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[ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] the stencil must be completed by tomorrow.” While the other apprentices reluctantly went back to their tasks, Leonardo drew me over to one side. “I have another assignment for you, Dino,” he said in a low tone. “At two hours before dusk today, the service for the unfortunate Bellanca is to be held. I would like you to join the other mourners and observe what transpires there.” Unable to believe my good fortune—had I not just been agonizing over how best to ask leave to attend this very service?—I gave an eager nod. “Of course, as you wish,” I replied, keeping my tone soft, as had he, lest the others hear. “But for what in particular would you wish me to look?” 60 Diane A. S. Stuckart “Why, for her killer, of course.” He flicked his fingers in the familiar impatient gesture. “As in the past, simply use your powers of observation. Take note of who is there and how they behave in the dead woman’s presence. Report back anything odd or amiss to me.” “I shall do as you instruct.” It crossed my mind to ask why, after his blunt dismissal last night of the matter, he now had a sudden interest in dis covering who was responsible for the young maidservant’s fa tal fall. I also was tempted to demand why he had lied to the Lady Caterina about the missing tarocchi cards. But, of course, I mentioned neither concern, well aware that it was not my place as apprentice to question the Master’s methods. Should I need to know those answers, he would tell me in time. Until that time, I must keep my curiosity to myself. Even so, I could not suppress an inner grin of pleasure. The Master could well have summoned another apprentice last night to debate the manner of Bellanca’s death. Indeed, he could have as easily asked Tito or Davide to be his eyes and ears at the burial later this day. The fact that he had en trusted all of this to me must mean he had returned me to my past role as his assistant in bringing villains to justice! Then I allowed myself a moment of uncertainty. It was one thing to search of my own accord for the person who, with a single push, had sent Bellanca to her death. It was quite another to do so at the Master’s behest. He would ex pect a detailed accounting of all I learned and would doubt less show his impatience should I return no more enlightened on the matter than when I left. Then I will just have to discover something of import, I told myself with a firm nod. I waited impatiently for the time to pass. Finally, the clock tower struck half the hour past three. I set aside the minerals I was grinding for new batches of tempera and qui etly advised Constantin I was being sent on an errand by the Master. The senior apprentice did not question me, familiar as he Portrait of a Lady 61 was with Leonardo’s well-known habit of sending one or an other of us on some mission as the fancy struck him. More over, we all knew far better than to lie about such a summons. No youth would willingly risk dismissal from the workshop for a furtive hour or two of idle time. “Very well,” Constantin replied, “just return as quickly as you can. We shall be carrying the stencil to the hall as soon as it is finished and will need all hands to hang it.” I gave him my promise and, stopping only to put on the cleaner of my two brown tunics, hurried from the work shop. A few minutes later, I was outside the city gates and on my way to the same churchyard where the duke’s cousin had been laid to rest in the Sforza family crypt . . . that same dank crypt where I had almost met my own end a few months earlier. I pretended the chill that swept me was but the brisk af ternoon breeze that cooled the summer day and hinted at a storm to come. Not even to the Master did I admit that I still had occasional frightful dreams about those terrifying hours locked away in the dark with generations of the Sforza dead. Stabbed and beaten into unconsciousness, I’d been bun dled into a crumbling stone niche within one of the crypt walls and left there for dead by the same man I had as sumed had also murdered the conte. Though in that accu sation I later had been proved wrong, the man had been no less a foul villain. Indeed, if not for the timely intervention of Tommaso, I might have spent eternity among the Sforzas. And so when my ersatz jailer met his own untimely end, I’d not mourned his passing. The short journey beyond the city was a bit longer than I had remembered, so that I quickened my pace. Even so, I still had not reached the churchyard when I heard the clock tower’s distant bells ring four times. Now I was running along the narrow road, tiny puffs of dirt flying from beneath my feet with every stride as I silently berated myself for not allowing myself sufficient time. The Master had charged me with a solemn duty, and I was in danger of failing him! 62 Diane A. S. Stuckart With a final burst of speed that would have impressed even the contessa’s swift hound, Pio, I charged past the churchyard gates. Then, panting and swiping the sweat and dust from my face with the corner of my tunic, I slipped past the chapel door and gratefully dropped into the far cor ner of the rear pew. I had to squint and blink my eyes a moment before they adjusted to the chapel’s dim light. Save for the pallid sun light that softly glowed through the thick stained glass of the windows to either side of me, the only illumination came from two sputtering candles upon the altar. Thus, the shrouded figure of Bellanca, which was laid before it, seemed almost to float upon the shadows. Unlike the funeral of the Conte di Ferrara, there was no procession of mourners passing by her simple bier; neither was the Archbishop of Milan presiding. In fact, there was no Mass being said, likely because there was no family to pay the priest. Instead, one of the brown-robed friars was mut tering a few words in Latin over the dead woman as perhaps a score of mourners—all servants and apprentices, by their humble garb—knelt and made the responses. Remembering my male disguise, I respectfully pulled off my cap and slipped to my own knees upon the rough stone floor, bowing my head and folding my hands in semblance of prayer. But through my lowered lashes, I was keenly ob serving those who had come to pay Bellanca their final re spects. Even though I was behind them, from my angle I still had a partial view of their faces. All but two of the mourners were women, one of whom was audibly sobbing. The kindest compliment one might have offered the plain-faced woman would have been praise for the glossy blackness of her thick braid of hair untouched by gray. Oth erwise, she was unremarkable, save for her current public [ Pobierz caÅ‚ość w formacie PDF ] |