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1x01
The Hanged Man

Will you smoke with me,
Da Vinci?

Well, that depends
on what's in the pipe.

It is a mixture of tobacco
and black hellebore

and is rumored
to induce visions

and summon demons.

Well, I believe in neither.

Then why do you struggle so
hard to keep both at bay?

History is a lie that has
been honed like a weapon

by people who have
suppressed the truth.

The knowledge you are
destined to learn

will upend the established
order of things.

How could you possibly
know that?

You have heard the phrase
'Time is a river'?

Yes.

What most fail to grasp is
that the river is circular.

One man's death opens a doorway

to the birth of the next.

Would you like to know how

this particular doorway opened?

Yes.

Be forewarned, then.

Some doorways
lead into darkness.

Out you go, boy.
Get on with you!

Go on! Go on!

Cicco!

- What day is it today?
- Palm Sunday.

Oh, balls.

The Duchess and your children
are already at the church.

Could you round me up
some coddled eggs?

I have a beastly hangover and
my bowels are in a tumble.

I'll be dressed
in but a minute.

At ease, people, I've arrived!

Be gone, you artless fuckwit.
This is my moment.

And thanks to
the Secret Archives,

it's the last you
will ever enjoy!

Ah!

Tell me a secret, Leonardo.

What was your...
earliest memory?

Or better yet,

your greatest fear?

In my case...

the two go hand-in-hand.

I was... um...

I was six months old.

No-one remembers
back that far.

Well, perhaps I'm unique, then.

- Oh.
- My mother... um...

...put me in a cradle
out in the field.

And a falcon flew down.
I can still recall it.

It just perched there,
looking at me

almost as if it were
trying to reveal

some kind of mystery.

My mother drove it away.

Yet, as clear as
that memory is,

the one thing I
can never recall...

is my mother's face.

I can draw anything I've
seen, even in passing.

But when it comes to my
mother, all I see is a void.

She disappeared that night
and I've been...

trying to recall her face
ever since.

All men are searching
for their mothers.

That's what guides you
between our thighs.

I pay you to pose, Vanessa.

Not to plumb the innermost
depths of my character.

If you expect me to bare
my figure for you,

I expect you to bare
your soul in return.

So, tell me, is there
nothing else you fear?

Only imperfection.

Maestro! Maestro!

You're late, Nico.

You're late. Verrocchio's
been looking for you.

Well, he can wait. We've an
experiment to conduct.

You're meant to play
a principal role in it.

- Come on!
- Hello.

They're called breasts, Nico.
Every woman possesses them.

Nico!
That's Vanessa.

She's newly liberated from
the Convent of St Anthony.

Now help me do this.

Climb into that harness.

Hey today,

we are attempting to
ascertain whether or not

this kite can provide the
necessary wind resistance

to support your weight.

Well, Maestro,
what if it can't?

Vanessa, do you mind just
dancing about for a moment?

You see? Those
weighted ribbons

allow me to calculate
the strength

and direction of the wind.

In this case, I would say...
it's about 20 knots

and shifting...

westerly.

Ha ha ha!

Yah!

Wait, Maestro! What if your
calculations are wrong?

Wait, wait, Maestro! Oh,
Maestro, please, please stop!

Oh, wait, Maestro.
Maestro!

Ha ha ha!

Oh, my God, please!

Aaa-aaargh!

Yes!

You're flying, Nico!

Maestro-o-o!

It's perfect!

Uh. Uh.

You're too high! Not so high.

Nico!

It works! It works, Maestro!

I never had any doubts.

Oh, God,
I hate this place.

What? Where else could we
practice our flights

but in Florence?

Anywhere else, we'd just be
burnt at the stake

for our efforts.

But here? I'm just another
free-thinking heretic.

Chaos. Culture.

It's all celebrated
within these walls.

Florence only demands one
thing of its people.

To be truly awake.

Like that angelic vision.

Don't even think about it.
That's Lucrezia Donati.

