A Bolt from the Blue

But even if they remained oblivious to such differences, surely the Master, with his keen eye for the human body, would become suspicious when one of his boys never grew to be a man.

To cover my dismay, I assumed an offended air. “You may be faster and taller, Vittorio, but I am still your senior in age. You should show respect to me.”

“I respect the fact that you are far slower than me,” he replied with a grin, his humor dimmed not at all by my censure.

Giving a light tug to the small hound’s lead, he went on. “Pio and I are off to find more pleasant company. But I overheard Constantin and Tito making plans to wander the marketplace and look for likely subjects to depict the apostles in the Master’s next fresco. Why don’t you go along with them?”

“Perhaps I will, when I finish this last sketch,” I agreed with a careless shrug, though I knew full well I would do no such thing. “Now go, and be sure to tell me later how you fared with Novella.”

I gave Pio a final scratch behind the ears and waved away the pair of them. Boy-or, rather, young man-and hound trotted eagerly in the direction of the castle gates. I waited until Vittorio and his charge were halfway across the grassy quadrangle that stretched between the main castle and its battlement-topped walls. Then, after making certain I was alone, I settled upon the rough bench outside the workshop and let my notebook slip to the seat beside me.

My small moment of pleasure had already faded, replaced by the familiar cloak of sorrow. Certainly, the day itself could not be blamed for my unsettled humor. The cloudless sky above provided a cheery blue backdrop for small flocks of birds making their annual return to their native fields. The castle’s neatly regimented trees and gardens were in the midst of their own resurgence, tender leaves and blossoms budding with grand enthusiasm from every branch and stem. Even the air around me was ripe with promise, with just enough nip lingering from the previous chill night that the coming warmth of the afternoon would be that much more welcome. Indeed, all of nature seemed to be marching with unbridled eagerness into this new season.

I, however, felt as if I were caught in a perpetual winter.

Once, the prospect of wandering the grand city of Milan would have been most inviting. What better escapade could there be than losing myself in its flamboyant tangle of canals and market squares and narrow cobbled ways? But since that terrible night of several months past, I had sworn off adventure of even the mildest sort.

I sighed, realizing that some small part of me still missed that excitement. It seemed a lifetime ago when I would eagerly wait for the Master to summon me in the middle of the night, so that I might help him solve whatever puzzle was foremost in his thoughts. And as for my elegant page’s outfit, it gathered dust lying in the bottom of the trunk where I kept my belongings.

The garb had sprung from Luigi’s clever needle, specially commissioned by the Master for me. Disguised as his boy servant, I had accompanied the Master in his dealings with dukes and ambassadors and contes, being paid scant notice by such nobles because of my humble role. Such clothes also allowed me to mingle with the castle’s servants, so that I might be privy to secrets that Leonardo could never learn in his position. But now those handsome silks lay unworn these many months, hidden away in much the same manner that I, for all practical purposes, had hidden myself.

“Dino!”

The sound of my name being called shook me from my thoughts. It was not one of my fellows who summoned me but instead was the Master himself. His business in the city must have taken less time than he had imagined… That, or some more urgent matter had caused him to return early. Obediently, I jumped to my feet, while hoping that he did not seek me out, in particular.

But, of course, he did.

“It is well that you are here and easily found, my dear boy. You have saved me the trouble of searching you out,” Leonardo said in satisfaction, striding toward me.

Despite my dismay, I watched his approach with my usual admiration. While often the Master wore the same humble tunic and trunk hose as we apprentices, other times he dressed with the fastidious elegance of a noble. Today was such a day, though this particular tunic was of more sober cut than the bright colors he usually favored.

Tailored in dark blue trimmed in brown, the garment’s sleeves were slashed to reveal the cream-colored blouse he wore beneath. The tunic’s short length showed to advantage his long legs encased in parti-colored dark blue and cream trunk hose. A matching puffed cap in blue and cream perched rakishly atop his mane of dark russet hair, which streamed to his shoulders and glinted beneath the midday sun. Given the splendid figure he cut, it was no wonder that Leonardo was accounted one of the most handsome men at Castle Sforza.