ReVISIONS (10 page)

Which was something new for him, see? Instead of useless things, here were pictures of gears and blades and ratchets, with soldiers and horses getting cut to little pieces by them. “Giovanni,” I said to myself, “You're looking at a fortune here!”

So I beat out the fire, and I gave Leo all the pens and paper he wanted. I went off to the kitchen and made him a nice dish of fried cheese. And while I cooked I figured, figured, all the time figured the angles.

Well. You heard of Galeazzo Sforza, eh? Duke of Milan, Lord of Genoa, the one they call
il Orrendo
? Yes, him.

He was crazy mean. The kind of little boy that liked to pull wings off flies, and worse when he grew up. No beauty, either; eyes too close together and a weak chin. But he respected artists, Signore.

The duke had only been on the throne a couple of years then, but people already knew the way his tastes ran, which is why I thought of him when I saw Leo's pictures. So Leo wrote this beautiful letter to him, about what he could design for his dungeons and armies. I told him what to write. Such a letter we sent, Signore! Such a lot of promises we made. I knew it was our necks in the halter if we couldn't deliver, but I had faith in Leo.

Pretty soon the duke sent a letter back, too, mostly saying “Why don't you boys come to my palace in Milan so we can have a nice little talk?” It came at a good time, because Isabella's papa was about to send over a couple of
his
boys for a little talk with me, you follow, Signore? So I bundled up Leo and his books and his papers on one fast horse, and me on another, and away we went.

Now, one book Leo had with him was by this old Greek named Hieron, full of clockwork and infernal machines. Leo studied the whole time we traveled. First, he copied the pictures. Then he made new drawings, taking all the old machines apart on paper and mixing up the pieces. Every inn we stopped at, he'd sit there at a table, drawing, while I got the drinks and talked to girls. We had to buy another horse to carry all the ideas Leo had.

We went to see the duke, in Milan. You know what he was doing, when we were shown in? He was gambling with a pretty girl. He'd bet her, she couldn't keep an egg in her open mouth from the stroke of noon until midnight. Her father's life was the stake. She was standing there the whole time with tears in her sweet eyes, her mouth stretched wide around this goose egg, and I knew her jaws must have been aching bad. He was just ignoring her. If I didn't know what kind of man he was before, I knew then.

But I acted big, I told him about the great machines Leo invented, that would make him powerful as Caesar, Alexander, Charlemagne! And, maybe I'm a little crude when I express myself, and I was only a country boy then and didn't know much about impressing people. I could see the duke smiling, like he was going to enjoy sending us to the dungeon for wasting his time.

Lucky for us both, Leo had his papers with the drawings all ready, and his beautiful clear handwriting that anybody could read. Leo bowed before him and offered the sketchbook. The duke looked at the pages, and he couldn't take his eyes away after he'd seen the picture on top. He started reading, saying nothing, turning pages. After a while he called for some wine. He didn't give us any. We stood there, and the girl stood there, too, with the egg still in her mouth, staring at us. The sun slanted across the tiles on the floor and the fountain outside splashed the whole time.

Finally, the duke closed the sketchbook. He asked Leo if he could really build all these devices, and I told him of course we could! Only, we'd need some of his best armorers and blacksmiths, not to mention money. “Well,” said the duke, “Smart boys like you, you'll have everything you want!”

I thought to myself, “Giovanni, your fortune's made!”

So you can imagine, Signore, how I nearly wet myself when Leo walked over to the girl and took the egg out of her mouth. Who were we, to criticize a rich man's fun? But the duke, he took it all right. He just laughed and said we could have the girl, too.

Her name was Fiammetta. She was crazy in love with Leo from that moment. Waited on him hand and foot, in the nice rooms the duke gave us. Cooked and cleaned and brushed his clothes, which was nice for me, because I was too busy for that now.

But, Signore, you should know that Leo is chaste. Eh? No, no, not like that at all. It's all
up here
with him, see? So you can be sure there wasn't nothing sinful going on. Which I'm telling you in case your king has any question about his morals.