Lorenzo de Medici's mistress.
I'm well aware of who she is.

He'll break you on the wheel,

if he catches you
looking at her.

But what if she's caught
looking at me?

Bad tidings from Milan, Nico.

How can you tell?

That serpent on the rider's
surcoat is the Biscione,

the Sforza family emblem.

If he was bringing good news,
he'd have been dressed

in the more traditional red
and white shield of Milan.

Whatever the message is,

Lorenzo won't be happy with it.

Out!

Out! All of you!

Lorenzo? Lorenzo!

The Duke of Milan is dead.

- Assassinated.
- By whose hand?

- Visconti and two others.
- An honor killing, then.

They say the Duke
deflowered his niece.

Sforza was a pig
of epic appetites.

Yes, but he was our pig!

I sense the Vatican's hand
behind this.

The timing is just too perfect.

If you're right, this upsets the
balance of power in Italy, Lorenzo.

Oh, by God, Becchi,
this more than upsets.

This all but decapitates
the concept

and shits down its throat!

We need to shore up public
support.

Easter holiday is
nearly upon us.

Let's throw a carnival.

Allow the people
of Florence to celebrate

the end of Lent
as they do its arrival.

The more flamboyant
the pageantry,

the stronger we appear.

We're not fucking peacocks,
Giuliano.

Carnival is all well and good,

but if it has no teeth
behind it,

we might as well slit
our own throats.

Are you frightened?

No, Most Holy Father.

Lying is a sin, my dear boy.

It separates us
from God's grace.

Yes, I'm frightened.

But that's also a lie,
isn't it?

At least, a partial one.

A venial sin, perhaps.

So...

which statement is correct?

Hm?

Speak, child.

Don't you want to enter heaven?

The proper answer would be...

Please! His Holiness
has forbidden any visitors.

Our men succeeded, Your Grace!

Sforza is dead.

Florence is ripe for
the picking, Your Eminence.

Trust me.

You know this how?

Because I have an agent
within Lorenzo's ranks.

The Medicis are
throwing a carnival,

in a pathetic bid to win
the people's favor.

They're weak, Your Holiness.

This is your chance to strike.

Not mine, Nephew.

The Lord's.

There is another reason
for haste.

The Turk has arrived
in Florence.

He's after the Book of Leaves.

I am truly sorry.

Why?

Because you can't
have heard this.

Do you have the plans
for the colombina or not?

We do.

And they're breathtaking.

Then produce
these miraculous renderings

and let us evaluate them.

Unfortunately...

I can't.

Because they don't exist!

By God, if you think
you can defraud

the House of Medici...

No, no, no, they do exist,
I promise you!

They're in this chest.

- Open it.
- It's locked.

Well, then, I'll take
my sword to it.

The chest is rigged to explode

if anyone tampers with it.

Are you mad?

Why would anyone engineer
such an infernal contrivance?

To protect my ideas, obviously.

Gentlemen, Leonardo Da Vinci.

Ah, I've heard of you.

They say you're quite
the free-thinker.

- You're late.
- Grape.

So! The First Citizen
of Florence

is desperate for us
to fashion him a colombina.

'Desperate' is a strong word.

And yet it happens to be
the word I used.

But let's review.

Every Easter, a grand
procession makes its way

through the streets
of Florence,

terminating at the cathedral.

Why do you insist on stating

what every child
of three already knows?

Why do you insist on
interrupting me?

I have a methodology.
We can follow it.

Or we can flail about.

I'll take your silence as a
vote for the former. Onward.

At the culmination of mass,
a mechanical dove,

the colombina, is flown
from the altar on a wire.

Out into the public
square it soars.

It ignites a cart full
of fireworks.

The Republic celebrates,
they don masks.

They engage in drunken
revelry. Now...

For years, the House
of Medici has contracted

with inferior workshops to
produce said ceremonial dove.

