behind people and rocks and carriages so I didn’t bother the Master, when a tall man with a sweet face and lively eyes suddenly pounced up.
“See here, boy, why do you slink around after the Magnus Magister? Are you planning to empty his pocket?” The man’s dark eyes danced as his hands held my shoulders firmly.
“No, sir!” I yelped. “I like to watch Master Giotto. I learn things.”
“You learn things? What is it you want to learn?” the man asked, releasing me abruptly.
“Everything, I guess,” I said, shrugging.
“Everything? A lofty peak to scale. What would be your motive for such an ascent?” He had a faint accent, as if he had come from Florence but didn’t live here.
“Why does anyone climb a mountain?” I responded, with some asperity because Giotto had moved on and I wanted to follow him. “To see the view!”
“To see the view indeed!” The tall man burst out laughing. “But don’t you think most people climb mountains simply to cross over them to the other side?”
“How would I know what most people do? I’m not most people, I’m me.” I straightened my mantello. “May I go now?”
“Yes, by all means, and I shall ponder your desire to ascend a great height merely to see what it has to offer!” He waved me on. I darted after Giotto. I didn’t find him at first, and when I did, he was standing with the tall man. Giotto spied me and waved me over.
“This young pup is a friend of mine,” Giotto said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Luca, this is my friend Petrarca.”
“A fine protégé”—Petrarca winked at me—“whose great desire is to learn everything!”
“I thought your great desire was for freedom, Luca,” Giotto teased.
“Yes, that is what I want,” I said, softly. “More than anything!”
Giotto laughed and ruffled my hair. “Go on about your rascally ways, then, and pursue freedom with all your heart! The Lord knows you deserve to have what your heart longs for.”
Something about Giotto’s affection, and his words, and Petrarca’s approval, set me mindlessly ablaze with thoughts of freedom. Heedless of the consequences, I threw myself onto a peddler’s cart going out of the city. Two condottieri who frequented Silvano’s saw me right away. They hauled me out of the cart and dragged me back to Silvano’s, hoping for a reward.
“Take your choice of my workers, on the house.” Silvano waved, though he never offered his wares for free. He smiled. “This was very naughty, Luca! Simonetta, bring me Bella. And my knife.”
“What do you want with Bella, sir?” I whispered, fear hardening my stomach.
“She’s a pretty child, isn’t she, Luca? Rather like little Ingrid who worked here years ago, with the big blue eyes and milky white skin. Though Bella’s not blond. There she is.” Silvano nodded. We stood in the carpeted foyer. It was daylight outside, but the windows were sheathed in heavy brocades, so the only light came from candles set in sconces on the wall. Bella was about seven years old, dressed in a sleeveless yellow camicia with her slender white arms bare and her brown hair unbound, as if she’d been sleeping.
“Bella, Luca here has done a very bad thing,” Silvano said, taking his knife from Simonetta. Bella peeped at Silvano out of her sky-blue eyes. “He must be taught a lesson.” Silvano raised Bella’s hand to his lips. Then he held her hand out and extended her index finger. With his other hand, swiftly, he swiped his knife into her finger, and it popped off. Bella and I shrieked as blood spurted from the stump at her knuckle. Simonetta bowed her head, covering her face with her hands as her shoulders shook.
“No, no,” screamed Bella, thrashing, trying to pull free from Silvano’s grasp.
“Yes,” Silvano said, holding out her thumb. “See, Luca doesn’t care so much about his own life and limb.” Silvano swiped his knife again, and Bella’s thumb flew off. “He cares about other children, though,
“See here, boy, why do you slink around after the Magnus Magister? Are you planning to empty his pocket?” The man’s dark eyes danced as his hands held my shoulders firmly.
“No, sir!” I yelped. “I like to watch Master Giotto. I learn things.”
“You learn things? What is it you want to learn?” the man asked, releasing me abruptly.
“Everything, I guess,” I said, shrugging.
“Everything? A lofty peak to scale. What would be your motive for such an ascent?” He had a faint accent, as if he had come from Florence but didn’t live here.
“Why does anyone climb a mountain?” I responded, with some asperity because Giotto had moved on and I wanted to follow him. “To see the view!”
“To see the view indeed!” The tall man burst out laughing. “But don’t you think most people climb mountains simply to cross over them to the other side?”
“How would I know what most people do? I’m not most people, I’m me.” I straightened my mantello. “May I go now?”
“Yes, by all means, and I shall ponder your desire to ascend a great height merely to see what it has to offer!” He waved me on. I darted after Giotto. I didn’t find him at first, and when I did, he was standing with the tall man. Giotto spied me and waved me over.
“This young pup is a friend of mine,” Giotto said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Luca, this is my friend Petrarca.”
“A fine protégé”—Petrarca winked at me—“whose great desire is to learn everything!”
“I thought your great desire was for freedom, Luca,” Giotto teased.
“Yes, that is what I want,” I said, softly. “More than anything!”
Giotto laughed and ruffled my hair. “Go on about your rascally ways, then, and pursue freedom with all your heart! The Lord knows you deserve to have what your heart longs for.”
Something about Giotto’s affection, and his words, and Petrarca’s approval, set me mindlessly ablaze with thoughts of freedom. Heedless of the consequences, I threw myself onto a peddler’s cart going out of the city. Two condottieri who frequented Silvano’s saw me right away. They hauled me out of the cart and dragged me back to Silvano’s, hoping for a reward.
“Take your choice of my workers, on the house.” Silvano waved, though he never offered his wares for free. He smiled. “This was very naughty, Luca! Simonetta, bring me Bella. And my knife.”
“What do you want with Bella, sir?” I whispered, fear hardening my stomach.
“She’s a pretty child, isn’t she, Luca? Rather like little Ingrid who worked here years ago, with the big blue eyes and milky white skin. Though Bella’s not blond. There she is.” Silvano nodded. We stood in the carpeted foyer. It was daylight outside, but the windows were sheathed in heavy brocades, so the only light came from candles set in sconces on the wall. Bella was about seven years old, dressed in a sleeveless yellow camicia with her slender white arms bare and her brown hair unbound, as if she’d been sleeping.
“Bella, Luca here has done a very bad thing,” Silvano said, taking his knife from Simonetta. Bella peeped at Silvano out of her sky-blue eyes. “He must be taught a lesson.” Silvano raised Bella’s hand to his lips. Then he held her hand out and extended her index finger. With his other hand, swiftly, he swiped his knife into her finger, and it popped off. Bella and I shrieked as blood spurted from the stump at her knuckle. Simonetta bowed her head, covering her face with her hands as her shoulders shook.
“No, no,” screamed Bella, thrashing, trying to pull free from Silvano’s grasp.
“Yes,” Silvano said, holding out her thumb. “See, Luca doesn’t care so much about his own life and limb.” Silvano swiped his knife again, and Bella’s thumb flew off. “He cares about other children, though,
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