A Bolt from the Blue, page 22
“What are you doing?” he asked in an outraged undertone as he pointed the weapon at us. “The Master gave strict orders that no one was supposed to approach the castle. Quickly, turn your cart around.”
“We cannot do that,” I softly countered. “My father’s life is in danger, and the Master’s plan is flawed. We must attempt to rescue him in another fashion, lest they both remain Pontalba’s prisoners.”
Davide’s lips folded into stubborn lines, and his sword remained unyielding. “The Master gave us orders, and we must follow them.”
Helpless, I exchanged glances with Rebecca. She gave me a small nod; then, her expression kindly, she addressed the youth.
“You did your duty fi ne. What’s more important, you gave the soldiers on the parapets a good show,” she told him. “Now, make us a bow so they can see all is well, and then you must let us pass.”
“I cannot do that. The Master trusted me with this duty, and I will not let him down,” Davide protested, though I saw an uncertain wobble to his sword. “Please, turn back.”
“We won’t turn back,” Rebecca countered, her expression growing stern. “And the soldiers are going to get suspicious if we keep sitting here showing our gums to the breeze. Don’t worry; I’ll tell Signor Leonardo that you did your duty. And these boys”—she indicated Tito and me—“will take the punishment he deals them.”
The sword wobbled a moment longer. Finally, with a great sigh and look of consternation, he sheathed his weapon and made us an exaggerated bow from his saddle.
“Very well, you may pass, but only because I cannot stop you short of using a blade,” he retorted in a tone of disgust.
Shooting Tito and me a baleful glance, he added, “No matter what other punishment the Master deals out, know that you two draftsmen will have no other task for the next year but to boil the gesso every day to atone for your insubordination.”
I gave Davide an apologetic look but made no reply. While boiling animal skins to make the gluelike substance needed for coating blank panels was a foul job, I would have taken on a litany of far more disgusting tasks if it meant saving my father’s life. I saw a flicker of understanding in Davide’s eyes, however, and knew that in his heart he did not fault us for what we did. With a final salute, he put a heel to his steed’s flank and trotted back toward the forest.
“Well, that’s done,” Rebecca said with a sigh of her own as she whipped up the mare again. “Now, let’s see how we fare with the soldiers at the gate.”
We continued at a moderate pace toward the castle. The morning sun was warm upon our backs, and yet the sight of the brooding fortress was enough to make me wrap my father’s cloak about me more tightly. The washerwoman’s expression was neutral, but as close as we sat I could feel the tension in her beefy arms and knew she must be as nervous as I at what was to come. As for Tito . . .
I spared a glance behind me. Though he, too, kept a neutral countenance to his pockmarked face, his dark eyes burned with eagerness. Abruptly, I wondered if his insistence in launching this rescue mission came less from concern over my father and the Master and more from a feeling of high adventure. For surely in every young man lurked a secret dream of facing down an army single-handedly while defeating a cruel duke and rescuing a duchess.
I had no time to reflect further on this, however, for we had reached the portcullis. One of the guards, stave in hand, peered through the wood and iron grille at us. Recognizing Rebecca, he barked, “You, washerwoman, what is your business?”
“Foolish man, you know my business.”
Grinning broadly, she tossed the reins to me and hopped from the cart. “I’ve come to finish the laundry,” she declared as she approached the gate. “My boys and me, we worked all day the last time we was here, but there was more laundry than we could do in a day. I promised the kitchen master I’d return today to finish the job.”
The guard’s frown deepened. “No one’s allowed in or out, not without the captain’s approval. Can’t you see that Pontalba is under siege by Milan?”
“Under siege?”
Gasping, she clutched at her large bosom and whirled about with great drama to survey the clearing. Then, with a chuckle, she turned back to the guard.
“Pah, do you mean those poor excuses for soldiers that I saw lurking about in the forest? They did not look like men ready to fight.”
A second guard had joined the first and was listening with some interest to Rebecca’s report. He shoved a sharp elbow into his fellow soldier’s ribs and grinned while Rebecca preened and smirked, swaying her broad skirts in a seductive manner.
