Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

Finding none, he gave me a quick nod and headed back toward the road. I spared a few more moments to toss the branches atop the still form; then, offering up a fleeting prayer for the repose of the bandit’s cruel soul, I hurried after Tito.

By the time I reached him, the apprentice had already retrieved the crossbow from the road where he’d left it and had hooked the pulling mechanism to his belt. Stepping foot into the stirrup mounted on the weapon’s stock, he managed with an effort to fletch another bolt. He left the armed crossbow in the wagon bed, and he and I joined Rebecca where she stood staring at the fallen tree.

“It can’t be that heavy, not for one man to move it about by himself. See how the large end is propped on a stump?”

She pointed to the half-circular swath in front of the log, which gave the appearance that something had scraped across that portion of the road multiple times. “He would have dragged the tree trunk by the smaller end.”

We found that the log did move easily, almost as if poised upon a pivot. A few moments later, we had cleared the path and were prepared to board the wagon again.

“Here,” Rebecca said with a sigh and tossed the reins to Tito. “My arm is paining me too much to drive.”

While Tito checked over the doughty mare to make certain she’d suffered no harm in the trampling, I helped settle Rebecca upon the blankets we’d brought. I was relieved to see that her injured arm no longer appeared to be bleeding, while the wimple she’d used as a bandage was tied as neatly as any wrapped by a surgeon. But I knew that putrefaction remained a real danger. As soon as we returned from Milan, I would ask Signor Luigi for the same healing salve that, once before, the tailor had used upon me.

“Drive quickly, Tito,” I told him, “but be mindful of Rebecca’s injury.”

He started off at a brisk pace, handling mare and wagon with surprising skill. I did what I could to shield the washerwoman from the worst of the bumps, but I could see her biting back moans of pain each time he rumbled across a particularly rough patch. Seeking to distract her, I spent some minutes describing to her the latest fresco we’d been helping the Master to paint.

“All in all, the images are quite glorious,” I finished, “though some are unaccountably strange. Still, if our Lord did walk upon the water, could it not be possible that he might also have floated above the ground?”

Then I sighed. “It is sometimes difficult to reconcile all I have been taught with what I have learned from the Master. Indeed, sometimes I do not know if Signor Leonardo is merely mocking God, or if his vision is genuine and he sees more than the rest of us.”

“Pah, do not worry, child,” the washerwoman wheezed with a small grin. “I have found in my time that those who protest the loudest against God are those who mostly desperately wish to believe in his existence. Learn what you can from your master, but never fear to stand up for your beliefs.”

“Rebecca, how did you become so wise?” I impulsively asked. “You know so much of the world, and yet you are just a-”

I broke off abruptly and blushed, realizing the affront couched in my intended praise. Yet, rather than take offense, Rebecca merely chuckled.

“Just a washerwoman,” she finished for me. “You may say the word, my boy. . It is no insult, despite what some might think. And surely you must see that my job is far more than washing clothes.”

When I looked at her quizzically, she went on. “Why, I am more a confessor to my customers than any priest. By looking at a man’s soiled linens, I can tell if he is a glutton or a drunkard. . if he is celibate or licentious, or if he beds women other than his wife. And yet my lips are sealed, safe as if he had gone to a confessional. But unlike many priests, I keep all my secrets to the grave.”

I gave this revelation careful measure before regarding her in good-natured dismay. “I had never considered such a thing,” I said with a shake of my head. “But you may be assured that in the future, I shall treat my linens as the open book they are!”

She grinned again and settled back down to rest. For myself, I took the time that followed to reflect upon the recent suspicions I’d had regarding her loyalty. It had taken more than a bit of bravery to face down the armed bandit, and as much courage to dispatch him, rather than leave him to die an agonizing death. And all through this journey, she seemingly had devoted herself to keeping Tito and me from harm.

Could the same woman who had acted with such valor also have betrayed a frightened young duchess, surrendering her to certain death?

I told myself, no. Too much about her words and deeds marked her as one to be trusted. . but then, it was the cleverest of fiends who often appeared the most kind. If only I could read people with the same ease Rebecca claimed to read bed linens, I thought with a sigh.

The remainder of the journey passed in relative silence, for Rebecca had passed from sleep to deeper stupor. I noted in some alarm that her face had gone pale while her cheeks burned brightly. I used what remained of our water to bathe her brow and moisten her dry lips, while I urged Tito to greater haste.

It was with a heavy sigh of relief that, near noontide, I finally spied the spires and buildings of Milan in the distance.

Giving Tito direction, our first stop once we rumbled into the city was at Signor Luigi’s tailor shop.

“What grave mischief are you at now, my, er, boy?” he demanded of me, his bushy brows shooting upward at the sight of the unconscious woman lying in the wagon bed.

Not waiting for a reply-after all this time, Luigi was far too familiar with my often dangerous exploits to be surprised by much-he summoned his two apprentices. Between the four of us youths, we managed to carry Rebecca inside and settle her upon a bench. Then, shooing away the other two boys, the tailor swiftly unwrapped the makeshift bandage and examined her wound.

“Was this done by an arrow. . or perhaps a bolt?”

“She was shot with a crossbow defending us most bravely,” I told him. “More than that, I cannot say for the moment. . but I beg that you help her.”

“Pah, why am I always the first you come to, and yet the last you confide in?” he protested, but without any true rancor.

Disappearing behind the curtain that separated the shop from his personal quarters, he reappeared a moment later carrying a basin of water and two jars. Opening one, he poured a measured amount of a white powder into the water and used the concoction to bathe the wound. Though the bleeding was long stanched, I saw that the gash was swollen and alarmingly red.

As he worked, Rebecca began to stir, staring with bleary eyes about her. “Where am I?” she protested and tried to stand.

Luigi put a firm hand on her shoulder to hold her still. “You are in my tailor shop, my good woman, brought here by these two boys who decided your well-being was more important than my business. If you will sit quietly, I will tend to your injury and gladly send you all on your way.”

With the wound cleaned of dirt and splinters, he opened the second jar. While Tito and I wrinkled our noses in protest, he slathered the familiar foul-smelling ointment with a heavy hand before tying a clean cloth about the injured arm. Afterward, he shoved the jar into my hands.

“Make certain someone applies the salve no less than twice a day, and give her herbed wine for the fever. And now, I have done all I can do.”

I tucked the jar into my tunic and gave the tailor a quick hug. “Many thanks, signore. We shall take her to her daughter, who will care for her. And when all is done, I promise I shall give you an account of all that led to this.”