A Bolt From the Blue (38 page)

When she had finished, my mother handed me a small mirror to survey her handiwork. I saw with a bit of pleasure that, despite my red eyes, I looked quite presentable. She had braided the short length with several ribbons and draped a small veil above the nape of my neck. While the lower portion of the veil fluttered loose, she’d tied the other two points beneath the small cap I wore so it appeared that the cloth covered a neatly coiled braid.

“Signor Luigi would be proud,” I muttered as I put the mirror aside, recalling the tailor’s painstaking restoration of my hair with borrowed locks that he had braided into my own as he’d created my maidservant disguise.

By that time, my father had returned from whatever errand he’d taken himself upon while my mother labored over me. His eyes brightened as he saw us standing side by side.

“Ah, Delfina, you look almost as beautiful as your mother,” he exclaimed, drawing a reluctant smile from his wife. Sobering, he asked, “Are you ready to return to the castle?”

Thankfully, my father insisted that my mother stay behind. “Let the girl make her farewells in peace,” he declared in the same stern voice he’d used on her in the workshop.

Throwing up her hands, Carmela had made no further protests, though from the stubborn set of her mouth, I feared my father might hear about this later.

We spoke little on the way . . . my father, likely because he did not know what to say, and I, because I feared another cloudburst of tears like the storm that had soaked my pillow the night before. In my lap, I held my apprentice’s brown tunic, neatly folded. Somehow, the thought of giving it up seemed the hardest task yet to come, and I clutched the familiar rough cloth as a child hugged a favored toy for comfort.

Our journey back to the castle was unbearably long and yet far too swift. When we finally reached the workshop, I found myself frozen to my seat. Seeing my hesitation, my father gave my hand a squeeze.

“I realize it will be difficult, facing your friends this way, but you will regret it if you do not see them one last time,” he urged in a kind voice. “And those that are your true friends will not care if you are a youth or a maid.”

Biting my lip, I nodded and let him help me from the cart. The workshop door was ajar to let in the warm breeze, and I could hear the apprentices’ familiar voices as they went about their tasks. Lightly, I stepped past the threshold and, still clutching my tunic, gazed at them fondly one final time.

Paolo was the first to notice my presence. The others quickly followed his gaze, and all chatter ceased as they stared in my direction, seeing me for the first time as I truly was. I stared back and in a small panic realized I could find no words, either. Indeed, I was prepared to turn and flee when Davide stepped forward, a smile upon his face.

“There you are, at last, and far prettier than I could have imagined,” he said with a gallant bow. “I am very pleased to meet you, signorina, but I confess that I shall miss our young friend Dino, whose place that you took.”

“I shall miss him, too,” I admitted, swiping away a tear. “And I shall miss all of you, as well. Pray tell me that you do not hate me for my deception. I wanted the chance to study with the Master, and I could not do so in my true guise.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he declared, his tone gracious as always. “You simply have proven that you will let nothing stop you from pursuing your life’s passion. It should not matter if you are Dino or Delfina, so long as you are talented with a brush. The other apprentices would do well to imitate you.”

“Wait; does that mean I have to dress as a girl?” Vittorio cried in mock alarm, rising from his seat at the workbench. “If so, I fear I will never be a great artist, after all.”

His jest drew laughter from the rest of them, dispelling the uncertain silence that had held them. One by one, they came to join Davide, until I was surrounded by a score of cheerful youths all speaking at once.

“You played your role well,” Tommaso exclaimed in admiration, drawing nods from Paolo and most of the others. “I confess I had no idea you were not a boy, no matter that your cot was next to mine.”

“Bah, I could have told you she was a girl,” Bernardo declared, gazing about with an important air.

Philippe promptly nudged him in the ribs. “Then why didn’t you?” he demanded with a grin as the others genially jeered.

The youth shot him a dark look. “Because no one ever asked, that’s why,” he replied and crossed his arms over his chest to emphasize his words.

While the others laughed, Vittorio stepped forward and gave me a shy smile. “I confess I did not guess, either, but I hope we can still be friends, no matter that you are a girl.”

“Of course, we can,” I replied, not caring that the tears were running freely down my cheeks. “And you may still call me Dino, if you wish.”

He grinned, but before he could answer, a hush fell over the workshop. As always, such a respectful silence meant that Leonardo had stepped into the room.

Slowly, I turned to meet his warm gaze, feeling suddenly shy to be standing before him as my true self. He gave me an approving smile before turning his attention to the apprentices.

“It is good to hear all of you laughing again, after the sorrow that has held us the past days. But now, I fear there is work still to be done on the duke’s fresco, so you must make your farewells to your dear friend and be off.”

“Do you have to go?” Bernardo asked in a plaintive voice, his lower lip quivering as he rushed over to me. “Truly, I don’t care if you’re a girl, after all.”

“I fear I must,” I replied, aware that my own lips were trembling. “And the Master is right. We must not linger any longer but must say our farewells.”

The next few moments were a blur of tears and hugs and smiles as I said good-bye to each youth in turn. Vittorio was last to step forward, and for a moment we could do nothing but stare at each other.

With a choked little cry, I hugged him and whispered, “Vittorio, you were always a true friend. I shall never forget you. Take good care of Pio for me.”

“I shall,” he said, trying manfully not to weep but in the end not succeeding. “And perhaps you can come back to Milan one day to visit us.”