“Pah, I think they’re less than men, if you know what I mean. The ones I saw were too busy with dice or drink to notice a comely woman come across their path, let alone summon the energy to fight. Why, I was almost here to your gate before they noticed that I had passed by.”
The first guard was grinning, as well, and he exchanged glances with his fellow. “Why don’t we let the washerwoman in, and she can tell us about everything she saw in the forest.”
“I’ll tell you that gladly, and more,” she replied with a bawdy wink, “but you must let my boys gather the laundry while we talk. A lady has to earn a few soldi, you know.”
The guards stepped away from the gate to discuss the matter, surely a favorable sign. I pretended disinterest in the entire process, though my heart pounded so wildly that I was certain it must be noticeable even through the tightly laced corset I wore beneath my tunic. After an interminable few moments, they came to a decision.
“You can come in,” the fi rst guard declared, “but you cannot stay long. Let your boys gather the laundry, and you’re off. There’s a stream not far from the castle where you can do your washing, if you have no fear of Milan’s soldiers.”
“Pah, I know how to handle soldiers,” she said with another broad wink for the pair before she climbed back into the wagon again. The rumble and squeak of chains followed as the gate rolled up once more to let us inside the castle walls.
We rolled to a stop just inside the gate, and the second guard took hold of the horse’s bridle. Rebecca climbed down once more, while Tito scrambled into her seat and took up the reins. Her bawdy grin dropped for an instant, and I was alarmed to see the look of exhausted pain in her face. In the next moment, however, the grin was back as she made mock shooing motions at us.
“Off with you, boys, and be quick. Gather the laundry and put it in the baskets, and come back here. I’ll be waiting with these fine gentlemen,” she declared, giving us a significant look as she hooked an arm through each of the soldiers’ elbows.
Tito nodded and lightly whipped up the mare.
“Can you believe our good fortune?” I murmured to him as we headed toward the kitchens. “We can hide my father and the duchess inside the baskets and smuggle them out that way. The guards will not question us or look inside, for they gave us leave to bring laundry back through the gates again.”
“Or perhaps it is another trick.” He slanted me an unreadable look and added, “You should beware, Dino, lest you be too readily fooled. The world is far more complicated than you might think.”
Stung a bit by his dismissal of my enthusiasm, I made no reply as he pulled the cart to a halt alongside the kitchens. A few of the kitchen boys were milling about, but they spared us no more than a glance. I wondered if the rest of the castle realized that they were supposedly on the brink of siege. Surely everyone should be making preparations for a possible attack, I thought in some confusion.
I wondered, as well, what had happened to Leonardo’s grand chariot. We had passed by the main doors leading to the great hall, and I’d not seen it there. It was far too unwieldy to store away in the stables along with the other carts and wagons.
I frowned as the most likely possibility came to me. Doubtless the Duke of Pontalba had seen the glorious invention and, as he had with the flying machine, decided to claim it for his own. Perhaps it sat in one of the inner courtyards awaiting Nicodemo’s dubious pleasure.
Tito, meanwhile, was digging into the baskets. I had assumed them to be empty, but to my surprise he plucked a pair of familiar tunics from one.
“See, Rebecca saved these from last time we were here,” Tito said as he tossed one to me and swiftly donned the other. “Now we may wander about in disguise.”
I pulled my borrowed tunic over my own garb, sniffing at it in satisfaction. This one had been freshly laundered by the capable washerwoman, unlike the previous soiled garment I’d worn. Tying my belt over it, I gave Tito a nod.
“I shall go in search of my father. They must have him on the roof working on the flying machine, so that is where I shall begin my search. You go to the dungeons and look for the duchess. Perhaps that is where the duke has moved her.”
“I shall look,” he agreed, “but if I find her, how will I free her? I doubt that the guard will give me a key.”
“Ah, but I shall.”
