![\"St](\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/07\/St-John-the-Baptist.jpg\")
<\/a>The door was ajar, fortunate but no surprise given the heat. It allowed him to slip into the vestibule, pause for his eyes to adjust and listen for any voices. There were none, but to his left was another door left ajar, a faint glow from daylight, and sound of something being moved across the floor. Still no voices; the painter was likely alone. He drew the dagger from his breeches and moved slowly into the light. From the door he first saw food on a table, a loaf of bread, peaches and a large knife planted in a block of cheese. With another step he saw a row of stands for unlit candles, many more than would be found in an ordinary home, then the back of a man standing in front of a large canvass. To his right was a table with brushes, a few small bowls, a large bottle of clear liquid and two wooden boards smeared with coloured oils. The man stood still, staring at a large canvass, blocking the subject from Giulio\u2019s view. Giulio took a couple of slow, quiet steps, then moved quickly and placed the point of his dagger between the man\u2019s shoulders.<\/p>\n\u201cDon\u2019t look around.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man raised his hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are Caravaggio.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy name is Ottavio.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are known as Caravaggio.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBy who?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBy the man who sent me here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd what is his name?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t guess?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can think of more than one, several, who would send a man to place a dagger at my back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen think of one of your paintings.\u201d<\/p>\n
The painter didn\u2019t answer. Giulio looked over his shoulder and saw the figure on the canvass, a boy seated with a spear, leaning on a red cloak, naked except for a loin cloth draped over his genitals.<\/p>\n
\u201cLike that one,\u201d said Giulio.<\/p>\n
\u201cSt John the Baptist.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what you called the other one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA popular subject. There are plenty of churches and noblemen who\u2019ll pay for a portrait.\u201d<\/p>\n
Giulio was disturbed by the calm in the painter\u2019s voice: any man in his position should be in fear.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere were two others,\u201d the painter said. \u201cLet\u2019s think. The first was a real youngster, you can see from the size of his penis in the painting. The second was fifteen or so, more muscular, sullen expression. I draped a cloak and a goatskin across his parts. They\u2019ll both excite those who have a taste for such things.\u201d<\/p>\n
Giulio kept his eyes on the canvass. It was clear that the painter had taken his own pleasure in looking at the young men.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you\u2026.?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course I did. Surely you don\u2019t think that I\u2019ll get a handsome boy naked in my room and not take advantage of the situation.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t deny it? You\u2019re a sodomite?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBefore and after I painted the boys.\u201d The painter nodded towards the canvass. \u201cThe same with this one. You should have been here yesterday; you could have watched.\u201d<\/p>\n
Giulio raised the dagger so the point touched the back of the painter\u2019s neck. It provoked a slight flinch, but his voice remained steady.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I doubt it was the younger\u2019s boy\u2019s family who sent you here. He belonged to a brothel and everyone was pleased for the business; although it was a few years ago. But I remember the older boy came from a well off family. I seduced him, didn\u2019t have to pay. Is it his father who sent you? I\u2019m surprised. It must have been five, six years ago.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey saw the painting three months ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat makes sense. If I remember right it was done for a private chapel in Genoa. I suppose they had some connection with the man who gave me the commission. What was his name? Ottavio Costa. Do I have that right?\u201d<\/p>\n
Giulio didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou must know,\u201d the painter said. \u201cYou\u2019ve seen that earlier painting, which means that you were allowed into the private chapel, which means that you\u2019re not just a back alley assassin sent to settle a vendetta. You must be family to the boy yourself. Your voice suggests you\u2019re a few years older, so maybe a cousin, possibly an uncle.\u201d<\/p>\n
Giulio felt uneasy. He had heard stories of the painter; drinking, buggery, that he had killed at least one man in a fight, but not that he such a sharp mind. Some said he was a demon, and he had an inhuman composure with the point of a dagger at his neck.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re close enough,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd you know why I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou intend to push that blade into my back. Or are you going to cut my throat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m going to relish the moment.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy? Do you think it will change what happened? Do you think it will change anything for the boy \u2026 although he must now be a young man.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe has a wife.\u201d<\/p>\n
The painter laughed quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt won\u2019t make any difference. Give him half a chance and he\u2019ll still go chasing the pleasure that we enjoyed together. He may look miserable in that picture, but he had a big smile on his face when I took him to bed; even bigger when I had finished with him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Guilio give him a light jab with the dagger. The painter jerked forward and raised his hands. A spot of blood appeared over his collar.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t get so angry,\u201d he said. \u201cYour young relative was just indulging an instinct.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTry telling that to God. You\u2019re bound for hell.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHell!\u201d The painter laughed again, this time louder. \u201cYou think I\u2019ll go there for a little bout of sodomy? You\u2019ve spent too much time listening to priests.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd for those paintings. It\u2019s a corruption of the testament, a blasphemy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I chose to portray a saint as a delicious boy? Who says that he didn\u2019t look like that? Or do you think that the Baptist looked like you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Giulio slapped a hand on the painter\u2019s shoulder, pushed his face to an ear and moved the dagger behind the other.<\/p>\n
