David by Mary Hoffman

appropriate human model for an idea he or Leone wished to see completed.
    Chief among the friends who came crowding into the studio was de’ Altobiondi. For the first time, he registered my existence.
    ‘Your painter has caught the likeness well,’ he told Visdomini, looking at me and the canvas by turns. ‘But where did you find such a Hercules in our inferior times?’
    ‘In the Via del Proconsolo,’ said my patron, laughing. ‘See, he has the muscles to kill a lion with his bare hands. Show him, Gabriele.’
    He made me roll up my sleeves and make fists to show off my arm muscles. I burned with the humiliation but put all my anger into clenching my fists with a realism that came from the desire to smash them into Altobiondi’s face.
    ‘A magnificent specimen,’ said Altobiondi, just as if his friend had shown him a new hunting dog or hawk.
    ‘Your wife certainly thought so’ was on the tip of my tongue, but I had no desire to be run through by the blade Altobiondi carried openly on his belt, so I kept quiet.
    They didn’t stay long. Visdomini had been keen to show off his pet painter, the handsomely equipped studio and his tame Hercules, but once his friends had shown they were sufficiently impressed, they were keen to get back to whatever business they had upstairs.
    ‘Nobles!’ said Leone, hefting the coins the departing visitors had pressed on him.
    I had come in for my share of largesse as well and it was all going to go into my stock under the mattress – my wedding fund, as I was beginning to think of it.
    But we both gave a bit to Grazia, who was surprised and thankful.
    ‘You don’t have to,’ she said. ‘I do only what I get paid for.’
    ‘So do we,’ said Leone, and I saw for the first time that he was as much a servant as was the waiting-girl or the artist’s model. ‘They make me sick, with their fancy clothes and their airs and graces and their belief that God put them on the earth to get others to do their will.’
    These were revolutionary thoughts. I looked round to check that none of Visdomini’s friends had lingered behind to ogle the pretty servant – or me – but we were safe.
    ‘Are you against the noble families then?’ I asked in a low voice.
    ‘I don’t know why any working man would think differently,’ he said, looking at me disapprovingly. ‘Even though I am dependent on their patronage.’
    ‘I feel the same,’ I said, the coin that Altobiondi had almost thrown at me burning in my palm. ‘I am a republican.’
    ‘But your friends in San Procolo are Medici men,’ said Leone.
    We seemed to have stopped work and Grazia was listening to us intently.
    ‘The sculptor had a patron too,’ I said. ‘Lorenzo de’ Medici. And he had good cause to be grateful to him. But he became a supporter of Savonarola and so did at least two of his brothers. Indeed the oldest one is still a friar at San Marco.’
    The name had been said. Leone looked round as if the walls might have ears.
    ‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Are you a piagnone ?’
    I nodded. The painter came and clasped my hand.
    ‘We will not talk more of it here,’ he said. ‘But it gladdens my heart to know that you and I are on the same side.’
    He glanced at Grazia. ‘You will keep our secret?’ he asked her. ‘Working people should stick together.’
    ‘Then you should know what’s going on upstairs,’ she said. ‘I hear things as I bring them their wine. Which I must go and do now. The master won’t like me to linger down here with you two when rich men might need food or drink.’
    ‘What is going on upstairs?’ I asked. ‘What have you heard?’
    ‘They want the de’ Medici back,’ she said.
    ‘Everyone knows that,’ said Leone. ‘They think the return of the family means the return of wealth to their pockets.’
    ‘But what are they doing about it?’ I asked. This was my chance to find out the details of the plot.
    A bell rang in the distance and Grazia jumped up,