A Bolt from the Blue

He flourished the hand in question most dramatically, and for an instant all was still. Then, with nary a murmur, every apprentice-myself, included-marched over to his dexter side. Leonardo waited until we were settled in place and then surveyed us with a look of pride.

“Very well, then lift your own hand, and vow that you shall follow my orders these next few days with the same obedience that a soldier pays to his captain.”

The flurry of hands and eager cries of agreement brought a proud tear to my eye. Surely with so valiant a band, my father would soon be rescued, and the duchess and the flying machine both restored to their proper places.

“And now,” Leonardo continued, pointing to a pair of large barrels beside him, “if you are to play the part of soldiers, you must look the role. I have assembled a fine collection of tunics and jerkins, as well as mail, which should serve our purpose. Each of you choose a proper uniform for yourself and then gather in the empty wagon outside the workshop.”

The next few minutes took on the element of a mock battle as we apprentices scrambled to find white tunics and dark blue cloth jerkins that fit from the one barrel, and appropriate bits of armor and mail from the other. The swiftest among us claimed breastplates and helmets, while the others had to be satisfied with mail headpieces and gloves.

Once I had my own gear in hand, I slipped away to the Master’s makeshift forge. A few moments’ foraging among the leftover bits of iron and other metals yielded success. Concealing the objects that I’d sought inside my belt pouch, I brushed the soot from my hands and rejoined my fellows.

Soon enough, it was a respectable-looking contingent that clambered into the fourth wagon reserved for the “troops.” Tommaso, Paolo, and Tito each took the reins of one supply wagon, while Davide prepared to drive the one that would carry the remainder of us apprentices. All four conveyances were, in turn, harnessed to matched steeds that must have come from Il Moro’s own stables. I wondered how the Master had managed so bold a feat and then shrugged. Leonardo had his own way of laying hands on whatever he needed, be it horses or tunics.

Eying my borrowed helmet with its fl amboyant black plume in satisfaction, I balanced it upon my knee as Davide whipped up our team and drove our wagon into the main quadrangle. The other three wagons followed in precise formation after us, making a grand sight as we slowly rolled toward the main gate.

But where, I wondered, was the Master?

The sudden clash of hooves accompanied by what sounded like a dozen swinging swords heralded his approach from behind us. As one, we turned and then gasped, our eyes wide with awe. For Leonardo, now wearing a warrior’s gleaming breastplate and helmet, was driving what could only be but another of the fantastic war machines he had designed for Ludovico.

But while pulled by a pair of ordinary black stallions, this was no commonplace chariot. Each elaborately carved wheel was equipped with twin scythes mounted at its axle that spun as the vehicle moved forward. Evil-looking spikes studded the wheels’ frames and provided additional defense should the spinning blades not suffice to stop a flank assault. Larger scythes were mounted on a shaft protruding behind the chariot and turned in concert with the wheels to protect against a rear attack. The largest blade of all was mounted on yet another shaft, which rose high above the driver’s head, spinning like a silvery bird of prey.

Impressive as the sight was now, I could imagine how it would look in battle, the scythes enveloping the driver in a whirlwind of steel and singing a sure promise of destruction for any man or beast who drew too near the chariot. Never had any of us seen such a machine before… nor, I guessed somewhat smugly, would the Duke of Pontalba’s men ever have been privy to such a sight.

We gave a fine cheer as Leonardo passed us by to lead our convoy toward the castle gates. Whatever agreement he had concocted with the captain of the guard must have been successful, for the heavy wood and iron grille was already raised, and the path before us was clear.

With a dramatic flick of a lever, the Master shut down his whirling blades, so we departed the castle with far less fanfare… and with far less likelihood of endangering any innocent passersby! He took a quicker route through the city than Rebecca had used, so that before long we were on the road and headed toward Pontalba.

“Wait! Signor Leonardo!”

We were but a short way down the road when several of us heard that faint salutation, repeated more than once over the rumble of wagon wheels. Curious, we all peered back, but the remaining wagons blocked our view of the way from which we’d come. It was not until we reached a small curve in the road that we could see past the last wagon again to discover the source of those frantic cries.