A Bolt From the Blue (24 page)

I told him of the past days’ events, explaining what had brought the three of us together, while he alternately nodded and shook his head at my tale. I recounted, as well, the clues that had led us to Pontalba, along with our theory that the duke’s men must have seized him in error, having mistaken him for Leonardo.

“They took me without explanation,” he confirmed with a nod. “It was well past midnight when I answered a knock at the door, thinking it might be you. Instead, it was three men in dark robes. They overpowered me, and before I knew it, they had bound me, hand and foot. Then they carried me to the shed where the flying machine was stored.”

He paused and shrugged.

“They must have had little to go on to find their quarry save a description that fits me as well as it does your master. And as I was the only one in Signor Leonardo’s quarters, their mistake was understandable. I could not protest that they had the wrong man, for they had gagged me when they tied me.

“But as I lay in the wagon while they waited for dawn to leave Milan—you and young Tito were right in your guess that we did not depart until morning—I overhead them speaking about me. Or, rather, the person they assumed me to be. Since I had seen their faces and knew something of their plan, I thought it the better part of wisdom to let them keep on thinking that I was Leonardo,” he finished.

A frustrated tear slipped from my eye as I once again tugged at the lock. “And so you must keep pretending,” I told him, “until we can rescue you from this foul place.”

If I could manage to free him, we could sneak my father from the castle in Rebecca’s wagon and let Il Moro worry about recovering the flying machine. I would have to find some way to steal the keys from the guards or else find a tool that would break the lock apart.

Then I froze, hand on lock, as it occurred to me that such a plan might prove to be but a retelling of Marianna’s tale. I could not risk his life on Rebecca’s loyalty, not until I was certain where it lay. For if she were but a tool of the Duke of Pontalba, our escape surely would be cut short, and all of us—my father and Tito and me—would be returned to a cell in Castle Pontalba.

“Oh, Father, what shall I do?” I softly cried. “I fear I must leave you here, after all. I do not know if Rebecca is to be trusted, and I cannot spirit you from Pontalba by myself.”

“Fear not, my child,” he assured me with a gentle smile. “I would not have you risk your life for mine. It is more than enough that you made this dangerous journey. You and your friends must return to Milan and seek counsel from Leonardo. As far as rescuing me, you need not worry . . . for I intend to liberate myself!”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“It is quite simple. Remember, Delfina, the ancient tale of the great craftsman Daedalus? He and his son lost the favor of the cruel king Minos and so were locked in the Labyrinth. Since the grounds and the seas around the kingdom were guarded, Daedalus determined that their one means of escape from that maze was by air. He built them both sets of wings, and thus they flew to freedom. And that is what I intend to do.”

I stared at him in amazement. “Do you mean that you will escape Pontalba by flying Master Leonardo’s invention?”

He nodded.

“It was I who suggested that we do the building upon the roof of the castle, though I claimed simply I needed the breezes to help test certain mechanisms. My plan is to modify Leonardo’s design by adding wheels to the craft, so that I can roll it to the top of the roof and launch it by myself. The pitch of the roof should allow me to gain sufficient speed so that I will be safely airborne by the time I reach the drop-off point.”

“But, Father, that is far too dangerous,” I protested. “The Master said that craft should be launched over a pond or lake, so that if something goes wrong, the water will cushion the landing.”

“I have no choice, child.”

His expression grim, he went on. “I have heard the duke’s plans for this machine. He wishes to have dozens of them at his disposal so that he can conquer the surrounding provinces . . . perhaps Rome herself. We cannot risk allowing such a dangerous weapon to fall into his hands. And so you can see that I must attempt this escape not simply to preserve my life but to stop the deaths of hundreds more.”

“But, Father, the design is untested,” I reminded him in a small voice. “If something goes wrong . . .”

I trailed off, unable to give voice to my worst fear, but he merely smiled.

“You should have greater faith in your master. If Signor Leonardo’s design is true, and the winds and my strength hold, I shall fly the craft all the way back to Milan. If not, I will fly as far as I can.”

