Milan, 1497. The height of the Renaissance. And for young Giacomo, servant to the famous Leonardo da Vinci, it’s the most difficult time of all. His master has been working on the Last Supper, his greatest painting ever, for the past two years. But has he finished it? He’s barely started! And the all-powerful Duke of Milan is after the artist to have it done by the time of the Pope’s visit next Easter. If Leonardo won’t hurry up, however, there’s a rumor that a young genius — Michelangelo — may be invited to finish it instead...
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Which means that Leonardo won’t be paid, and his debts are now so large that Milan’s shopkeepers are planning drastic measures against him.
It’s all down to Giacomo, and whether he can come up with a brilliant solution. But will his Master go for it? After all, Leonardo still doesn’t seem to trust him. He refuses to teach Giacomo how to paint, and he does not offer to help him find his true parents, or to explain the significance of the medallion, ring, and cross that he was carrying when Leonardo saved his life. But with the secret arrival of a powerful stranger, Giacomo is about to discover much more than the answers he has been looking for. And he will also receive an invitation to help arrange a meeting that could change his life — and the future course of history.
With more twists and turns than a spiral staircase, this thriller is as unique as its two heroes — the most celebrated artist who ever lived, and a young man without a past, who will stop at nothing to find the truth about his life.
It was a chilly morning in December 1992 when I first entered the refectory of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Milan. At that time the Last Supper was not the packed tourist hangout that it is today. I cannot even recall having to pay for a ticket, but I must have done. Nowadays you have to book months in advance.
I went inside. Hard to believe, but there was no one else there. I was entirely alone. I walked slowly towards the Last Supper. Some of it was covered in plastic sheeting. There was scaffolding to the sides. Perhaps they had already started the renovation that was finally completed in 1999. In any case, the painting was in a very poor state of repair. Much of it was a stained blur. And yet I could see the face of Christ...
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very clearly — or I certainly thought I could. Without hesitation I would say that He seemed to be looking directly at me. His face was giving off a kind of light. I could feel it.
For a long time I did not move. I just stared at the painting. And the more I looked at it, the more it held my gaze. After a while, I realized that not only was I looking at this ancient painting — it was looking at me. I had the strangest feeling of being transported out of myself.
Some years later, I told a friend about my experience in the refectory of Santa Maria delle Grazie. I said that ever since then I had wanted to write something about the painting and Leonardo, but I could not seem to find a way. It was too big a subject To be honest, I think I was afraid to try.
My friend suggested that I read Leonardo’s Notebooks. She had an old, tattered copy, and the next time I saw her she gave it to me. Many of the pages were yellowed and came unstuck from the binding almost as soon as I opened the covers. But that only added to the sense of mounting excitement I felt as I began to read. The Notebooks contained numerous fragments of Leonardo’s very personal observations over the years. In them I found some of his most private, unfinished thoughts. Sometimes, I think, he did not want to finish them; they often bordered on despair. I discovered a man who was long-suffering, impatient, disciplined, pompous, arrogant, humble, confident, and fearful. Highly contradictory, in other words.
As for Giacomo, well, Leonardo refers to him sporadically in the Notebooks, and none of it is very complimentary! Nevertheless, you can sense the affection he felt for the boy. I decided to make Giacomo someone who, instead of being an incorrigible rascal, was always being misunderstood by his master. And the story would be, at least in part, the story of how the two of them came to accept one another.
We all have a vision of Leonardo as the ceaseless inventor and supreme artist. But here were his doubts, his fears, his private agonies and public torments. Here, at last, was the man I had been looking for. And, except that he was a genius, he was not so different from the rest of us.
The Last Supper had been too big for me to grasp. But now I had help from Leonardo himself. These fragments of his writing gave me the inspiration I needed to construct him as a character in my book. My fears faded at last and I set to work writing Leonardo’s Shadow.
- Christopher Grey
