A Bolt from the Blue

But before I could give way to despair, his next words halted that figurative flight as he added, “Still, I have no doubt that you yourself are convinced that you can accomplish this fantastical feat. Under such circumstances, my own feelings matter naught. And so I will be honored to work alongside you on this project on behalf of the Duke of Milan.”

It was all I could do not to cheer this great news, but I contented myself with a broad grin. Leonardo looked pleased, as well, and grasped my father’s hands in his.

“We shall make fine partners… and Dino shall prove a worthy assistant, as well,” he added, including me in his smile. Reaching for the discarded length of oiled cloth, he quickly wrapped it about the model so that the small craft was well hidden and its lines blurred beneath the folds of fabric.

“But, for the moment, I think that Dino should rejoin his fellows,” he told my father. “For I wish now to show you my progress on the full-scale model, and I must make a rule that only you and I shall have access to the shed where it is kept.”

“Do not worry, Master. I understand,” I was quick to assure him. “I shall find Constantin, for he told me he will be spending the remainder of the afternoon taking measurements in the chapel for the new fresco. I am certain he can use another set of hands.”

“Very good. And fear not-you shall join your father and me in the morning to help finish testing our model.”

I left the pair and headed off to the small chapel in the duke’s private wing. Safely ensconced behind high walls and an iron gate, and with its own tower, that portion of the castle served as an ultimate stronghold against any outside army’s attempt at conquest. There, the duke could make a final stand should the fortress ever be overrun by one of his enemies. For now, however, the soldiers who guarded that entry gave me but a cursory look as I explained my errand and then let me pass.

The chapel was perhaps large enough to hold two dozen worshippers, though the peeling plaster and dust-covered pews indicated it had been some time since Mass had been celebrated there. I made my genuflection toward the small altar and then chided myself for my lapse into blasphemy as I saw, not the martyred Lord, but the design of the Master’s flying machine in the crucifix hanging above it.

Constantin put aside his sheaf of notes and welcomed me with a smile. He was sketching the dimensions of the chapel’s walls, making notes of heights and lengths as he calculated the needed size of the scaffolding we would soon be assembling there. I grasped one end of the cord he had been using to take his measures and began calling out numbers to him as we made our way about the room.

When we’d finished, we settled in one of the dusty pews. While Constantin filled in the rest of his sketch, we talked about my father’s arrival in Milan.

“I am not surprised that the Master kept your father’s arrival a secret from you,” Constantin assured me with a grin. “He enjoys a clever trick as much as any boy. I am sure he will laugh to himself for many days each time he recalls the look that must have been upon your face. The one thing I do not understand is how he could have known beforehand that Master Angelo was your father.”

I recounted the Master’s explanation, and the senior apprentice nodded. “Your father must be a talented master, indeed, for Leonardo to have requested his services.”

With his next words, however, his amusement sobered into a sigh, and his reedy voice took on a somber note.

“Ah, Dino, you do not know how fortunate you are to have your father here with you. My father is long dead, and yet I still miss him as if he were just now gone. I know I would gladly give ten years of my life to have him back long enough to share one last meal with him.”

Then he brightened. “But let us not speak of sad things. We are finished here, and we still have some time before the evening meal. Why don’t we go watch the soldiers practicing with their horses in the quadrangle?”

I readily agreed. It was a favored pastime of us apprentices, observing Il Moro’s mounted men and their immense steeds as they conducted their warlike maneuvers upon the parade ground. Though they used wooden weapons and practiced prescribed drills, the sight of the armored men and colorfully blanketed horses dashing about still was exciting, no matter that it happened almost daily.

We found a spot a safe distance from the action, though still close enough that we had to duck the occasional clod of dirt sent flying by a shod hoof. Constantin and I were not the only observers, for two of the stableboys and a handful of pages were already gathered where we sat. We youths clapped and cheered each skillful move, all of us secretly picturing ourselves performing such dramatic feats.