by Edale Lane
Leonardo da Vinci invented or improved upon hundreds of weapons, many of them during his years in Milan, years when Florentina had observed and even helped with experiments. She recalled his schematics for a rapid-fire cannon with twelve barrels set in a kind of wheel which was turned by a large crank. He had explained to Duke Sforza how the artilleryman would load all twelve then light the variable length fuses and turn the crank. They would fire one after the other with no reloading in between each shot. Sforza had turned down the design complaining that to be feasible the barrels would be too small and range would be lost. He was also concerned the contraption would be too heavy to move, especially if the ground was muddy. Florentina took the design and modified it for a lightweight miniature crossbow, only with eight slots instead of Leonardo’s twelve. She had tested several prototypes before being satisfied with this one. True, it did not have great range, but it was accurate and could fire the shots as quickly as she operated the trigger. It gave her an advantage over foes armed with a conventional crossbow or arabesque which could only fire one shot at a time.
Next she removed a black leather belt and short scabbard that held an eighteen-inch carbon steel arming dagger. Also attached to the belt was a length of cord tied to a small grappling hook. Definitely need these, she decided. Last, she ran her hands over a black leather pack bag with two shoulder straps instead of one and two hooks at the bottom that clipped onto steel rings in her belt. It was the largest item in the chest. She hesitated, then lifted it out, taking one more glance at the sleeping woman. Always be prepared, she confirmed, and proceeded to peal out of her nightgown and slip into attire as dark as pitch.
Once completely transformed, she looked at herself in the mirror. No hair showed, her physique was obscured, and her face was unrecognizable. One would not know she was a woman with her height and slender build. She was a phantom, a highwayman, an obscure shadow in the night. Satisfied, she slipped on thin black leather gloves and tiptoed out toward the storage room where she could take the drainpipe to street level. From there it was about a fifteen minute jog to Viscardi’s warehouses. This was planned as a spying mission, but she needed the outfit of a thief in the event she was spotted. She patted one of the pouches sewn into her belt and felt the familiar lock-pick tools and she sensed the buzz of excitement, the thrill of the hunt, and the rush of danger. No, Florentina knew she was not a typical female, but she really didn’t care. She was her father’s avenging angel and nothing would get in her way.
Benetto was sleeping restfully in his great, feathered, four-poster bed with crisp linen sheets, under a woolen coverlet beside his saggy, unattractive wife when he was roused by a loud pounding on his chamber door. “Don Benetto!” sounded a fretful cry. “My Lord, come quick!”
He rolled out of bed and fought to clear his head while reaching for a robe which hung on a nearby hook. Why is Zuane bothering me at this hour? Why doesn’t he wake Stefano? “Is the house on fire?” Benetto called back angrily. “Because it better be for you disturbing my sleep!” He slid bare feet into his slippers and opened the door.
Stefano was with the man-at-arms and grabbed Benetto by the shoulder. “Sorry, brother, but an intruder has been spotted at the warehouse offices. After the attack-”
“Yes, yes,” he replied curtly, shocked into total awareness. “I want to be informed. Have they caught him?” Lengthening his stride, Benetto struck out into the lead with his two muscular aides on either side.
“Not yet,” Zuane said, “but the extra guard you ordered has paid off. They shall likely have apprehended him by the time we arrive.”
“Are they sure there is only one? A thief or a spy, no doubt, sent ahead of another potential attack. I swear by the devil, I will know who is behind this and finish them!”
A servant busily lit lamps as the three descended the staircase. He bowed his head as his master and escort rushed past.
“Where is the burglar?” Stefano shouted toward the warehouses which were across the street from the grand dwelling.
“On the roof!” sounded a fevered reply.
The three men lifted their heads scanning the opposite rooftop for movement. The warehouse was a large, rectangular edifice taller than the surrounding buildings. “Over here!” barked another at the sound of feet rushing over clay tiles.
“Zuane, get to the bottom of the fire ladder around the corner in that alley,” Benetto pointed. “If he tries to climb down, you’ll have him.” Zuane gave a quick nod and jogged off, his right hand on the hilt of his sword.
Stefano pulled aside one of the watchmen who was racing past. “Report,” he ordered brusquely.
Wide-eyed the smaller man replied, “I don’t know much. The alarm was sounded signaling a break in. We all raced to our posts and then Giorgio–I think it was Giorgio–spotted the intruder. Everyone has been trying to chase him down. I was sent to go fetch a constable.”
“On your way now,” Benetto gave him leave, and Stefano released the man’s arm.
Suddenly a report sounded from an arabesque followed by another. Benetto and his brother looked up to witness a tall, slim figure nimbly, even gracefully, glide over the peak of the roof and down the side toward the street in front of them. It was impossible to make out details, as the interloper dressed entirely in black was barely visible at all. Squinting and straining with his head tilted to one side, a pensive expression overtaking his face, Benetto detected the figure half turn, an object in his hands catching a sliver of light. One of the two pursuers stumbled, grasping his leg, and the other dropped to the rooftop and lay flat. The intrepid prowler turned back and continued running toward the far edge.