“Perhaps,” I agreed with a hopeful smile. “After all, my father has begun to take on many important commissions, and he will need someone to assist him in his travels. And surely he will find another patron here in Milan.”

Vittorio nodded vigorously. Then, with another quick embrace, he turned and vanished through the workshop door, leaving me alone with my father and Leonardo.

The two men exchanged glances, and my father gave me a nod. “Why don’t you let me pack up your belongings, while you take a walk with your master in the quadrangle.”

A few minutes later, Leonardo and I were sitting upon the familiar bench in one of the greens where we had plotted and planned many a time before. Wordlessly, he handed me a fine scrap of embroidered linen, and I wept into it quite copiously for several moments. When I was finally able to speak past the tears, I managed the question that was uppermost in my mind.

“How—how long did you know that I was not a boy?”

“Almost from the start, when you first came to my door showing me your coin and asking to pay for an apprenticeship,” he replied, gazing across the grounds toward the clock tower.

With a small smile, he turned his gaze on me. “Your mother was correct, though I know you are loath to hear that said. I’ve sketched and painted countless men and women over the years, and in my notebooks I have catalogued the many differences between the male and female form. I would be remiss as an artist, had you not raised my suspicions.”

“But why did you allow me to become your apprentice, if you knew I was not what I claimed to be?” I asked in confusion.

He shrugged. “Your eagerness pleased me, and your talent with the brush was far greater than most of the boys I’d taken on. It did not seem fair that you should be denied the training you sought, simply because you were the wrong sex. And so I decided that if you did not tell, I would not ask.”

“Signor Luigi guessed quickly enough,” I told him with a rueful shake of my head, “and he did not hesitate to accuse me. But he found the deception amusing, or so he claimed, and so he helped me when he could to keep my secret safe.”

Another thought occurred to me, and I sat up straighter, staring at him with no little alarm. “Did anyone else suspect the truth . . . any of the apprentices?”

“Constantin had his suspicions, but we had an unspoken agreement similar to the one I had with myself. And so he took care to make sure that you were never put into a situation where your modesty would be compromised or where someone else might guess the truth.”

I dabbed at my eyes again with the soaked bit of linen. “Constantin was a true friend,” I said in a small voice. “I miss him terribly.”

Recalling the main reason I had wished to speak with him, I blurted, “I am sorry about the flying machine, Master. I accept that you are angry with me, and I would not blame you if you never forgave me for what I did. But you must believe that I would never have touched it, save that I knew the duke was prepared to send his men to slaughter the apprentices. I—I thought if I could but fly it long enough to distract the soldiers, they might make their escape.”

I had hoped to make a far more eloquent apology than that, but the words had tumbled out almost before I realized it. With nothing more to say, I stared down miserably at the brown tunic I held in my lap and waited for whatever words of censure might come. Instead, and to my surprise, I heard him softly sigh.

“My dear Delfina, I was never angry at you,” he replied. “My condemnation was for myself. The craft was untested, and for all my fine theories and boasting to your father, I had no proof that it would fly. I had already lost Constantin and Tito. Had you died, as well, I would never have forgiven myself.”

He sighed again, the soft sound full of harsh regret. “But even when I knew you were safe, I was too proud to show my fear before you and the others. Instead, I preferred to let you think that I was angry. And so you can see that it is I who should beg your forgiveness.”

His words made my heart rise with the same exhilaration I’d felt as I swooped about the sky. Eagerly, I shook my head.

“There is nothing to forgive, Master,” I cried. “But tell me, why did you burn the flying machine, instead of carrying the pieces back to the castle with us and repairing it? For it did fly, after all, just as you said it would!”

“And that is the reason I had to destroy it.”

The finality in his words took me by surprise, but before I could protest, he went on. “What I’ve seen these past days confirms my greatest fear, that mankind is not yet ready for such power. We are not civilized enough to control the earth, let alone have dominion over the skies. Two young men died most cruelly—and many others could have easily joined them—and all for a frivolous theory of mine that I foolishly allowed to rise from the pages of my notebook.”

“But what will you tell Il Moro?” I asked with no little concern. “I thought he expected a demonstration of the flying machine. Surely you will not be able to deny him, now that his soldiers have seen it.”

“I will tell him that the craft has a fatal flaw, and that my theories were wrong. And, as a small consolation, I shall give him the bladed chariot.”

I nodded, not quite as hopeful as he that Ludovico Sforza would be content with what he would deem a far inferior prize. Then, recalling the tunic, I bundled it into a smaller package and held the well-loved garment out to him.

“I fear I must return this, so that you may give it to whichever young man takes my place.”

“Ah, but not quite yet.”

He shook his head and gazed down upon me with the familiar smile that I realized was not that of a father or a lover, but instead of a faithful friend. Rising from the bench, he offered me his hand.

“For, my dear Delfina, I have a small surprise for you,” he declared, his warm fingers gripping mine as he lightly pulled me up to stand before him. “Signor Angelo has convinced his good wife that you should remain in Milan for another day or two to gain back your strength, before you undertake the journey back to your home. And so, with his permission, there remains one small task I must ask of Dino before he leaves us for good.”

“A task?” I echoed uncertainly, my grip on the tunic tightening. “But what would you have me do?”

“You shall see on the morrow. Return to your bed to rest, and I will meet you outside the duke’s private chapel in the morning . . . let us say by the time the clock tower strikes the hour of eight.

“And do not forget, young Dino,” he added with a smile, “to bring along your tunic.”

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