A Bolt from the Blue

As I’d hoped, Vittorio’s condemning expression yielded, and he gave a sympathetic nod. And there was some small truth to that particular explanation. Most of us apprentices had come from towns other than Milan, so that visits with our family were few, if any at all. I had not seen my parents and brothers for more than a year now, though twice my father and I had managed to exchange missives when someone from our town happened to be traveling in either direction.

A master cabinetmaker, Angelo della Fazia’s skill in wood rivaled Leonardo’s brilliance with paints. He had understood the artistic fervor that had driven me to steal away one night, leaving behind home and family in order to study my craft. And he also understood that, given my circumstances, I could not return home so long as I remained apprenticed to Leonardo.

Teasing the hound now with a long bit of grass, Vittorio confided, “I miss my father and sisters, too. But I am much relieved to know I have done naught to offend you. And I know you could never truly be cross with Pio, no matter what mischief he caused, for you love him as much as I do. So, if all is truly well, I shall leave you be.”

Contrary to his words, however, he remained seated next to me. Knowing there must be some other reason that the youth had sought me out, I prodded, “The day is already half gone. Why are you still here at the castle, rather than wandering about town with Constantin and Paolo, and the other apprentices?”

“The Master asked me to take charge of Pio for the day. I could not refuse, for Pio loves me best… after the Master, of course,” he finished with a smug lift of his chin.

I gave him an answering solemn nod.

“Of course,” I agreed, though my inner amusement at his self-important air was tempered by my recollection of how the small hound had ended up in the Master’s care.

The clownish Pio had once been the beloved pet of the same young contessa who was one of the victims that I mourned. Under her care, the little beast had spent his days sleeping upon soft cushions, eating rich treats, and wearing elaborate embroidered collars as befitted his noble position. More privileged than many at court, he’d even had his portrait painted by the great master Leonardo!

It was during those painting sessions that the Master had developed a particular fondness for the small hound. And when no one else stepped forward to claim Pio after the contessa’s death, the Master had adopted him. Now Pio spent his days snoozing in a sunny spot in Leonardo’s personal quarters or else wandering the workshop making a friendly nuisance of himself with the apprentices.

“Look, Dino,” Vittorio exclaimed, interrupting my momentary musings. “I made a present for Pio. Is it not fine?”

He indicated the wide braided collar that the hound wore around his slim neck. More elaborate than Vittorio’s own belt, the collar was nothing short of a leather tapestry made of intricate knots and weaves.

“And see how I’ve made a matching rope to lead him with,” he went on, reaching beneath his tunic and pulling out a long length of braided leather.

He tied that narrow rope to the collar and looped the other end around his belt, so that the hound could wander a few feet from him but not run free. “I think with his new collar, Pio looks every bit as elegant as he ever did when he lived in the main castle.”

“He does,” I agreed, well impressed with the youth’s skill. “Your creations are wonderful, Vittorio. Why, from a distance, the leather looks like beaten metal. Have you shown this work to the Master?”

“I did not wish to bother him with such trifles,” the boy replied with a careless shrug, though the color rising in his cheeks told me he was pleased with my compliments. “But that is why I have been looking for you. You see, I made something else, and I wanted your opinion.”

Reaching into his tunic this time, he withdrew a ring of leather similar to Pio’s collar. He handed it to me, and I realized that it was the perfect size for a lady’s bracelet. Unthinkingly, I slipped the leather bauble over my wrist to better admire it.

As with Pio’s clever adornment, Vittorio had braided and knotted bits of leather to create a seamless circle. This piece, however, had been crafted with far greater skill. The leather threads were almost as delicate as wire, and he had twisted them into an open filigree pattern to which he’d added bits of colored minerals. Those tiny beads were similar to the large specimens we ground to make the various bright-hued pigments for frescoes, and I guessed that the youth had shaped them from scraps he had swept up from the workshop floor. It was a beautiful example that I was certain had taken many hours of work.

“Any woman would be glad to wear such a fine bracelet,” I declared with an admiring nod.