But, this year,

if I am to understand
the politics afoot,

the same shoddy pageantry

just won't do.

No-one's carped about
our dove before.

To call your previous
efforts 'a dove'

is to insult
the entire avian class.

Enough! Just show us
the damn thing.

All right.

Ho ho ho.

That is but a quarter-scale
model.

There.

It's a thing of beauty,
I'll grant you that.

Yes, and it can be yours
for 30 florins.

- 30?
- Yeah.

The contract stated 12.

That was for a bird that
needed a guide wire.

This miracle requires
no such handicap.

Your work is impressive.

But the price is too steep.

- 30 florins is a bargain.
- 30 florins is sodomy!

Perhaps I should be negotiating

with your older
brother instead.

For God's sake, Becchi,

just pay the degenerate
and be done with it.

You win, artista.

As is customary
with commissions,

we shall pay half now
and half upon completion.

While we're on the subject
of commissions,

I'm told that there's an open
one to paint Lucrezia Donati.

Lorenzo's mistress.

Stick to your whirligigs
and parlor tricks, Da Vinci.

Take a lesson from Icarus.

So, tell me...

..is there nothing else
you fear?

Uh! Aah! Aah!

Are you all right, Leonardo?

It was just a nightmare,
Andrea.

You have them all too
frequently.

I'm having some issues with
my mathematics, that's all.

Issues?

I'm not sure...

that the colombina will be
flightworthy by Easter.

- But the model...
- Was a model.

Once I scale up the dimensions,

the calculations don't hold.
It's annoying!

Smoking opium
won't help matters.

- It clears my head.
- It clouds it.

What are you, my nursemaid?
I think too much. All right?

I need to dull my thoughts or
I'll be eviscerated by them.

I would have thought
that you would have

understood that by now!

The tears of the poppy have
medicinal properties.

- The priests in Egypt...
- We are not in Egypt.

And you are no priest.

You have a gift, Leo.

A kind of... genius...

the likes of which
I've never seen.

Because of that, people will
always seek to destroy you.

Please...

..don't aid them
in their endeavor.

- How much for the starlings?
- Six denari apiece.

I'll give you two soldi
for the lot.

Are you trying to offend me?

No, if I was trying
to offend you,

I'd comment on the scent
of fecal matter

wafting from your hindquarters.

Do you want the soldi or not?

They're my last, I'm bored.

No, I'm only interested
in the birds.

Just open the cage
on my say-so.

He's obsessed with flight. He
studies them for inspiration.

Now.

Well? Did you see what you
were hoping to?

For one of my soldi back,
I just might tell you.

All right.
Tell me.

I saw an idiot who doesn't
know how to haggle.

Look, Nico.
There she is again.

Look at her with Lorenzo.

Everyone pretending the two
of them aren't fucking.

- Isn't that your father?
- Crown Prince of parasites.

He serves as Lorenzo's notary.

Come on, Nico, let's
stir the pot a little.

Your Magnificence!

My name is Leonardo Da Vinci.
Perhaps you've heard of me?

I am designing your
Easter colombina.

Oh, yes.

You're the eccentric
that Verrocchio employs.

I'm an artist, yes,
and an anatomist

and an engineer of some note.

'Extortionist' is the word
I recall using.

I drive a stiff bargain,
it's true.

But the fact is,
I have designed

a more ambitious
series of devices

that I know your
percipient mind

will take an interest in.

Move along, vermin.

Another time.

Perhaps.

I'm wounded, Nico.

I need wine.

How goes business, Zoroaster?

Execrable, since
the Duke's demise.

These are dark times
for Florence.

Case in point.
Those mercenaries flooding into town.

If war does break out,

they'll be the only ones
gainfully employed.

Speaking of employment,

a two-headed calf,
stillborn on Zitto's farm.

I can procure it, if you like,
for your medical studies.

The last corpse was decomposing by
the time I took a scalpel to it.

Grave-robbing is like
fishmongering.