Remembering that Daedalus’s tale did not end happily—as best I recalled, his son Icarus lost his wings and plummeted to the earth—I could only shake my head at this dangerous plan. Still, there was sense in what he said. For even if Il Moro’s men attacked the castle in an attempt to recover both him and the flying machine, there was little assurance that my father would walk free in the end. As vindictive a man as the duke gave all appearance of being, he might well kill the man he thought to be Leonardo rather than return him safely to Ludovico.

“Very well, Father, I shall trust your judgment,” I reluctantly agreed. “We shall leave here in the morning, and as soon as we arrive back in Milan, I shall tell the Master all, so that he may explain the situation to Il Moro.”

“Ah, you are a dutiful daughter,” he replied with a smile. “Do not worry on my account, but keep yourself safe. Now, you should go, lest the guards come back and find you here.”

I leaned up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek through the gap in the door; then, swiping away tears, I said, “Be careful. And know that if anything happens, I shall make certain that Mother learns the truth.”

“Ah, your mother,” he said with a wry smile. “There is something I should tell you about my journey to Milan that concerns her.”

What that something was, I did not learn, for the sound of a slamming door below abruptly dimmed his smile. “Quickly, go,” he urged. “All shall be well.”

With a final nod, I pinched out my candle and hurried back to the hatch where I’d entered. The glow from the oil lamp in the wall was faint enough that I did not think it could be seen; still, I snuffed that light, as well, and waited silently to discover if anyone was coming my way. By then, my eyes were well-adjusted to the darkness, so I was able manage the stairs, though I clung to the rough-hewn wall for safety. I was breathing heavily by the time I made my way down the second staircase to the ground floor. The sounds of merriment still poured from the great hall, and a look up at the stars assured me that I had not been gone for all that long a time.

And so, I was taken by surprise when I reached the stables again, and Tito jumped from the shadows to confront me. His face dark with anger, he demanded, “Dino, where have you been? I woke up and found you gone.”

“Tito, you squawk like an old woman,” I replied, managing a light tone. “I stepped out to take a piss.”

“Pah, you could not piss that long, no matter if you drank the entire vat of wash water. You have been gone for at least an hour.”

Then his expression darkened further as he gestured at me and added, “And why do you need to wear a page’s tunic to go empty your bladder?”

I gave a guilty start, remembering too late that I had not stripped off the borrowed tunic and returned it to the laundry shed. I hesitated; then, reassured by the sound of Rebecca’s snores coming from the wagon, I lowered my voice further.

“Very well, I went back to the castle,” I told him, “and this time, I found my father. If you swear that you can keep silent and say nothing, not even to Rebecca, I will tell you all I know.”

After gaining his oath, I explained how I’d earlier discovered the duchess in her meager cell and told him of the odd coincidence of two washerwomen named Rebecca. I explained, as well, that I had returned in hopes of learning more from her, to discover Marianna gone from the cell and my father imprisoned there in her place.

“And he wishes us to return to Milan,” I finished. “He will remain here at the castle. Once he finishes building the craft, he will make good his escape by flying it from Pontalba to freedom. By then, Il Moro will have been warned of what has happened and can pursue retribution against the Duke of Pontalba for his crimes.”

Tito shook his head in amazement as he finished listening to my dramatic tale.

“This is serious business, Dino. I agree with your father. We must return to Milan as soon as possible and leave the rest up to Master Leonardo.”

“Then let us get some rest. And remember, not a word of this to Rebecca. She may well be an innocent in all of this, but if she is not, we must watch her carefully lest she betray us, as well.”

We arose to the cock’s crow and made swift work of the now-dry laundry. By the time we had returned the linens to their owners, the pouch at Rebecca’s waist jingled tellingly. She pulled out a handful of coins, which she split between Tito and me.

“Your share for your efforts. How does it feel to earn a few soldi for your hard work, my fine young gentleman?” she asked, her grin directed at Tito.

Tito eyed his share with suspicion. “I do not think this is one-third.”

“And who said we would split the money evenly?” she countered, her black brows drawing down to her nose. “Besides, all earned was not profit. The kitchen master had to be paid.”