So, I got busy. We had a whole kind of blacksmith-studio to build, and workers to hire. I got a clerk to copy Leo's drawings and pass them out to the workers, so everybody understood what we were making. There was iron and coal to buy. Getting it all up and running was like making a big machine, too, but I'm good at that. I can run around, yell at people to get going. I push things, you see? And I pushed Leo on the job, so his mind didn't wander. He kept wanting to change the design once he'd finished, kept having new ideas. “Leo,” I told him, “Get
organized!
One thing at a time!”

But once all the workmen understood Leo's designs, he could afford to draw his little pictures. The big machine started rolling. The master smith, smart man named Tognazzini, such a pity he's dead now, he really caught fire with the idea of Leo's steam engine. He even pointed out one or two ways it could work better. Pretty soon the forges were going day and night. The workers were coming in all hours and forgetting to eat, they were so excited.

The duke himself came in to watch. I showed him all the models, and the work going on. He had the brains to appreciate good ideas. He was happy with our work, I tell you. There was a look in his nasty little eyes that was almost pure. You know what I mean? Bad men don't love God or other men, but sometimes they love
things,
and that's the closest they ever get to being human.

So what happened? The duke got himself armed for war and, sure enough, one started. The Ligurians sent in condottieri to take Pavia.

Yes, Pavia, you know the name? Famous siege. Changed the way wars were going to be fought forever after, and I should know, because I was there. You want to hear what really happened?

Pavia was defended pretty good.
Il Orrendo
had built new walls only a little while before. The condottieri got there and saw they had one tough nut to crack. Then up came this Pavian traitor named Lazzaro Doria, and he said to them: “Say, there's this big place called the Mirabello over there. It's the duke's own hunting estate with walls and a castle, and he ain't home. If you camp there, you can starve out the Pavians from a nice defensible position.”

“Good,” said the condottieri. Pretty soon they were living high, eating venison from the duke's own park while the Pavians were rationing food, marching out in the morning to make big threats and fire off a gun or two. At night they slept in the duke's feather beds. One soft campaign!

Until the duke heard about it. I was there when he got the news and I saw him smile.
Uh-oh,
I said to myself,
I sure wouldn't want to be those condottieri.

“Barelli,” he said, “I think we'll give our new toys a test. Load the engines; we're going to Mirabello.”

Well,
that
was easier said than done, because of what-you-callems, logistics. But I'm good at pulling things together, see? All we had ready was the Horse, but I pulled Leo from playing with his models and got him to make a few changes. We finished a few other little surprises, too. And on the day the wagons rolled for Mirabello, Fiammetta begged to come along. Just like a woman, eh? Crazy in love. We took her with us, in the baggage train.

You should have seen us marching along, Signore. Soldiers with their steel armor shining in the sun. The duke with his pretty armor and the Sforza banner streaming, such bright colors! What a day that was, the sky so blue and the hills so green! Leo rode next to me on a white horse and half the soldiers thought he was an angel, with his golden hair, sent from God to work miracles for us. The war-wagons were all loaded, so heavy their axles creaked, with bad news for Mirabello. . . .

You a soldier, Signore? No, that's none of my business, you're right. But anybody, soldier or not, would have admired the duke's strategy.

When we got to Pavia, the duke ordered his men in without any of the special stuff we brought. Just like they were an ordinary army come to relieve Pavia, see? The condottieri were caught with their pants down, saving your presence, but they beat his men back and ran to Mirabello.

So there they were, safe behind the wall of the park. The game was turned on its head, a siege to break a siege. The duke brought his army up and occupied the land north and east of the park. He sent his herald to the Porta Pescarina to say, “Hey! You! Genovesi big shots! Come out here right now, or I'll send your heads home to your mamas in a bunch of fruit baskets!”

The condottieri didn't know
il Orrendo
like we did, or they'd never have said what they did in reply, which was something real rude, saving your presence. He got their answer and he smiled, and spit out a fig he was eating and said: “Barelli, let's have some fun with them.”

So I grabbed Leo and we ran back to the wagons. I ordered the Horse to be unloaded.