I shot him a lofty look as I reached into my pouch. With a flourish, I plucked forth one of the heavy pieces of curved wire that I’d borrowed from Leonardo’s forge before our expedition had set out.
“I’ve seen the Master open locks with such a wire before,” I explained as he gave me a puzzled stare. “You simply fit it into the lock as you would a key, and twist it about until the lock yields. It did not appear to require much talent.”
“I think I would do better to leap upon a guard from behind and steal his key, instead,” the youth replied in a doubtful voice, though he dutifully tucked the wire into his own pouch. “We’d best hurry. And be sure you find a bit of laundry that we can use to cover the tops of the baskets.”
We quickly parted, Tito toward the kitchens and I retracing my earlier steps toward the great hall. Slipping inside past the broad doors, I saw to my surprise—though perhaps I should have expected such a scene—that the great hall was again filled with men. Some soldiers, others minor nobles, all appeared in the midst of a minor uproar. Nicodemo lo Bianco, the Duke of Pontalba himself, presided over the chaos in his tall, carved chair.
This day, he was dressed in a long black tunic, over which was belted an ankle-length coat of gold and white brocade, heavily edged in black fur. A broad, puffed black velvet hat with a rolled brim of gold silk perched atop his balding head, adding further shadows to his craggy face. Rather than soften his features, the fineness of his garb emphasized the cruel slash of his lips and sagging flesh beneath his eyes and chin.
Or perhaps it was simply the contrast that made him appear far more repulsive than he was. For, standing before Nicodemo was the man whom many claimed to be the most handsome in the entire court of Milan. Breastplate gleaming and flamboyant plumed helmet tucked beneath his arm, Leonardo was in the midst of making his case.
Moving from the duke’s line of sight, I ducked into one of the alcoves. Here, I could see but not be seen for the shadows, or so I prayed. The Master was speaking, his tone measured; still, I could make out but a few words, for the duke’s men were muttering among themselves, seeming unconvinced by the speech they were hearing.
Abruptly, Nicodemo raised his hand.
“Enough,” he called, his harsh voice ringing through the hall. As silence fell, he addressed the Master.
“I have listened to your accusations, Captain. They are couched in flowery words in an attempt to deceive me into thinking you approach as an ally and not an enemy. But they are accusations, nonetheless.”
He stood and thrust a beefy finger in Leonardo’s direction. “You think yourself clever, but I am not Ludovico’s fool! You have come to me with this false charge simply to pretend cause to violate our treaty.” Apparently satisfied that he had made his point, he sat once more. “And so, I must make a decision,” Nicodemo continued in a more deliberate tone. “I could allow you to return with your men to Milan, so that you might tell your duke that Pontalba has nothing of his . . . or I could hold you here until Ludovico comes and makes his apologies to me in person.”
“My men are waiting for me, Excellency,” Leonardo coolly countered. “If I am not returned to them hale and hearty by noontide, they will consider me a captive and your action one of aggression. As for my flowery accusations . . .”
He paused and shrugged. “Just as Pontalba has its spies in Milan, so Milan has its spies in Pontalba. Let us agree to that much. And so, let me speak plainly.”
“Do go on,” the duke replied with an ironic nod.
Nodding in return, the Master continued. “We know that you hold as a captive Ludovico’s court engineer, the great genius Leonardo, a man of unrivaled talents known to all the surrounding provinces. We also know that you have stolen his magnificent invention, the likes of which has never before been seen, and that you intend to use that invention for ill.”
He paused again . . . solely for dramatic purposes, I was certain. Then, like a magician performing his final illusion, he gave a sweep of his hand.
“And so, I present the Duke of Milan’s fi nal offer. Return both man and machine without delay, and our great excellency will forget this vile breach of your alliance with him.”
“And if I refuse?” Nicodemo countered with a feral grin.
Leonardo shrugged again. “If you refuse, you must prepare yourself for a siege that you shall not win.”
The muttering recommenced, and far louder this time. I watched in alarm as the nobles and men-at-arms began putting their hands to their hips, fingers stroking sword hilts. The situation was fast growing dire, I realized. Moreover, I likely had but little time left to find my father and make our escape before the guards were ordered to seal the gate.
