And suddenly Johann knew where the recipe was hidden.
How could I have missed it?
A hoarse laughing fit overcame him. It was so simple! Leonardo had told him on his deathbed. Johann just hadn’t listened.
But it wouldn’t be easy to retrieve the treasure.
A short while later, Johann stood outside the closed city gate of Amboise. He had ridden as fast as he could in his condition—Henriet had beaten him half to death. He had briefly considered climbing the city wall somewhere, but he was too exhausted and weak. He felt paralyzed, as if Tonio’s curse had struck him once more. And so he had tied up his horse near town and now knocked against the small one-man door that was a part of the larger city gate facing the river. After a few moments, a hatch opened and the night watchman stared at him from tired eyes.
“Je suis fatigué et saoul comme un cochon,” garbled Johann, trying to appear drunk. He had pulled the hood over his head, hoping the watchman wouldn’t notice his beat-up face.
“Vous avez de l’argent?” grumbled the watchman.
Johann pulled out his purse and handed the man a few coins. The man grinned as he pocketed the money, then unlocked the door with a key. Johann walked hunched over and staggered as he entered. It wasn’t an act—his whole body ached from Henriet’s beating. He knew that drunken men were often allowed in late at night, so long as they had enough money.
“Merci,” he mumbled, then vanished into the next alleyway. His destination wasn’t far away. Faust would have expected Leonardo to be interred up at the castle, but the old man himself had once told Johann that he didn’t wish for a fancy funeral. Henriet had unwittingly told Johann where Leonardo had found his final resting place.
And now his body lies cold and stiff at Notre-Dame-en-Grève, even more stubbornly silent than when he was alive.
Notre-Dame-en-Grève was the small municipal church of Amboise, situated by the city wall. At its rear lay a fenced-in cemetery with a chapel. The church itself was a squat building that looked like it was part of the fortifications. Johann couldn’t see a soul around, only a solitary light burned up in the spire. He walked around the church and entered the cemetery, which reminded him of the graveyard in the town where he grew up. The tombstones and wooden crosses, many of them crooked, stood in rows, and at first glance Johann couldn’t see any fresh-looking graves.
Where are you, Leonardo?
Johann walked down the rows of tombstones and read the inscriptions by the light of his lantern. He saw that Amboise had a long history, but he found only the names of common burghers and tradesmen. Would one of the most famous men of his time really lie buried in such a plain cemetery? Johann’s eyes moved to the chapel; some candles flickered inside. The chapel was circular, with a dome like a byzantine church, and there were no glass windows, just narrow openings to let in some light. On its western side was a low door.
The day’s first lark chirped somewhere, and a faint pink veil covered the horizon. Johann guessed that he had less than two hours until sunrise. He walked to the door in the chapel and found that it was unlocked. Inside was a small altar adorned with flowers; a plain wooden cross hung above it, and candles burned on the windowsills.
On a slab of rock in the center sat a sarcophagus.
Johann could tell immediately that it was the sarcophagus of Leonardo da Vinci. Evidently, the old man had chiseled it himself from a block of marble during the last few months of his life. Leonardo’s image was carved into the rock, looking so vivid that Johann briefly thought the great artist was merely asleep. The statue wore a wide coat just like the one da Vinci used to wear when he was alive. Each fold in the fabric, each seam, was perfectly worked into the stone. Hair and beard gleamed white in the light of the candles, every strand and every individual hair chiseled to perfection. The hands were folded in prayer, the fingers studded with marble rings. Johann had never before seen such a beautiful and perfect gravestone.
And now he had to defile it.
He guessed the sarcophagus would remain in this chapel until the king returned to Amboise. Francis I would want to give his mentor a worthy send-off, but the difficulties around the election of the German king had kept him away so far.
Lucky for me.
Johann remembered seeing the grave digger’s pickaxe and handsaw outside the door. He fetched them and returned to the chapel, forcing the tip of the pick into the slit beneath the grave slab, trying to lever the slab aside. There was a crunching sound and the stone moved backward a tiny bit. Johann walked to the foot end of the slab and pulled with all his might. The marble slab was heavy. Sweat ran down his forehead, and the muscles of his arms felt as though he were being quartered, but eventually he had moved the slab enough to expose roughly a third of the opening. In the light of the candles he saw a plain wooden coffin underneath. It was made of thin spruce planks that would be easy to smash. Johann took a deep breath, preparing himself for the unavoidable stench of decay, and raised the pick.
Forgive me, Leonardo. But it was what you wanted, right? You told me yourself.
The wood splintered loudly—Johann hoped it wasn’t too loud. He placed the pieces of wood aside and gazed at the corpse.
What in God’s name?
How was this possible?
Leonardo had been dead for nearly two months. Johann had expected to find a