“What?” Benetto stood dumbfounded, fixed on the surreal scene. What happened next he would never have believed if he had not seen it with his own eyes; he was still not certain he believed it even then. The figure in black unfurled huge wings and soared from atop the warehouse across the alley and neighboring houses and out of sight into the night.
Chapter 5
For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.
-Leonardo da Vinci
Florentina had been twelve years old the first time she flew. Leonardo had constructed a model of one of his early designs, a pair of human-sized wings with canvas stretched over an ash wood frame. He needed a small, lightweight adventurous young person who he said “won’t break as readily as an old man like me,” and Florentina had volunteered. Leonardo and Luigi had fitted the wings over her arms and sent her running off the edge of a hill into an updraft. She would never forget the exhilaration and ultimate freedom that burst forth within her youthful heart that first time her feet left the ground and the wind carried her… a whole twenty yards before contraption and all, she was defeated by gravity.
Two years later she tested another prototype, this one a glider with wings more akin to a bat’s than a bird’s. By age fourteen Florentina was taller with a longer reach but still a mere twig of a girl who the master inventor chuckled, “could just as easily be carried away by a kite.” This flying machine was a definite improvement over the first and she stayed aloft for several minutes while her father and mentor chased behind on the ground. However, the fatal flaw of this model was its lack of a steering mechanism and she was at the mercy of the wind and physics. A few hundred yards from the take-off point she landed in a tree. It did mark a development, but clearly more innovation was required.
Leonardo was fascinated by the idea of flight and was convinced human ingenuity would solve the enigma; however, his time was always being demanded for other projects–art for the church and his patrons, weapons for the Duke–and then there were his many other undertakings, such as generating accurate diagrams of the internal organs and systems of the human body as well as explanations as to how each functioned. Medical schools were overjoyed by the textbooks he produced. He was also an accomplished musician who performed his own compositi
ons on the lyre and flute for his noble patrons. When he wasn’t painting, inventing, or playing music, he was creating codes and codices, writing jokes and witty sayings, and contemplating the great mysteries of life, such as why the sky was blue and how old the earth really was. Therefore, during his years in Milan, the great Renaissance man had not perfected his flying machine.
Florentina, who jumped at every opportunity to learn from the master, not only remembered all he taught her, but had kept old drawings of his models and in her spare time speculated on how they may be improved, even making sketches of her own. But after Luigi died, she devoted day and night to engineering a design that would work, at least for a person her size and to fit her purposes. She incorporated Leonardo’s parachute into her design, utilizing the strength and light weight of silk for her wings and the pack idea to fold them into. For a frame, she used hollow bronze piping jointed for folding and unfolding. When open, her gliding wings were about eight feet long and three feet wide, tapering at the extremities. The frame was connected to the pack itself, which was strapped to her back and belt leaving her hands free to operate pulley handles attached to flaps in the rear of the wings which helped bring her down earlier than gravity if needed and to help with steering. Additional experimentation had shown that she could also steer by simply pushing on a hand-grip and leaning in the direction she wished to move. It was not a precise system, but thus far it had kept her from landing in trees.
The most difficult part to perfect was a deployment device that would pop the wings out of their pack and into position in a matter of seconds. That was crucial. Florentina did not kid herself to believe she would surpass her mentor by creating the initial fully functional flying machine; she just needed a quick getaway… and produce a shock and awe effect. In order to defeat an enemy, you must first cause him to fear you. What better way to make him fear you than to show him you can do something that no one believes possible? So she spent weeks perfecting a series of levers and string pulls along with strong, precise hinges that would allow the packed wings to burst forth into place with a single catalyst.
In the end her “wings” were actually one expanse of a kite-like glider that would allow her to soar over short distances when starting from a height, such as a hill or rooftop. Her invention did not realize Leonardo’s dream of flight. But to the uniformed observer it would appear that she had sprouted wings like a tremendous albatross and flown away into the night.
Florentina was dreaming that someone was shaking her and calling her name. “Florentina, wake up; the children will be done with their breakfast soon and the Donna will be very cross with you if you aren’t ready to begin their lessons.” This was an odd, silly dream! She decided to ignore it, but then there were those hands shaking her shoulder again. Still in a groggy, not quite conscious state, Florentina opened one eye. Through a haze she spied a youthful face framed by golden hair. Dressed in a maid’s day dress and apron, Angela stood over her impatiently badgering her to wake up. What time is it anyway? she thought.
