A Bolt from the Blue

But when I shared my plan with my companions-leaving out the visit to the duchess-both protested mightily.

“We’ll be safely out of here in the morning,” Tito countered. “Why risk being caught as a spy, when there is naught you could do, even if you found your father?”

“I agree with Tito,” the washerwoman declared. “Besides, we have a long journey before us tomorrow… and we must fold and deliver all the laundry before we leave! Better you get a fair night’s rest, instead. Now that we know the Duke of Pontalba is responsible for these crimes, we can leave the rescue to Signor Leonardo and his good patron.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

I gave a grudging nod, which seemed to satisfy them. Of course, this was not the end of it. I intended to wait until the pair was asleep and steal away as I originally planned. Risk or not, I could not leave the castle without making a final attempt to find my father.

Our makeshift bed was in the stall beside the brown mare. The wagon was parked here, as well, and Tito graciously offered it for Rebecca’s bed, assuring her that he and I would sleep quite comfortably in the straw beneath it. I made no protest, for the sacrifice suited me quite well. Rising from a straw pallet would allow a far quieter exit than trying to clamber unnoticed out of the wagon.

I hid my impatience as well as I could while Tito and Rebecca amused themselves by swapping crude tales, their laughter causing the brown mare to snort her disapproval each time. The afternoon’s toils apparently had changed the apprentice’s opinion of our traveling companion, I decided, for he now seemed quite comfortable in her company. Finally, the pair exhausted their store of bawdy jests and agreed to call it a night.

“Remember, boys, we shall be up with the cock,” came Rebecca’s parting words as she climbed into the wagon. At Tito’s snicker, she added in a mock-lofty tone, “And I mean the bird, you insolent young man.”

I lay down on my makeshift pallet and feigned quick sleep, listening as my companions settled themselves. Finally, when their snores joined the mare’s gentle nickering, I sat up. I waited a few moments longer; then, when their rhythmic breathing did not change, I eased into a standing position. Mindful of the crackling straw, I slipped out into the night.

I stopped by the laundry shed and snagged one of the freshly washed tunics. It still held a hint of dampness, but I knew the warmth of my body would soon dry it. Pulling it on over my head, I again traded my cap for that of the young page and made my silent way toward the great hall.

A blaze of light accompanied by hearty laughter spilled from the open doorway. Straightening my tunic, I slipped inside and grabbed up a discarded tray. So equipped, I boldly joined the other pages who were assisting at the meal.

My first observation was that, unlike the court at Milan, this one was noticeably absent of females, save for a handful who appeared from their scandalous dress and manner to be prostitutes. The place alongside the Duke of Pontalba was empty, and I wondered if Marianna had ever sat at his hand.

I noted, as well, that the men here were well armed… again, differing with Il Moro’s court, where the gentlemen put aside their more blatant weaponry at mealtime. Including the duke, there were perhaps two score men, all of whom appeared already well into their cups.

I busied myself rearranging a few platters upon one of the trestle tables and managed a good look at the Duke of Pontalba. I recalled him but vaguely from that ill-fated masquerade, but what I saw rang true to my memory.

Tall and slightly hunched, he had a craggy face whose thin lips twisted with cruel amusement. I judged from the droop of his eyes and pouchy flesh beneath his chin that he was quite a bit older than my father. But it was not until I saw him casually slap one of the pages who’d not been swift enough to refill his wine that I shuddered. I could understand why Marianna claimed to prefer death to his touch. In her slippers, I might well feel the same.

I had seen all I needed to see, I told myself. Only the fi rst course had been served, so I was confident that the merriment would continue for some time. Thus, bearing my empty trenchers, I slipped into the nearest alcove. Handing off the tray to a surprised youth younger than me, I made my way down the hallway and turned off in the direction I’d taken earlier that day.

Retracing my steps was less easy than I’d hoped, for it appeared that Nicodemo was stingy with his candles and torches. Thus, the rooms that had been dim before were bathed in thick shadows relieved by the occasional flame in a recess in the wall. I gave myself a moment to let my eyes adjust to the low light and continued my careful way.