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“When examining the remains of a person who met a
violent end,” he explained, “it is not always easy to tell if
bruises discovered upon the flesh occurred before death or as
a result of the manner of death. As you might suspect, Bel­
lanca’s body showed injuries consistent with the violent im­
pact that killed her. But upon closer inspection, I also found
Portrait of a Lady
35
marks upon her arms and throat that appeared to have been
inflicted while she was still alive.”
He halted in midstep and fixed me with a cool look.
“Faced with that evidence, I drew a new conclusion as to her
probable cause of death. Indeed, I would say there is a high
likelihood that the unfortunate Bellanca had been attacked
by someone, perhaps even choked into submission before
being tossed from the tower window.”
Despite myself, I gasped. If the Master was right, then
what had started as merely a tragedy had now become some­
thing far more sinister.
“But who could have done such a thing?” I wondered
aloud, only to realize as I spoke the futility of asking the
question.
To my relief, the Master did not dismiss my words with
the disdain they deserved. Taking his seat across from me
once more, he said, “I wondered much the same thing. As I
told you, I had only a few minutes alone with the dead
woman to conduct my examination; still, it was sufficient
time for me to make a few sketches upon a bit of paper I
found there. Barely had I finished when our friend the physi­
cian returned.”
“He noticed nothing amiss, of course. He was far too
busy complaining that he had been forced to minister to a
mere servant, when he is used to attending to Ludovico,
himself. He made sure to point out, however, that he pre­
ferred such menial service to his unwilling collaboration
with me.”
The Master gave a fastidious sneer. “You will know I was
as glad to flee his surgery as he was to be quit of me. I may
never get the stink of that butcher shop out of my nostrils.”
I nodded, aware of Leonardo’s contempt for the court
physician’s talents in particular and that of surgeons in gen­
eral. Many of them had begun their careers as barbers, grad­
uating from razor to scalpel with no formal training. And
even those men schooled in the healing arts had little prac­
tical knowledge of anatomy, certainly not as much as the
36
Diane A. S. Stuckart
Master did. As a result, the ill or injured ofttimes were as
likely to die from any medical treatment received as they
were from their illness or injury!
His momentary lapse into disdain was brief. Recovering
his usual milder humor, he went on. “Given that I was not
satisfied with the surgeon’s conclusions, I decided that I
would do a bit of investigating on my own. I waited until
after dark, and then paid a visit to the same tower from
which Bellanca fell.”
“So that was your light I saw,” I exclaimed, relieved it had
been the Master’s candle and not some unnatural flame that
had flickered in the night. “Tell me, did you find anything?”
“If you will be patient, my dear boy, I shall tell all.”
He picked up two broken pieces of the model from the
tabletop and idly began fitting them together. “My initial
concern was to avoid discovery by any of the soldiers there.
Had I been found out, it would have been an easy matter to
convince them I was there at Il Moro’s behest. But letting
my presence be known could well have tipped off her mur­
derer to my suspicions, given that one of those men is the
likeliest suspect for that role.”
He had fitted one of the horse’s clay limbs to a small
piece of its shattered torso. Taking up a second delicate leg
and a section of flank, he continued. “You may not know,
Dino, but most of Ludovico’s army consists of mercenaries,
fighting men whose loyalty is bought by whichever noble
will fill their purses with the most coin. To be sure, the ma­
jority of those men are professional soldiers who take pride
in their skills. They may fight for the money, or the glory,
or simply because it is what they do best. But for all of
that, they adhere to a certain code that precludes criminal
behavior.”
He gave a satisfied nod as he fitted the new pieces with
the old. Then, carefully balancing the partially reconstructed
figure so that half a miniature equine torso stood frozen upon
the table in mid-trot, he returned his leonine gaze to me.
“But know this, Dino. Among their number is inevitably
Portrait of a Lady
37
a man or two who enjoys killing strictly for killing’s sake.
Such a man has no conscience, no remorse, and no care what
the rest of society might think of his actions. He pays hom­
age only to Mars, the lord of war. Such a man might murder
a helpless woman solely for his own amusement. It is this
man who must not know what I suspect until such time as I
can accuse him to his face.”
Despite myself, I shivered at the thought of this un­
known sycophant of the ancient battle god. Such men did
exist, I had no doubt . . . and I prayed the luckless Bellanca
had not been one of their victims.
Leonardo, meanwhile, had seemingly lost interest in the
broken model. He let the pieces tumble apart and then
shook his shaggy head.
“Ah, but you are very patient with my storytelling,” he
said with a small smile. “I will relate the rest of it more
quickly, so that you may return to your bed before dawn. As
I said, I examined the tower room, hoping to find some sign
of what happened there in the minutes before Bellanca’s
death. That particular chamber appeared to be used prima­
rily for storage, for I noticed as I entered that a good portion
of it was filled with stacks of boxes and barrels. But my at­
tention was for the women’s shoes I spied in the center of
the room.”
Leonardo grabbed up the page upon which he earlier had
sketched the human sail and swiftly drew two delicate slip­
pers, poised like birds preparing for flight.
“As you see, they were not of elaborate enough material
or design to belong to a noblewoman; still, they were far
more graceful than the rough shoes of a common servant. In
color, they were dark blue, and made of soft leather with a
bit of embroidery on the toes, thusly,” he said, adding to the
sketch a few delicate lines resembling flowered vines. “As it
was unlikely that they had been left in the tower room by
accident, I could only conclude that these shoes were indeed
Bellanca’s.”
“Certainly, you must be right,” I agreed, knowing I
38
Diane A. S. Stuckart
would happily remain awake until cock’s crow to learn all
that he knew of the matter. Moreover, my curiosity was
stirred, so that I, myself, could not help but speculate upon
the matter. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]