A Bolt from the Blue

Moreover, I knew that Il Moro’s affection for his master engineer was limited to his current usefulness. Doubtless many other artists and inventors were waiting for the opportunity for such a patron as he. Ludovico would go to war if it served his cunning purposes, and not out of loyalty or sentimentality.

I glanced at Rebecca to gauge her opinion on the matter. Her broad face was drawn in serious lines as she nodded.

“I fear Tito is right,” she replied, no trace of banter in her tone. “That duke, he won’t willingly free your father. And with Signor Leonardo, he’s got another hostage to barter back to Il Moro. But I have an idea how to smuggle your father from the castle, if we can but gain entry.”

In a basket of laundry, perhaps?

The question rose unbidden to my lips, but I bit it back. The Master must have been certain of the washerwoman’s loyalty, for he had allowed her to accompany us this far. And should the Duke of Pontalba learn that the man he thought was Leonardo the Florentine was instead Angelo the cabinetmaker, my father might never have the chance to put into effect his own plan of escape.

Taking a deep breath, I returned Rebecca’s nod with one of my own. “Very well, I agree that we must do something. So what is our plan?”

Rebecca’s broad face split into a wide grin. “Why, same as last time. We do some laundry.”

A short time later, I was once again wearing my simple apprentice’s tunic and seated beside Rebecca as she drove her cart toward the castle’s gate. We’d told Lorenzo and Giovanni, the only ones of the apprentices who noticed us hitching up the cart, that we were acting under Davide’s orders; thus, we had avoided any questions from the pair. For her part, Novella had agreed to distract Davide with claims of a twisted ankle long enough for us to be beyond call before he noticed our defection.

Unfortunately for our plan, the senior apprentice was not easily misled from his duty. Barely were we halfway across the cleared field when Tito grasped my arm and softly said, “Look, Davide has come after us.”

I turned in my seat to see that the senior apprentice-dressed in helmet and breastplate, and mounted upon one of our makeshift war steeds-was indeed galloping in our direction. Wheeling most dramatically around us, he halted in our path and drew a flashing sword, so that Rebecca was forced to pull up her mare or run over him.

“What are you doing?” he asked in an outraged undertone as he pointed the weapon at us. “The Master gave strict orders that no one was supposed to approach the castle. Quickly, turn your cart around.”

“We cannot do that,” I softly countered. “My father’s life is in danger, and the Master’s plan is flawed. We must attempt to rescue him in another fashion, lest they both remain Pontalba’s prisoners.”

Davide’s lips folded into stubborn lines, and his sword remained unyielding. “The Master gave us orders, and we must follow them.”

Helpless, I exchanged glances with Rebecca. She gave me a small nod; then, her expression kindly, she addressed the youth.

“You did your duty fi ne. What’s more important, you gave the soldiers on the parapets a good show,” she told him. “Now, make us a bow so they can see all is well, and then you must let us pass.”

“I cannot do that. The Master trusted me with this duty, and I will not let him down,” Davide protested, though I saw an uncertain wobble to his sword. “Please, turn back.”

“We won’t turn back,” Rebecca countered, her expression growing stern. “And the soldiers are going to get suspicious if we keep sitting here showing our gums to the breeze. Don’t worry; I’ll tell Signor Leonardo that you did your duty. And these boys”-she indicated Tito and me-“will take the punishment he deals them.”

The sword wobbled a moment longer. Finally, with a great sigh and look of consternation, he sheathed his weapon and made us an exaggerated bow from his saddle.

“Very well, you may pass, but only because I cannot stop you short of using a blade,” he retorted in a tone of disgust.

Shooting Tito and me a baleful glance, he added, “No matter what other punishment the Master deals out, know that you two draftsmen will have no other task for the next year but to boil the gesso every day to atone for your insubordination.”

I gave Davide an apologetic look but made no reply. While boiling animal skins to make the gluelike substance needed for coating blank panels was a foul job, I would have taken on a litany of far more disgusting tasks if it meant saving my father’s life. I saw a flicker of understanding in Davide’s eyes, however, and knew that in his heart he did not fault us for what we did. With a final salute, he put a heel to his steed’s flank and trotted back toward the forest.

“Well, that’s done,” Rebecca said with a sigh of her own as she whipped up the mare again. “Now, let’s see how we fare with the soldiers at the gate.”