A Bolt from the Blue

Listening to my father’s account, I had felt a swell of admiration for the young woman. And if the saints continued to watch over her, perhaps Marianna’s story would end far more happily than had that of the tragic contessa she had replaced.

But as our journey continued, I concentrated my thoughts on my own situation. I had the advantage of my soft pallet at the front of the wagon bed where I could stretch out to rest. The remaining apprentices sat shoulder to shoulder in far less comfort than I, though none seemed inclined to complain. The stories and riddles that had passed the time for us before were not to be heard on this journey, however, for each youth was caught up in his thoughts.

Once, and to no one in particular, Bernardo sat up straight and declared, “I hate Tito! I shall never forgive him.”

The words spoken, he slumped so that his chin rested on his knees. His eyes gleamed with unshed tears as he glared about him, as if daring someone to contradict that pronouncement. The rest of us turned sympathetic looks on him, for we knew that Bernardo had particularly admired the older youth. And all of us felt, to some degree or another, the same sense of angry betrayal over what had happened.

But Tito was not the sole object of our thoughts. Though I was supposed to be convalescing, I found myself leaning up from time to time to see if Rebecca and her daughter had come into view behind us in their borrowed cart to join our march. Vittorio, too, appeared to be watching for them, for his gaze remained fi xed on the dwindling landscape behind us. I knew he was concerned about Novella, and I regretted that he’d been forced to watch over me the day before instead of joining the girl in her search for her mother.

The two women still had not made an appearance as morning slipped into afternoon. By that time, I was sitting up along with the other apprentices, for I was feeling much more restored by an earlier dose of the herbed wine and a few more hours of sleep. Vittorio’s earlier look of concern had faded to weary resignation, and I guessed from his glum expression that he feared he might never see Novella again. Seeking to offer a bit of reassurance, I changed spots with Bernardo so that I was sitting beside him.

“I’m sure that Novella and her mother are well ahead of us on the road,” I murmured. “Rebecca likely slipped past the gates with her cart when the fighting started, and she took Novella away to keep her safe. Chances are they are almost to Milan, and you’ll find Novella waiting there at the castle gates for you.”

“I pray you are right,” he muttered back, his expression growing bleaker still. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost her for good.”

I realized any further attempts at comfort would likely ring hollow. I left him with his thoughts and lapsed into sympathetic silence, for I had other worries of my own beyond the washerwoman.

I had waited all of the previous evening for the Master to check on me as I languished upon my makeshift bed in the wagon. Racked by guilt over the destruction of his flying machine, I longed to make my apologies and beg his forgiveness. But while my father stayed close by, and the other apprentices visited with me, in turn, Leonardo did not make an appearance. When I’d finally voiced my concerns to my father, he had attempted to set my mind at rest.

“Signor Leonardo made certain to inquire after your health when I saw him at the meal,” he assured me. “But he is busy with other matters and likely wishes you to have your rest. You will see him again, soon enough.”

The other matters he’d mentioned proved unsettlingly apparent. From where our wagons were arranged, I had a view of the inner encampment where the captain of the guard and his men had built a series of fires for heat and cooking. They had also erected a small tent for Marianna’s use. I had seen Leonardo there with her, bending over her in a solicitous manner as she spoke to him. What she might have been saying, I could not guess, but an unworthy blade of jealously had pierced my heart at the sight… the emotion all the worse for the fact that I held them both in high esteem.

I had seen the Master again in the morning, not long before we began our exodus from the strip of forest bordering Castle Pontalba. Again, I had no chance to speak with him. While the troops and wagons began moving into formation, Leonardo had returned alone to the wreckage of the flying machine. From a short distance, the fallen craft resembled nothing so much as a mighty hawk knocked from the sky by a well-placed arrow. Wings crumpled and body broken in half, it lay in the same spot where I had made my fateful landing the day before.