The duke sent troops in a feint attack, as though they were going to breach the wall at the Porta Pescarina. He did it so slow, and so obvious, the condottieri laughed and whooped from their places on the wall. But in a few minutes they stopped and got real quiet, looking east, where our wagons were.

What they saw, Signore, was teams of men pulling on ropes, raising with pulleys and tackle a big monster, an iron Horse. We'd brought it lying on its side, lashed to three flat wagon beds. It rose up slow. When it stood at last, tall as a church tower, it looked like Sin and Death.

It stood there maybe a half hour, while we made it ready. All the time the condottieri were staring at it, trying to figure it out. We could hear their officers telling them it was just a Trojan Horse. “That's the oldest trick in the book!” they said. “Dumb Sforzas!”

But then it began to roll forward, all by itself, belching steam. The rumbling and clattering it made was the only sound for miles. The condottieri were frozen like rabbits. We hardly drew breath ourselves, watching it. The duke looked like he was in church, seeing something holy. Leo was biting his lips to blood, praying I guess that everything would work. Fiammetta was crying, but that's what women do, eh?

And the condottieri were so busy looking east, they didn't think to look north, which they should have done.

Because, there was the duke's cavalry, racing along like they were at full charge. But they weren't charging the walls, Signore. They were pulling the flying machines. Yes, that was the first place they were ever used. You didn't know? Leo's invention! Oh, he sweated blood over those, his little clockwork bird models, no use to anybody until I slapped him and said: “Not flapping, gliding! Look at how vultures fly, dummy!”

Fast and faster the horses ran, and men ran behind holding up the big machines with their spread canvas, bouncing, looking foolish until they lifted off—one, two, three, ten angels of death rising up on black wings! And such big shadows they cast, crossing the bright face of the sun that day. You had to look hard to see the tiny man in each one, clinging tight to the framework, but I could make them out, and, I'll tell you, Signore, every one of them had wet himself.

Some crashed right away, ran into trees or only got across a few fields before coming down, but there were three that remembered to work the controls. They circled and soared. Only one or two archers on the wall noticed them—nobody else could tear their eyes away from the Horse, that was coming on faster now, but it didn't matter. By the time they got a few shots off, the Flying Machines were high up out of range. Still they circled, just like vultures. Then—ha, ha!—they laid their eggs, Signore.

Yes, they dropped balls of Greek Fire, on the army camped in the park behind the wall. Dropped from so high, how far it splattered! What screams we could hear! Smoke began to rise, and you could see the men on the wall thinking: “We've been tricked! They sent this stupid Trojan Horse to make us look the other way while they attacked from the sky!”

But they were wrong, Signore.

Because, while half of them were running from their positions on the wall to try to put the fires out, the Horse just kept rolling closer. The ones who were smart enough to stay at their posts, you could see them wondering: “What's it doing? Do they think we'll let it through the Porta Pescarina?” Because, see, they expected a Trojan Horse to be full of soldiers. That's called, ah, what's that big word, Leo?
Misdirection.

Only when it got right to the base of the wall did they figure out it must be some kind of siege engine. They started peppering it with crossbow bolts, which only tinkled off like rain. The Horse just stood there a minute, smoke coming from its nostrils like a real horse breathing out steam on a cold morning.

Then it began to rise up, rearing from its wheeled platform, and the gears ratcheting echoed loud over the field. I was keeping my fingers crossed because I didn't know if we'd made it able to extend high enough. But up it went, and pretty soon it brought its big iron forefeet down,
clang,
on the battlements. Men on the wall were hitting the feet with axes; no good. Up above, the Horse turned its head slow, like it was looking at them. Smoke twined out of its nostrils, past the flames dancing there, from the little oil lamps we'd built in.

Now, in the head there was a little room, with one gunner in there. He worked a pump. Nasty stuff—worse than Greek Fire, Leo's own invention—came spraying out of the head, igniting as it passed the flames in the nostrils, splashing all over the men on the wall.
Then
we heard screams! Some of them died right there, cooked like lobsters in their own armor. Some jumped down and ran, trying to get to the little Vernavola stream that ran through the park, but it was already full of men trying to wash off the Greek Fire.