A Bolt from the Blue

“Should I be able to talk myself past the castle gates,” he addressed us all, “I have instructed Davide how to maintain our illusion in my absence. Follow his orders as you would mine. You draftsmen are not to leave your posts unless Davide deems the situation too dangerous and calls a retreat. Most important, you are not to engage anyone from the castle unless on my express orders.”

We murmured our assent and stepped back as the Master climbed into his war machine. Paolo and Tommaso each put a heel to flank, setting their steeds toward the forest’s edge. Leonardo and his chariot followed after, the machine’s deadly blades keeping to their sheathed position until the trio broke out into the open.

I could almost hear the gasp from the opposing forces as soon as the chariot with its singing blades came into view. The sun was high enough so that it reflected off those whirling scythes with blinding radiance, the sight calling to mind Ezekiel’s fiery chariot. Had so small a force of men ever before stirred hearts to such awe? I wondered, eyes wide. Surely, in the face of Leonardo’s grand invention, Nicodemo would see the prudence of negotiation rather than war.

After what appeared to be a deliberately circuitous route-doubtless meant to allow everyone from the castle who was watching a good look at the magnificent machine he was driving-Leonardo and his two men halted before the duke’s contingent.

Of course, we could hear nothing from our vantage point at the forest’s edge. Neither could we see much of what was happening beyond a few broad gestures exchanged between the Master and the man who appeared to be Nicodemo’s spokesman. After but a few minutes’ conversation, however, Paolo and Tommaso abruptly wheeled their horses about.

“Why are they leaving the Master alone with the duke’s men?” Vittorio asked in some alarm as the pair began a brisk trot back toward us. “And, wait-he’s being captured!”

“He’s not captured,” Bernardo protested, his voice quavering. “They’re just taking him to the castle. Right, Dino?”

“No weapons are drawn,” I assured him with more confidence than I felt, “so I’m sure that is the case. But let us watch to see what happens.”

For, as we were speaking, we could see the soldiers splitting their ranks in two. Now three of the horses and riders made a wide circle around to the rear of the chariot. The other three soldiers remained in place and simply whirled their steeds about, leaving Leonardo and his scythed machine neatly positioned between the two groups of mounted men. At a signal from their leader, they began a measured trot back toward the castle… keeping, of course, a prudent distance between themselves and Leonardo’s whirling blades.

Tommaso and Paolo had returned by this time. Quickly dismounting from their horses, they hurried over to where the rest of us stood. Paolo raised his hand to stave off the questions we fired at him; then, plucking off his helmet, he addressed Davide while making sure that the rest of us could hear him.

“The captain of the guard was quite bold,” he explained. “He demanded to know why Milan’s army was camped upon their doorstep, given that Milan and Pontalba are allies. The Master told him that it was a matter he could discuss only with the Duke of Pontalba himself. Of course, the captain protested that and, of course, the Master acted as if he would not give way. But finally, he told the captain that Il Moro’s court engineer had mysteriously disappeared from Milan, along with one of his inventions… and that someone claimed spies from Pontalba were responsible for the crime.”

“That was when the captain agreed that the Master might speak with the duke,” Tommaso spoke up, continuing the tale. “The Master gave him two conditions. First, he wished the meeting to be private, so that his men-he meant me and Paolo-must be allowed to return to their fellows. Second, he said he must be free to depart the castle whenever he wishes… and if he has not rejoined his men by noontide, Milan’s army will assume that Pontalba has broken their treaty and act accordingly against them.”

“Look!” Vittorio interjected before Tommaso could say more. “They’re closing the gate.”

As the last rider cleared the entry, the heavy wooden grille began a slow descent, closing with a thud that we could hear from where we waited. The finality of the sound struck us all silent, as if we’d watched our beloved Master descend past hell’s fiery gates.

Davide was fi rst to break the silence. After glancing at the sun to judge its position, he turned to the rest of us.

“Why do you tarry? Master Leonardo left us with crucial tasks to perform in his absence. Lorenzo and Giovanni”-he gestured to the two youngest boys-“make sure you keep the campfires burning. You others, man your posts so that you can be seen.”