A Bolt from the Blue

Once darkness had settled firmly upon the forest, we began our work. Under Leonardo’s exacting direction, we moved with swift silence to set the canvases with their painted men-at-arms just behind the first line of trees at the forest’s edge. Arranged into several small squadrons, their wood frames were camouflaged by those props depicting boulders and various bits of greenery. Interspersed among the false army were the actual weapons we’d brought with us, lacking only ammunition to make them deadly.

The work took several hours, so that our labors did not end until well past midnight. Huddling together beneath our blankets, for the night had grown quite chill, we prepared for a few hours of fretful sleep.

“Do you think we shall be killed?” I overheard young Bernardo ask Tito in quiet, quavering tones not long after we’d settled in.

I did not catch the words that Tito said in response, but they seemed to satisfy the younger boy. Whatever his answer, I prayed that Tito was right. Though the Master had claimed that our role would be little more than a masquerade, I feared that the cunning Nicodemo lo Bianco might prove a more formidable foe than Leonardo anticipated.

Dawn rose upon a substantial-looking army poised at the forest’s edge… or, at least, that was how it was designed to appear from the vantage point of the duke’s castle. Leonardo had cleverly added further verisimilitude to the scene with a score of campfires, which he’d had lit as the sun eased past the horizon. Tended by one of the younger apprentices, their curling plumes of smoke hinted at a greater force camped behind that false front line. The Duke of Milan’s standard-a wily garden snake twisting across an azure field-was planted prominently beyond the last of the trees, proclaiming to all who might look which particular noble this army served.

But, clever as he was at pageantry, Leonardo knew that an unmoving illusion would soon be seen for what it was. Thus, the remainder of us apprentices had already donned our makeshift uniforms. Spreading ourselves wide among the painted forces, we milled about with purpose, adding needed motion to the static scene. And while we had been bidden to silence during the night, our conversation was now encouraged… taking care, as Leonardo reminded the younger ones of us, to keep our voices at a manly pitch.

It was not long after the first cock crowed that we heard a shout from atop the castle walls.

“Finally, they stir,” Leonardo murmured in satisfaction. “Let us see if our opening performance is convincing enough to for them to request the next act.”

From our concealment behind some of the painted backdrops, we watched as more soldiers gathered atop the battlemented walks, spreading themselves along that front. It was fully daylight, however, before we heard the familiar squeal and rumble that was the drawbridge dropping into place. A few minutes later, the immense wooden gate rose high enough to allow a small contingent of helmed and armed men on horseback to ride in tight formation from the castle.

“Aha, our subterfuge was convincing,” the Master observed in satisfaction as the half-dozen riders halted halfway between the castle walls and the forest’s edge. “It appears that they wish to parlay.”

He had already donned his gleaming helmet and breastplate and strapped his sword to his hip, assuming the role of captain of Il Moro’s guard. He started for the small clearing where Davide was harnessing the twin black steeds to the scythed chariot. Two of the draft horses had been pressed into service to play military mounts and waited, smartly blanketed and saddled, beside the chariot. Tommaso and Paolo had been similarly assigned martial roles and were dressed in matching helmets and breastplates slightly less ornate than those that Leonardo wore. They climbed atop their borrowed horses and, each balancing a tall staff that flew the Duke of Milan’s familiar serpentine coat of arms, awaited orders.

“Master,” I asked, barely able to hide the anxiety in my voice, “will you demand my father’s release first thing?”

“I will not tip our hand immediately,” he replied with a shake of his plumed head.

Frowning in the castle’s direction, he went on. “I shall begin by appealing to the Duke of Pontalba as an ally of Milan and let him think we wish his help in tracking down those responsible for the crime. He will have but two choices at that point… either claim ignorance of the matter or admit his culpability and offer me terms for the return of your father and my craft. I suspect that he will not relinquish either without a fight, but I hope our show of force will at least make him consider that option.”

“But what if that does not work?”

He glanced my way again and laid a comforting hand upon my shoulder. “Fear not, my boy. We shall retrieve your father, one way or the other.”

He motioned the other apprentices closer.