A Bolt from the Blue

I had debated whether or not to tell Rebecca and Tito about the Duchess of Pontalba. Finally, I decided to keep my peace, at least for the time being. If the Rebecca standing before me was the same one who had helped Marianna, I dared not let her know I had discovered her secret before I learned if the washerwoman intended to betray me, as well. As for Tito, he was too prone to quick emotion and might well blurt out some ill-thought comment in her company and thus reveal the secret.

Instead, I asked, “Shall we return to Milan? Surely Master Leonardo will have traveled back from his mission by the time we arrive and will know what to do next.”

“We cannot leave until tomorrow,” Rebecca sternly reminded me. “There’s wash to be done, and we must do it.”

And so the three of us continued the work she and Tito had begun. It was no job for the faint of heart or weak of body. This I quickly discovered as I used the paddle to lift the soaked clothing and linens-weighing far more wet than they did dry-from the pot. Letting them cool sufficiently so that I did not burn myself on the scalding water, I wrung the soapy water from them before transferring them to the rinse pot. There, after a bit of boiling and stirring, the process would be repeated, with the clean clothes piled in a basket again while waiting to dry.

“Hang the wash from those pegs,” Rebecca advised Tito, pointing to the numerous wooden hooks that were built into the posts of the shed’s three open sides. “There’s a good breeze and a decent bit of sun left, so they should dry by morning.”

Soon, the laundry shed more closely resembled a festival tent, swathed as it was in all sizes and colors of fabric. As for me, I was soaked in wash water and sweat, my hands and arms aching with my efforts. With Tito’s help, I was able to keep apace of Rebecca, who did the preliminary scrubbing… far harder work than what I was doing.

When the final tunic was hung and the pots empty of all save fi lthy water, I sank onto the wet stone floor with a groan. “Saints’ blood, I cannot imagine doing this every day,” I gasped out. “How ever do you manage it, Rebecca?”

“It’s easy enough once you’ve done it as long as me. Why, my little Novella can hoist a basket of wet laundry that would take you and your friend both to carry,” she said with a proud grin. “And it’s not a bad living. I work as I please and answer to no man.”

Tito gave a puzzled frown. “But doesn’t it bother you that people look down on you for what you do?”

“Pah, there’s no shame in honest hard work,” she retorted. “That’s something you’d do well to remember, my fine young apprentice. Those that do scorn me, they can think what they want, so long as they keep paying me. Besides, I sleep easy at night, which is more than I can say for most nobles.”

“I know I shall sleep easy tonight,” I interjected with another groan. “I’m so tired, I could sleep right here among the laundry.”

“We’ll have a nice soft bed of straw in the stable,” Rebecca replied with a return of her grin. “Come; it’s time for the evening meal, and the kitchen master said he’d save us a bit of stew.”

The stew proved surprisingly tasty, and I felt much restored by the time I had scraped clean the bottom of my borrowed bowl. As we ate among the other servants, I kept a keen eye and ear open for any gossip about either my father or the duchess. But it seemed that the servants of Castle Pontalba were not prone to undue chatter, for the conversation about us was cautious. I wondered if it was because we were strangers among them or if the talk was always tempered. Knowing what little that I did of Nicodemo, I suspected the latter.

I did, however, venture to question Rebecca on one matter. Keeping my tone casual, I asked her, “Do you know another washerwoman of Milan by your same name?”

She frowned, but I saw nothing of guilt in her expression as she replied, “By the Virgin, I cannot think that I do… but why do you ask?”

“It is nothing,” I said with a dismissive wave. “But while we were gathering linens earlier, I thought I overheard one of the pages mentioning a washerwoman named Rebecca and thought it a curious coincidence.”

Darkness had fallen by the time we made our way back toward the stable, which would be our room for the night. We deliberately took the long way about so that we passed by the barracks and the great hall, which had been empty earlier in the day. Now, however, soldiers whose dress marked them of rank joined men who appeared to be minor nobles as all filed toward that gathering spot. The aroma of seared lamb and baked fowl drifted to us, evidence that a grand meal was being prepared.

I gave a thoughtful frown. While the duke and his men were thus occupied later in the evening, I would slip back into the castle and visit the duchess in her cell. Perhaps she would have some idea where else in the castle her husband might hold his prisoner, so that I could continue my search. Failing that, I could at least offer her company and consolation.