All language subtitles for Da.Vincis.Demons.S01E01.1080p.BluRay.x265-RARBG

Man:
Will you smoke with me, Da Vinci?

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

Man: 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 waiting 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.
I've been...

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 just help me with this.

Just climb into that harness.

- Huh?
- Okay, 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?
- Hmm?

Do you mind just
prancing 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.

Yah!

Wait, maestro!
What if your calculations are wrong?

Wait, wait, maestro!
Maestro, maestro, please, please stop!

Oh, wait, maestro. Maestro!

Oh, my god, please!

You're flying, Nico!

Maestro-o-o!

It's perfect!

It's going too high!
Not so high!

Nico.

It works! It works, maestro!

Leonardo:
I never had any doubts.

Nico:
Oh, god, I hate this place.

Leonardo: 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, maestro.
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.

Nico: How can you tell?

Leonardo: That serpent
on the rider's surcoat is the biscione.

It's 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!

Man: 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.

A 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?

Huh?

At least a partial one.

A venial sin, perhaps.

Which statement is correct?

Speak, child.

Don't you want to enter heaven?

The proper answer would be...

Guard: 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's another reason for haste.

The turk has arrived in Florence.

He's after the book of leaves.

I am truly sorry.

Boy: Why?

Because you can't
have heard this.

Giuliano: Do you have the plans
for the colombina or not?

Verrocchio: 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.

No, wait, wait, wait!

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.

Becchi: 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
where mass is held.

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,

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.

Leonardo: To call your
previous efforts a "dove"

is to insult
the entire avian class.

- Enough!
- Oh.

Just show us the damn thing.

All right.

Oh, jes...

That's but
a quarter-scale model.

There.

Becchi: It's a thing of beauty,
I'll Grant you that.

Leonardo: 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.

Vanessa's voice: So, tell me...

Is there nothing else you fear?

Are you all right? Leonardo?

Yeah.

It was just a nightmare...

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.

- Well, 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 will 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 understood that.
- 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?
- Man: Six denarii 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 soldis 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 with them?
- The 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'm 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 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.

And speaking of employment,

two-headed calf,
stillborn on zitto's farm.

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

The last corpse you brought me
was already decomposing

by the time I took a scalpel to it.

Leo, grave-robbing
is like fishmongering.

Sometimes you're at the mercy
of the day's catch.

Come on. Boar sausage.

You know damn well
that I am a vegetarian.

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

I just prefer not to eat
anything with eyes.

Potatoes have eyes.

- Oh, fuck off, Nico!
- Oh, fuck off.

Man: Maestro!

May I model for you again?

No one looks at my form
as you do.

No, no one looks at any form as I do.

Go peddle your wares with botticelli.
He's an easy Mark.

Zoroaster: Model.

That boy's nothing but a hustler,
and an artless one at that.

But pleasing to the eye,
nonetheless.

Piss.

Here, 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, 20?

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.

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 be promoting 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, 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? 'Cause that was stupid.

'Cause your man's grip
was too loose

and now he finds himself

staring down this handsome
spada da filo.

Even more stupidity.

Like, if you'd just asked around,

anyone will tell you
that I'm ambidextrous.

I'm perfectly capable
of fighting two or Eve...

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.

As god is my witness,
it was her mother.

Same ass,
but very different faces.

And when I realized,
I did a little sick on her tit.

Oh, just 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 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.

- Well...
- No. No, this is you. Go.

- Well...
- Go!

Nico: Come on.

Zoroaster:
Come on, I need my bed.

I know it's you, dragonetti.

Did you not learn
your lesson earlier?

I guess you did learn.

Piero: 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...

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?

'Cause it's my nature!

I see things as they are,
not as they might be.

You...

Are a petty man.

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.

No. No, no, no.

I mean, 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 bookshop

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.
- Zoroaster: Why?

Leonardo: 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.

Man: 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'm 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.

But 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...

Um, 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 waiting for you
on the other side.

All you have to do

is enter.

Nico: Maestro?
Maestro, can you hear me?

Maestro!

We've been looking for you
since last night.

What happened?

The turk was here.

There was a...
There was a statue.

An altar.

It must have weighed a ton.

This place has been empty
for centuries, Leo.

Nico: Maestro, the officers of the night
have been searching for you.

They say Lorenzo medici himself
has asked for you.

Lorenzo:
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,

that 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.

Becchi: 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 would 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 gunners' 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-like
spread which allows a greater...

- That will be enough, Da Vinci.
- This is an armored cart.

Propulsion is achieved by two men
who are housed within

and 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 the wheel 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.

Now sforza's death has upended
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.

And 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.

A clockwork loses its luster

once one glimpses the gears
beneath its face.

Point taken.

Is there a problem?

Not at all, sir.

Good day.

Verrocchio:
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,

and 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.

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.

Verrocchio:
The colombina is about to fly.

Lorenzo: Welcome, all of you,
into god's home.

Leonardo: 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 pretense
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.

- Oh?
- 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.

Lucrezia: Lorenzo was
quite taken with your designs.

Well, may I see
one of these marvels?

Lucrezia: 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?
- 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.

Girolamo:
The secret archives are open

only to his holiness'
closest advisors.

For obvious reasons,
we can't have you parading

through the front door.

How rude of me.

I promised you
your payment first.

Girolamo:
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.

Woman: 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.