A Bolt from the Blue

But if the soldiers could be distracted long enough as they poured out from the castle, the apprentices might yet make their escape. With eight horses among them, they need not flee on foot but could abandon wagons and gear, and gallop off toward safety. Even riding two up, they would have a small advantage of speed over their pursuers’ more heavily laden steeds. How long and how far Nicodemo’s men would follow after them, I could not guess. But at least they would have a chance at escape, a chance they would not have if I chose the coward’s path now and stood aside to watch the coming debacle.

Thus resolved, I scrambled to my feet. The sound of the soldiers below echoing in my ears, I rushed back to the flying machine to make final preparations for victory… or, failing that, provision for a quick and glorious death.

22

*

… the famous bird will take its flight, which will fill the world with its great renown.

– Leonardo da Vinci, Manuscript Sul Volo

I had several minutes to prepare for my bold flight, I was certain, for it took time to ready so many soldiers all at once. And Nicodemo’s men would surely feel no great haste, knowing now the nature of their opponents.

Rope in hand, I began dragging the flying machine upward toward the chimney. The task proved harder than it looked, for the incline was steep, but soon enough I had tied the craft off so that its nose pointed down the slope.

Next came the task of strapping myself onto its frame… and, once again, I felt my courage quail as I contemplated that step. Large as the craft was, there still was little there to support me, so that it would be like climbing onto the back of an immense bird and clinging to its feathers for dear life. How could I consider trusting so fragile-looking a frame?

“Father would do it,” I sternly told myself. “And the Master would not be afraid.”

Besides, my inner voice reminded me, what was there to lose? If I did not make this attempt but simply waited for my own capture, I likely would end up dead alongside my fellows.

“Far better to die like a hawk than as a mouse,” I softly proclaimed and settled myself facedown upon the framework.

My last task would be to strap myself in. First, however, I spared a moment to test each pedal and lever, amazed that my lightest touch moved the great wings with ease. I had feared that I might not be able to reach those controls, designed as they’d been for a man of the Master’s height. Fortunately, they were positioned in such a way that they could be reached from various angles. All I would have to remember was the proper sequence of pedaling and flapping to keep the craft aloft once it was airborne.

All I would have to remember, indeed!

The commotion from the courtyard was growing louder. I knew, however, that I must take my cue from the now-familiar squeal and rattle of heavy chain that would signal the portcullis being raised. For the soldiers would not pour from the gate like ants stirred from a hill; rather, they would ride out and arrange themselves into formation first, before charging toward the tree line beyond. It would be at the moment when they began the assault that I would let loose the rope and sail the flying machine from the castle roof.

I managed a weak smile at the thought of the chaos I would cause. The sight of me gliding hawklike above the field would cause no end of consternation among the soldiers, while striking terror among the horses. Surely many a frightened steed would unseat his rider… and surely many a superstitious man would drop to his knees in the belief that he was about to be visited with divine retribution.

Once aloft, I would remain airborne for as long as I could, giving my fellows the time to make their escape while the duke’s men were thus distracted. And afterward, if my strength and the winds allowed it, like Daedelus, I would pilot the craft on to safety, perhaps as far as Milan.

But, if my fate instead mirrored that of the luckless Icarus, at least my spectacular demise when I hurtled to the ground should prove an equal distraction.

Knowing I could not put it off any longer, I reached for the first strap, which would go around my torso and fasten beneath me. My nerves were stretched as taut as the canvas on my craft’s wings, while sweat had begun to trickle from my brow. And still, the gate had not risen. Saints’ blood, how long did it take to gather arms and saddle horses and be off?