12
Rome
“Name?”
“Leonardo da Vinci.”
“Where from and where are you staying?”
“We are coming from Milan by way of Florence. I have quarters being prepared for me at the Belvedere in the Vatican—by order of the Pope. Now, young man, let us pass.”
The guard at the Porta del Popolo changed his manner. He dropped his halberd and motioned to the other guards to let the riders through. He touched his helmet roughly and with a grin he said,
“I’m sorry, Sire—but you know how it is. All these people—there’s bound to be them that we don’t want here. Go ahead, your Excellency. Make way there!”
With these words he laid his spear against a jostling group of broad-hatted pilgrims blocking the entrance to the city of Rome.
Leonardo heeled his horse and with Francesco de’ Melzi at his side, followed by his servant and students, pushed past the crowd at the gate. To the left rose the Pincio hill with its stately pines where, in the days of Imperial Rome, Lucullus had walked in his gardens. But Leonardo had no time to look about. It was a damp December day, and rain threatened from the gray skies. He was tired, and as Francesco glanced at him he could see Leonardo pull his cape around him with a little shiver as the chill wind stirred the long, graying hair on his shoulders. They made their way through the crowded, noisy city. They crossed the Tiber and rode past Castel’ Sant’ Angelo, the papal fortress built on the tomb of Emperor Hadrian. After another inspection by the Swiss guards in beribboned uniforms of white, green and gold under their shining breastplates, they entered the walls of the Vatican. That evening after he had settled himself in the Belvedere apartments and dinner had been eaten, Leonardo, gazing into the embers of the fire, looked back over his new stroke of fortune.