I was prepared to slip away as silently as I had entered, when I heard a stir at the rear of the hall. Two men-at-arms were striding down the broad aisle toward where the duke sat, a third man a prisoner in their grasp. Though I could not make out his face for the small crowd that had surged closer to the aisle for a better look, I recognized in dismay his mane of dark hair and his bearing.
Halting alongside the spot where Leonardo stood, the soldiers released their prisoner and stepped back a few paces. The duke surveyed the two men, his feral grin returning.
“See, Captain, I am not an unreasonable man,” he said with cool joviality. “I have complied with part of your demand. Here is your missing master engineer, Leonardo the Florentine.”
21
... the bird would follow other rules which will subsequently be defined in due order.
—Leonardo da Vinci, Codex Arundel
Leonardo spared the briefest of looks at my father before giving the Duke of Pontalba a cool bow.
“My thanks, Excellency. You are a reasonable man and a worthy ally of Milan. And now, perhaps we might discuss the terms for returning the flying machine.”
The duke chuckled.
I winced, for the sound uncannily resembled that of the chain as it raised and lowered the castle’s portcullis. To my relief, his amusement was short-lived. The chuckling ceased, and his features slipped back into their familiar lines of cold deliberation.
“My good captain, you misunderstand me,” he replied, tapping his fingertips together. “I have no intention of giving up the flying machine. Indeed, I wish to build many more like it. And so, upon further consideration, neither will I relinquish the man who designed it.”
A ripple of laughter washed over the room. Nicodemo, looking pleased with himself, leaned back in his chair and awaited the reaction of the man he believed to be Ludovico’s captain of the guard.
I could not see Leonardo’s face, but I noted an almost imperceptible tightening of his bearing. His tone no longer conciliatory, he replied, “That is unacceptable, Excellency. Milan demands the return of both man and machine.”
“Milan . . . demands!”
Nicodemo’s roar filled the room as he leaped to his feet, all pretense of humor gone. I reflexively skittered back a few paces, for the force of his outrage was palpable. Some of his men shuffled a few prudent steps to the rear, as well, no doubt having seen previous examples of the duke’s lapses into fury.
Leonardo, however, stood unmoving.
The duke strode around the broad table that separated him from the rest of the hall, the broad skirts of his surcoat twitching like a wild cat’s tail with every livid step. Planting himself inches from where Leonardo stood, he raised his beefy forefinger again.
“How dare you think you can tell the Duke of Pontalba what he must do? I do not answer to you nor to Ludovico!”
Snapping a look at his nearest man-at-arms, he commanded, “Take this so-called captain and hang him from the gatehouse tower, so all his men can see what I think of Milan’s demands!”
I slapped both hands over my mouth to stifle my horrified cry. But as the guards seized Leonardo from either side, I heard my father’s voice ring out.
“Halt, lest you act with too much haste! If you hang him, you will have executed the very man you wish to keep alive . . . for he is Leonardo the Florentine, and not I.”
“Listen to him not,” the Master protested with equal vigor as a mutter of puzzled voices rose around them. “The man beside me is Leonardo. It is his life that you wish to preserve.”
“He seeks but to spare me,” my father called out. “I am Angelo della Fazia, a simple cabinetmaker. He is Leonardo.”
The murmur of voices grew, while a flash of uncertainty washed over Nicodemo’s craggy features. Signaling his soldiers to release their captive, he gazed from Leonardo to my father and back again, a dark frown furrowing his high brow as he took in the resemblance between the two.
“Pah, I could well believe that my foolish spies might kidnap the wrong man. And so it is possible that he”—the duke jerked a thumb at my father—“is an imposter, and you speak the truth. But, as they say, you may always know when a man from Milan is lying by the fact that his mouth is open.”
Turning to his soldiers again, he commanded, “These two are of no import. The flying machine is all I want. Hang them both, and be done with it.”
