CHAPTER 17 #2
His tone was calm and natural, with no sense of overstepping.
Hedy looked around at the cabinet and the bottom of the table, took a deep breath, and wrapped her arms around his neck.
The next moment, she was lifted off the ground, her entire body suspended in the air.
She was so light.
For a brief moment, Leonardo felt a strange sense of familiarity, as though dream and reality were overlapping.
The girl in his arms was still slightly trembling, her face buried in his shoulder.
The subtle, gentle fragrance of hyacinth lingered, and her long, ebony hair brushed against his cheek.
Such a strong and confident girl... also had things she feared.
He steadied her in his arms and softly reassured her, "I’ll take you out, don't be afraid."
Hedy refused to lift her head, awkwardly nodding in response.
For a moment, he was grateful for these mice—though he knew he’d need to set up more traps in the corners later.
They walked at a steady pace, neither too fast nor too slow, and it somehow lifted their spirits.
He carried her to the spacious, clean outdoors and gently set her down.
Hedy hesitated for a second before releasing her grip on his neck and letting out a long, relieved breath.
Da Vinci, using the old Italian and French methods, made three or four mouse traps, placing them in corners and under cabinets.
His clever mind could accomplish grand tasks like designing castles, but he was equally inspired when working on such small mechanisms.
Perhaps it was because the bait had been prepared with a strong meaty scent, as every morning he would find three or four mice caught in the traps, their dirty, semi-transparent tails limply dangling.
As for Miss Hedy, she made it clear that until these creatures were properly cleared, she’d rather spend the entire day writing papers in her bedroom.
Botticelli suggested, "Why not bring back a cat?"
Coincidentally, Michelangelo had a large white cat in his workshop, which had given birth to a litter two months ago. The noise from the kittens had caused such a ruckus that the artists had considered getting rid of them.
So, the men and the boys went over to select one, finding a little fluffy guardian for their mutual friend.
The kitten was named Alpha, but it showed no interest in the mice and preferred to sneak into the kitchen instead.
Hedy spent an entire week in her bedroom, study, and the backyard, writing papers with such efficiency that the people at the Florence Academy were left in awe.
So, Da Vinci borrowed a large black cat from his neighbor, and soon the sounds of mice shrieking filled the laboratory.
Though the big black cat didn’t seem particularly eager to clean up the bloodstains and fur, it was diligent in its hunting.
The Doge’s Palace became increasingly lively.
The black cat would chase and play with the little white cat, and they were sometimes followed by several young Medici boys and girls. The sound of chiseling echoed through the courtyard, like someone tirelessly chewing on a Napoleon pastry.
The lord was busy with trade negotiations with the Venetians, while the lady of the house began sponsoring more and more artists.
They were likely to move into the Palazzo Pitti this September, and Hedy planned to leave Florence around the same time.
She was still considering matters related to the Roman, and Atalante had written several letters back.
The letters were written in a mix of code and Italian, reporting on business while subtly probing into her current relationship with Leonardo.
"Everything is going well here—there are more and more festivities for the Carnival," the young man wrote with such earnestness that some of the ink even blurred. "My little son is so adorable—when are you coming back to see him?"
At the age of nineteen, being a father in this era didn’t seem particularly young. Hedy couldn’t help but chuckle when she replied to his letters, expressing that she would consider returning soon.
In Florence, she had purchased and organized several properties, and opened four or five workshops.
The pace of expansion, both in terms of scale and sales lines, was astonishing.
The managers were seasoned professionals, and the supervisory chain was clear and well-defined.
Sometimes, when Hedy counted her wealth, she would instinctively regret for a few seconds.
If she hadn't been so eager to liquidate that ring back then, it might have quietly rested in one of Da Vinci's workshop's hidden compartments.
But without that ring, she might have long since met her end in the streets without protection.
“Hedy? What are you thinking about?”
She snapped out of her thoughts and rejoined her friends’ conversation. “I spaced out for a moment—where were we?”
“Love at first sight—just like the stories in many knight’s tales and theater performances,” Michelangelo said with an unusually serious expression. “I still insist that this kind of connection between men and women is absurd.”
“But also quite natural,” Botticelli chimed in, swirling his wine glass. “People have an innate ability to recognize beauty, and falling in love at first sight isn’t all that extraordinary.”