But when Florentina opened her other eye, she saw the room was flooded with daylight from the window and panic shot her into awareness. She threw off the cover and sat straight up, which made her head spin. “Don’t worry, you aren’t late yet,” Angela soothed. “But you need to hurry. I don’t know why you slept so late; did you not sleep well? The tea you made put me under right away. Why, I can’t remember having such a good night’s rest in ages! You aren’t ill, are you? Shall I tell Donna Madelena-”
“No, no, I am well,” Florentina interrupted, else she would have never secured a turn to speak. She had only been in bed for a couple of hours, and those were spent recovering from her adrenaline high. She had almost been caught, men had shot at her, but she accomplished her goals for the night. Her alter-ego had gotten a good look at Viscardi’s shipping schedule for the next few weeks; she knew where and when weapons and other commodities would be coming from and going to, allowing her to carefully plan her next move. Secondly, at least half a dozen of his men had seen her fly! She didn’t know if Don Viscardi himself had witnessed her escape, nor if he would believe the reports when he received them, but rumors would surely be spread. Make him afraid. Florentina winced as she rose to her feet, but a smile crept across her lips despite her discomfort. Her plan was not simply to kill Benetto–she would destroy him!
“If you say so,” Angela replied, placated for the moment. “I have to get back downstairs to clear the table after breakfast. Don’t dally, now. I like you, and would hate to see you dismissed from your post.”
Little chance of that, she thought, but hurried to dress and brush her hair.
Alessandro sat at the head of his large mahogany dining table in a brocade cushioned chair formed to accent the heavy table. To his right was his petite wife, Portia, her glossy, buff strands gracefully arranged on her head and dressed for the day in the latest Milan fashion. Beside her was their younger son, Bernardo who did his best to imitate his father in every way, and to Alessandro’s left sat his oldest son, Antonio, who favored his father’s appearance yet was in all ways determined to be his own man. To Antonio’s left was their middle child and only daughter, Pollonia. Her burnished locks and ivory skin more closely resembled Madelena’s natural coloring. She had almost reached a marrying age, but Alessandro was in no hurry to rid himself of her loving attention. Madelena was posted at the opposite end of the great table with her two youngsters on either side of her. The family of eight was a perfect fit.
“Antonio, I should like you to accompany me to the guild meeting this afternoon. You are old enough to be more involved in our family business and you should make the acquaintance of the other merchants as well as observe the meeting,” Alessandro stated. “Do you have a preference between the Bologna or Naples Universities? You could begin your studies after the new year.”
Antonio shifted uneasily in his chair. “As you wish, Father,” he replied, then hesitated. “Suppose I don’t desire to be a merchant? I have other interests, you know. I enjoy painting and many people say I am quite good at it.”
Alessandro sighed and shook his head. “Art is fine to pursue as a side interest, but you cannot earn a living at it–not in the lifestyle to which you are accustomed. And one day you will wish to marry; how will you provide for a wife and family? You are heir to one of the greatest fortunes in Milan, but only if you remain part of the business.”
“So you are using money to coerce me?” Antonio blurted angrily. His smoky eyes seethed beneath dark brown bangs. His handsome features reddened, and he set his jaw. “So, if I chose another profession I will be disinherited?”
“No, son, that is not what I am saying,” his father chided. “Did you hear the word ‘disinherit’? No, you did not. But the fortune itself is tied to the business. Do what you want, just don’t come crying to me later.”
“Don’t bother about him,” Bernardo chimed in perkily, a smile brandished across his smooth, pre-pubescent face. “I want to be your business partner! I’ll be good at it, you’ll see. Let me go to the guild meeting with you.”
Alessandro smiled fondly at his youngest son. “And a fine partner you’ll be one day–whey you’re older. You must be in school today, but perhaps another time.”
From the other end of the table Matteo piped up. “Why does Bernardo go away to school but I have to stay home with a tutor?”
Madelena stroked his hair. “Because Bernardo is older; he attends the Studium Generale. When you are older you will too, but there is much to learn here from Florentina first.” Madelena smiled at the thought of the intelligent slim woman with her exotically attractive Mediterranean aspect. She was so enthralled with the image in her mind that she didn’t even notice Angela come in.
“Shall I take away those empty plates?” she asked politely.
“You may, grazie.” While Angela cleared the plates, Madelena’s thoughts turned to concern over the growing rift between Antonio and her brother. She hated to see them quar
rel, but it hadn’t been that different between Alessandro and their father. It’s just his coming of age, she thought, trying to push worry aside.
Iseppo materialized in the dining room doorway. “My lord, a messenger has arrived with urgent news. Shall I have him wait in the hall or show him to the sitting room?”
A furrow crossed Alessandro’s brow. “If it is urgent, show him in,” and he gestured to where they sat. Madelena felt unease rise into her throat as she watched Portia turn an anxious gaze to her husband and reach for his hand. He smiled at her reassuringly. Nothing rattles Ally, she thought. It is good he is head of the House. I have never known a calmer, more in control man in my life. Having her brother in charge made her feel safe.
Iseppo reappeared with one of Alessandro’s employees who stood with hat in hand. “Don Alessandro,” he greeted and bowed his head.
“Yes, Carlo, what is the pressing report?”
He swallowed. “Two things, actually my lord. One is very bad, and the other is just… bizarre.”
“Then start with the bad news and get it out of the way.” Alessandro sat up straight with his hands folded on the table in front of him, cool as a snowy peak.