You're at the mercy
of the day's catch.

Come on. A boar sausage?

You know damn well
that I am a vegetarian.

- Keep hoping to corrupt you.
- Oh, I'm corruptible.

I just prefer not to eat
anything with eyes.

- Potatoes have eyes.
- Fuck off, Nico!

Maestro!

May I model for you again?

No-one looks at
my form as you do.

No-one looks at
any form as I do.

Go peddle your wares
with Botticelli.

He's an easy mark.

Model? That boy's
nothing but a hustler

and an artless one at that.

But pleasing to the eye,
nonetheless.

Piss.

Her. Have a gander
at these.

My latest venture.

They're called tarot cards.

They're used to divine
fortunes.

Here. Pick one, Nico. We'll see if
it squares with your temperament.

- Funny. It's a trick.
- Is it?

Or am I simply channeling
the powers of The Ancients?

How many women has that line
worked on, Zo?

A respectable amount.
Thank you very much.

And a goodly number
of gentlemen, as well.

But a card can symbolize not
just one's temperament,

but one's fate.

Do you dare see yours?

Tell me. Don't hold back.

This one...

represents sacrifice.

A suspension between life
and death and then perhaps...

..a great awakening.

I'm an idiot.

Those mercenaries. Florence
has no army of its own.

So they're here to sell
their muscle. Right?

But what if there was a more lucrative
way to traffic in the Republic's unease?

- Like what?
- I should promote myself

as a military engineer,
not a painter.

War has always been
the handmaiden of progress.

If I want to explore my ideas,

I just need to cloak them in
the guise of Florence's defense.

Why are the officers of the
night bothering that man?

He's a Turk, a heathen.
Isn't that reason enough?

No.

No, this isn't your fight, Leo.

When's that ever stopped me?

What seems to be
the trouble here?

Go back to your sketchbook,
scribbler.

This isn't your concern.

You see, unfortunately, um...

I have this character flaw

that compels me to intervene whenever
stupidity rears its head, so...

You see? Cos that was stupid.

Cos your man's grip was
too loose

and now he finds himself

staring down this handsome
spada da filo.

Even more stupidity.

Cos if you'd just asked around,

anyone will tell you
that I'm ambidextrous

and perfectly capable
of fighting two or...

..even three men
simultaneously.

Bully someone else, Dragonetti.

You've made a serious
miscalculation tonight, artista.

It wouldn't be the first time.

- Are you all right, sir?
- I'm more than all right.

I am a son of Earth
and Starry Heaven.

I return to Constantinople
the day after tomorrow.

But I am staying at the Inn
of the Black Swan.

Come see me before I leave...

..Maestro.

A bit weird.

What did he give you?

A tip, I think.

..it was her mother.

The same arse,
very different faces

and, when I realized, I did
a little sip on her tit.

Take him, Nico. Jesus. He'll
never make it home alone.

Are you sure, Maestro? It's after curfew
and there are bound to be rogues about.

- Then I'll fit right in. Go!
- Listen, Leo.

What?

I didn't deal you the Hanged
Man. That was all you.

It was an omen. It was just
like the two-headed calf.

I don't believe in omens.

No. No, this is you. Go.

Go!

I know it's you, Dragonetti.

Did you not learn your lesson
earlier?

Ah.

I guess you did learn.

That's enough.

I should have known.

People are talking about you.

And not in a positive light.

I couldn't care less what
they're saying about me.

I care!

I'll not have you tarnishing
our family's name

with your flippant tone and your
vulgar attempts at self-promotion.

Perhaps you should
disown me, then.

You're my first-born.

And much as I may wish
to disavow you,

our reputations
are intertwined.

First-born?

You say that as if...

My wife, Margherita...

..bore me a son
this past week.

A legitimate heir.

Well, my condolences to him.

I wonder how long it will take
him to curse his lineage.

As a bastard, your rank within the
social order has been rigidly defined.

You should endeavor
to remain within it.

