Leonardo da Vinci: Renaissance Master by Ann Hood Page A

Ficino . . .”
    â€œBut who are these men?” Maisie asked.
    â€œArtists, thinkers,” Sandro said, moving to join the circle. “They make up the court of Lorenzo the Magnificent.”
    Maisie hung back a moment, taking in the sight of the court of Lorenzo the Magnificent, lit in an amber glow. There were times, like this one, when she had the strong urge to stay in the past. The complications of home seemed far away, and this life here in the Renaissance, filled with artists and dukes and all sorts of wonder, seemed more interesting and exciting.
    She fingered the seal in her pocket. This wasn’t the first time she’d considered keeping it to herself. Maisie knew that at some point soon, like always, Felix would get homesick and want to return. But if she didn’t have the seal . . .
    Glancing around the courtyard, Maisie saw a large terra-cotta urn, its handles shaped like twisting figures along each side. She walked over to it and casually dropped the seal inside, listening with satisfaction as it landed with a pleasing
plink!
Then she moved into the circle of men.
    As soon as Maisie arrived, one of the men frowned, a look of worry crossing his face. He stepped away from everyone, staring hard at Maisie.
    â€œYou—” he said, pointing at her, even though Lorenzo was talking.
    Everyone became silent, and turned to also stare at Maisie.
    â€œYou are . . . ,” The man paused, his eyebrows now shooting upward. “Dangerous . . .”
    â€œIt’s the night before Carnival,” Piero said. “You’ve already put a damper on the evening by telling us right off that it was an inauspicious date for a gathering. Now you’re picking on our poor young visitor.”
    â€œI only say what is in the stars,” Signor Ficino said. “And the stars tell me that there is trouble tonight.”
    â€œI’m not bringing any trouble,” Maisie said.
    Signor Ficino glared at her.
    â€œYou are . . . ,” he said again. “You are . . . other!”
    A woman’s voice cut through the ominous pronouncement.
    â€œYes, Signor Ficino,” the woman said, gliding through the courtyard in a heavily embroidered red dress. “She is
other
. We’re called women, in case you didn’t know.”
    The men laughed in embarrassment.
    Except Signor Ficino.
    He continued to stare at Maisie with a combination of horror and curiosity.
    â€œClarice!” Lorenzo said, taking the woman’s hand in his and kissing it as he bent into a dramatic bow.
    Up close, Clarice had the strangest shade of yellow hair—not blond, but yellow—and a high forehead that showed tiny dots where hair had been plucked from its natural beginning to way back on her head. Overall, the look, combined with a pasty-white face covered in powder, was creepy. But when Clarice smiled at Maisie, she softened a bit, and Maisie realized that Clarice was only a little older than her. And already married!
    â€œMy husband has the oddest friends,” Clarice whispered to Maisie with a giggle, as she kept her hand drooping in the air and one by one each man bent to kiss it.
    Except Signor Ficino.
    He did not take his eyes from Maisie.
    â€œLeonardo?” Clarice said, glancing at the people gathered.
    â€œLate,” Sandro answered.
    â€œI so wanted him to play his lute for me,” Clarice said with a small pout. “And to sing me a song.”
    â€œPerhaps after dinner,” Lorenzo said.
    Clarice sighed. “I suppose I have no choice.”
    To Maisie’s surprise, Clarice took her hand.
    â€œYou will sit next to me,” Clarice announced. “And you can tell me how you got such beautiful hair and skin.”
    Maisie smiled as she and Clarice walked hand in hand to the banquet table.
    But Signor Ficino grabbed her by the shoulder, pressed his lips to her ear, and whispered, “
Where
are you