In Bed With Lord Byron

since, well, Leonardo. But he merely let out a long, long sigh and said, ‘Oh dear. Oh dear.
Oh
dear
. He has the face of an angel. His heart is sweet as honey. But his painting is akin to a donkey’s. A blind donkey’s.’
    I tingled with outrage. OK, so I was never going to be a real Leonardo, but come on, I had been on Tony Hart.
    ‘Well, just keep him on and let him mix your paints if he charms you so,’ Bramante said. His tone was paternal now, tender and affectionate with amusement.
    ‘I cannot afford to. I have all these bills to pay, paints to purchase. If I have an apprentice, he must get commissions, it is as simple as that. Unless a miracle happens and it rains
money from heaven, I shall have to let him go.’
    iii) A patron
    The following day was a Big Day. We were going to the court of Duke Ludovico Sforza, whom Leonardo longed to enlist as his main patron.
    We spent the morning getting dressed in our most elegant gear. Leonardo was great fun in that respect. He had a genuine love for clothes; being with him was just like going shopping with my
sister. He insisted on lending me a new tunic and hose and sent me to change behind the screen, trying on different outfits in mauve, fuchsia and emerald green. The only thing that made me nervous
was the bandage wrapped around my breasts. It was beginning to fray, and once I even glanced down to see one had popped out and was swelling beneath my tunic, but luckily Leonardo didn’t
notice before I dashed behind the screen.
    Leonardo himself put on his favourite pink tunic, a fur-lined coat and boots made from Cordova leather.
    ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I must just scent my hands.’
    I had learnt by now that this was one of Leonardo’s most fastidious habits: he liked to dip his hands in rosewater and then rub lavender oil into them. As I watched him affectionately, I
felt my heart screw up into a ball of sadness. I didn’t want to be sent home. It wasn’t even that I wanted to seduce Leonardo any more, though I was certainly aching for his kisses; I
just liked hanging out with him.
    As though sharing my thoughts, Leonardo turned and gave me a poignant glance. Then he sighed and said, ‘Here, try the blue tunic again. You do look so utterly ravishing in it, my dear boy
. . .’
    In the early afternoon we set off for Duke Ludovico’s. I was carrying a saddlebag containing a notebook and a prospectus. I noticed that Leonardo seemed nervous. He shoved his hands in his
pockets, and his step became bouncy to the point of erratic.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ I reassured him. ‘The Duke must know what a wonderful painter you are. I’m sure he’ll give you a commission. Perhaps he’ll ask you to
paint his portrait!’
    ‘It’s not a painting that I wish for!’ he exclaimed, impatient, almost angry in his nerves. ‘I wish to impress the Duke as a manufacturer of tanks, mortars and bombards.
In short, I wish to become his chief engineer.’
    ‘You what?’ I stammered in disbelief. Yes, in my
Idiot’s Guide to da Vinci,
there had been a mention of Leonardo’s notebooks, his famous sketches and inventions,
so ahead of their time. But the book had suggested they were more of a hobby, like my love for Scrabble, or Anthony’s predilection for squash.
    ‘But Leonardo,’ I went on, trying to think of a gentle way to tell him he was being an idiot, ‘erm – look, you’re known as a painter, aren’t you?’
    ‘I am not,’ said Leonardo stubbornly. ‘I left Florence and came to Milan as a musician. On my first entry into court I played the lute. They were impressed, but not that
impressed,’ he reflected bitterly. ‘I will always be a Florentine here, an outsider looking in.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘But nothing. I have plans for a magnificent flying machine.’ His eyes gleamed with passion. ‘The Duke cannot fail to be impressed.’
    The Duke’s palace was lavish. We were shown into a large hallway where members of the court were drinking and gossiping. Leonardo didn’t need to point the Duke out.
Aside from the fact that he was sitting on a throne, he exuded an air of power. He was dark-complexioned, with a double chin and a burly physique. A girl was pouring a drink for him and he was
flirting with her. As he glanced up at us, I noticed a carnal glint in his bloodshot eyes. I recalled that Leonardo had told me that
sfrozare
meant to force sexually. Clearly the Duke was
Sforza
by name and
sforza
by nature.
    ‘Duke Ludovico Sforza,’ one of