Hedy took a sip of her wine, savoring the honeyed aroma of the oak barrels. “I don’t really believe in that.”
After all, appearances would inevitably age and deteriorate.
Today, one might fall for someone because of their looks, and tomorrow, the same reason could lead one to transfer their affection to someone else.
“It’s like listening to music,” Botticelli said, his tone more relaxed, a faint smile carrying a touch of nostalgia. “When you turn a corner and hear a violinist playing a long, lilting tune, even if you don’t know the name of the song, you’ll remember it for a long time.”
“When Simonetta appeared at the Medici Palace that day, many people were a bit flustered.”
“She was still holding her husband’s arm, looking reserved and youthful.”
“But Giuliano just stood there, staring at her, forgetting to take another sip of his wine.”
Hedy instinctively looked up and realized he was speaking calmly and with a sense of release about a past love.
It seemed like Botticelli had truly let go of many things.
Two or three years ago, he had been in pain, suppressed. Though his smiles and his cynical attitude had masked much, true relief seemed to be his real release.
When he spoke of Simonetta, it was as though he had returned to the most beautiful time, his tone softer and more gentle.
Leonardo noticed the shift in Botticelli’s tone, his expression growing somewhat complex.
"—At that time, I painted her portrait. Giuliano, before the knights' tournament, held it high and paraded around, even Lorenzo was watching her face," Botticelli sighed deeply. "Who wouldn’t fall for such a beauty?"
Michelangelo, somewhat surprised, instinctively spoke up, "But didn’t Plato discuss that only feelings between the same sex..."
"Are feelings between the opposite sex nothing more than base desire and sin?" Botticelli raised his knuckles and tapped the young man’s forehead. "If we just accept what the Church says, the Pope wouldn't have so many wives and children."
"Then why do Popes and bishops have illegitimate children?" Michelangelo protected his head, trying to understand some long-held confusion. "According to the doctrine, they shouldn’t be involved with women at all."
Hedy laughed and poured herself another glass of wine, slowly sipping it.
Morality had never been reliable.
When it was to people's benefit, it was that dazzling, bright flag, burning fiercely like fire.
But when it obstructed desire, it would be discarded like a worn-out shoe, and passersby might even step on it without thinking.
People in the Middle Ages opposed sex and love, opposed earthly pleasures and the liberation of human nature.
Five hundred years later, people still opposed many things, only now they replaced the sacred theology with what was called "moral correctness."
"Michelangelo, have you considered attending the Academy of Plato or the Florence Academy?" Leonardo suddenly asked. "Perhaps you could listen to what scholars are discussing these days."
"That’s a good suggestion," Hedy agreed. "I could write you a letter of recommendation."
The young man froze for a moment, then his expression shifted to one of hesitation. "But, Mr. Domenico..."
"We’ll just speak to him," Da Vinci said, pulling out a manuscript from his coat and handing it to Michelangelo. "This is a diagram of anatomy I’ve drawn. Perhaps you’ll find plenty of inspiration after seeing it."
"An... anatomy diagram?!" Michelangelo instinctively flipped through two pages, realizing that it was indeed a manuscript illustrating the dissection of the human body.
He instinctively wanted to throw away such a devilish thing but, as a painter, his professional habit couldn't stop him from glancing at a few more pages.
There were depictions of tendon breakdowns, as well as detailed muscle breakdowns of fingers and elbows…
No... I can’t look at this…
But it’s no wonder Mr. Da Vinci knows so much about the muscles around the neck. So this is what it looks like when this area is opened up...
Leonardo watched as the young man’s face alternated between pale and flushed, unable to hold back a chuckle.
"By the way," he raised his finger and suggested, "next time we have some free time, we should dissect a body together. I still don’t fully understand the muscles around the thigh."
Botticelli glanced at him with a look of indifference, then turned to Raphael. "You didn’t hear anything."
Little Raphael nodded honestly. "I didn’t hear anything."
So, Da Vinci really did bring back a corpse once again.
Since the genius had spent the past two years designing the cathedral in Milan, the desolate wild cemetery had become rather crowded, with rumors that all sorts of bodies—of various ages and physiques—could be found.