A Bolt from the Blue

And so, I was taken by surprise when I reached the stables again, and Tito jumped from the shadows to confront me. His face dark with anger, he demanded, “Dino, where have you been? I woke up and found you gone.”

“Tito, you squawk like an old woman,” I replied, managing a light tone. “I stepped out to take a piss.”

“Pah, you could not piss that long, no matter if you drank the entire vat of wash water. You have been gone for at least an hour.”

Then his expression darkened further as he gestured at me and added, “And why do you need to wear a page’s tunic to go empty your bladder?”

I gave a guilty start, remembering too late that I had not stripped off the borrowed tunic and returned it to the laundry shed. I hesitated; then, reassured by the sound of Rebecca’s snores coming from the wagon, I lowered my voice further.

“Very well, I went back to the castle,” I told him, “and this time, I found my father. If you swear that you can keep silent and say nothing, not even to Rebecca, I will tell you all I know.”

After gaining his oath, I explained how I’d earlier discovered the duchess in her meager cell and told him of the odd coincidence of two washerwomen named Rebecca. I explained, as well, that I had returned in hopes of learning more from her, to discover Marianna gone from the cell and my father imprisoned there in her place.

“And he wishes us to return to Milan,” I finished. “He will remain here at the castle. Once he finishes building the craft, he will make good his escape by flying it from Pontalba to freedom. By then, Il Moro will have been warned of what has happened and can pursue retribution against the Duke of Pontalba for his crimes.”

Tito shook his head in amazement as he finished listening to my dramatic tale.

“This is serious business, Dino. I agree with your father. We must return to Milan as soon as possible and leave the rest up to Master Leonardo.”

“Then let us get some rest. And remember, not a word of this to Rebecca. She may well be an innocent in all of this, but if she is not, we must watch her carefully lest she betray us, as well.”

We arose to the cock’s crow and made swift work of the now-dry laundry. By the time we had returned the linens to their owners, the pouch at Rebecca’s waist jingled tellingly. She pulled out a handful of coins, which she split between Tito and me.

“Your share for your efforts. How does it feel to earn a few soldi for your hard work, my fine young gentleman?” she asked, her grin directed at Tito.

Tito eyed his share with suspicion. “I do not think this is one-third.”

“And who said we would split the money evenly?” she countered, her black brows drawing down to her nose. “Besides, all earned was not profit. The kitchen master had to be paid.”

“You are very generous, Rebecca,” I interjected, giving Tito a not-so-subtle elbow to the ribs. “Shall I bring the mare and wagon, so we can be off?”

Not many minutes later, we had passed through the gates of Castle Pontalba and were driving at a quick pace toward the forest. It was not until we reached the trees, however, that I released the breath that I felt I had been holding ever since our arrival there the day before. Still, I could not help but glance over my shoulder several times lest the duke’s men come in pursuit. Tito must have feared the same thing, for his gaze was fi xed on the road behind us.

Sparing a glance at Rebecca, I wondered at her thoughts. I could read nothing in her expression, however, save an air of determination as she drove the mare with swiftness toward home.

As with the outward journey, we passed but a few people in either direction, so that the road belonged mostly to us. The washerwoman kept us going well past dusk, far later than she’d let us travel before. Still, I had to stop myself from protesting when we finally stopped for the night.

Though a chill hung in the air, we did not bother with a fire but wrapped ourselves tightly in our cloaks. We made a meager meal of bread and cheese, Tito having finished off the remaining figs the day before. By unspoken agreement, we limited our conversation to the latest gossip of Castle Sforza, but our talk had an air of forced joviality that fooled none of us. With the same silent accord we retired to our blankets soon after eating. Still, from the paucity of snores that followed, I suspected that I was not the only one having a hard time falling asleep.

Indeed, it seemed I had just dropped off into slumber when Rebecca was shaking me awake. The mare was soon hitched to the wagon, and we set off again as first light was breaking over the horizon. We were back among rolling hills interspersed with small groves, so that our travel took on a slower pace as compared to the day before. Heavy shrubs and sturdy pines flanked this portion of the road, which wound like a serpent’s trail. We would reach Milan, I judged, at about the same time that the sun reached its zenith. From there, who knew what would be the next step… full-scale war, perhaps, or maybe stern diplomacy?