gave up, chewing on the leaf and spitting it out in frustration.
The journey lasted ten days, as leisurely as if they were attending a camping trip.
Da Vinci talked about the Jewish infant born on Good Friday this year, along with various other trivial matters from neighboring countries—like how Spain had a very young Secretary-General of the Papal Court, born into nobility at only eight or nine years old, and how the young daughter of the Duke of Ferrara had an impressive artistic sense, even inviting Botticelli to paint her portrait.
It was then that Hedy suddenly remembered her old friend who had left without a word.
Last Christmas, he had joined the master Perugino and traveled to Rome, both invited to work on the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel—a supreme honor, and arguably one of the highest recognitions for artists of this age.
When Botticelli returned and found that both of his friends had already left, he must have felt a bit disappointed.
"But..." Hedy turned to Da Vinci. "Do you still plan to paint?"
When she had worked as a maid, she had once tried to push the art history textbooks to include more vivid details.
Now, that seemed quite impractical—this gentleman’s interest in painting was hard to gauge.
It was said that he and his assistants spent an entire morning sorting through various engineering and mechanical drawings.
"Paint..." Da Vinci hesitated, then quietly admitted, "I will, but first I need to help solve the problem with the dome of the Milan Cathedral."
"I knew it," Hedy thought to herself.
They had bought a courtyard in Milan and hired a gatekeeper and maid. The courtyard was not far from the Milan Cathedral, and just five minutes' walk away was a bustling trade district.
Due to their somewhat difficult-to-explain status, after discussing it, Hedy and Da Vinci decided to present her as a noblewoman from the Medici family on vacation and traveling, with him as her hired artist, just like Dechio, one of her servants.
Their roles had indeed been reversed.
The courtyard was neither too large nor too small, with space for some hyacinths and fig trees. There was also a white dog that had been brought along to guard the place.
Hedy went out to buy some ducks and hens, and together with Da Vinci, they built two small nests in a corner.
Her thoughts on dog kennels were stuck in the images from Tom and Jerry, so when it came to making adjustments, she crafted a little wooden house.
As this beautiful woman hammered and worked, Da Vinci watched, puzzled but unable to stop himself from smiling.
She seemed to be able to do anything, and do it well.
When Hedy had fixed her broken door latch back then, she had no trouble cutting wood and hammering nails, handling everything so efficiently that Da Vinci could only stand by and pass her tools.
Though he wasn't sure why the dog needed such a small house, the little white dog wagged its tail, seemingly quite pleased with the new place.
And so, a fresh chapter of life began—one that was more organized and peaceful than before.
Milan, now, was a land untouched by war. People celebrated and partied through the nights, while schools and theaters sprang up like mushrooms after the rain. Despite the pressure from the ruling powers, there was an undeniable sense of joy in the air every day.
Hedy had made herself a calendar and would mark off the days with a cross every now and then. It was already May of 1483—how unbelievable.
She looked up and saw the ducks waddling by outside the window, shaking their tails. She couldn’t help but smile.
This life wasn't so bad at all.
Since Milan was now under the rule of the Sforza family, rather than the Medici, and given that they weren’t aware of her arrival, the surveillance and eyes everywhere had lessened significantly.
Hedy spent some time helping Dechio adjust to her regular "performance-watching" outings, and then she started taking her new maidservants on trips to explore more business opportunities, as well as gather more information.
Da Vinci always came back late, sometimes even in the middle of the night, clearly absorbed in his work on the Milan Cathedral. He had once again designed a lift more suited for working at great heights and personally took her to see it.
Though the cathedral still had no doors or ceiling, the grandeur of the place made one want to stand and stare for hours.
Countless white spires rose beside the cathedral like snow-capped pines, and stone bridges intertwined at the top, as if leading to heaven itself. Statues of saints, demons, and commoners stood above, bathed in the soft orange morning light, like detached beings filled with compassion.
It felt strange to enter without needing to buy a ticket.
As they walked through the square, Hedy instinctively glanced back at the nearby road.
Da Vinci noticed this and stopped, asking, “What are you looking at?”
It used to be here.
She turned back at the same angle and saw a sky-blue tram.
The ice cream stand was not far off, and there were people selling pigeon feed and balloons.
But now, everything had changed—everything and everyone was no longer the same.
“Nothing,” she said, looking ahead again, and continued walking alongside him.
The massive altar was illuminated by the brilliant stained glass windows to the north, and a red lamp hung at a height of several dozen meters, casting its light upon the legendary relics.
It was said that one of the three holy nails that had been used to crucify Jesus was carefully preserved on this high platform.
"I’ve created a sufficiently stable lift, so the bishop can take it out during mass—only three days a year," Da Vinci explained in a lower tone, pointing out the unfinished mural beside them. "Which one looks better, this one or my painting?"
Hedy smiled as she looked at him, responding with a teasing question, "Sir, when did you start painting?"
Da Vinci flashed a knowing smile. "Tomorrow, tomorrow I will certainly paint."
She followed him as they examined the murals and sacred images, constantly comparing them to her memories.
The gilded crucifixion scene of Jesus had not yet been hung, and the massive organ with thousands of pipes didn’t exist yet. The stained-glass windows displayed countless scenes of the saints, while craftsmen were carefully completing the reinforcement work.
"That area is off-limits," he said, pointing to a side room. "There are places where only the cardinal can enter."
"It’s fine. I’ve already explored it the last time I came," Hedy replied with a knowing smile.
She had originally wanted to ask him more about the final design of the dome, but stopped herself.
He might create an even more perfect piece.
When going out on her own, Hedy had gradually started hearing valuable information at gatherings and taverns.
For instance, the women here still held a higher social status and were treated with more respect.
It seemed that this had always been the case—wherever economies grew more prosperous, ideas and cultures became more open and advanced.
The decaying dogmas and restrictions lost their power, and the status of women gradually improved.
People from all over drank beer, discussing political and military rumors. Some even told crude jokes, provoking laughter from the cooks and serving girls.
The young black-haired beauty leisurely enjoyed her caramelized apple while listening to an interesting piece of old gossip.
The previous Sforza lord, the father of the current young ruler, had a particular penchant. He not only had many mistresses but also enjoyed seducing the wives of his friends.
One young man’s sister was seduced and then discarded, which led him to gather two other men who shared his hatred of the lord. Together, they assassinated him at the Church of St. Stephen.
Now, the young lord was caught up in indulgence and pleasure, leaving all the power to his newlywed guardian, Ludovico Sforza.
Whereas in Florence, people would address him with fear as "Lord," here in the tavern, people preferred to call him "the Moor." With his dark hair and eyes, resembling that of the Moors, he didn’t mind the nickname at all.
The word "moor" also sounded like "moro," which means mulberry tree in Italian. Thanks to his progressive policies, the number of people who adored him in Milan was growing, and even the mulberry green had become the trendy color—so much so that even the tavern curtains were made of it.