Vocies Part Three

'Weeks had gone by since this meeting, and still the legend's night-searches to the slums had made no progress. The places were hellish; black as a snake's stomach. Here were your authentic Renaissance slums – black squares and streets lit by fire, full of swirling smoke, arrant with all the dramaturgy of life: black lurking, back-stabbing mischief surrounding the bear pits, gambling joints, dive-bars, dens, knocking-shops, slophouses, and Middle Age speak-easys. Peopled by an inebriated mob, a sordid mash-up, abrouhaha, the hubbub of low life: the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, soldier, sailor, beggar-man, thief, and of course, hustlers, whores, and pimps..., And they were all under no law, but that of the Milanese warring rapscallion gangsters....

 'Leonardo did take up The Duke's offer of a few sharp blades – and needed to – who were tall and lean, and hard as crowbars, and openly displayed their full fighting kit. They were commanded to stay by The Master's side at all times. He was also often accompanied by his friend Luca Pacioli, and a couple of his closest servants. Night after night they entered and combed these ever darker and notorious street-sinks.... Sometimes they would pass a group of eyes that would fix on them. Eyes that measure your muscles, and weight of your purse. Life here, trapped under the foot of poverty, was short, mean, and violent. And although Leonardo was no stranger to all that is human, these searches still caused him to muse on his own good fortune, and how every life should have shape..., and should be marked by far more than the mere comings and goings of cradles and coffins....

 'Many times he felt wasps stings of doubt. He
wondered if he should compromise his ideal... this face of Judas, which he knew was somewhere out there, and who, he alone would recognize. But he
wasn't crazy about spending his, and his friend's time like this..., dragging them down into this rotten subterranean world every night. In search of what they probably thought was a mythical creature. He could, he mused, be getting on with The Gran Cavallo. If he could only settle for one of the scores of possibles they stumbled upon; the-almost-but-not-quites. But somehow he,could not settle for a face that was not right..., he had to hang in there. And this all brought him to wonder, not only at the strangeness of his own mind, but of the complexity of identity itself. Who we are.... It amazed him how human beings keep this nebula like identity all together.... Under the surface of every man there is a mass of conflicts, moods, and contradictions that we somehow manage to balance....

'As Leonardo and Ambrogio arrived at the Convent of Santa Maria delle Grazie they entered into the rather dark refectory. The Master stood contemplating his work in progress, while Ambrogio lit the large torches, and made up their pallets. They began work; touching up the almost -- but for the one missing face – finished picture. As they worked they sang, and recited verse, and talked, played word games. Ambrogio told The Master many jokes he had heard wandering minstrels tell, and The Master tested the boy on his knowledge, until they heard the striking of eight bells, when they stopped and ate a small meal, before their troupe of heavily armed bodyguards, arrived, ready for another night search, in yet another, dismal slum.

 'Fetid, fowl, insalubrious, and noxious were some of the more refined adjectives the group employed as they entered the very worst of the the slums, Wooden Town, situated outside the city walls. If the city had an anus, this was it.

 'The sky was getting mucky, as they left the
city. They entered the slum as a part of a thin stream of people, but were suddenly pulled and pushed into a thick press of a caroming mob that swept them along the street. Wild, exotic, faces and voices surrounded them – faces of unworldly features, some tattooed, and of many hues, but also many hooded and hidden faces like their own. The intimacy of so many sordid bodies gave off a stench that caused them to muffle their noses with cloths in fear of the plague.

 'Among the buzz of the mob The Master took in
the many cadences of speech: word-waggery, hard grinding talk, raw and sour remarks from sneering mouths.... He heard an exchange between two briny voices over his shoulder, that included one of those New World turn-of-phrases that was doing the rounds, both eccentric and outré: ''Are you hungry?''

 ''Hungry? Why, I could eat a Benedictine!''

 'Imagine that, thought The Master.

 'They were suddenly funnelled into a small
square, firelight threw absurd shadows on the swimming elephant-grey boarded walls. The place was full of hassle, and witchy yells and curses. There was a swelling air of murder and devilling full of cat-hidden-tension. They realised something horrific and public was about to take place, which they didn't want to be a part of. An old testament voice was proclaiming what sounded like a message from oblivion.

 ''They make their own entertainment here,'' one of the soldiers commented.

 'They managed, with the guards' help, to force
their way through to the other side of the square, where they turned a foot, and swung into a side street off a sided street. There they came upon the most saturnine looking den they had ever seen: The Smoky Porky, where inside, the soldiers informed them, narcotic fumes took men from themselves and the world....

 'After rapping on the heavy door, they were
confronted through a small square hole in the door by a large disgruntled looking face of a woman, who looked as if she was about to lay an egg. They informed her of no more than their search for a man, and bought entrance with threats and a small sum of money.

