A Bolt from the Blue

And why not? The flowing robes could easily conceal a small crossbow within their folds, I reasoned in some concern. Moreover, such a disguise could be shrugged off in moments, allowing its wearer to blend into a group of servants or of nobles, depending upon what he wore beneath it.

Not wishing to alarm my father-for surely he would be distressed to learn that I might have drawn the assassin’s notice-I waited while the two men conferred a moment longer. Finally convinced of the wisdom of Leonardo’s plan, my father gave me an encouraging nod and strode with grim purpose from the garden in search of a wagon. Only when the gate had closed behind him did I confide in the Master my fears about this puzzling stranger.

He listened with keen interest to my story, but his response took me aback. “Odd, how this unknown person made his initial appearance at the same time that Signor Angelo first arrived here in Milan,” he coolly observed.

I instinctively bristled at this seeming accusation against my father. Surely he could not think that so fine a man as Angelo della Fazia would have anything to do with murder!

Seeing my reaction, Leonardo was swift to assume a placating tone.

“Do not worry, my dear boy. I do not mean to imply that your sire has any involvement in this matter. But it would seem that someone deduced the reason for my bringing him into the duke’s service and decided the time was ripe to strike.”

“Do you truly believe what you said earlier, then, that someone else might fall victim to this assassin?” I asked with no little trepidation, picturing my father or another of the apprentices-or Leonardo himself!-lying sprawled upon the ground, a bloody bolt protruding from his cold flesh.

The Master stroked his neat beard, his expression grim. “I am loath to play prophet under such circumstances, but I would venture to say that we have not seen the end of this matter.”

“Perhaps since we all dress in identical tunics and trunk hose, he mistook me for Constantin,” I weakly offered, now picturing myself as the one lying in a heap with an arrow in my back and my lifeblood spilling into the dirt.

I had no time to dwell on this unsettling scene, however, for I heard the staccato knock upon the gate that was the prearranged signal for my father’s return. The Master swiftly unlatched the gate, and the pair maneuvered the small cart and sturdy little horse into the garden. Then my father turned to Leonardo, his manner firm.

“I would not have Dino witness what we must do next to carry out your plan. Let him rejoin his fellows.”

“I am of the same mind,” Leonardo said with a swift nod, much to my relief.

To me, he added, “The other apprentices should still be in the small chapel preparing the walls for our next fresco. Make your way there, and if they question you, simply say that I bade you lend them assistance for the day. As for Constantin, you may say that you last saw him leaving the castle grounds with me. Give them no hint that anything is amiss.”

“As you will, Master,” I agreed, sending my father a look of silent gratitude. No matter that I understood Leonardo’s intent, I did not think I could bear to stand by and watch my friend being lashed to the wagon like a bundle.

I took my leave of the garden with more haste than dignity. But even with the gate shut behind me again, I could picture in my mind’s eye what must happen next… the two men lifting Constantin into the wagon and carefully arranging his dead limbs into a cruel mockery of repose. Tied to the seat and wrapped in a cloak, his lifeless form would doubtless pass unnoticed by the guards as Leonardo drove through the castle gates.

I shuddered. I suspected that familiar handling of the dead-no matter that the victim was well-known to him-would not cause the Master much distress. He had examined many a corpse in the time that I had known him; indeed, he was rumored to have secretly cut open dead criminals in the same way that a tanner flayed a beast, simply to further his anatomical knowledge. But as for my father…

Despite my distress, I felt a surge of affection that momentarily warmed my chilled flesh. Though willing to risk confrontation when his principles were put to test, my father’s veins ran with mild humors. I knew that Constantin’s death had touched him greatly, though he barely knew the apprentice. Likely he pictured one of my brothers, or me, when he looked upon the murdered youth. I knew that, while he took part in this charade out of grim duty, his heart was surely wounded by the task.