It was an hour past sundown when Leonardo, Francesco and Salai entered Milan by the southern gate. They had barely passed the threshold of the guardhouse when the errant youth dismounted his horse and ran off.
‘Salai!’ Leonardo shouted half-heartedly.
‘I want to see my pals,’ came the reply as he hurried on his way.
‘Can’t that wait till tomorrow?’ Leonardo shouted after him. Too intent on seeking out his friends Salai ignored him.
‘He’ll be back as always when he’s hungry, cold or suffered a beating,’ reassured Francesco.
‘He may call me papa, but I fear the street will always be his real home,’ said a weary Leonardo.
Passing familiar haunts, Salai skirted the edge of the Castello Sforzesco, upon passing, the night was greeted by the screams of a woman in labour that resounded aroun