Stay away from the Medicis,
Leonardo.

- I'll not warn you again.
- I'll wager you will.

Why do you have to make
this so difficult?

It's my nature!
I see things as they are,

not as they might be.

You...

are a petty man.

And... you will never
achieve greatness.

Whereas I...

I already have.

You're kneeling in a dungeon.

About to be hit again
and again.

By men who know how to hit.

That's what you've achieved,
Leonardo.

Beat him for another hour,

then toss him back
onto the street

with the rest of the garbage.

Hold out the scribbler's hand.

To be fair, you actually look
more wretched than I, so...

well done.

Perhaps you should see
a physician.

I'm fine.

Oh, they're executing
a Jew today.

Apparently, they caught him breaking into
the book shop on the Via Dei Librai.

It should be good sport.

I'm not sure a man's death should
be characterized as sport.

This fucking spot is too sunny.
Can't we move over into the shade?

- No.
- Why?

Because every morning,
at precisely this time,

Lucrezia Donati comes to this
exact spot to purchase...

flowers.

There.

She's appealing, I'll grant
you that, but...

..I'd rather bed that old
toothless hag over there.

Now you're just being contrary.

It takes no great skill
to fuck a pretty face.

But a truly ugly woman, that
actually requires discipline

and, let me tell you,
my friend, done right,

a transcendent experience.

Nico, run this over to her.

Make sure she knows
where it's come from.

What the devil
are you up to, Leo?

She wants to speak with you.

Uh-huh? Well,
tell her I'm busy.

You're seriously
not turning her down?

Tell her, Nico.
Timing is all.

He can't right now.

Behold, a criminal
in our midst!

A Jew, no less!

Watch him dance!
Watch him dangle!

Bring your fruit
and small stones!

God protect the Republic
of Florence!

I am a son of Earth
and Starry Heaven.

I am thirsty.

Please, give me
something to drink

from the Fountain of Memory.

Are you all right, Maestro?

I need to leave.

Is there a foreigner staying
here, a Turkish man?

He said you could find him
at the Roman ruins,

north of town.

Will you smoke with me,
Da Vinci?

Well, that depends
on what's in the pipe.

History is a lie that has
been honed like a weapon

by people who have
suppressed the truth.

Centuries from now,
your own history

will also be suppressed.

How could you possibly
know that?

You have heard the phrase
'Time is a river'?

What most fail to grasp

is that the river is circular.

One man's death...

opens a doorway
to the birth of the next.

I saw a man executed today.

He said something to me.

- I am...
- A son of Earth

and Starry Heaven.

I am thirsty.

Please, give me
something to drink

from the Fountain of Memory.

It is an invocation.

A way for members
of our fraternity

to recognize one another.

I'm not a member
of your fraternity.

Are you sure?

This temple was once
a place of worship

for a religion that originated

long before Christ.

We are known
as the Sons of Mithras.

Much of what you call
'progress'

has simply been a matter
of remembering

what was once forgotten.

This knowledge was set down

in a compendium known
as the Book of Leaves.

Recently, certain
clues have surfaced

regarding the Book's location.

Avraham ben Yosef was
following those clues

when he was apprehended
and put to death.

Perhaps you have heard
of the Secret Archives

the Vatican has assembled?

Its curator is a man
called Lupo Mercuri.

A fallen son of Mithras.

Where we seek to disseminate
and preserve knowledge.

They seek to alter
and suppress it.

I still don't understand

what any of this
has to do with me.

What do you know...
about your mother?

Almost nothing.

She... She disappeared.

- She was a servant girl.
- She was a slave.

Taken from Constantinople
against her will.

Do you remember...

an incident that occurred
in your childhood?

You have suppressed it.

I was a boy in Vinci.

I'd been sent to fetch some
sheep that had wandered off.

I found a cave.

I was scared to go inside,
but...

But I was curious.

So I ventured in.

The next hours... are blank.

I remember...

