A Bolt from the Blue

“Your master is a man of the world. He is not naive enough to dismiss the possibility that even the best of us can be tempted. For some, that temptation may be coin; for others, perhaps the prospect of a more prestigious post.”

When I made a sound of protest, he added, “But, no, I do not think he suspects the boy of any wrongdoing.”

He stood abruptly and paced the small room, stroking his neat beard. Again, I was struck by the resemblance between him and Leonardo. Perhaps had I allowed myself a more critical eye, I might have conceded that my father’s features were more pleasant than handsome, and his bearing rather more sturdy than graceful. Side by side, they could not be confused with each other; still, the two men might have passed for older and younger brother, with the Master the fairer of the pair.

As those idle thoughts fl ittered through my mind, my father halted in his pacing, as if he’d come to a decision. He proved me right, when he began to speak.

“I have given this matter much thought since this afternoon,” he began in a tone befitting the day’s solemn mood. “I fear that Signor Leonardo has inadvertently opened the gates to evil with this invention of his. It is an unnatural thing, the prospect of a man soaring above the treetops like a bird. No good can come of it, I am certain. I fear that if your duke is given this power, he will use it most cruelly against both enemy and friend.”

He paused and shot me a keen look. “I will, of course, keep my agreement with your master and continue work upon the flying machine. But once my part is done, I shall gather my tools and leave Milan so that I do not have to witness what will come next. And I think it best that I take you with me.”

I leaped to my feet and stared at him in dismay.

“Father, surely you would not make me abandon my apprenticeship! What happened to Constantin was a terrible thing, but the Master shall learn who killed him. There’s no need for me to leave.”

“You don’t understand, my child,” he countered, his expression sterner than I recalled ever seeing. “This has nothing to do with your unfortunate friend’s murder. Signor Leonardo has already said that the duke intends to use this flying machine-should it prove successful-to go to war with his neighbors. One province or two falling victim to Il Moro’s newfound supremacy would not mean much. Such is the way it has always been, for the dukedoms cannot help but bicker like children. But I fear this time it will be different.”

“I don’t understand, Father. What difference can it make?”

“If Ludovico grows too powerful,” he replied, “he will eventually bring the wrath of Rome upon Milan. The Medicis of Florence will surely support the pope, as will any other dukes not under Ludovico’s control. The ensuing war will be bloody, and I shall not leave my daughter here to face such carnage!”

His tone had an air of finality about it that struck me silent. And, truth be told, I suspected he could be right about what might happen should the callous Ludovico gain control of the very skies. But how could I abandon Leonardo and my fellows to such danger?

Not willing to debate the subject with him, I merely nodded my assent; then, to change the subject, I began telling him about the new fresco that we’d begun preparation for in the chapel. I did, however, purposely neglect to mention the scenes depicting Christ’s travels in strange Eastern lands… most particularly the sketch that showed him levitating above a crowd. I knew my pious father would find it heretical, so much so that he might forget his promise to the Master and hurry me away from Milan this very night!

A short time later, I kissed my father on the cheek and took my leave. Leonardo had not yet returned, and I wondered if he would wander the night until dawn, as was often his wont. For myself, I preferred the comfort of my bed. Thus, I slipped back into the workshop, dark save for the final flickers of the dying fire tucked deep within the hearth.

I negotiated the shadows with care, making my way through the maze of worktables and benches until I reached the converted storeroom that served as the apprentices’ sleeping quarters. Running the length of the workshop and accessed by but a single entry, it was little more than a long hallway flanked on either side by a dozen shallow alcoves. While once those hollows would have held boxes and barrels, now each contained a narrow cot and a small wooden chest for storing personal items.