 'Sweet, earthy fumes like Pan-poop engulfed
them as they made their way down into a dank catacomb; a warren of low narrow passages, and tiny dirty cubicles, each containing prone, drugged, dreaming bodies. 'They began going from one to the other. Leonardo considering the faces of the dreamers, as they lay almost unconscious of the company's presence – the guards manhandling them – turning them over – when The Master couldn't rightly see them.

 'Then, hallelujah! they found him! This moment
would also make a wonderful painting – the scene frozen in time. The string of people around the supine body of Judas, barefoot and in rags. And at the centre, that eureka moment lit-up on Leonardo's face....

 'The Master sucked in breath when he set eyes
on him. The man was rank, stinking, blood and vomit splattered, an unnatural ball of filth. A black, black, beard, that absorbed all light, on a yellow bony face of slime, with a grim savage mouth that lied without speaking, and eyes that stole a slow half squint at them, then rolled to and fro. Yet, that one brief look was long enough for The Master to see it was indeed the eyes and face of his Judas. He could imagine this face like a paper cut-out, to be simply put into the empty space in his picture; the final missing piece to a puzzle.

 'Take him, nolens volens!' cried The Master,
and the guards sprang in to action, lifting the arms and legs of the limp body before steering him away.'

 'They carried the man back to Leonardo's studio. He was in such a state, The Master put him into the hands of the apprentices, who washed and tended the many sores on his body. 'They made up a bed for him on the raised platform, where the models pose. The man was barely conscious, and could scarcely hold down liquids. His eyes rolled like marbles in a shoebox. Both The Master and Ambrogio couldn't wait, and began some initial sketches as the wretch slept – albeit with closed eyes and a sagging mouth – they knew it was the live fish they really needed.

 'The next day was the same, though the man did
call for drink, and was given water, which he spat out in disgust. ''Wine! Wine!'' he sobbed loudly, as his eyes rolled away again. But Leonardo would
allow him no wine. He had poured enough screech down his throat. ''Every drink brings a man closer to the idiot – out of his gourd: unable to think, nor speak, nor walk?''

Time and patience, he thought, and ordered that the man should be taken to a chamber and watched-over while he slept, for he knew the power of this kind of thirst.

 'Leonardo as he listened to the man's wracked
sobs, felt a sudden closeness to this poor wretch – his darkness must be filled with such loneliness and fear... He thought back to his own troubles back in Florence..., but he ,luckily had come down handsome.... But what if he hadn't?
''Yes, we are all in this totality of life together: the dead, the living, and the unborn....'' What, he pondered, had brought this creature to such a
heartbreaking void? What had driven and cornered him into this cul de sac of self hate? Was it under some unbearable whip of loss or regret? He decided then and there, he would not return this man back into the teeth of hell they'd found him in. He would help him.

 'The following day the man awoke in the morning in a kind of delirium, pleaded in a rough and squeezed voice for wine again. But was given only water, which he drank, before crashing- out again into a long deep sleep. Those vales of sleep: the kingdom of retreat and renewal.

 'The next day the apprentices informed The Master that the man was conscious. He had slept eighteen hours. The Master ordered them to wash and dress him in Judas' toga, prepare food, and a place at the table on the platform, and ready the studio and lighting for a full day of drawing and painting.

 'An hour later everything was in place, each of the artists had paper and canvas, and a paint-loaded palette at the ready. The artists were circularly arranged around the model's platform, which was brilliantly lit with burning torches, with the light reflected and directed with an array of mirrors. Then the man was led-in on unsure but eager legs to the table of food, which he fell on like a wolf.

 'The artists worked quietly, while the man ate with gusto. He took several helpings, before he finally stopped, leaned back in his chair, and for the first time looked around him, and noticed the busy artists. He shaded his eyes from the bright light attempting to see them better....

 '''You are a guest, Sir.'' said Leonardo from
the darkness.

 '''I am?'' asked the clenched grimacing face.

 '''Yes, Sir, and as you can see I have taken
the liberty to employ you as a model, for which if you agree, you will be well paid for your time. Do you agree?''

 'The man looked out into the darkness,
fingering his black, black beard, has he thought for a moment. He smiled, and said '''I do indeed agree, but Sir, do you have wine?''

 '''Ambrogio!'' called The Master, ''bring some
wine for the gentleman.''

'Ambrogio left, and soon returned from the kitchen with a bottle, which Leonardo took from him, and walked into the bright light to give it personally to the man. The man stared at him, vis-a-vis, with a look of astonishment on his face.

 '''Oh! it is you, Master...,'' he said in a fretful voice, and pushed away the table and fell to his knees at The Master's feet.

 '''Master, please forgive me, I did not see you correctly... I... I...''

 '''You know me, Sir?'' asked Leonardo.

 '''But, Master Leonardo,'' he moaned, looking up into the artist's face, ''do you not know me...?''

 'Leonardo looked hard at the face of Judas (the face he had known before he even found it). He never forgot a face....

 '''No Sir, I do not.''

 '''But, Master... Master...'' the shocked face whimpered, ''I was your Jesus...!'''