..stumbling out.

My hands and face...

..were covered in blood.

And somehow...

I knew it wasn't my own.

One day...

you will sip from
the Fountain of Memory...

..and learn more of what
occurred in that cave.

When that day comes,
we will meet again.

What do I do till then?

Search for the Book of Leaves.

Fate has chosen you, Leonardo.

- I don't believe in fate.
- Then believe in yourself.

Well, where do I start
my search, then?

With the hanged man,
the seat of the soul.

He's already opened
the door for you.

And my mother?

She will be for you
on the other side.

All you have to do...

is enter.

Maestro? Maestro?
Can you hear me?

Maestro!

We've been looking for you since last night.
What happened?

The Turk was here.

There was...
There was a statue.

An altar.

Must have weighed a ton.

This place has been empty
for centuries, Leo.

Maestro, the Officers
of the Night

have been searching for you.

They say Lorenzo Medici
himself has asked for you.

Leonardo di ser Piero...

Da Vinci.

I am told you are
my notary's bastard son.

I am.

I'm also told that you are
a troublemaker,

you are arrogant, impolitic...

..and utterly
incapable

of keeping your opinions
to yourself.

Arrogance implies that
I exaggerate my own worth.

I don't.

My mistress, Lucrezia,

seems to think that you have

a singular talent
for portraiture.

She insisted that you and
none other be the one to...

capture her beauty.

I'd say she has
a discerning eye, then.

A warning, sir.
The man has a reputation

for taking many commissions,
but finishing few.

I wrestle with details.
I bore easily.

Call it a character flaw.

Well, with this commission,

you'd be wise to overcome it.

When it comes to Miss Donati,

boredom is the last thing
I fear.

I'll have your father draw up
a contract then.

Sir, if I may, I have
a few other designs...

I have some designs that I think
you might be interested in.

This will greatly increase your
gunner's rate of firepower.

So, while the top rack's
being fired,

the rack below that one
can be loaded

and the rack below that one
is allowed to cool.

The cannons are arranged
in a fan, which -

- That will be enough.
- This is an armored cart.

Propulsion is achieved by two
men, who are housed within.

They operate cranks, which
rotate the wheels.

Cannons can be mounted around
the perimeter of the cart.

It's a flying machine.

It's modeled after the
articulated wings of a bat.

Madness.
If man were meant to fly...

He would have been born
with wings, yes.

But a similar assertion could
have been made prior

to the invention
of gunpowder--

or any other invention
conceived since fire.

I believe man will fly
and I base this assumption

on the fact that God
has blessed us

with minds that are
capable of imagining it.

Anything that can be dreamt
of will eventually be built.

Anyone who says
otherwise is a fool.

What exactly do you propose?

I wish to be employed...

as a military engineer.

I am a humanist, Da Vinci.

I have no interest
in waging war.

And yet your humanism is
precisely why war will happen.

Florence has no standing army.

Nor does Rome.

Necessarily...

you've both made alliances
with states that do.

Florence with Milan,

and Rome with Naples.

Sforza's death has up-ended
the game board.

You need weapons of your own,
Your Magnificence.

I will give you
a modest stipend.

To see whether these...

contraptions of yours
can actually be realized.

- Shall we say 100 florins?
- 50.

If you haggle any further,
I'll cut out your tongue.

As you say, sir.

Thank you.

You used Lucrezia to gain
access to me, didn't you?

I utilize any device
at my disposal,

in order to realize my goals.

Clever,

but I'd caution you not to be
too clever around me.

Clockwork loses its luster,

once one glimpses the gears
beneath its face.

Point taken.

Is there a problem?

None at all, sir.

Good day.

- Congratulations, Leonardo.
- Word travels fast.

Ah, there are no secrets
in Florence.

How the devil did you do it?

Oh, he played on
a woman's vanity.

Your stratagem has become
clear, you bastard.

A bastard of the highest order.

Ha! Drink up everybody.

