Diane Stuckart - A Bolt from the Blue

A few minutes later, Leonardo and I were sitting upon the familiar bench in one of the greens where we had plotted and planned many a time before. Wordlessly, he handed me a fine scrap of embroidered linen, and I wept into it quite copiously for several moments. When I was finally able to speak past the tears, I managed the question that was uppermost in my mind.

“How-how long did you know that I was not a boy?”

“Almost from the start, when you first came to my door showing me your coin and asking to pay for an apprenticeship,” he replied, gazing across the grounds toward the clock tower.

With a small smile, he turned his gaze on me. “Your mother was correct, though I know you are loath to hear that said. I’ve sketched and painted countless men and women over the years, and in my notebooks I have catalogued the many differences between the male and female form. I would be remiss as an artist, had you not raised my suspicions.”

“But why did you allow me to become your apprentice, if you knew I was not what I claimed to be?” I asked in confusion.

He shrugged. “Your eagerness pleased me, and your talent with the brush was far greater than most of the boys I’d taken on. It did not seem fair that you should be denied the training you sought, simply because you were the wrong sex. And so I decided that if you did not tell, I would not ask.”

“Signor Luigi guessed quickly enough,” I told him with a rueful shake of my head, “and he did not hesitate to accuse me. But he found the deception amusing, or so he claimed, and so he helped me when he could to keep my secret safe.”

Another thought occurred to me, and I sat up straighter, staring at him with no little alarm. “Did anyone else suspect the truth. . any of the apprentices?”

“Constantin had his suspicions, but we had an unspoken agreement similar to the one I had with myself. And so he took care to make sure that you were never put into a situation where your modesty would be compromised or where someone else might guess the truth.”

I dabbed at my eyes again with the soaked bit of linen. “Constantin was a true friend,” I said in a small voice. “I miss him terribly.”

Recalling the main reason I had wished to speak with him, I blurted, “I am sorry about the flying machine, Master. I accept that you are angry with me, and I would not blame you if you never forgave me for what I did. But you must believe that I would never have touched it, save that I knew the duke was prepared to send his men to slaughter the apprentices. I–I thought if I could but fly it long enough to distract the soldiers, they might make their escape.”

I had hoped to make a far more eloquent apology than that, but the words had tumbled out almost before I realized it. With nothing more to say, I stared down miserably at the brown tunic I held in my lap and waited for whatever words of censure might come. Instead, and to my surprise, I heard him softly sigh.

“My dear Delfina, I was never angry at you,” he replied. “My condemnation was for myself. The craft was untested, and for all my fine theories and boasting to your father, I had no proof that it would fly. I had already lost Constantin and Tito. Had you died, as well, I would never have forgiven myself.”

He sighed again, the soft sound full of harsh regret. “But even when I knew you were safe, I was too proud to show my fear before you and the others. Instead, I preferred to let you think that I was angry. And so you can see that it is I who should beg your forgiveness.”

His words made my heart rise with the same exhilaration I’d felt as I swooped about the sky. Eagerly, I shook my head.

“There is nothing to forgive, Master,” I cried. “But tell me, why did you burn the flying machine, instead of carrying the pieces back to the castle with us and repairing it? For it did fly, after all, just as you said it would!”

“And that is the reason I had to destroy it.”

The finality in his words took me by surprise, but before I could protest, he went on. “What I’ve seen these past days confirms my greatest fear, that mankind is not yet ready for such power. We are not civilized enough to control the earth, let alone have dominion over the skies. Two young men died most cruelly-and many others could have easily joined them-and all for a frivolous theory of mine that I foolishly allowed to rise from the pages of my notebook.”

“But what will you tell Il Moro?” I asked with no little concern. “I thought he expected a demonstration of the flying machine. Surely you will not be able to deny him, now that his soldiers have seen it.”

“I will tell him that the craft has a fatal flaw, and that my theories were wrong. And, as a small consolation, I shall give him the bladed chariot.”

I nodded, not quite as hopeful as he that Ludovico Sforza would be content with what he would deem a far inferior prize. Then, recalling the tunic, I bundled it into a smaller package and held the well-loved garment out to him.

“I fear I must return this, so that you may give it to whichever young man takes my place.”

“Ah, but not quite yet.”

He shook his head and gazed down upon me with the familiar smile that I realized was not that of a father or a lover, but instead of a faithful friend. Rising from the bench, he offered me his hand.

“For, my dear Delfina, I have a small surprise for you,” he declared, his warm fingers gripping mine as he lightly pulled me up to stand before him. “Signor Angelo has convinced his good wife that you should remain in Milan for another day or two to gain back your strength, before you undertake the journey back to your home. And so, with his permission, there remains one small task I must ask of Dino before he leaves us for good.”

“A task?” I echoed uncertainly, my grip on the tunic tightening. “But what would you have me do?”

“You shall see on the morrow. Return to your bed to rest, and I will meet you outside the duke’s private chapel in the morning. . let us say by the time the clock tower strikes the hour of eight.

“And do not forget, young Dino,” he added with a smile, “to bring along your tunic.”

Imet Leonardo the next morning at the appointed hour outside the iron gates leading to Il Moro’s private quarters. Uncertain what to expect, I had dressed in the simplest of my mother’s gowns and carried my apprentice’s tunic draped over one arm. The Master noted this last with an approving nod as he greeted me.

“You appear much restored,” he observed, taking me in with a quick glance from head to foot. “Is Signor Luigi’s salve performing its usual miracle upon your wound?”

“I am almost healed,” I assured him. . and, quite surprisingly, I realized I spoke of my heart and not simply of my flesh.

For, sometime in the night, as I tossed restlessly upon my pallet, I had found within myself an acceptance of my fate. Though I might shed more tears in the days to come, regretting all I had lost, I would also rejoice in what I had found in the Master’s workshop. While I had known fear and sorrow and pain, I had also found adventure and love and true friendship. None of this would have been mine had I not ventured from my room and set off on my grand journey so many months ago.

Leonardo seemed to understand what I had meant, for I saw answering warmth in his gaze. With a gallant gesture, he escorted me past Il Moro’s guard and led me down a familiar passage to the duke’s private chapel. I made my genuflections and then gazed about me with a sigh.

Not many days ago, that same chapel had been little more than four walls covered in flaking plaster, cobwebs and grime clinging to its corners. Constantin had still been alive, and Tito had yet to succumb to treachery and murder. . and I was still the boy apprentice Dino. But now, new layers of plaster had been smoothed over the walls and long since dried; the background for the various scenes had been stenciled on in black dust and drawn over in red ink; and perhaps half of the fresco had already been finished, the soft colors of the tempera glowing beneath a row of oil lamps hanging from the beam above.