Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

Fighting dizziness, I had lurched from battlement to wall to tower, keeping low as I clung with sweaty desperation to whatever sturdy bit of masonry was in my path. I had feared for a moment that my search had almost ended before it began when, but a few moments into my search, I heard the thud of heavy footsteps that announced the approach of a guard. Swiftly folding myself into a gap between two chimneys, I prayed the soldier would walk past without seeing me. . and that I would be able to extricate myself again once he’d gone!

I soon resumed my search, losing but a bit of skin on one elbow as I wriggled free. It seemed as if I had been balancing upon the rooftop for hours, and sweat had soaked through both tunics I wore. In truth, however, it had been but a few minutes later when I discovered what it was that I sought.

Leonardo’s flying machine-or, rather, the various sections of it-lay on a wide section of walk, looking as if it had been deposited in careless afterthought by some giant hand from above. The Master would have been outraged to see his grand invention so treated. Still, from what I could see, it appeared undamaged by the wagon ride and subsequent handling.

I’d not spotted the craft from below when I’d first entered the great hall; thus, I was confident that I, too, was hidden from all save someone watching from one of the towers. Looking down, I had an unobstructed view of the gatehouse and outer wall, as well as the open field beyond. If not for my fear of heights-that, and the fact that but a few feet from me the roof dropped at an alarming pitch-I might have enjoyed the hawk’s-eye view of the world.

As I finished my account, Rebecca set aside her own paddle with which she was stirring a vat filled with clothes already boiled and scrubbed, and needing only to be rinsed. Climbing off the step, she wiped the sweat from her brow with the edge of her wimple and asked, “What about Signor Angelo?”

“I fear he was not on the roof with the flying machine, nor did I find him locked in any cell,” I replied with a grim shake of my head.

Perhaps his kidnappers had not yet taken him from whatever cell in which they were keeping him, I had told myself. Or maybe, believing him to be Leonardo the Florentine, they had brought him for an audience with the Duke of Pontalba himself. But my fear for him eased somewhat as I realized that, at least until the flying machine was completed, he surely would be kept in good health to work on it.

“No, I did not find him,” I repeated, “but I found someone who says she heard the duke’s soldiers escorting someone they called Leonardo. So if the flying machine is here, my father must be here, as well.”

I had debated whether or not to tell Rebecca and Tito about the Duchess of Pontalba. Finally, I decided to keep my peace, at least for the time being. If the Rebecca standing before me was the same one who had helped Marianna, I dared not let her know I had discovered her secret before I learned if the washerwoman intended to betray me, as well. As for Tito, he was too prone to quick emotion and might well blurt out some ill-thought comment in her company and thus reveal the secret.

Instead, I asked, “Shall we return to Milan? Surely Master Leonardo will have traveled back from his mission by the time we arrive and will know what to do next.”

“We cannot leave until tomorrow,” Rebecca sternly reminded me. “There’s wash to be done, and we must do it.”

And so the three of us continued the work she and Tito had begun. It was no job for the faint of heart or weak of body. This I quickly discovered as I used the paddle to lift the soaked clothing and linens-weighing far more wet than they did dry-from the pot. Letting them cool sufficiently so that I did not burn myself on the scalding water, I wrung the soapy water from them before transferring them to the rinse pot. There, after a bit of boiling and stirring, the process would be repeated, with the clean clothes piled in a basket again while waiting to dry.

“Hang the wash from those pegs,” Rebecca advised Tito, pointing to the numerous wooden hooks that were built into the posts of the shed’s three open sides. “There’s a good breeze and a decent bit of sun left, so they should dry by morning.”

Soon, the laundry shed more closely resembled a festival tent, swathed as it was in all sizes and colors of fabric. As for me, I was soaked in wash water and sweat, my hands and arms aching with my efforts. With Tito’s help, I was able to keep apace of Rebecca, who did the preliminary scrubbing. . far harder work than what I was doing.

When the final tunic was hung and the pots empty of all save fi lthy water, I sank onto the wet stone floor with a groan. “Saints’ blood, I cannot imagine doing this every day,” I gasped out. “How ever do you manage it, Rebecca?”

“It’s easy enough once you’ve done it as long as me. Why, my little Novella can hoist a basket of wet laundry that would take you and your friend both to carry,” she said with a proud grin. “And it’s not a bad living. I work as I please and answer to no man.”

Tito gave a puzzled frown. “But doesn’t it bother you that people look down on you for what you do?”

“Pah, there’s no shame in honest hard work,” she retorted. “That’s something you’d do well to remember, my fine young apprentice. Those that do scorn me, they can think what they want, so long as they keep paying me. Besides, I sleep easy at night, which is more than I can say for most nobles.”

“I know I shall sleep easy tonight,” I interjected with another groan. “I’m so tired, I could sleep right here among the laundry.”

“We’ll have a nice soft bed of straw in the stable,” Rebecca replied with a return of her grin. “Come; it’s time for the evening meal, and the kitchen master said he’d save us a bit of stew.”

The stew proved surprisingly tasty, and I felt much restored by the time I had scraped clean the bottom of my borrowed bowl. As we ate among the other servants, I kept a keen eye and ear open for any gossip about either my father or the duchess. But it seemed that the servants of Castle Pontalba were not prone to undue chatter, for the conversation about us was cautious. I wondered if it was because we were strangers among them or if the talk was always tempered. Knowing what little that I did of Nicodemo, I suspected the latter.

I did, however, venture to question Rebecca on one matter. Keeping my tone casual, I asked her, “Do you know another washerwoman of Milan by your same name?”

She frowned, but I saw nothing of guilt in her expression as she replied, “By the Virgin, I cannot think that I do. . but why do you ask?”

“It is nothing,” I said with a dismissive wave. “But while we were gathering linens earlier, I thought I overheard one of the pages mentioning a washerwoman named Rebecca and thought it a curious coincidence.”

Darkness had fallen by the time we made our way back toward the stable, which would be our room for the night. We deliberately took the long way about so that we passed by the barracks and the great hall, which had been empty earlier in the day. Now, however, soldiers whose dress marked them of rank joined men who appeared to be minor nobles as all filed toward that gathering spot. The aroma of seared lamb and baked fowl drifted to us, evidence that a grand meal was being prepared.

I gave a thoughtful frown. While the duke and his men were thus occupied later in the evening, I would slip back into the castle and visit the duchess in her cell. Perhaps she would have some idea where else in the castle her husband might hold his prisoner, so that I could continue my search. Failing that, I could at least offer her company and consolation.

But when I shared my plan with my companions-leaving out the visit to the duchess-both protested mightily.