Then get back to work. We've
got a colombina to build!

The Jew that was hanged, I want
you to unearth his body.

I need to examine it.

And my compensation?

Well, that depends
how fresh the corpse is.

Ah, well, then,
I'd best get digging.

Ah, here's the Pazzi clan.

With their schemer Francesco
and old man Jacopo.

Probably the oldest family
in Florence,

definitely the most ornery.

The Pazzi family entrusts
Lorenzo de Medici

with this new fire,

struck on stones from the
Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

As is our right.

Granted to our ancestor
for his actions

during the First Crusade.

The colombina
is about to fly.

Welcome, all
of you, into God's home.

The flames of
the phoenix suit you well.

Tell me, truly,

are you always this wistful
with the whores you bed?

Oh, you are no whore, Signora.

We need not continue this
pretence any longer, Miss Donati.

I knew it was you from the
moment you approached me.

How did you know?

I sketched you.

Your features, your form,
your bearing.

The more salient question...

..is why would a noblewoman

risk her reputation
on a lowly artisan?

Well, isn't that the point
of a carnival?

To pretend, for a night, that
you're someone you're not.

No, I think there's more
to it than that, yeah.

Tell me, then.

You were intrigued
by my sketch.

Yeah, so...

You felt that it captured
an aspect of yourself

that remains hidden
from your husband,

and from your lover, Lorenzo.

The only time
you see this aspect...

..is on the
rare occasions

that you glimpse yourself
in the mirror,

and you find a stranger
staring back at you.

You knew I'd seek you out,
then.

Well...

Hey, I try to work out
what motivates people

and then I proceed accordingly.

You manipulate them.

No. I prefer to think
of it as gently

redirecting their trajectories.

Lorenzo was quite taken with
your designs.

Well, may I see
one of these marvels?

What is it?

It's a device for slowing
one's rate of descent.

- Oh.
- Yeah.

And under what circumstances would
I possibly have use for this?

Say that you were trapped
in a fortress.

- A fortress?
- That had been breached.

You could strap yourself
into this...

and you'd safely float down
to freedom.

Oh, thank goodness.

It would appear Lorenzo's
interest in you was justified.

But tell me.

I have risked my reputation
by sleeping with you.

You've risked more.

Perhaps even death.

And to what do you ascribe
my reckless behavior, then?

Love.

Don't be absurd.

You saw me, you drew me,
you fell in love.

It's as simple as that.

Add in the fact that I am
forbidden fruit...

..and your fate was sealed.

You're the third person this
week to lecture me on fate.

Well, perhaps it's time
you started listening.

Now...

Fuck me again, Leonardo.

This time, remember...

..you're not the only one
capable of manipulation.

The Secret Archives are open

only to his Holiness'
closest advisors.

For obvious reasons, we can't have
you parading through the front door.

Ah.

How rude of me.

I promised you
your payment first.

I take it you're satisfied?

Your Eminence,

I bring news from Florence.

Get on with it, then.

A new player
has entered the stage.

An artist known as
Leonardo Da Vinci.

The Medicis have employed him
to design siege weapons.

Artists are as common
as court jesters.

I see no reason why this news
should concern us.

This artist is different.
His ideas are...

unusual,

revolutionary.

My agent in Florence.

You trust your intelligence
to a woman?

When one seeks
to convey a message,

I prefer to use vessels
others would readily dismiss.

If I am not mistaken,
you are Lupo Mercuri,

Curator of the Secret Archives.

- What of it?
- It may interest you to know

that Da Vinci has made
contact...

with the Turk.

He's searching for something
called the Book of Leaves.

It would appear the Turk has
found a new champion.

Continue watching him.

See if he can be co-opted.

And if he can't?

Then Da Vinci will be consumed

in the fiery sorrows of hell.

Along with the rest
of God's enemies.

Sync & corrections by honeybunny
Resync for WEB-DL by lost0ne
www.addic7ed.com

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