In Bed With Lord Byron

‘Have you come to steal my ideas? My lute, my canvases, you impudent thief . . .’
    ‘No, no, no,’ I cried. I jumped to my feet and came round the other side of the screen. Immediately Bramante, though he was much bigger than either me or Leo, stepped backwards
fearfully, but Leonardo continued to brandish his sword, his eyes narrowed. He looked so different from the cute boy I had seen earlier. Now he looked all of his thirty years, and more. I was
frightened; I wanted to go home.
    ‘I think your
Virgin of the Rocks
is the greatest painting I have ever seen,’ I cried, falling to my knees. ‘I’ll sweep your floors, I’ll wash your clothes,
I’ll do anything just to work with a genius like you.’
    ‘I see.’ Leonardo put the sword down and folded his arms. ‘Get up then.’
    I stood up shakily, brushing down my tunic, smoothing down my hair. As he looked me over, I lowered my eyes, terrified that some tiny little thing was going to give away my femininity. But
Leonardo seemed pleased with what he saw.
    ‘Da Liza. It is a strange name,’ he said. ‘What province are you from? Not Milan, I presume, with a name like that?’
    ‘I – ah – I come from near Florence,’ I said, hoping the mention of Leonardo’s birthplace might show him how much we had in common. But he only looked rather
suspicious – he probably knew the area well. Damn. ‘But my mother was half Finnish, one quarter Italian, and one quarter Spanish and my father half Australian and half German and so my
name and roots are very complicated.’
    Leonardo and Bramante looked completely confused; I could almost see the cogs whirring in their minds.
    ‘So have I got the job?’ I asked brightly.
    ‘I am not really looking for an apprentice,’ said Leonardo. ‘I am planning to set up a studio, but have only just arrived in Milan. At the moment I am lodging here, in the
parish of San Vincenzo; I have no spare rooms for an apprentice.’
    ‘I’ll sleep on the floor, I’ll—’
    ‘You need not do that,’ Leonardo laughed. ‘We could put a pallet in this room,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘and you could sleep in the corner . . . We could draw the
screen around you.’
    ‘Leonardo, do you not think that you should ask this young man if he has a prospectus of his talents?’ Bramante asked sharply. I frowned, detecting jealousy in his voice.
    ‘
Do
you have a prospectus?’ Leonardo addressed me. ‘A recommendation, perhaps, from your last master?’
    A prospectus? The last time I had a prospectus was when I was applying to go to university.
    ‘Erm, it kind of got lost . . .’ I muttered, squirming as Bramante pierced me with a suspicious frown.
    But to my surprise, Leonardo said, ‘Fair enough. Paint something for us. Here is the easel, here some pencils. Let us see you sketch and paint a little.’
    For a moment I panicked. The last time I had really painted anything had been when I was eight years old. I’d done a lovely brown dog and had sent it in to Tony Hart’s art programme
and my picture had been shown on TV. I remember that I boasted to all my friends until the entire playground hated me.
    ‘Well, I’m a bit rusty, but here goes,’ I said, swallowing.
    I decided to paint my brown dog again, feeling somehow it was lucky. But I must admit, I was a little out of practice, and in my nervousness my paintbrush shook a good deal. Five minutes later I
decided to put down the brush, feeling that the more I went on, the worse it would get.
    Now for the verdict.
    Bramante stared at it as though I’d just painted a turd. Come to think of it, it did look rather like a turd.
    Leonardo’s face was inscrutable. He frowned, clucked his tongue, stepped back from the picture and narrowed his eyes, came up close to it and peered at every stroke. My fingers twisted
into the hem of my tunic in tension. Oh God, I thought, here goes. I’m going to be thrown out.
    Then he turned and looked me up and down as though I was a painting. To my complete shock, he cried, ‘Very well, then. You’re my new apprentice! Will you accept a wage of two
soldi
a day?’
    ‘Erm, well, yes, that is my usual going rate,’ I said.
    ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Bramante muttered. He said his goodbyes and left, shaking his head. I had to curl my hand to stop myself from giving him a V sign. But hey,
I’d just been taken on as an apprentice by the world’s most famous artist. Ha – I’d always known my brown dog was lucky.
    The