Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

The two women still had not made an appearance as morning slipped into afternoon. By that time, I was sitting up along with the other apprentices, for I was feeling much more restored by an earlier dose of the herbed wine and a few more hours of sleep. Vittorio’s earlier look of concern had faded to weary resignation, and I guessed from his glum expression that he feared he might never see Novella again. Seeking to offer a bit of reassurance, I changed spots with Bernardo so that I was sitting beside him.

“I’m sure that Novella and her mother are well ahead of us on the road,” I murmured. “Rebecca likely slipped past the gates with her cart when the fighting started, and she took Novella away to keep her safe. Chances are they are almost to Milan, and you’ll find Novella waiting there at the castle gates for you.”

“I pray you are right,” he muttered back, his expression growing bleaker still. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost her for good.”

I realized any further attempts at comfort would likely ring hollow. I left him with his thoughts and lapsed into sympathetic silence, for I had other worries of my own beyond the washerwoman.

I had waited all of the previous evening for the Master to check on me as I languished upon my makeshift bed in the wagon. Racked by guilt over the destruction of his flying machine, I longed to make my apologies and beg his forgiveness. But while my father stayed close by, and the other apprentices visited with me, in turn, Leonardo did not make an appearance. When I’d finally voiced my concerns to my father, he had attempted to set my mind at rest.

“Signor Leonardo made certain to inquire after your health when I saw him at the meal,” he assured me. “But he is busy with other matters and likely wishes you to have your rest. You will see him again, soon enough.”

The other matters he’d mentioned proved unsettlingly apparent. From where our wagons were arranged, I had a view of the inner encampment where the captain of the guard and his men had built a series of fires for heat and cooking. They had also erected a small tent for Marianna’s use. I had seen Leonardo there with her, bending over her in a solicitous manner as she spoke to him. What she might have been saying, I could not guess, but an unworthy blade of jealously had pierced my heart at the sight. . the emotion all the worse for the fact that I held them both in high esteem.

I had seen the Master again in the morning, not long before we began our exodus from the strip of forest bordering Castle Pontalba. Again, I had no chance to speak with him. While the troops and wagons began moving into formation, Leonardo had returned alone to the wreckage of the flying machine. From a short distance, the fallen craft resembled nothing so much as a mighty hawk knocked from the sky by a well-placed arrow. Wings crumpled and body broken in half, it lay in the same spot where I had made my fateful landing the day before.

Leonardo had carried with him a lit torch he’d fashioned from a rag-wrapped tree branch that had been dipped in oil. While we apprentices watched in respectful silence from the nearby trees, he touched the torch to each canvas-covered wing, in turn. The cloth had caught fire almost immediately, burning long enough so that the framework beneath ignited, as well. He put the torch to the body, waiting until the entire craft was burning brightly before tossing the torch onto the makeshift pyre. Not many minutes later, the once-glorious craft had been reduced to an unrecognizable pile of smoldering sticks.

Feeling rather as if I had just witnessed a funeral, I had limped back to the wagon alongside my fellows, who maintained a similar sober silence. By this time, the soldiers with their horses and equipment had taken their places on the trail leading back through the woods. Our gear was already packed, so we had but to settle ourselves in our assigned places and be off.

“It could have been repaired,” Tommaso had observed as we reached the wagon. Then, giving voice to the question uppermost in all our minds, he’d added, “I wonder why the Master did it?”

I wondered again at that same question as the captain of the guard called a halt to our journey just before dusk. Though my injured state excused me from any labors, I still insisted upon helping my fellows with a few light tasks as we settled ourselves for the night. The Master came by our small band’s site once to speak privately with Davide. Had he glanced in my direction, I might have rushed to his side and begged a word with him. But he left us again for the company of Il Moro’s men without ever having looked my way.

Later, after another of Philippe’s tasty meals, I wrapped my father’s cloak about me and set off to find my parent, feeling in need of his counsel. He sat apart from us, leaning against the wheel of the wagon he’d been driving and idly carving a small figure from a bit of wood. This time, he was far more direct in his response to my complaints.

“Cease your lamentation, for this situation is of your own making,” he reminded me in a stern tone that made me blush in shame. “Had your master been anyone other than Signor Leonardo, you would have been beaten for your actions, no matter that you were injured. As for making your apologies, you would have had no opportunity to beg mercy, for you would have long since been dismissed from your post and forced to find your way back to Milan on your own. Consider yourself fortunate that he has said nothing to you as of yet.”

As I sat in contrite silence at his knee, he assumed a kinder tone.

“Surely you understand by now, child, that Leonardo is different from all other men. And I speak not only of his genius but in the way that he approaches life. One thing that sets him apart is that he does not view his apprentices as but hapless servants to be commanded. Instead, he sees them as young men he can mold into a semblance of his own greatness, if they will but heed his teachings. And no matter what anyone else might whisper, he loves them as his own sons. Thus he feels a father’s disappointment when they stray. . and a father’s pain when they are taken from him in death.”

“I know, and that is why I long to make amends,” I replied, feeling myself dangerously close to tears. “But I cannot do so if he acts as if I am not there.”

My father smiled just a little at that.

“Just because he is a man of genius does not mean he cannot sometimes succumb to unworthy emotions,” he assured me. “I suspect that you offended him by doubting his plan, and you stole his glory by flying his grand invention before he had a chance to do so fi rst. Give him more time, and I am sure he will be amenable to your apology.”

“But what of you, Father?” I ventured, realizing that what he’d said about disappointment and pain applied to him, as well. “Have you forgiven me. . and will you force me to return home with you once we are back in Milan?”

“Of course, I have forgiven you,” he said and laid a light hand upon my bandaged head. “As for the rest, were it my choice. . yes, I would bring you back home again, so that I could keep you safe, just as I did when you were a girl. Moreover, now that I see how you live and work among so many young men, I cannot continue to give my blessing to your masquerade.”

When I made a soft sound of protest, he added, “But I have seen you exhibit bravery and honor, as well as dedication to your craft. And so, since you are a grown woman, I will not put out a hand to stop you, should you wish to continue in your role. I suspect, however, that the choice is neither yours nor mine, any longer. Signor Leonardo will make that decision for you.”

We spoke a bit longer of less consequential matters. Then, with a fond kiss upon my cheek, he pressed the wooden figure he’d carved into my hand and sent me back to my own wagon.