I decided not to wait for Verrocchio’s return. I brushed myself off, straightened my dress, smoothed my hair, took several deep breaths, and went to look for Sancha. I found Leonardo in the work yard instead. He was sitting on a bench, leaning over clasped hands, looking at the ground. His great curly mane of hair, typically so carefully combed, was matted and tangled. His clothes were covered with grime. “Maestro!” Leonardo looked up, unsurprised, as if he had been waiting there for me. “Where is Master Verrocchio?” “Still talking with the magistrates.” I sat down beside him and put my hand on his arm. He looked horrible. “Are you all right?” He shook his head. “Are you all right?” he countered. I was startled by his question and the pointed way he asked it. Then I realized. “How . . . how long have you been here?” “A while,” he said. “Long enough.” I chewed on my lower lip. “So you heard?” “Yes. Forgive me for not helping you. I . . . I was uncertain what to do.