\u201cEnough! If you have a shred of remorse you should express it now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo let me pray!\u201d<\/p>\n
It was a surprise – the defiance had hinted that he had no God – but Giulio relaxed his hold to allow him to kneel. Even if he was going to hell, he should have the last chance to acknowledge his sins. The painter dipped his head. Giulio withdrew the dagger from his neck, allowing him to bend his knees and raise his hands to his chest. He could have a few seconds; Guilio would take the moment according to whatever words he spoke. The painter whispered what sounded like a piety. Giulio held the weapon inches from his head. Then the painter spoke more clearly.<\/p>\n
\u201cPlease Lord forgive this sinner, and show him your infinite mercy.\u201d<\/p>\n
No chance. <\/em>Giulio drew back his elbow and lowered the dagger to pierce the heart from behind. The painter dipped his head lower and bent his back, forcing Giulio to readjust. That was enough. He placed his left hand on his victim\u2019s shoulder, steadying the body for the thrust. The painter\u2019s right hand shot up, grabbed his wrist, pulled hard and bit into his lower arm. Giulio screamed and fell forward, his dagger scraping the painter\u2019s right shoulder and driving into the ground. Both the painter\u2019s hands were now on his left arm, but then the right broke free, came up into Giulio\u2019s face and grabbed his hair. He twisted, rolled and felt his back hit the dagger\u2019s handle. Their bodies separated. Giulio straightened up to the sight of the ceiling, looked to his right and saw the weapon on the floor. He reached for it but the painter\u2019s foot swung to kick it across the room. They both dived forwards, Giulio for the dagger, the painter onto his back. He got fingers to the weapon but felt a hand on his head, grabbing his hair, jerking him back, then his face smashing against the floor. Then again. Then again.<\/p>\n He came to with the painter kneeling over his chest, grinning with a blade in his hand. The dagger. <\/em>No, it was a thicker blade, the knife that had been stuck in the cheese on the table by the door. The painter placed it onto his throat and spoke.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve just given me a very good idea.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The following day three people went to Caravaggio\u2019s studio. One was a young woman with sad eyes and brown hair tied back in a bun; the second an older woman in a white headdress; the third a man with short, dark hair, a finely trimmed beard, protruding ears and a round nose. The place was tidy and the blood had been thoroughly swept from the floor. One of the artist\u2019s less savoury acquaintances had helped him to dispose of the biggest part of the mess. He gave his visitors a meal before they began work \u2013 bread, cured ham, and the cheese he hadn\u2019t finished the previous day \u2013 and allowed them a cup of wine each, enough for them to be relaxed. It was the man who asked the obvious question.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you doing with us?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA biblical scene,\u201d said Caravaggio.<\/p>\n \u201cSo who am I? One of the disciples? Or a Roman?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNameless, but important to the story. Your face will be remembered.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI hope it\u2019s for the right reasons,\u201d said the older woman.<\/p>\n \u201cAs long as I keep my clothes on,\u201d said the younger one. \u201cI\u2019ve heard that some of you artists are too keen to show naked flesh.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t worry,\u201d said Caravaggio. \u201cEveryone stays clothed.\u201d<\/p>\n When they had finished the meal he went to one of two cloth bags that he had stored in a corner and removed a gold plate, gave it to the younger woman, then spent several minutes moving the three models into different positions. He settled on placing the young woman to the left, reckoning he would tell her to look away, the old woman behind her, peering over her shoulder. The man was placed to the right, and after some aimless staring was asked to pull his right arm out of his shirt to leave his shoulder bare. The painter looked to the window, assured himself there would be sufficient sunlight for a few hours work, then went back to the corner for the second bag.<\/p>\n \u201cNow don\u2019t be shocked,\u201d he told his models.<\/p>\n He dug into the bag and pulled out Giulio\u2019s head. They were shocked, but none screamed or threw up. He had got it right; they all came from the part of town where it wasn\u2019t rare to see a murdered body.<\/p>\n \u201cHe was executed yesterday,\u201d he said. \u201cI have an arrangement with the warden at the prison. This is all above board, as long as I dispose of this before it putrifies.\u201d<\/p>\n They would all know that it wasn\u2019t above board, but all be glad enough for the money he was paying to stay quiet about it. He spoke to the young woman.<\/p>\n \u201cCan you hold up to the plate please. Waist high.\u201d<\/p>\n Then to the man.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd do you mind taking this.\u201d<\/p>\n At first the man recoiled, but after a few seconds and a reminder of how much they were being paid he took the severed head and held it at arm\u2019s length.<\/p>\n \u201cHold it over the plate and keep looking at it. You don\u2019t have to enjoy it, but don\u2019t look scared. You\u2019re meant to be an executioner.\u201d<\/p>\n Then he told the young woman she could look away and the old woman that she had to keep her eyes on the head. She surprised him by getting the expression right first time; nasty, satisfied. He moved back to the point where he had placed the canvass and table with his brushes, oils and pigments, then spent minutes staring at the group, satisfying himself that the composition was correct.<\/p>\n \u201cI know what this is,\u201d said the male model. \u201cSalome with the head of John the Baptist.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExactly,\u201d Caravaggio replied.<\/p>\n \u201cI bet this bloke wasn\u2019t so saintly.\u201d<\/p>\n Caravaggio looked at the head above the plate. Eyes closed, mouth open, streaks of hair and beard congealed in dry blood. The face of the man who had come to kill him.<\/p>\n