Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

As with my journey with Rebecca and Tito, we did not bother with a formal camp but sheltered beneath the wagons. We were fortunate this time in having Philippe take charge of our meals. One of the newer apprentices, he had spent time in the castle’s kitchens before joining Leonardo’s workshop. His stint there served us well, for he was as talented with a ladle as he was with a brush, conjuring tasty meals from the meanest of rations.

We resumed travel at dawn. That departure was accompanied by much lamentation from those youths unaccustomed to the wagon’s constant jostle through the day, followed by a night’s makeshift pallet upon the ground. As I had been one such youth but a few days earlier, I had taken pains to pad my chosen spot in the wagon with both cloak and jerkin. Thus, I was perhaps the only one of my fellows not nursing bruises upon his nether regions from the earlier ride.

Spirits lifted with the sun, however, and no one complained when the pace grew quicker. The one bad moment-at least, for some of us-came a few hours later when our convoy passed through the glade where Tito and Rebecca and I had confronted the bandit little more than a day before.

I turned in my seat to exchange wary glances with Tito in the wagon behind me. Although I had seen the rogue mercenary handily dispatched, I could not help but fear that another one might leap from the underbrush to take his place. From the look on Tito’s face, I surmised that he felt much the same. Ideal a spot as it had proved for an ambush, surely some other murderous fiend would eventually happen upon it and set up his own deadly business, as had his predecessor.

Equally unsettling was the knowledge that what the scavengers would have left of the dead man’s body still lay hidden but a short distance from us. Here in this place of murder, a chill seemed to hang over the road that had nothing to do with the canopy of trees blocking the noon sun. Indeed, I would not have been surprised to see the man’s shade-or that of one of his victims-rise from the same spot where he’d breathed his last.

“Fah, it smells like something died,” one of the other apprentices muttered.

That observation elicited much exaggerated pinching of nostrils and retching sounds from a few of his fellows. For myself, I swallowed back the bile that rose in my throat and gave thanks that Rebecca appeared to be sleeping and so not need be reminded of the cruel deed that had been forced upon her.

Despite my fears both rational and fanciful, we made our way unscathed through the glade and continued our journey. It was just before dusk when we reached the long band of forest that surrounded Castle Pontalba. At Leonardo’s direction, we drove the wagons off the road and into the trees some distance, so that our caravan would not draw undue attention should some traveler pass us by. He instructed us to silence, as well.

“Hold to your words as a miser clutches his coins, and speak with gentle tones if you can communicate in no other fashion. For now, surprise is the very essence of our plan, so that an intemperate call could mean our failure.”

By this time, my bones were weary with so much travel; still, I did not hesitate when the Master summoned Tito and me to follow after him. Moving upon feet silent as a wolf’s paws, we made our way to the forest’s edge for a closer look at the sprawling Castle Pontalba. At a signal from the Master, we halted at a spot behind where the tree line ended and dropped to our bellies, taking cover in the underbrush lest we be spotted.

“It appears that the Duke of Pontalba could use my architectural services,” was Leonardo’s first observation, the comment made in a wry undertone as he studied the fortress’s muddled lines.

The sharp angle of the sun’s dying light dealt harshly with the place, casting much of the castle and outbuildings into gloomy shadow well before the end of day. We were too far away to see if any guards manned the gatehouse, though the drawbridge still lay open in dubious welcome. I did spy what appeared to be at least two sentries patrolling the parapets. The Master glanced at his wrist clock, perhaps to coordinate the time of the patrols, before turning to me.

“Tell me all you recall about the castle’s interior, and where within its walls that you found Signor Angelo and my flying machine.”

I was quick to oblige. The flying machine was not to be seen from this angle, though I pointed out the spot on the slated roof where I’d found it. After another moment’s thought, I was able to identify the tower I’d climbed to reach the upper level where the duchess-and, later, my father-had been imprisoned. I also described the great hall and the men I’d seen there.

Leonardo listened intently and waited for Tito to give a brief description of the fortress grounds. When we’d both finished, he gave an approving look that encompassed Tito, as well as me.

“You have managed some fine reconnoitering,” he said, “and now we must put your intelligence to work. But first, we will set up camp and assemble our army.”

With the same care, we slipped from our hiding places and retraced our steps back to the wagons. By that time, the other apprentices under Davide’s direction had worked with silent efficiency to unload the wagons. Leonardo, appearing pleased at the progress, gathered his troops together for more instruction.

“We are fortunate,” he said, “in that we will have half a moon to work beneath, for we cannot risk any other light. . and yet the night will not be so bright that we might be spotted from the castle’s parapets. So, let us divide into three teams so that I may make your assignments. As soon as darkness falls, we shall set a stage such as Pontalba has never before seen.”

We used the short respite to make a quick meal. I checked on Rebecca, who had roused from her slumber and appeared somewhat restored as she softly bantered with Vittorio.

“Make certain she takes the herbed wine and allows you to put salve upon her arm,” I reminded Novella in quiet tones. “And it is important that she rests tonight, lest we need to call upon her counsel tomorrow.”

Once darkness had settled firmly upon the forest, we began our work. Under Leonardo’s exacting direction, we moved with swift silence to set the canvases with their painted men-at-arms just behind the first line of trees at the forest’s edge. Arranged into several small squadrons, their wood frames were camouflaged by those props depicting boulders and various bits of greenery. Interspersed among the false army were the actual weapons we’d brought with us, lacking only ammunition to make them deadly.

The work took several hours, so that our labors did not end until well past midnight. Huddling together beneath our blankets, for the night had grown quite chill, we prepared for a few hours of fretful sleep.

“Do you think we shall be killed?” I overheard young Bernardo ask Tito in quiet, quavering tones not long after we’d settled in.

I did not catch the words that Tito said in response, but they seemed to satisfy the younger boy. Whatever his answer, I prayed that Tito was right. Though the Master had claimed that our role would be little more than a masquerade, I feared that the cunning Nicodemo lo Bianco might prove a more formidable foe than Leonardo anticipated.

Dawn rose upon a substantial-looking army poised at the forest’s edge. . or, at least, that was how it was designed to appear from the vantage point of the duke’s castle. Leonardo had cleverly added further verisimilitude to the scene with a score of campfires, which he’d had lit as the sun eased past the horizon. Tended by one of the younger apprentices, their curling plumes of smoke hinted at a greater force camped behind that false front line. The Duke of Milan’s standard-a wily garden snake twisting across an azure field-was planted prominently beyond the last of the trees, proclaiming to all who might look which particular noble this army served.