Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

But, clever as he was at pageantry, Leonardo knew that an unmoving illusion would soon be seen for what it was. Thus, the remainder of us apprentices had already donned our makeshift uniforms. Spreading ourselves wide among the painted forces, we milled about with purpose, adding needed motion to the static scene. And while we had been bidden to silence during the night, our conversation was now encouraged. . taking care, as Leonardo reminded the younger ones of us, to keep our voices at a manly pitch.

It was not long after the first cock crowed that we heard a shout from atop the castle walls.

“Finally, they stir,” Leonardo murmured in satisfaction. “Let us see if our opening performance is convincing enough to for them to request the next act.”

From our concealment behind some of the painted backdrops, we watched as more soldiers gathered atop the battlemented walks, spreading themselves along that front. It was fully daylight, however, before we heard the familiar squeal and rumble that was the drawbridge dropping into place. A few minutes later, the immense wooden gate rose high enough to allow a small contingent of helmed and armed men on horseback to ride in tight formation from the castle.

“Aha, our subterfuge was convincing,” the Master observed in satisfaction as the half-dozen riders halted halfway between the castle walls and the forest’s edge. “It appears that they wish to parlay.”

He had already donned his gleaming helmet and breastplate and strapped his sword to his hip, assuming the role of captain of Il Moro’s guard. He started for the small clearing where Davide was harnessing the twin black steeds to the scythed chariot. Two of the draft horses had been pressed into service to play military mounts and waited, smartly blanketed and saddled, beside the chariot. Tommaso and Paolo had been similarly assigned martial roles and were dressed in matching helmets and breastplates slightly less ornate than those that Leonardo wore. They climbed atop their borrowed horses and, each balancing a tall staff that flew the Duke of Milan’s familiar serpentine coat of arms, awaited orders.

“Master,” I asked, barely able to hide the anxiety in my voice, “will you demand my father’s release first thing?”

“I will not tip our hand immediately,” he replied with a shake of his plumed head.

Frowning in the castle’s direction, he went on. “I shall begin by appealing to the Duke of Pontalba as an ally of Milan and let him think we wish his help in tracking down those responsible for the crime. He will have but two choices at that point. . either claim ignorance of the matter or admit his culpability and offer me terms for the return of your father and my craft. I suspect that he will not relinquish either without a fight, but I hope our show of force will at least make him consider that option.”

“But what if that does not work?”

He glanced my way again and laid a comforting hand upon my shoulder. “Fear not, my boy. We shall retrieve your father, one way or the other.”

He motioned the other apprentices closer.

“Should I be able to talk myself past the castle gates,” he addressed us all, “I have instructed Davide how to maintain our illusion in my absence. Follow his orders as you would mine. You draftsmen are not to leave your posts unless Davide deems the situation too dangerous and calls a retreat. Most important, you are not to engage anyone from the castle unless on my express orders.”

We murmured our assent and stepped back as the Master climbed into his war machine. Paolo and Tommaso each put a heel to flank, setting their steeds toward the forest’s edge. Leonardo and his chariot followed after, the machine’s deadly blades keeping to their sheathed position until the trio broke out into the open.

I could almost hear the gasp from the opposing forces as soon as the chariot with its singing blades came into view. The sun was high enough so that it reflected off those whirling scythes with blinding radiance, the sight calling to mind Ezekiel’s fiery chariot. Had so small a force of men ever before stirred hearts to such awe? I wondered, eyes wide. Surely, in the face of Leonardo’s grand invention, Nicodemo would see the prudence of negotiation rather than war.

After what appeared to be a deliberately circuitous route-doubtless meant to allow everyone from the castle who was watching a good look at the magnificent machine he was driving-Leonardo and his two men halted before the duke’s contingent.

Of course, we could hear nothing from our vantage point at the forest’s edge. Neither could we see much of what was happening beyond a few broad gestures exchanged between the Master and the man who appeared to be Nicodemo’s spokesman. After but a few minutes’ conversation, however, Paolo and Tommaso abruptly wheeled their horses about.

“Why are they leaving the Master alone with the duke’s men?” Vittorio asked in some alarm as the pair began a brisk trot back toward us. “And, wait-he’s being captured!”

“He’s not captured,” Bernardo protested, his voice quavering. “They’re just taking him to the castle. Right, Dino?”

“No weapons are drawn,” I assured him with more confidence than I felt, “so I’m sure that is the case. But let us watch to see what happens.”

For, as we were speaking, we could see the soldiers splitting their ranks in two. Now three of the horses and riders made a wide circle around to the rear of the chariot. The other three soldiers remained in place and simply whirled their steeds about, leaving Leonardo and his scythed machine neatly positioned between the two groups of mounted men. At a signal from their leader, they began a measured trot back toward the castle. . keeping, of course, a prudent distance between themselves and Leonardo’s whirling blades.

Tommaso and Paolo had returned by this time. Quickly dismounting from their horses, they hurried over to where the rest of us stood. Paolo raised his hand to stave off the questions we fired at him; then, plucking off his helmet, he addressed Davide while making sure that the rest of us could hear him.

“The captain of the guard was quite bold,” he explained. “He demanded to know why Milan’s army was camped upon their doorstep, given that Milan and Pontalba are allies. The Master told him that it was a matter he could discuss only with the Duke of Pontalba himself. Of course, the captain protested that and, of course, the Master acted as if he would not give way. But finally, he told the captain that Il Moro’s court engineer had mysteriously disappeared from Milan, along with one of his inventions. . and that someone claimed spies from Pontalba were responsible for the crime.”

“That was when the captain agreed that the Master might speak with the duke,” Tommaso spoke up, continuing the tale. “The Master gave him two conditions. First, he wished the meeting to be private, so that his men-he meant me and Paolo-must be allowed to return to their fellows. Second, he said he must be free to depart the castle whenever he wishes. . and if he has not rejoined his men by noontide, Milan’s army will assume that Pontalba has broken their treaty and act accordingly against them.”

“Look!” Vittorio interjected before Tommaso could say more. “They’re closing the gate.”

As the last rider cleared the entry, the heavy wooden grille began a slow descent, closing with a thud that we could hear from where we waited. The finality of the sound struck us all silent, as if we’d watched our beloved Master descend past hell’s fiery gates.

Davide was fi rst to break the silence. After glancing at the sun to judge its position, he turned to the rest of us.

“Why do you tarry? Master Leonardo left us with crucial tasks to perform in his absence. Lorenzo and Giovanni”-he gestured to the two youngest boys-“make sure you keep the campfires burning. You others, man your posts so that you can be seen.”