Leonardo crossed to the desk. “You certainly have been busy, Francesco.”
“I did my best,” he sighed. “That Arab volume you wanted proved especially difficult to track down.”
Leonardo glanced back, his brows raised. “You found it?”
With a measure of pride, Francesco pointed to the thick tome at the center of the gathered material. While its leather cover was worn and blackened with age, the gilt lettering of the title remained bright, shining in the lamp’s glow. The writing flowed in Arabic, lettered quite beautifully.
Leonardo’s finger hovered over the title—كتاب في معرفة الحيل الهندسية—and read it aloud. “Kitab fi ma'rifat al-hiyal al-handasiya.”
Francesco translated it in a hushed voice. “The Book of Knowledge of Ingenious Mechanical Devices.”
“It was written two centuries ago,” Leonardo said. “Can you imagine such a time, the golden age of Islam, when science and learning were held in the highest regard?”
“I would love to travel to such places sometime.”
“Ah, my dear Francesco, you are too late. Those lands have fallen into darkness, rife with wars, savage in their ignorance. You would not enjoy it.” His fingers came to rest atop the cover. “Thankfully, its ancient knowledge was preserved.”
Leonardo opened the book, parting it at a random page. The black ink flowed in a river of Arabic around an illuminated drawing of a fountain, with water streaming from the beak of a peacock into a complicated contraption of gears and pulleys. Francesco knew the remainder of the book was full of such illustrations of other devices, many of them automatons like the French king wanted his master to design.
“The author was Ismail al-Jazari,” Leonardo said. “A brilliant artist and the chief engineer for the Artuklu Palace. I suspect there is much I can learn from this book to help me design the French king’s golden lion.”
A new voice rose behind them. “Perhaps there is another book that will also help you.”
Leonardo and Francesco both turned to the library door that they had inadvertently left ajar. A short but robust figure stood at the entrance. His simple white cassock and skullcap shone in the wan light. With the alacrity of youth, Francesco dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Leonardo barely managed to crouch before the figure spoke again.
“Enough of that. Stand, you two.”
Francesco straightened but kept his head bowed. “Your Holiness.”
Pope Leo X crossed toward them, abandoning a pair of guards at the door. He cradled a thick book in his arms. “I heard about your apprentice rooting through our libraries. And the purpose behind his search. It seems you intend to do your best to please our new guest to the north.”
“I’ve heard King François can be quite demanding,” Leonardo admitted.
“And militant,” the pope added pointedly. “A tendency I’d prefer he kept to the north. Which means not disappointing his royal highness lest he consider venturing farther south with his soldiers. To avoid that, I thought I’d lend the services of my own staff to your pursuit.”
Pope Leo stepped to the table and placed the heavy volume down. “This was found within the Holy Scrinium.”
Francesco stiffened in surprise. The Holy Scrinium was the private library of the popes, said to contain amazing volumes, both religious and otherwise, dating back to the founding of Christendom.
“This was acquired during the First Crusade,” the pontiff explained as he set the book on the desk. “A Persian volume of mechanical devices from the ninth century of our Lord. I thought it might be of use, much like the volume your apprentice obtained.”
Plainly curious, Leonardo opened the book’s nondescript cover, its outer title long worn away. Inside, he discovered the name of the author and turned sharply to the pontiff.
“Banū Mūsā,” he said, reading the name aloud.
His Holiness nodded, translating the same. “The Sons of Moses.”
Francesco opened his mouth with a question, then closed it, too abashed to speak.
Leonardo answered anyway, turning slightly toward Francesco. “The Sons of Moses were three Persian brothers who lived four centuries before Ismail al-Jazari. Al-Jazari acknowledges them by name in his book for their inspiration. I didn’t think any copies of this work still existed.”
“I don’t understand,” Francesco whispered, drawing closer. “What is this volume?”
Leonardo placed his hand upon the ancient text. “A true wonder. The Book of Ingenious Devices.”
“But . . . ? ” Francesco looked at the neighboring book, the one he had painstakingly acquired.
“Yes,” Leonardo acknowledged, “our esteemed Al-Jazari named his work after this older volume, changing the title only slightly. It’s said these three brothers—the Sons of Moses—spent decades collecting and preserving Greek and Roman texts following the fall of the Roman Empire. Over time these brothers built upon the knowledge found within those texts to craft their own book of inventions.”
The pope joined them at the desk. “But it wasn’t just scientific knowledge that interested these brothers.” The pontiff flipped to the end of the book and pulled free a folio of loose pages. “What do you make of these?”
Leonardo squinted at the yellowed pages and lines of cursive ink and shook his head. “It’s clearly Arabic. But I’m far from fluent. With time, maybe I could—”
The pope’s hand waved dismissively. “I’ve Arab scholars in my employ. They were able to translate the pages. It appears to be the eleventh book of a larger poetic work. The opening lines state ‘When we had got down to the seashore, we drew our ship into the water and got her mast and sails into her.’”
Francesco frowned. Why did that sound familiar?
The pontiff continued, reciting the translation from memory. “‘We also put the sheep on board and took our places, weeping and in great distress of mind. Circe, that great and cunning goddess—’”
Francesco gasped, cutting off the pope, such was his shock.
The name Circe . . . that could only mean one thing.
Leonardo shifted the pages closer and confirmed it. “Are you saying this is a translation of Homer’s Odyssey?”
His Holiness nodded, appearing amused. “Into Arabic, some nine centuries ago.”
If true, Francesco knew this could be the earliest written version of Homer’s poem. He found his voice again. “But why is this chapter here, tucked in an ancient book of Persian mechanical devices?”
“Perhaps for this reason.”
The pope exposed the last page of the folio. An intricate illustration had been hastily inked there. It appeared to be a mechanical map complicated by gears and threaded wires and marked with scrawled Arabic notes. The terrain looked to encompass the breadth of the Mediterranean and beyond. Still, the mechanical map looked incomplete, a work in progress.
“What is it?” Francesco asked.
The pope turned to Leonardo. “It is what I hope you can discover, my dear friend. The translators here could only discern a few hints.”
“Like what?” Leonardo’s eyes shone brightly, the man clearly enraptured by this mystery.
“The first clue.” The pope tapped the Arabic pages of Homer’s Odyssey. “This part of the epic poem tells of Odysseus’s voyage to the Underworld, to the lands of Hades and Persephone, to the Greek version of Hell.”