“You are very generous, Rebecca,” I interjected, giving Tito a not-so-subtle elbow to the ribs. “Shall I bring the mare and wagon, so we can be off?”

Not many minutes later, we had passed through the gates of Castle Pontalba and were driving at a quick pace toward the forest. It was not until we reached the trees, however, that I released the breath that I felt I had been holding ever since our arrival there the day before. Still, I could not help but glance over my shoulder several times lest the duke’s men come in pursuit. Tito must have feared the same thing, for his gaze was fi xed on the road behind us.

Sparing a glance at Rebecca, I wondered at her thoughts. I could read nothing in her expression, however, save an air of determination as she drove the mare with swiftness toward home.

As with the outward journey, we passed but a few people in either direction, so that the road belonged mostly to us. The washerwoman kept us going well past dusk, far later than she’d let us travel before. Still, I had to stop myself from protesting when we finally stopped for the night.

Though a chill hung in the air, we did not bother with a fire but wrapped ourselves tightly in our cloaks. We made a meager meal of bread and cheese, Tito having finished off the remaining figs the day before. By unspoken agreement, we limited our conversation to the latest gossip of Castle Sforza, but our talk had an air of forced joviality that fooled none of us. With the same silent accord we retired to our blankets soon after eating. Still, from the paucity of snores that followed, I suspected that I was not the only one having a hard time falling asleep.

Indeed, it seemed I had just dropped off into slumber when Rebecca was shaking me awake. The mare was soon hitched to the wagon, and we set off again as first light was breaking over the horizon. We were back among rolling hills interspersed with small groves, so that our travel took on a slower pace as compared to the day before. Heavy shrubs and sturdy pines flanked this portion of the road, which wound like a serpent’s trail. We would reach Milan, I judged, at about the same time that the sun reached its zenith. From there, who knew what would be the next step . . . full-scale war, perhaps, or maybe stern diplomacy?

So caught up was I in such thoughts that, as we rounded the next curve, I took a moment to register what the appearance of a fallen pine tree across the road and a single man ahead meant.

Tito had no such moment of confusion. “Bandits!” he cried. “Bandits are awaiting us!”

More correctly, there appeared to be but a single lone bandit, stocky of build if stooped in posture. He stood a short distance before a thick tree trunk, which had been positioned most effectively to block the trail. But though he was alone, he was armed with an old-fashioned crossbow almost as large as he, which lethal-looking weapon he held aimed in our direction. He was helmed so that his face was mostly covered, and he wore a heavy brown jerkin over a black tunic and black trunk hose. Likely, he’d been a legitimate man in some noble’s private force before turning to a life of unsanctioned thievery and murder.

Rebecca had pulled the mare to a swift halt, so that there were a dozen or so wagon lengths between us and the brigand. Despite my quite reasonable terror, I had to concede that his choice of ambush was clever. Even if we did not have his weapon to fear, we still could not drive around his roadblock for the trees on either side of us. Neither was there room to turn the wagon and flee in the other direction. The choices were surrender . . . or confrontation.

“Let go the reins and climb down,” the man shouted, his guttural voice hinting at a Germanic accent.

I clutched at Rebecca’s arm, which felt like warm steel beneath my hand. All the tales I’d heard of bandits robbing their victims ended with the bandits murdering those poor unfortunates. I doubted this man would be more merciful than his fellows in his treatment of us. If we did not take some action to evade him and his crossbow, the three of us would be found lying by the roadside, stripped of pouches and tunics and anything else that could be of value.

Thus confronted, my mind had gone swiftly blank when it came to clever plans. Praying the others had better kept their wits, I frantically murmured, “What shall we do?”

“If we climb down from the wagon, we are dead,” Rebecca softly replied, echoing my unspoken fear. “But we have a small advantage in that he can kill but one of us with his crossbow. In the time it would take him to fletch it once more, the remaining two of us could be upon him. Tito must make ready his knife—yes, I know about it!—and I shall charge this brigand with our wagon.”